#twelve weeks of losing my mind over this damn show | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eddiemunsons80sbaby · 1 year

Text

Hard on Myself

Pairing: EddiexFemReader

Summary: This was a request

Can you make another rockstar!eddie where they just had a baby and the reader goes to one of his shows with the baby to see her daddy and she gets dressed up but reader still has a bit of post partum body and the fan girls see it and shame on her and reader declines eddies touches and works out and later eddie finds out and she breaks down and they make love? :)

18+ only

“Hey, I just got Cadence down to sleep,” Eddie murmured in your ear as he slid up behind you in the hotel room, his hands holding onto your arms. “We should take advantage of the alone time.” Those hands slid down your arms and the minute they touched your waist you shot away from him, like a firework jetting off into the sky.

“Actually, I was going to go workout,” you offered with a strained smile.

You had brought the baby to Eddie’s show three nights ago, wanting to surprise him. Stella, Gareth’s girlfriend, had stayed with the baby on the tour bus while you watched the concert. You didn’t want to subject your ten week old’s ears to the deafening music. You had been so excited, putting on a red dress that Eddie had always loved on you. It had been a little tighter than usual and yeah, you had a little pooch in your middle and you had to wear a good bra because breastfeeding was not doing anything great for your boobs, but you’d just had a baby. You decided to wear it anyway, wanting to look perfect for your husband.

But then the comments began, fangirls all around noticing you, knowing exactly who you were. Considering Rolling Stone had done a feature on the band and their families, with you and Eddie right on the cover, it didn’t surprise you that they recognized you as his wife. What did surprise you was what you heard them saying. You could still hear the razor sharp digs at you now.

“How long does she think she’s going to keep him around if she doesn’t lose that baby weight?”

“Ugh…how has he not left her yet? She’s delusional if she thinks he’s sticking around.”

“She looks like a whale in that dress. Why would she even think she should wear that?”

“Oh my god, why does she still look pregnant? Didn’t she have that baby weeks ago?”

“Ladies, we need to get backstage. If that’s what he’s coming home to, Eddie will jump at the chance to be with a girl who actually takes care of herself. He deserves so much hotter than lard-ass over there.”

“Damn, has she ever met a donut she didn’t eat?”

Tears stung your eyes but you swallowed hard, forcing them back, refusing to cry in front of Eddie. You couldn’t let him see how much those remarks had hurt. You didn’t want him to feel bad. You had signed on for this life. You had agreed to stick by him as she sought out his rockstar dreams and now that it was happening, you couldn’t do anything to ruin it for him.

But you couldn’t help wondering if they were right. You knew you should work out, but it was so hard when you barely felt human anymore. Cadence was perfect, but you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a solid night’s sleep. Your brain felt foggy, everything coated in a mist that made it difficult to know where you were or what you were supposed to be doing at the moment. You were exhausted all the time. You barely had the energy to shower, let alone work out.

“Sweetheart, didn’t you already work out this morning?” asked Eddie.

“Yeah, but I feel like getting another one in and the hotel gym is so nice. I don’t have time to do this back home when it’s just me and it feels good. I mean, Cadence is twelve weeks old. I should be getting this baby weight off. The doctor gave me the all clear.”

Eddie stepped into you, resting his hands on his hips, his eyes moving up and down your body, “I don’t see anything that needs fixing. You look perfect.” Those soft, brown eyes searched yours, as if he could see into your mind, what you were thinking. “And princess, if this matters to you, then I will support you but I’m also worried. You worked out three times yesterday and now you’re talking about a second time today. You just had a baby. Don’t overdo it.”

Sighing, you backed away from him, holding your hands in front of you, “Eddie, I’m fine. The doctor said working out was fine. It’s been twelve weeks since I had her. You’re acting like I just gave birth yesterday.”

“I’m not saying you just gave birth yesterday but you’re a brand new mom. Cut yourself some slack. It just seems like you’re suddenly a bit obsessive about working out. I don’t want to find you passed out in the hotel gym.”

“Jesus, Eddie, just let it go. I’m not going to pass out in the gym. Just watch our daughter, something you never have to do since you’re out being a rockstar. I just want a little goddamn time to myself, okay? Is that really too much to ask?”

Eddie’s head reared back in shock, those eyes flashing instantly from soft and warm to hard and disbelieving, “You signed up for this life. You told me you were okay with this when we decided to go for it. I can’t help it that we’re on tour right now. I offered to hire you a nanny to help. I planned more days off in between so I could be home. I suggested the two of you just come on the road with us because you know I hate being away from you.”

“Yeah, because that’s realistic. Let’s take a baby across the country in a bus. Come off it!” you yelled. You knew you weren’t being fair. You knew you were being a bitch but you couldn’t help it. All the hormones, the lack of sleep, the sheer exhaustion in your body, the words of those spiteful girls…it was all catching up to you and he happened to be in your line of sight. “I did sign up for this but it’s fucking hard. You’re not around and you’d think when you are, you could let me have just a little bit of me time! Is that really too much to ask?”

“Baby, I’m not saying that, but why don’t you actually take some time to relax? You could run yourself a bath or go sit by the pool and read a book? I will take care of Cadence all day if you need me to. I miss her. I would love to spend the day with her.”

“I am sure you would love it if I left you alone all day. Then you wouldn’t have to look at me and how disgusting I am now that I’ve bore your fucking child,” you snapped, hearing him yell your name as you charged out of the hotel room and down to the gym.

____________________________________________________________

The next morning, you were making your way back to your hotel room from the gym again. You had gone twice more yesterday, ignoring Eddie in the process, not wanting to face the reality of what was happening to your marriage, the things you said. It had taken every ounce of your energy to get through your workout and you had grown irrationally angry when your legs shook so bad you couldn’t even do a squat. How out of shape were you? Your body couldn’t even handle the workouts.

You had showered at the gym, trying to delay the inevitable, knowing Eddie would be awake when you returned. You stood in front of the mirror after your shower, scrutinizing every inch of your body, disgusted with yourself. How had you allowed yourself to get like this? Those girls were right. If Eddie saw you naked now, he’d be repulsed with you. You grabbed the rolls of skin around your middle, pinching them until it hurt, as if you could just pull them off and make them vanish. Tears of revulsion, self-loathing, and despair trailed down your cheeks as you took in the faint stretch marks around your stomach and thighs, the dark circles under your hairs, the wan appearance of the skin on your face. You hated yourself. You hated this body. You were going to lose your husband to someone thinner and prettier than you, someone who did yoga every day and spent hours primping until everything was perfect. You didn’t have time to be perfect. You were too busy trying to figure out how to keep a tiny human alive and happy.

Finally, knowing you couldn’t put it off any longer, you had decided to face the inevitable. Eddie was going to leave you. He would find a replacement for you. And could you blame him? You saw the girls who threw themselves at him night after night. Of course it was only a matter of time…how long could he resist temptation when you were what he had to come home to?

Using your keycard, you opened the hotel door, the soft sound of your husband singing greeting your ears. You dropped your workout bag and peered around the corner to find him swaying in the sitting area, singing sweetly to your daughter. You recognized it. It was ‘All My Love’ by Led Zeppelin, the first song Eddie had danced with you to, out by Lover’s Lake. Just the two of you underneath the moon, those strong arms feeling like the safest place in the world. It was in that moment that you knew he was the only thing you ever wanted in life, that you would do anything to hold onto him forever.

Your heart broke watching him. You knew he adored your daughter. Cadence was his whole world. He would call before shows and ask you to put the phone to her ear so he could talk to her, terrified she would forget the sound of her dad’s voice. Even if he left you, he would never leave her, but that didn’t make the agony any less.

“Hey, there you are,” he whispered as he caught sight of you standing there.

Walking over to the bassinet, he gently laid Cadence down. Moving to you, he took your hands in his, gesturing with his head to follow him into the bedroom. You swallowed the hard knot of emotion that was strangling you and followed him. Eddie sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. Your body tensed, everything in your wanting to run, to flee what was coming, but you fought against it, joining him, your eyes focused on the floor.

“Princess, what is going on?” he asked, his hand covering yours, that calloused thumb gently running along your skin. In spite of yourself, your body immediately responded to his touch, your tense muscles relaxing. “You are obsessively working out and I can’t figure out if it’s because you want to or it’s a way to avoid me.”

“I’m not…” you began, but you knew it was a lie. You were avoiding him because you were terrified of what was going to happen. If you weren’t with him, he couldn’t tell you he was leaving you. “I don’t know. Maybe I am avoiding you.”

“But why?” he urged. “Sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much. I hate being away from you and Cadence. I understand your reasoning for not bringing her on tour, but if we’re only going to be able to have a few days every few weeks, then we should be making the most of our time together. All I want is to curl up with you and her and soak in every single second so it can hopefully be enough to get me to the next time. I don’t know why you don’t want that. Are you…baby, are you unhappy with me?”

“No! I love you!” you exclaimed, shaking your head. You couldn’t do it anymore. Your head dropped forward as your body shook with sobs, all of the ugly things you’d feared, you’d been told, you’d been telling yourself just crashing down on you.

“Oh princess,” Eddie breathed, gathering you in his arms.

He laid back, gently guiding you with him and just held onto you as your entire body released everything that you had been caging, as the dam you’d built broke and the exhaustion, grief, and fear just came flowing out in torrents of pain. You gripped his shirt in your hands, soaking the fabric with your tears, relishing the comfort only he could ever provide you.

“Sweetheart, tell me what’s going on, please?” he implored, his fingers tenderly kneading the flesh of your back. “I hate seeing you like this. Let me help you.”

“I…I…” you gasped. Pausing, you took slow, small breaths to try to calm yourself so you could speak. “Girls at your show, they were saying stuff. How long did I think I could keep you? What was I doing wearing that dress when I looked like a whale? Why did I still look pregnant? Why wasn’t I taking care of myself? I just…”

“What?” Eddie’s head jerked back, his eyes gazing into yours with genuine shock. “Fuck those girls. Who the hell do they think they are talking about my wife, talking about anyone, that way?”

“But it’s true!” you argued, pulling out of his embrace and sitting up. “Look at me! I can’t compare to all those groupies that hang around with their toned stomachs, tight asses, and tits that actually sit where they should without a bra. I’m a goddamn mess! I wanted to work out because…I don’t know. I wanted to be good enough for you, sexy enough for you…so you wouldn’t leave me for one of them.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie crooned, sitting up next to you. His thumb and forefinger gripped your chin, turning your face to his. “I am not going anywhere, ever. I love you. You. And yes, I think you’re beautiful and gorgeous and so damn sexy, but it’s so much bigger than that. What we have is so much deeper than that. You don’t have to do a fucking thing to be good enough for me. You’re more than enough. In fact, you’re too damn good for me. I sit back every day and wonder how I got to be the lucky bastard you chose.”

Tears pooled in your eyes again at his words as you took in this beautiful man who had your whole heart and had since junior year of high school. All these years later, and he still had the ability to take your breath away, to cause you to lose your train of thought, to completely knock you off your feet. He had no idea how goddamn perfect he was.

“I love you, princess, just you,” he whispered, his hand cradling your cheek, his lips so close you could feel the warmth of his breath passing over your skin. “I am never going anywhere.”

Then his lips were on yours, soft and warm, sending shocks of pleasure straight through you. His tongue slid along your lips, parting them so he could explore your mouth. You released a quiet whimper, fingers tangling in his hair, your entire body recognizing him, remembering how much it enjoyed the feel of his mouth and hands.

You gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Your hands roamed along the familiar territory of his skin; his chest, his stomach; that little line of hair that led temptingly to what you desired most. You ran your fingers up his back, across his shoulder blades, relishing every single inch of him that you’d missed so much these last months. His fingers grabbed your shirt and shocked you back to reality. Your hands shot out, covering his and pulling them back.

“What?” he asked, pausing the kiss to look at you, concern apparent in that lovely face. “What’s wrong?”

“N…nothing,” you managed, shaking your head.

Eddie’s head tilted slightly and you could see it in his eyes. He didn’t believe you. He stood from the bed, taking your hand and pulling you up. Those eyes bore into yours, ensuring you everything would be okay as he reached for your shirt again. You fought the urge to stop him as he slowly pulled it over your head. Turning you around, he pressed his chest to your back so you were both facing the floor to ceiling mirror in the bedroom. You cringed, closing your eyes at the sight, attempting to cover your midriff with your arms.

“No, don’t do that,” he whispered in your ear, his hands covering yours and gently pulling them away. “Open your eyes, princess. Trust me.” Uncertainly, you obeyed, opening your eyes, but keeping them on him. “Look at yourself. You are a goddamn goddess and this stomach…” His hands splayed over your skin and you glanced at the mirror, meeting his eyes in it. “This stomach is beautiful. It grew our daughter. It nourished and protected her for nine months. It gave me Cadence. There is not a single part of you that isn’t absolutely perfect to me.”

“Eddie, but I'm not…”

“Shh,” Eddie soothed, cutting you off. His tongue darted out, slipping along the side of your neck and you gasped, heading falling back against him. “Let me worship you like the goddess you are.”

His lips pressed against the skin of your neck, your shoulder. When his teeth joined in, nibbling the tender flesh between your neck and shoulder, you thought your legs would give out from under you. His fingers expertly released the clasp of your bra and it guided it down your arms until it fell to the floor. As his mouth continued torturing you with nips, licks, and kisses, his hands cupped your breasts, not squeezing, just holding them, being tender in knowing how sore they could be from breastfeeding.

“You are gorgeous,” he whispered, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your sweats and panties. A low groan fell from his lips when his fingers found your heat. “Fuck. You’re already so wet. I’ve missed you…I’ve missed this, so fucking much.”

He moved around to the front of you, guiding you back on the bed so your legs were dangling off the side. His hands pulled your sweats and panties off in one smooth movement and he threw them across the room. Kneeling down in front of you, he hitched your legs over his shoulders, putting you on full display for him.

“I love you,” he growled, lips pressing along your inner thighs. “I love every goddamn inch of this body. I am going to show you just how much.”

Then his tongue ran through your folds, from your entrance to your clit and back again. You keened, back arching at the contact, the touch your body had been craving for weeks. Eddie’s hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh as he expertly worked his tongue over you. Fuck, the things this man could do. It was like your body had forgotten, had fallen into a deep coma, and suddenly with one touch it was brought to life again.

“Eddie…shit…” you panted, all concerns about your body and how it looked vanished from your mind as he sent you skyrocketing to the edge of oblivion. “Oh baby, yes…right there. Oh fuck, don’t stop.”

“Didn’t plan on it, princess,” he growled as you gripped his hair tightly in your fingers, grinding yourself against his face. He moaned against you and the feeling of it sent shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Just when you thought this moment couldn’t be any better, Eddie plunged two fingers into you, adeptly twisting them so they instantly hit that pleasure button within you. Fingers grasping the sheets, you screeched, arching up off the bed.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he chuckled, lapping circles around your clit, “don’t want to ruin our fun by waking up Cadence.”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. Fuck, it was so hard to control your volume when he was so expertly sending you towards orgasm. You felt it coming as your stomach knotted, your legs quivered, muscles tensing. You tightened your thighs around his head, biting down on your knuckles as your hips rocked against him desperately.

“That’s it sweetheart. Let it all go. You deserve this,” he urged, before sucking your clit between his lips like it was a hard candy.

Your eyes rolled into your head as you bit down so hard on your knuckles that you broke the skin, pathetic whimpers and moans releasing from your body, sounds you couldn’t even describe if you tried. A half squeak, half shriek exploded from you as your orgasm came crashing like a tidal wave. You gripped Eddie’s hair with one hand, holding his face against you as you rode it out.

Slowly coming down, he pressed a kiss to your center that had you whimpering before those lips began tracing along every inch of your body, not a single bit of skin left untouched. He kissed the tops of your feet, your skins, your knees, your thighs, your stomach, your breasts, your neck, before finally making his way back to your lips. You were a gasping, writhing mess beneath him, his mouth already setting a new fire ablaze in you before the first had completely extinguished.

“Goddamn, you are exquisite,” he said, running the back of his hand along your cheek. “You are so fucking perfect.” His arms wrapped around you, flipping you both so you were on top of him. “I want you to ride me, princess. I want to watch you, every single inch of you.”

“Eddie…” you began to protest but he pressed his finger against your lips, raising his eyebrows.

“Uh-uh,” he insisted, shaking his head. “No more negative talk about yourself. No more mean thoughts about yourself. You are a knockout. You are strong. You are bad-ass. You are a mother. You are perfect and you are mine. I love every single inch of you and I want to see every single inch of you. Get out of your head and just be here with me, princess.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. You could do this. You wanted to do this. You wanted to let it all go, all the toxic shit that had been poisoning your mind and heart, and just be with him. Undoing his pants, Eddie lifted his hips, and you helped him pull them off. You placed one knee on either side of his hips as he held his cock in his hand and guided it within you. You lowered your hips until they were flush against his and you both groaned at the feel of him buried within you, something you’d both been craving for too damn long.

“Jesus,” he hissed, his hands resting on your hips. “I’ve missed being inside you. You were fucking made for me, do you know that?”

You nodded, slowly rocking your hips forward and backward, causing him to hit that delicious spot all over again. You bit your lip, reminding yourself that you had to control your volume, something the two of you had never had to worry about before. Eddie’s hands slid up, gripping the sides of your waist and you paused, but only for a moment, before continuing to move against him. He loved you. He wanted you. You had to stop obsessing and just be in the moment with this beautiful man, this man you adored more than anything on this planet, Cadence excluded of course.

Your head fell back, hair draping down your back as you lost yourself in the sensation of the two of you becoming one, the two of you connected in a way you hadn’t been in too long. This right here, this had always been perfection with Eddie. You’d heard other girls talk about how the sex fizzled out, wasn’t as exciting, but seven years later, nothing about her desire for him had languished, it had only intensified. Seeing him as a father had just made him even more sexy. Seeing how much he loved your daughter was the greatest aphrodisiac. It had only been medical necessity and then your own insecurities that had hindered it, but right now, you were remembering all of the reasons you needed to let it go. You begin moving your hips in a circular motion and Eddie gasped at the new sensation.

“Fuck baby, that’s so good,” he murmured, eyes devouring you. One of his hands glided along your stomach, in between your breasts, resting on your throat. “You look like goddamn Sune right now, goddess of love and light…just fucking gorgeous.”

If you weren’t lost in the throes of pleasure, you would have laughed. Of course he would compare you to a DnD character. Damn, you loved that the nerd you fell in love with was still in there. He hadn’t lost himself to the fame and celebrity that came with his rockstar lifestyle. At his core, he was still just your Eddie.

“Come here,” he urged, hands wrapping around you and pulling you down to his chest, crushing you against him as close as he could. He began to thrust his hips upward and you bit down on the flesh of his shoulder to keep from screaming in pleasure. He growled against your ear, one hand cradling your head, the other around your back. “Fuck baby, I am so close.”

“Me too…I…Eddie!” you screamed, gripping his shoulders for dear life as he plunged into you again and again, your orgasm shuddering through you. As your walls pulled tightly around him, he wasn’t long to follow, gripping you to him as he held himself within you, filling you with his release.

You felt when his muscles relaxed, his body going slack beneath you. Eddie continued to hold you to him, moaning softly with gratification as he kissed your forehead, your nose, your lips. You looked up to see him looking at you, a sleep, satisfied smile on his lips. Your hand came up to rest on his cheek as you tucked yourself against him, burrowing into your own personal safe space.

“Jesus…” he muttered with a low chuckle. “That was goddamn amazing. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you,” you stated, kissing his chest. “I’m so sorry I’ve been so distant during this trip. I’ve missed you so damn much and I feel like I’ve wasted our time together.”

“So, don’t go,” Eddie insisted. “What’s the rush? You can stay as long as you want.” You opened your mouth but he stopped you. “Look, I know the road is not a normal life for a baby. I’m aware of that. I get all your reasons but we’re not normal, sweetheart. We’re far from it. We have plenty of people on this tour to help. I miss you and Cadence so much. When you’re not with me, there’s just this hole…I’m not complete when you’re not here. I’m not happy. I’m not myself. Everyone notices it. Just, promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

“There’s nothing to think about,” you said and his face fell, all hope vanishing instantly. Reaching out, you took his face in his hands, bringing his eyes back to yours. “There’s nothing to think about because I was already going to say that I think we should try it. I miss you too. I am miserable without you and Cadence needs her daddy. I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to this and I am willing to give it a try.”

Eddie’s entire face lit up, those sweet simple appearing in his cheeks, his eyes like melted chocolate, so soft and warm as he pressed his lips to yours for a deep, gentle kiss.

“Yeah? You’re going to come on the road with me?”

“Baby, I would go anywhere with you. You’re my home, not some walls and a roof, just you,” you replied.

“You have no idea how happy you…”

You were cut off as the sound of Cadence’s cries shattered the quiet of the hotel room. Sighing, you went to get up but Eddie stopped you, gently pushing you back to the bed.

“I’ve got her. There’s still bottles you pumped in the fridge. You get some sleep.” Leaning over, he kissed your forehead. “Let me do my job. And hey, I have to thank my daughter. At least she let her dad finish before interrupting.”

You laughed, burrowing down in the bed as you watched him pull on some sweats and head out of the room. This was going to be good. Everything was going to be okay. You knew if anyone could make this work, it was the two of you.

#eddie munson #stranger things eddie #eddie the banished #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson rockstar au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson rockstar #eddie munson fic #rockstar eddie munson

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sezja · 2 years

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Mermay AU, Part 6

Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Another week passes with no sign of Sanson.

It don't mean a thing, Guydelot tries to reassure himself, plucking an anxious tune on his harp, scanning the water for any telltale flicker of gold. Sanson's got his duties, that's all. So why's his stomach churning, then?

Twelve save him; is it going to be like this every time? Anxiety sours into frustration. It's inconvenient, this constant wondering if he's ever going to see the man - merman - ever again, this persistent need to see him again. It's not like him, this... this pining, and he doesn't care for it. All this agonizing over someone he hasn't so much as kissed, someone who might not even feel the same!

Guydelot recalls, abruptly, the stunned expression on Sanson's face when the bard touched him. Hadn't he decided to leave right after that?

Anxiety again. What if he'd broken some unknown rule of conduct; what if he'd spooked Sanson so badly the merman would never return? Hells. He sets the harp aside, rubbing his face. Damn it all, he hadn't been thinking when he'd done it; not thinking anything as made sense, anyhow. He'd just been letting himself think about how easy Sanson was to talk to, how beautiful he looked in the moonlight...

He's going to drive himself mad like this.

What he ought to do is go find himself some company for the night, lose himself in them, and let them chase away all the thoughts of Sanson that keep swimming around in his mind. He hasn't been with anyone since he'd first caught the merman spying on him, that's the trouble - one good night, that's all he needs; one good night, and he'll remember all the lovely pleasures there are right here on dry land, and no more letting himself get strung along by a gods-bedamned merman, of all things. He'll head back to Gridania, that's what he'll do, and he'll find a warm armful to raise his spirits.

But he doesn't move.

It just doesn't have the draw it once had, he realizes - the idea of bedding a stranger, or even one of his more frequent companions. He knows what he wants, and it's not to be found there.

...But then, it's not to be found here, either. Not tonight, at any rate.

It's grown late, the sun's been down for bells. Guydelot stands, collecting his harp. It's certainly not too late to find his way to a tavern for the night, he supposes... but no, he's too glum for company; he'll trudge his way home, pour himself into bed the same way he has all week, and tomorrow he'll do it all again, wasting the waning hours of the day waiting for Sanson's return.

"Guydelot," comes a voice at the edge of the pier, and Guydelot's heart leaps.

"You!" He exclaims, kneeling down to get a better look at Sanson as he pulls himself up to lean on the dock as he had the day they met. "You'll drive a man half-mad waiting on you, you know."

Sanson frowns. "I did warn you I have my duties... never mind. I shouldn't-"

"Shouldn't stay long?" Guydelot guesses, glancing skyward. "Aye, it's already late. I didn't reckon on you showing up after dark."

"Shouldn't..." Sanson repeats, then trails off. Shakes his head. Droplets of water cling to his skin, glittering in the moonlight. He takes a deep breath. "Guydelot, I have not been wholly honest with you."

Guydelot sits down once more... and then as an afterthought, he lies down - on his stomach, arms folded beneath his chin, the better to be at eye-level with the merman clinging to the dock. "Is this the part where you reveal you really are just trying to seduce me and drag me down to the depths?"

"I have been-" Sanson pauses, blinks. "I- what?"

"They tell stories up here." The bard grins. "No? That's a shame. I was looking forward to being seduced. You're well on the way to it."

Is Sanson blushing? Hard to tell in this light. "I've never- but that's absurd, I-"

"Oh?" He feigns hurt, giving the merman an exaggerated frown. "What, you don't think I'm worth seducing, eh?"

"Not at all. Th-that is, no, you're worth- but I'm not- I would never- unless-"

"Unless?"

"This is not at all what I needed to say to-"

Guydelot leans forward, brushing his lips lightly, gently against Sanson's. Only a second, half a heartbeat. The sweetest and most chaste kiss by far since the fumbling years of his adolescence, but he doesn't want to scare the man off now. Do merfolk even kiss? The bewildered look on Sanson's face suggests they don't.

After a moment, Sanson manages a quiet, "Oh."

"Liked that, did you?"

"...Do it again," the merman orders, tugging himself a bit further forward on the dock, closer to Guydelot. "Tell me how to do it."

"I'd just as soon show you." And Guydelot does, lifting one hand to cup Sanson's jaw, stroking the merman's cheek with his thumb. Such a strange texture, yet irresistible to the touch; he's been dreaming about it since they'd last met. And Sanson's lips against his are soft and sweet, trying with eager, endearing clumsiness to match his movements.

Sanson jerks away, startled. "You licked me!"

It makes Guydelot laugh, despite himself. "Aye, well, I suppose in the strictest sense."

"That's..." Sanson touches his own lips. "Is that... customary?"

"Aye, usually. Reckon I can leave that part out if you don't care for it."

Now he knows Sanson's blushing. And perhaps a little breathless. "Do... do it again?"

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #my writing #mermay #my hand's feeling better and i'm going to make that everyone else's problem #once again sanson fails to tell guydelot they can't see each other anymore #bless his heart he sure is trying

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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

Text

the knife

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Once a week, Bucky cleans and sharpens his knives, but this time, the easy task takes another path.

word count: 1.936 words. (i know, it's long, but it worth it).

warnings/tags: nsfw, +18!!! knife!kink, sir!kink, praising!kink, foreplay (female receiving, use of a knife), language, mention of bodily fluid.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

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Who in their right mind wouldn’t feel hypnotized by the way Bucky has to dance a knife between his fingers?

Once a week it’s all he does during the day. Clean and sharpen his knives, after spending the whole morning training with them, while you can’t stop looking at him amazed. And horny. You feel like a slut, let’s be clear. You can’t help but imagine how good his hands make you feel whenever he touches you, whenever he grips your throat, whenever he pulls your hair. But, mostly, he’s too stupid to notice it. Even innocent you could say.

So, there you are, sitting on the sofa in front of him pretending to be reading a book, while his fingers grab a cloth with too much care to clean the blade of his favorite one. The one you got him for your first anniversary. A mini-machete with a black leather handle and golden ornaments all around it. When Bucky saw it for the first time, he fell in love.

As soon as he raises his oceanic eyes towards you, yours fall to the pages trying to hide the bunch of emotions within your chest and your lower belly. You can’t help but lick your lips clearing your throat, a gesture that makes him giggle putting down the machete over the table. In complete silence, Bucky stands up to stretch his arms to the ceiling, before leading his steps dangerously closer to you. Pressing your lips to contain a guilty laugh for being caught in action, you look at him through your eyelashes.

“You have something to tell me, doll?”

You shake your head swallowing greedily, about to choke on your own saliva.

“You sure?” He inquires then, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his grey sweatpants.

Fucking grey sweatpants. This time, you nod with your head, whilst he is sitting by your side. Bucky grabs the book between your hands, tossing it above his shoulder to somewhere on the floor, without putting his eyes away from yours. You gulp again, starting to feel some difficulties to breathe staring at him placing his arm made of vibranium over your shoulders. There’s no gesture on his face when he raises his left hand to your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him.

“C'mon... Tell me what you want”.

His lips brush yours, driving you insane and racing your heart, as his firm tone of voice slides itself between them. A shiver runs down your backbone, drying your throat as the heat floods your guts. But you can’t think of a single word to say. Bucky waits patiently a couple of seconds, nodding at the end as —for him— the game has started. He puckers his lips, about to get up from the sofa pulling his hands away from you. And you stop him. Of course you do. As soon as you can react. You grab his cold wrist to push him back, almost falling on top of you.

Bucky’s laugh fills the whole room, getting comfier between your legs while your fingers get tangled in his long brown hair. Using the tip of his tongue, he licks your lips at the same time he crashes his pelvis against your needed core. You can’t hold a loud and pleased moan, closing your eyes and hearing another laugh coming from his mouth.

“Last chance, doll. Do you have something to tell me?” The soldier grunts onto your lips.

“Just… touch me, please”. You’re almost sobbing so anxiously, when Bucky starts to rock his hips between your legs, creating a very satisfying friction.

“No, doll... We’re gonna try something new”.

Your eyes widen in surprise, curiosity, and confusion, touring the length of his metallic arm until reaching the long fingers grabbing the mini-machete you gave him. You gasp uncontrollably, while his other hand snakes up your thigh to find your panties under the baggy shirt you’re wearing. One of the shirts you usually steal from his wardrobe. Bucky brings the blade to his teeth, holding it there to sit up and help you to strip. In less than a blink, you are completely exposed to his attentive and lustful blue eyes.

You spread your legs for him without the needing of being asked for, showing him in all its glory your warm cunt shining in your arousal. Bucky would give his life for digging his hard and twitching dick in your pussy right now, but he has another plan. One that you are going to enjoy anyway. Leaning over you with the machete now back to his hand, his left forefinger goes straight to your folds; wetting it with your sweet juices in a soft stroke.

“Open your mouth”. He demands with such a raspy tone of voice, bringing the handle of his knife to your lips.

You welcome it in silence, delighted, hornier than ever. Twelve inches of leather that you suck and lick pleasantly for him. You cover it with your saliva, swirling your tongue around it as he marks the rhythm inside your mouth. Meanwhile, his index finger helps you to calm your anxiety, giving enough attention to your swollen clit. You can’t think, you can’t moan, you can’t breathe. You two haven’t started and you feel already that you could cum in less than a sigh. Bucky sees it in your eyes, and he can’t hide a petty smile growing on his face. He loves to tease you.

“Have you been feeling like this all day, uh?”

Pulling away the handle from your mouth, he drags it over your skin, down by your collarbone and the small space between your breasts. Slowly, too damn slowly. You don’t know how he can control himself this good when you’re about to cry. You need him so much. All the time. But days like these… You need him twice as much.

“Yes…” You just mumble weakly as the wet handle reaches your abdomen continuing his path down.

“Tell me what you want”.

“Put it inside me, please…”

“Please, what, uh?”

“Please, sir”.

You can see your boyfriend breathing through his parted lips, catching his air at the moment he watches you whimper when the leather slightly touches your clit. You are so beautiful for him —legs opened, hard nipples and begging.

Placing his flesh arm under your waist to raise a little your ass, Bucky plays with the handle up and down your slit, making a pressure that causes you to grunt annoyed. He giggles inevitably, sliding it slowly into your wetness, and you can’t help but arch your back pleased when the knife starts to stretch your walls so torturously and deliciously. When his cool fingers touch you provoking you a soft chill, and you feel it’s completely inside you, Bucky moves back his hand with the same slow pace.

He’s driving you crazy. He knows it pretty well. He doesn’t enjoy anything more than the fact of having you under his control, under his power. Gripping his warm hand around your throat, he makes himself some space by your side on the sofa. Now, his lips can touch yours, drink your delighted sobs, look at your eyes from closer.

“Do you like it, baby doll?”

“Yes… Yes, sir… I li— like it, sir”. You utter with a broken thread of voice, nodding with your head briefly.

“I know. I can feel it. You think I don’t notice…” He whispers in a hum, sticking his forehead to yours, tightening the grip around your neck. “But the truth is… I do it on purpose. I always make sure you look at me. Anyone else, but at me”.

Oh, there it is. These insecurities he always hides masterfully, but the ones that claim your attention the whole time. Bucky needs you too. You were the first person who didn’t treat him like an assassin, nor like a monster. He lives to make you happy. He can’t think about the idea of losing you one day, just because he doesn’t give you enough. But he is. He is more than enough. And you prove him every single day since you met him.

“Please, sir… I wa— want more… faster”. You plea against his lips, placing your arms around his, softly swinging your hips at the rhythm of the knife he’s using to fuck you.

“You want it faster, uh?” He repeats playfully, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek at the end.

“Please…”

And Bucky pleases you. The move of his wrist makes the pace increase a little. The handle goes somewhat deeper, carefully to not hurt you. He twists it making you moan, stir, bite your tongue. Bucky is well-aware of what you like and how you like it. And he wants to make you cream his mini-machete to remember that day whenever he uses it in a mission, far away from you.

A wet, dirty noise starts to make an appearance when the thrusts into your soaked cunt are more constant, just like your satisfied vocals echo the room. Bucky spreads kisses all over your face, keeping his fingers around your neck to keep you close.

“God… you’re such a good girl taking my knife this good”. Your boyfriend can’t help but purr onto your ear, feeling how he could cum in his sweatpants just by looking at you so damn needy for him. “And I swear… it’s not gonna be the only one… I’m gonna make you fuck all my knives, doll”.

Just imagining it, you feel the tickles concentrating in your lower belly. You feel your juices spilling down your buttocks and staining the sofa. This man is going to be the death for you. But if you have to die… Is there any other better way?

“C'mon… do your magic…” He encourages you, getting closer to your lips.

Bucky doesn’t give you the chance to moan in a reply, tucking his tongue into your mouth to devour it. The pushes to your g-spot become eager, harder, and well-aimed; wanting at all cost to make you cum. And as soon as he feels your legs shivering, he goes faster. You can’t control it. The orgasm is growing inside you easily as a forest is set on fire with a match. Crying out with his tongue invading your cavity and dominating yours, you tangle a hand on his hair arching your back as you find a new position that gives you some more pleasure. But you can’t hold it anymore.

Bucky is stealing your air by gripping your throat tighter, kissing you so impatiently, and you can’t hold it anymore.

The soldier swallows the loud howl that borns in the deepest place of your soul, feeling the explosion inside your stomach as you jump inevitably into the abyss of heat. But he doesn’t stop. He continues rocking the knife inside you, wanting to hear you a little more. Wanting to hear his full name mixed with your delighted whining and your growls. It’s never enough for you, nor for him. And now you want him inside you.

“Please… Please…” You cry pushing his metallic hand away from you, making him toss the soaked knife with your juices to the floor. “Please, sir… Fuck me… I beg you… I need your dick”.

“'Course you need it, my little angel… You need it all the damn time, don’t you?” He doesn’t sound angry, but his voice is rougher than ever.

He’s upset because you have forced him to pull out his mini-machete, but soon Bucky forgets it when he is buried deep inside your cunt. His cunt. Only his.

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moemammon · 3 years

Note

When I was in High School, my crush and I got into a fight and neither of us were talking to each other. One day I was headed up the stairwell to get to my science class, when I saw them coming up from behind... I don't think they had even noticed me yet considering that they were busy talking to their friend BUT I am slow going up stairs so even if I rushed up the stairs roadrunner style they would have caught up to me, well; the little corner that connects the steps going up to the second floor and the steps heading down to the ground floor had a large open window... and I jumped out, like I literally just jumped out. I didn't even think it through, I just saw the window and my body was like "Yep, IK what to do." I landed on a bush or tree? It's too big to call a bush but too small to call a tree, landed in a squat before my feet gave out and I fall onto my knees and got two large grass stains on my jeans knee part, couldn't walk right either after that landing, I was shaky all day lol but it was a risk well calculated bc the whole thing would have been so awkward. I mean we used to be like BFFS before the rumors began and then they started and we just stopped talking without warning, we couldn't even look at each other. Our science partners, bc we were in groups of four, literally got fed up of our bullshit bc we literally refused to acknowledge the others existence... anyway, I digress...

Anyway, this whole story is a long winded way of me requesting how the brothers would react to an MC that literally just jumps out windows to avoid awkward moments, or to dodge people that want to ask them for favors, or when they straight up want to avoid someone?

And sorry about the large ass message, but thanks for letting me vent

You have a special place in my heart, window-jumping anon. Just uhhhhhhh look down next time okay? Ily

The Demon Brothers react to GN!MC jumping out of a window to avoid an awkward moment

(Mario jumping sound effect)

Lucifer

He approached you after class to ask exactly what you were snickering at your D.D.D. about during class.

Must've been real funny if you weren't listening to your lecture, huh?

"I imagine you've somehow found something worthy of laughing about in Demonology 101?"

You do not have the guts to tell him that you and Mammon were texting back and forth, abusing a new photo editing app to alter pictures of the eldest himself.

I mean, take a wild guess about how he’d react to seeing how big you edited his head to be-

The avatar of pride lets his eyes pierce into you, like he's trying to stare a hole through your blanket of "uh"s and "um"s,

You don't exactly see a way out of this one, but you can NOT let Lucifer see your photo gallery.

So you glance to your left to the open classroom window, and do the only thing you can think of: you jump.

Luckily you're on the ground floor so you??? really didn't have to jump so dramatically. But the fact that you yeeted yourself into a bush JUST to escape has left Lucifer speechless.

Honestly? He so impressed with your dedication that he's not gonna stop you. Besides, he's gonna see you back at home anyway so-

Also thinks you might be hanging around Mammon too much because that 100% seems like a stunt he’d pull.

Mammon

GIVE GOLDIE BACK RIGHT NOW

He KNOWS Lucifer told you to bring the credit card to him, and he demands to know where it's hidden! He's positive you know where it is!

But you don't really though?? You just brought the card to him like you were asked. If anything, you're the victim here!

But Mammon isn't having that. The avatar of greed is circling around you like an angry cat, patting you all over like airport security to see if you've got his beloved card.

"Where is it, huh?! Ya really think you can steal from THE Mammon?! Even if Lucifer told ya to, who do ya think you are?!"

When he has confirmed that you don't in fact have his previous Goldie, he's now cornering you up against a wall.

If looks could kill, you would've exploded into a fine powder

And you feel like your mental strength is about to do just that. So what do you do after you notices the slightest of breezes caress your face?

You jump outta that open window, before Mammon can even finish his "Wh- Oi! What're ya-"

Even though you just face planted into the garden, you're up on your feet and making a mad dash for somewhere that wasn't here.

Mammon lets you run for ten while seconds before he's hopping out after you. You think you can outfox the Great Mammon?! Think again!!!

Levi

You... weren't interested in this movie in the slightest, but you didn't have the heart to tell Levi that. Especially not after he’d begged/harassed you for the past week about watching it with him!

Reluctantly you agreed, and now you were suffering,,,But Levi was ecstatic! This movie was a classic! Sure it was an old one and the acting was a little bad, but you could overlook that if you watched it with your heart, not your eyes!

According to Levi.

You managed to keep your eyes open for the grueling one and a half hour movie, enduring every corny line of bad acting, horrible CGI, and lame sound effects straight out of a 90s super hero movie, and now the hell was finally over...

Or so you though, until Levi followed that up by immediately pulling out a cosplay outfit worn by one of the supporting characters in the show.

Funny how it seemed specifically tailored to your measurements. Even funnier how Levi was looking at you with those damned eyes.

You knew what he wanted without him even having to say it. But one look at the gaudy outfit he presented to you made your heart burn with a sudden indescribable urge.... to escape.

Honestly you caught him so off guard by suddenly getting up and sprinting out of the room, that he makes a sound that's pretty much the noise equivalent of "?!?!?!?!?!?"

He watches you run down to the end of the hall, throw the window open, and fuckin JUMP. Pretty sure he just witnessed your death??

Also this kinda solidified his 'gross otaku' mentality, seeing as you literally jumped out of a window to get out of cosplaying with him. A simple no would've sufficed, MC.......,.,,..,,,

Hey gamers... can we get an F in the chat? 😔✌️💦

Satan

Satan lent you a book to read last week that he was sure you'd be interested in! He found it pretty interesting himself, so he wants to see if you'd like it as much as he did.

That being said, you don't have the heart to tell him that you,,, didn't read any of it. Well you kind of did, if the cover counts for anything.

You doubt he would accept that as an answer, considering how you told him how much you appreciated receiving the book, and how you'd definitely read it and let him know how it was.

So now, Satan had come into your room with two cups of tea, ready to settle down and have a nice, long talk about your thoughts on the riveting plot that you promised you would indulge in.

"I'm really glad you decided to read it. I found that the protagonist reminded me a lot like you. I'd like to know what you thought about it."

Satan sets down the tea cups, and one sip tells you that he brewed it exactly the way you like.

His expression is eager and warm as he waits for you to begin gushing about just how deeply the story touched you... how absolutely moved you are by the sheer majesty that was the book he lent you...

Okay yeah, you're sweating bullets. You can't imagine how the sparkly eyed avatar of wrath would react to learning that you chose the company of your D.D.D. over Satan's book.

You don't have such an ice cold hard that you can just crush this book nerds dreams like that! And every time you look at his expectant face, the weight of your crimes weigh heavier on you until... you break.

Satan watches in shock and awe as you almost perfectly reenact the big scene where the main character leaps out of the window of a building rigged to explode, before making their escape. And you did just that.

Wow.. he never thought you could be so moved by a story, but he completely understands...

Asmo

How many outfits, Asmo. HOW MANY OUTFTITS WILL IT TAKE TO APPEASE YOU?

He's made you model TWELVE outfits so far, and you swear if you see another ascot, you're gonna lose your mind.

Asmodeus doesn't seem to notice the way the light slowly fades from your eyes, because he's pulling out outfit number thirteen with that cheery smile of his.

"Isn't this one absolutely adorable? Look, this part will look lovely around your waist! This part here hugs your body in all the right places, and this-"

You can't do it. You've gotta get out of here. You'd love to stand around and get mild rug burn from trying on a billion different clothes, but-

Actually no you wouldn't.

You DID promise Asmo you'd hang out with him today, but this wasn't really your idea of a good time.

"-Oooh, just thinking about it makes me want to eat you up~! Here, put it on for me, will you? I'll give you a kiss as a reward!"

You would do no such thing.

You make a mad dash for his ornate window and push it open. He has no time to stop you as he helplessly watches you vault yourself out like the room was on fire.

"MC?! Wh-where are you going?? Come back here! Grass stains are impossible to get out of that fabric!!!"

Beel

He means well. I swear he does. It's just that Beel can be a little... overbearing when he's worried about you. He cares, okay?

But he hasn't seen you eat anything all day! You tell him it's because you've got a stomach ache from who knows what, and you promise you've had little snacks here and there to keep from starving, but he can't accept that!

Eating is important, and you need it to survive. So Beelzebub was currently trying to nudge your mouth open with a pizza slice, while you vehemently refused. "Just one bite. And then another after that. You have to eat, or you'll go hungry... and I don't want that."

Beel knows the true pain of being hungry, and he’d never wish that on you! So just forget about your stomach ache for two seconds and open up-

Not that you really can. The aroma of that pizza was not sitting well on your stomach, and you were pretty sure you needed a fast escape or you'd risk losing your lunch. Greasy foods didn't exactly mix well with sour stomachs...

Beel still won't let up. He has a strong hand planted firmly on the small of your back, as if trying to prevent you from leaning back any further in your attempt to escape the pizza.

"If you eat this, I'll treat you to dessert at Madam Screams," he says, as if bribing your refusal of food USING food will somehow work out.

You can't break his heart, but you seriously can't eat that! Your head is spinning, thoughts racing, face becoming greasier and greasier from the pizza pressed against it, and-

You snap. In a sudden burst of strength you break free from Beel's grasp, and sprint toward the nearest window. All you see is your chance for freedom, and you're taking it.

You leap out and tumble into the ground, all while Beelzebub wonders what?? Just happened???? Did you really hate pizza that much...?

He never knew you were such a picky eater... To think you'd go so far as to jump out of the window though...

Belphie

You thought it was cute at first, when Belphegor wanted you to join him for his naps. And you didn't mind much. It was the weekend, you were tired, and he makes a pretty good body pillow.

But you didn't realize he planned for this to become an everyday thing. The youngest might not act it, but he sure could be spoiled.

But seriously, if you slept any longer, you might never have a normal sleep schedule again! It never occurred to you just how often Belphie sleeps.

He's definitely not human, because there's no way you can keep up with that, and maintain a normal lifestyle.

But the way he quietly, gently grabs your sleeve to cue your next nap session makes your heart clench. Why was it so damned hard to say no to this gremlin??

You were trying your best though, but the words always seemed to get caught in your throat. Belphie picked apart your excuses, doing everything in his power to take you back to the attic.

"You can study when you wake up." "Mammon wants to go shopping? Reschedule." "Lucifer told you not to be late to the board meeting? Just hide."

You're starting to get sucked into the sleepy lull of his voice, and it feels like your entire body is becoming heavy with fatigue. But no.... you resist!

Since there's no escaping this through words, you have to think fast. Fortunately, your fast thinking has led to an amazing solution!

Jump out of the window, baby

Belphie is just??? Did you fuckin???? Are your legs okay??????????????

He probably stops asking you to nap with him for a while, since you're willing to almost break your legs just to get out of it. You're gonna make him have weird dreams....

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argylemikewheeler · 3 years

Text

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he wished some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift. Fucking off and being a better piece of shit son just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So don’t call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was sure his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um, puzzles to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we can’t . So, that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is more than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially his familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green dash barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded cool in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like everyone was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I have to show you all my inventions! Camp was the best four weeks of my life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa! Girlfriend ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just Steve that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s super smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I just saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the Chief now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not... looking at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car could speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was upset that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.” Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since no one else in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright-- Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they weren’t dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected: his sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike-- just Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he really was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly: do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re never early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t have to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy. Doctor doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t too comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just was . Rather than being cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in: In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole… thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything to forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but instead seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to obscure the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well are you seeing someone, Jonathan? -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will needed to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little understanding between best friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too everything to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the disgusting amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress. Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No-- no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s nothing . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even see us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I meant what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I meant because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 296: Ngl, This One Pissed Me Off

Previously on BnHA: Deku was all, “p.s. I actually activated yet another quirk several chapters ago when Kacchan got stabbed.” Compress was all, “[gets captured and passes out].” Spinner was all “[rifles through Tomura’s pockets and slaps a random Charbroiled Hand onto his friend’s unconscious face].” Tomura was all, “SOMEHOW THAT ACTUALLY WORKED” and woke up again, except it wasn’t really him, it was everyone’s favorite Final Villain, AFO. AFO was all, “time to escape finally” and summoned a bunch of Noumu and Absconded with Spinner and the DabiMarble in tow. Skeptic was all, “Horikoshi forgot I existed, but I’m actually Absconding in marble-form as well.” Deku was all, “ATTENTION WORLD, I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THAT I OFFICIALLY WANT TO SAVE SHIGARAKI TOMURA.” And then the arc just sort of ended lol.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all, “but when you think about it, do we really need literally any female teachers at U.A. at all?” and for whatever reason doesn’t stop to wait for an answer. Midnight, who absolutely did not need to die, Dies, and I’m pissed about it. Ochako wanders the ruins of Jakku for what feels like hours, rescuing small children while her adult hero compatriots fall to pieces around her, because apparently the U.A. kids really are the only people who have their shit together. The citizens of Japan are all “damn that’s wild, wonder how fucked we are now,” but are actually super casual and chill about it which is oddly realistic. The chapter ends with AFO in Tartarus being all “lol time for the prison break arc,” without giving us so much as a chance to catch our breath, like holy shit. Are we on the clock or something now, goddamn.

lmao it’s like 7pm on a Sunday night and this is out already. this is like the worst possible timing lol. there goes my nice, relaxed evening. unless of course this turns out to be a nice, restful, soothing chapter, as chapters coming on the heels of traumatic, earth-shattering battles so often are. yeah, break out the Pina Colada song and the little drink umbrellas, I got a good feeling about this one

(ETA: I mean, I was obviously being sarcastic here but damn, Horikoshi.)

-- fff why did I laugh

it’s the crumbling city ruins in the background that really does it, I think. JUST LOOK AT THIS MESS THAT YOU HAVE MADE, EVERYONE. FOR SHAME

also, the title is dramatic af and I am so fucking excited you guys, like holy shit. BnHA’s In-Between arcs have always been my favorite part of the series, because it’s when all the character development and angst and/or catharsis happens. just, those little breathing spaces in between the action when everyone gathers to recuperate and compartmentalize their fresh new traumas lmao. bring on that angst!! but also, let’s please have some Comfort to offset all of this Hurt too, please and thanks

blah blah blah so the survivors were evacuated, good good, can you actually show us though?

AHHHHHHH

PIXIE BOB SURVIVED!!!! WASH IS STILL ALIVE LMAO HOW. THIRTEEN’S FACE, OMG SHOULD I LOOK AWAY. IS IT LIKE MANDALORIAN RULES. IDK HOW IT WORKS

HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY ALIVE. LOLS ANYWAY I’M HERE FOR IT. FEEL FREE NOT TO KILL ANYONE ELSE HERE HORIKOSHI, I THINK WE’RE GOOD

(ETA: it’s like talking to a brick wall.)

oh my god do we really need exposition about how the heroes tried to stop TomurAFO from escaping and OF COURSE failed completely because they suck lmao. oh my god I am shocked, that is such shocking news

wow they only managed to defeat three of the Noumus. holy shit. again, all of the Not-Kid Heroes are only slightly more useful than cardboard cutouts of heroes at this point, MORE AT ELEVEN

so Tomura may have lost the PLF, but he still more or less has an army then, huh. I really don’t know how anyone could expect a timeskip with that threat looming over everyone’s heads

oh nvm lol there are only seven Noumus left. wait so you’re telling me there were only ten Nearly High Ends in that last chapter?? felt more like fifty but whatever lol I’ll take your word for it

COMPRESS YAY YOU’RE ALIVE TOO

MAYBE THEY CAN EVEN REATTACH HIS ASS. I’M SERIOUS LOL, BECAUSE HE STILL HAS IT, DOESN’T HE? OR IF NOT, THEY CAN REBUILD HIM WITH A PROSTHETIC ASS. he’ll be more powerful than ever

WHAAAAAAT YEAH BOIIIII

WOOO, EDGESHOT, WOOOOO. THAT’S HIS WAY OF THE NINJA

YEAHHHHH SUCK IT, PLF

(ETA: for the record I don’t think Cementoss is dead here, just badly wounded. if he had died he would have been included in the forthcoming In Memoriam page along with the others.)

GET BENT LOL. TRUMPET I FOR REAL FORGOT YOU EVEN EXISTED. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOU LOSERS AGAIN PLEASE. ONLY INTERESTING CHARACTERS MAY PROCEED PAST THIS POINT

dsflksaldkh;l

that’s... holy shit. that’s a bigass mansion, that’s what that is. also so does this mean there are still eighty thousand PLF members still at large, because that’s a plot line I very much do not care about in any way whatsoever lol. can’t we just retcon to say that Re-Destro was exaggerating? I mean hell, a CEO criminal pulling some Enron-type bullshit is pretty believable, isn’t it? those poor bamboozled shareholders

“makeste, here’s an idea, what if you scrolled down to read the rest of the page” lol gtfo of here with your logic and your sense

well those 132 people have made it onto my enemies list, but at least it sounds like they more or less took care of the rest. good riddance

and Toga escaped, as we knew already, and is now on the lam. hopefully she reunites with the League again at some point. although her doing her own thing could also be very interesting. idk what I want lol

anyway so there’s another big panel showing how fucked up the city is, just in case it hadn’t already been hammered into our skulls yet. there’s a car dangling off a roof somehow. how does that even happen. did Machia pick it up and put it there or

NOOO OMG RANDOM SMALL CHILDREN IN PERIL WHAT IS THIS

OCHAKO PLEASE SAVE THEM OMG

“if it falls on me, I want you to have my Endeavor pouch” OH MY STARS. HIS MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSION. NO MY CHILD YOU CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE YET

LMAO

“FOR THE LAST TIME NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR DUSTY-ASS POUCH, KYLE” fffff these children are dying and I am cracking up so hard my eyes are tearing up what is wrong with me

YAY THEY SAVED THEM

but listen. not that I don’t love seeing the girls kick ass, because you know I do. but I also really, REALLY need to know what’s going down with the Musketeers, and I’m not looking forward to waiting three whole weeks for that so please Horikoshi. please hurry this along so we can get to them

goddamn it Tsuyu is saying she’ll take the boy to the shelter to get first aid, and I was all “okay great because that’s probably where Kacchan and the others are too”, but now someone else is shouting for help and Ochako’s all “I’ll go” and it’s like OKAY BUT PLEASE? this chapter is already more than half over omfg. ‘bout to start wringing some hands here

oh my god

is this Toga again??? WHAT THE HELL, THIS CREEPYASS HALF-DEAD DUDE BETTER BE LEADING UP TO SOMETHING INTERESTING, I AM REALLY GETTING IMPATIENT

OR, I GUESS, WE COULD DO THIS INSTEAD

“SO AS IT TURNS OUT, NOT EVERY CHARACTER WHO NEEDS HELP SAVING THEIR SPOUSE FROM FALLEN RUBBLE IS ACTUALLY TOGA IN DISGUISE” HUH, OKAY. DULY NOTED. FILED AWAY FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

but fucking... okay, look. I love Ochako, I do. but I like her a whole lot more when she’s interacting with other characters I actually care about, as opposed to running around in the rubble rescuing random people while the fate of my other children is still up in the air. like okay, I get it, shit’s bad, now if you don’t mind we really don’t have to spend all day here though

...anyways but nope, we’re still staying with her. she’s bouncing around rescuing all of these other people. omg. I literally have no patience here at all and it’s terrible, I know, but oh my god

omg finally something interesting is happening!!

look at that, an adult hero standing around being useless while the kids are busy getting shit done. why is this becoming a recurring theme

MY DUDE, THIS IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME THOUGH

I GET THAT IT’S OVERWHELMING AND THAT YOU’RE TRAUMATIZED AND SHIT, BUT GUESS WHAT, SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. THAT’S WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR. JUST LOOK AT OCHAKO! SHE’S SO EXHAUSTED HER HAIR HAS EVEN LOST ITS FLOOF, AND YET SHE’S STILL OUT HERE DOING HER BEST. ONE SAVE AT A TIME MY MAN. GET IT DONE. LITERALLY A SMALL CHILD IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT CALLING FOR THEIR MOMMY AND YOU’RE JUST STANDING THERE ALL “WAHH IT’S TOO MUCH” LIKE COULD YOU PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR CRISIS UNTIL AFTER YOU SAVE THEM PLEASE

OH MY GOD

MAYBE YOU SHOULD!! oh my god I really cannot, like wow. oh no I actually have to save people and do my job, god forbid. jesus christ, at least the other heroes tried. but Moping Hero: Bellyache here is just throwing in the towel and fuck everyone who still needs his help I guess. you are like the anti-Deku my dude

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD NO OH FUCK

THAT’S MIDNIGHT’S HAND OH FU -- SHE BETTER NOT -- HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD --

I’M GONNA LOSE IT I REALLY AM!!!!

HOLY SHIT HOW INTENSE OF A RAGE DO I NEED TO BRACE MYSELF TO BE FEELING HERE. THIS CHAPTER WAS ALREADY TRENDING TOWARDS DISAPPOINTMENT, DO WE REALLY NEED TO GO AND COMPOUND THAT

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

you’re telling me Tomura wasn’t brought back by that electric shock, but by his “fuck you” attitude? why are you explaining this to us now, again??

......

HEY, SO UM, FUCK ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, THOUGH. (: OH MAN. OHHHHHH MAN. I HAVE... I HAVE GOT A LOT OF WORDS FOR THIS AND HERE ARE SOME OF THEM

FUCK

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO “SOME BULLSHIT”: THIS

FUCK

GET FUCKED HORIKOSHI

AND ALSO PLEASE FUCK RIGHT OFF!!

AND SERIOUSLY THOUGH FUCK YOU

NO BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THOUGH!! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED OFF ANYONE. LITERALLY ANY CHARACTER. YOU HAD TWELVE FEMALE PROS. TWELVE. YOU COULD HAVE MADE MORE OF THEM. PROBABLY, IF THERE ACTUALLY WERE SUPERHEROES IN REAL LIFE, THERE WOULD BE MORE THAN TWELVE OF THEM IN AN ENTIRE NATION. BUT NO, YOU WERE ALL “TWELVE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.” AND THEN WHEN IT CAME TIME TO KILL PEOPLE OFF, YOU WERE ALL “WELL ALL RIGHT THEN, LET’S SEE, I PICK... THESE 18 RANDOM SIDE CHARACTERS WITH LITTLE TO NO DIALOGUE, PLUS THE ONE SINGLE FEMALE U.A. STAFF MEMBER WE ACTUALLY HAD. YEAH THAT OUGHTA DO IT”

AND BY THE WAY, HORIKOSHI, I PICKED SOMETHING UP FOR YOU ON MY WAY HOME, HERE IT IS, ┌П┐(・＿・) do you like it it was on sale. I saw it and was like, “Horikoshi would really like that.” so there you go. sorry it wasn’t gift-wrapped

p.s. I hope y’all can tell that that’s supposed to be a middle finger and not... something else lmao. er. anyway

(ETA: so I got a few asks from people who were really put off by this part of the reaction post, and so I’m just adding an extra note here to make it clear that I do not actually wish harm on Horikoshi in any way or even particularly dislike him. I wasn’t happy about Midnight’s death and I wanted to convey that, and so I went with my usual LOUD CAPSLOCK REACTION tone, but looking back on it I can see that it’s kind of a lot, lol.

so just to be clear, the “fuck you” stuff is almost entirely tongue-in-cheek. that’s on me, I forget sometimes that there are people who share these sentiments unironically and so I didn’t think to make sure my intended meaning here was clear. anyways, killing Midnight was still a really problematic decision for numerous reasons but it is what it is. Horikoshi is not perfect, the story isn’t perfect, and I’m not gonna pretend like it is, but again just to be clear, I don’t harbor any actual ill will toward Horikoshi here.)

shit. and wow this man really went and killed off fucking Mystic too on top of that. have you ever seen a character fail so spectacularly at living up to their hype. r.i.p. Mystic you were like the Star Wars sequel of characters

(ETA: I have no fucking idea why I keep thinking Majestic’s name is Mystic lol. rest in peace you old scarecrowy bastard.)

and poor Momo, though. fuck. lost two mentors in a single day. and do not even get me started on Aizawa holy shit

so now we’re cutting to some random townspeople who are gossiping about the Todoroki drama. this is actually interesting in spite of my newfound determination to hate this chapter lol

ngl I am kind of heartened to see that not everyone fell for Dabi’s bs hook line and sinker though. Jeanist returning from the dead literally two seconds after Dabi was all “I SWEAR ON MY HONOR AS A VILLAIN THAT HAWKS MURDERED HIM” probably helped with that a bit! but there will doubtless be many other people who do believe him, or are at least still inclined to side-eye the heroes in general either way given how much they sucked in this arc. very, very interesting

so it seems though that even more than the whole Endeavor reveal, at the end of the day it’s going to be the heroes failing to live up to their end of the “put your faith in us and let us use our quirks and in return we’ll protect everyone and keep them safe” implied social contract that’s going to have the biggest impact on people’s opinions moving forward. basically this was always going to be a disaster no matter what

OH MY GOD FINALLY AHHHHH

Horikoshi really tapped into some of the real-life political energy of the past few years huh. Fuck Him Still for killing off Midnight, but I will admit that so far this is hella intriguing and I am really, really curious to see where things go from here

OH MY GOD THE LITTLE KIDS FROM THE BABYSITTING ARC

“FIVE PEEPEE MAN WOULDN’T LIE TO US” YES CHILDREN YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. at least the little ones still have faith

( •̀ へ •́ )

that’s great. that’s really keen. all we need right now, amirite

GOOD FOR YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT

let’s just wait for him to explain what he feels. you know he likes to drag it out

is that Dabi crouched down there next to Spinner? looks like they got him out of the marble after all. but why has his hair changed colors again lol what

anyways. your turn to what??

:’) excuse me what

hahahaha are you fucking kidding me. and that’s where we’re going to end the chapter then. lol okay

so let’s recap. Midnight died. we spent ten hours watching Ochako dig people out of rubble for no apparent reason and were then introduced to my new least favorite character, and because Ochako is so nice she didn’t even punch him in the face even though she really should have. we did not get any Kacchan or Shouto. we got one panel of Deku, who is Finally Asleep. and the chapter ended with AFO ordering his Noumus to go set free, AND I QUOTE, HIS “MAIN BODY.” and now I gotta wait an entire week for Caleb’s translation to confirm that last part. omg

but it sounds like a prison break is imminent, which is very, very interesting. ...and actually, is it weird that I’m actually rooting for it to be a success? I have no idea what this guy is planning, but I do know that as long as the main part of his soul is still residing in Tomura’s body, Tomura’s chance of surviving the series is close to zero. and villain though he may be, I’m still rooting for his redemption (nice to have Deku on my side now too), and so yeah. so like if AFO feels like using some latent Exorcism Quirk or something that he’s been saving for just such an occasion, be my guest lol

meanwhile this doesn’t bode well for All Might though. or anyone else aside from Tomura, really. shiiiit

anyway. [slaps roof of chapter] this baby can fit so much bullshit in it

#bnha 296 #midnight (bnha)#uraraka ochako #all for one #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #sorry this took so long to post lol #I really need to learn to add an extra 2-3 hours to any time-sensitive estimates I make #anyways

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ptergwen · 3 years

Note

oooh oml how about a blurb w peter in his spider-man suit (or not but the kids look up to him) playing basketball with a few kids and you see him interacting with them and he makes you join him. like just a whole lot of fun and the kids say, "are you two gonna get married?" and you're both like 😳😳😳.... "maybe??" or wtv (ily tonnes)

knock(it)out of the park

w/c: 1.8k

a/n: oh my goddddd :( ilyt thank you for this <3 also the gif is super unrelated he just looks cute

there are few people in this world as generous as peter parker. whether it’s saving the city as spider-man or doing food drives with may, he’s always helping someone, somehow. his desire to give back comes from the kindness in his own heart. he’s shown you that so many times before, but there’s one that stands out to you most.

your general chemistry class had made a group chat so you could ‘collaborate’ with each other. there were a few particular topics you were struggling with at the time. you’d texted everyone asking for help, but they were either busy or didn’t understand themselves. science and specifically chemistry being peter’s best subject, he reached out to you separately.

he felt for you because you had a pretty big exam coming up. he’d offered to call you so you could work through some problems together. why, you had no idea. you two had exchanged no more than a “hi” or “can i borrow a pencil?” now, he wanted to give up his night to tutor you? how could someone be so sweet?

that test ended up being your highest grade so far. you thanked peter in person with a hug that turned his cheeks a deep shade of pink. after that, you asked him to be your study buddy. he didn’t hesitate to agree. you met at your school library twice or sometimes three times a week.

peter really liked talking to you. he found himself smiling through your conversations and the funny comments you made when you got frustrated. you loved how genuine he was, how he wasn’t afraid to wear his heart out on his sleeve. not literally, even though you were studying chemistry.

he’d wanted to get to know you beyond your hatred for balancing chemical equations, so he asked you out for coffee. it was something simple that no college student would pass up. you’d had to push peter’s hand away so he’d let you buy the drinks. you insisted that he already did so much for you, so you could pay it back.

that lead to you properly taking his hand in yours while you waited for your coffees. his palm was a bit sweaty, probably from nerves. he laced your fingers together once they died down and gave you that soft smile of his.

that was almost two years ago. since then, you’ve fallen completely in love with peter. peter has fallen at least ten times harder for you.

instead of walking you to your dorm like he usually does, peter asked you to meet him at the park today. he’s been spending a lot of time there lately. it’s close to campus and he always comes back grinning ear to ear, which is all that really matters. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious what he does there, though.

you head over to the basketball court like peter had told you to earlier. you can’t imagine what you’re doing here. laughing to yourself, you drop your bag on the nearest bench, then take a seat. you’re not in the dark much longer because you hear someone call your name. you recognize their voice as peter’s.

“hey, y/n! c’mere!” is followed by the sound of a basketball dribbling. you look up and realize he’s playing with a group of kids. they’re all in a line, watching peter in awe. he easily jumps up and shoots a hoop in front of them. you hear a “woah, how’d you do that so fast?” and “you’re sick, peter!”

that makes him chuckle while he high fives some of the boys and fist bumps the others. this must be why he’s been coming to the park. peter was never quite the athlete until he got his powers. everyone in high school knew him to be terrible at sports, so he couldn’t exactly join any teams out of the blue. it’s nice he gets to show off his skills now.

it’s also adorable seeing him with his own mini team. they’re a group of five boys who can’t be any older than twelve. peter definitely has a soft spot for the little ones. he’s always talking about morgan, who he babysits whenever pepper isn’t around. you’ve never seen him in action until today.

a grin spreading across your face, you make your way over to the basketball court. peter passed the ball to one of the boys so he can block him while he tries to shoot. he goes easy on him, and he makes the basket. “nice job, shawn!” peter compliments and holds open his hands for the ball back. shawn beams at peter, throwing it to him.

peter notices you coming over and hits gabe with a “think fast” to pass the ball off again. you’re still smiling as peter jogs up to you. he slings an arm around your waist and pecks your lips at the same time. you squeal, pleasantly surprised as you rest your hands on his chest.

“not in front of the kids,” you tease and glance over at them. they’re fighting over whose turn it is. peter wraps his other arm around you with a knowing smirk. “how’d you meet them, by the way?” his smirk becomes a shy smile. “i was walking around here the other day and they needed a sixth player,” he explains, you biting on your lip.

“they asked me to join. guess i’m an official member now.” you trace peter’s jaw with your thumb, making him tilt his head to the side. “you’re the best person i know. best person ever.” he dismisses your words with a click of his tongue. “i can’t say no to a kid, or five.” “god, i love you,” you giggle softly, peter threading his fingers through yours.

“i love you more. you wanna join us?” he raises an eyebrow to urge you to say yes. unlike peter, you’re just terrible at basketball. you’d be better off on the sidelines. “i don’t know how to play,” you sigh and roll your eyes at your confession. “what about knockout? think everyone learned that at some point,” peter suggests in that same persuasive tone.

you give in with a huff. “okay, i think i remember that.” “awesome.” he takes your hand and happily leads you over to the court. the kids stop their bickering once peter gets there, everyone falling back into a line. they must like him a lot. “alright, guys. how about we do a few rounds of knockout?” peter rubs his hands together.

“who’s that?” david ignores peter’s question, pointing at you. he has the ball in his other hand. max hits it out and grabs it for himself. david is about to get him back for it, but peter speaks up again. “this is y/n,” he introduces you and puts an arm around your shoulders. you give the kids a small wave. “hi!” “is she your girlfriend?” shawn blurts out.

kids really have no filter. peter breathes out a laugh, drawing you into his side more. “yup. she’s gonna play with us.” “no girls allowed!” anthony yells out and crosses his arms in defiance. he’d been the quietest, then that happened. you try not to take it to heart because these are only children, but damn.

peter ‘pffts’ at him. “oh, come on. who made that rule?” everyone points at gabe. his face falls, and he pokes max’s arm harshly. “it wasn’t me, it was him!” max shakes his head side to side. “no! it was-“ “never mind, it doesn’t matter who it was,” peter finally decides before they all accuse each other. you give him a look to say you can handle it.

“you know, some of the best athletes are girls,” you tell the kids gently, offering a devious smile. “don’t you want a challenge?” you’re not referring to yourself, but you’ll let them think otherwise. no one’s too young to have their misogyny shut down. peter proudly presses his lips to the side of your head.

the boys whisper amongst themselves before shawn replies on their behalf. “we accept.”

peter gets on the line after finding another ball, you behind him. the start the game right away. first is shawn and anthony, and anthony loses that round. he’s up against david next. anthony can’t seem to aim right, which makes him lose that round and get out of the game. he shoots a glare your way. that gets a snort from peter.

max goes against gabe after that. gabe gets the ball in first, leaving max to go with peter. he gets it in while peter is shooting his first basket. it’s you and peter now. there’s no way you’re winning this, even if he’s easy on you. he’s not. he makes his basket while you’re in mid-air trying to get your own.

“sorry, y/n/n!” peter shouts and goes off to the back of the line. you groan, shawn being your opponent. he’s the better of the kids. you keep shooting baskets while he aims for his first. neither of you make it, except you get closer. the two of you go on for a couple of minutes before you both shoot at the same time. your ball hits into his and, well, knocks it out.

you make the basket.

the kids all gasp, including shawn, as you run back over to peter. he high fives you with both hands, then locks his with yours. “babe! you made a basket!” peter cheers for you. “i made a basket!” you repeat, jumping up and down. everyone is going to take you as serious competition from here on out.

by the time you finish the next couple of rounds, you’re all out of breath. you managed to win one. it would’ve been two, had peter not been the other person left in with you. it definitely helped that you have a few feet and around ten years on all the kids. they did try their hardest either way, and you all had a really good time.

the boys each grew respect for you. you’re glad you gave them a new perspective.

“good game, y/n,” shawn says like he’s wise beyond his years, shaking your hand. “you too,” you grin at him and give him a firm handshake back. peter squeezes your waist from where he’s standing behind you. “we’d ask you to join the team, if it didn’t make us an odd number,” david explains, gabe nodding in agreement.

you lay your head back on peter’s chest. “dang, you’re right. i had a lot of fun, though.” all the boys look at you two suspiciously. max asks what they’re all wondering. “peter, are you gonna marry her?” you feel him stiffen against you, his breath hitching. “wh- what?” he stammers out and subconsciously tightens his grip around your waist.

anthony gags at the question, shawn slapping him on the back for that. he asks this time. “yeah, are you?” your lips pull into a smirk, you looking at peter over you shoulder. “are you, peter?” this is something you’ve talked about before, so you’re not putting him on the spot. peter meets your eyes and tells you the same thing he said last time. “one day, i hope.”

#tom holland #peter parker #tom holland fluff #peter parker fluff #marvel #spiderman #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker x reader #college!peter parker

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buckyjamess-archive · 3 years

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𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

chapter eleven • a/n: baby time oh how I regret making reader pregnant and having to write this because it turned out shit the amount of times I deleted and rewrote this..👶 • wordcount: 1.4k • warnings: pregnancy, kids, labor, nothing else major

summary

going through rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist - chapter ten - chapter twelve

It blows his mind more than anything or anyone has ever done. The thought alone makes his palms sweaty, his head spin and his heart drop. Making him excited and terrified, giddy and scared, happy and relieved, all at once.

Within a couple of hours, he'd finally meet his son, his own flesh and blood, his mini me– a child he made with the love of his life. His, yours, a family.

Bucky is ready, or at least he thinks. He's ready to be a real dad, let it all crash over him like a tidal wave. He's read more books in the past few weeks than he can count on his fingers, scrolled through article after article on his phone, watched those silly shows on tv, read the app on his phone like the newspaper every morning; size, weight, height and the development of his son, your body and all the possible aches and pains– he knew it all; he's ready and even if the thought changes with the hours, he knows he'll be alright with you by his side.

After 40 weeks and 3 days, Bucky's ready to meet baby Barnes.

The white numbers on the microwave display tell him it's 5:04, the moon slowly setting to make room for the sun; the house is silent, safe for the clock ticking and the coffee pot brewing. The smell of coffee filling his nostrils as he breathes in deeply. He hasn't slept, maybe closed his eyes for an hour or two; anxious feelings running through his veins ever since the two of you dropped off Rosie at a friend's house yesterday. Everything becoming more real with the minute.

He's going to have his own kid and he can't wait.

He can't wait for you to live without the hassle, spend your days normally instead of laying in bed for the last few weeks, unable to do anything other than waddle around the house. Tension running high, arguments arising about nothing only to end in yet another breakdown from your side– bucky would take it all, carry it all if it meant it would relieve in some sort of way and still, he couldn't be more in love with you.

Yes, he's ready for the next chapter in his life, a chapter he never thought would be written for him.

Two mugs grabbed from the cabinet above his head hit the marble countertop making bucky wince and in one swift motion fills them with the hot brew. Yawning once, Bucky grabs the cups each in one hand, socked feet dragging him out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Steadying his grip on the mugs as he slowly and without a sound makes his way upstairs. The soft light coming through the ajar door and the muffled voices coming from the tv drawing him in.

Opening the door further with his foot, his eyes land on your bare, big baby bump before averting them up to meet a pair of sleep filled eyes. Seated on the edge of the bed, the grabby hand motion and the deep sigh passing your lips makes him step into the room further, faster. Wordlessly, Bucky places the two cups on your bedside table and moves back to stand in front of you, both hands in yours– a groan pushing past your lips as he helps you out of bed and on your feet.

"You okay?" Bucky all but whispers and places a quick kiss on your temple.

You humm "still using my bladder as a damn trampoline."

Placing another kiss where he left one seconds ago, Bucky chuckles softly and let's go of your hands, watching you as you waddle your way to the ensuite. A morning routine since a week or three; sleeping in for as long as possible, breakfast serves in bed, a shower together because god, you weren't to be trusted with that bump of yours in a slippery shower and bucky would've let you shower along did you not miss the last step of the stair a while back and landed on your butt– nothing too bad but it caused heart palpitations with the dad to be.

"Buck," Your voice louder than before echoes from the bathroom "I can't get these socks off."

Knitting his brows together, he takes a quick sip of his coffee "since when do you take your socks off when using the toilet?"

"I've already done that– I'm not going to shower with my socks on you idiot." You groan

Bucky chuckles and takes another sip from his mug before walking towards the ensuite himself, popping his head in. A frustrated you sitting on the edge of the bathtub in defeat.

"I made coffee." Bucky states

"And I want to shower." You deadpan back "and because it's still here, I'm going to use this bump as an excuse to get what I want."

Laughing, bucky steps further into the bathroom "and you say I spoil that rascal of ours."

"Hey, you knew what you signed up for. Sealed the deal when you put this baby in me– not getting rid of us anytime soon." You chuckle back tiredly and let the men standing in front of you help you out once again.

"Not planning on getting rid of you either."

It's the surprisingly cozy delivery room, the extremely nice nurses, doctor, the peace and serenity you radiate and the heartbeat of his son that calms Bucky down and keeps him grounded.

He can't freak out, at least not show it, he needs to be here for you, calm you down, guide you through the pain– surprisingly doing all the right things; things coming naturally– like one of his friends reassured him during a men's night out weeks ago.

The tv hanging on the wall across the room playing another rerun of friends and together with the beeping of machines and a heartbeat; creating a nice background noise– you've been her for a couple of hours with little to no progress, no more than 2 cm dilated and contractions now and then; the doses to induce it all upped for a second time an hour ago and a drug that eased the pain, giving you time for a good sleep before the hard work: giving bucky a breather too.

His gaze lands on your sleeping figure on the bed next to him, hooked up on machines. He rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, refusing to let go; in his other hand his phone, thumb ghosting over the send button.

'letting you know y/n is in labor and our son will be born soon, seemed appropriate to tell.'

Despite it all, it did feel right to send sam this message; he's been a big part of his and your life. Treated Rosie like one of his own, Bucky would like to see it happen to his son but even if Sam stayed miles away from him and his little family, Bucky would be fine with that either. He doesn't need sam to tell him how to live his life after all but it sure would've been nice to ask him for some 'dad advice' and 'how to dad'

Bucky hits send and not expecting anything back, locks his phone and places it on the bedside table, nearly knocking over the glass jug with ice water- gaze landing back on you to make sure he didn't wake you and when he sees he didn't, bucky can't help but to lean back in his chair and close his own eyes for a minute..or five

He doesn't quite know how long he's had his eyes closed for, definitely dozed off but the sudden loss of weight in his hand and a now familiar voice reaching his ears; bucky sits up straight and is met with the sight of the doctor standing at the end of the bed in a conversation with you.

He'd be lying if he said he knew and understands what it's about or what it all meant– he's read a lot but nothing like this.

"We'll up the dose once more– if it doesn't progress after that, I want to break your water." Nodding between you and bucky, the doctor smiles "babies vitals are looking good but if we can speed up-"

"That'll be great." You breath out, cutting the woman off.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #james bucky barnes #rosie and i

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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Long Lost Love // Part One (D.M.)

Summary: Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age. Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

A/N: This is my entry into @teheharrypotter‘s two weeks of angst! I just really want to take a moment and say that I am so proud of this fic and how it has come out, like ridiculously proud of it. I would really appreciate some feedback on this - reblogs and comments are so important. There is going to be a second part where all the love letters will be compiled into one long post. However, I think not giving too much away only adds to the suspense and angst. Also, the ending... I love it and I think you’ll all hate me for it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is a lot of angst combined with hurt/comfort but there’s a lot of growth in Draco (I think?)

Word count: 5.4k

It had been fifteen years since the end of the second wizarding war; it had been fifteen years of healing and working on himself, of repenting for his family’s crimes during the war. Draco Malfoy had aged in that time; his hair had grown past his shoulders, tied back with a black leather hair tie, and there were lines on his face that had not been there when he was an eighteen year old running away from the castle he classed as his home.

He had lived a lifetime in those fifteen years. He had seen the world before training as a Healer; working his way up the ranks to become head of the emergency department of the only wizarding hospital within Britain. He had trained Healer after Healer; many of them going off to establish clinics in their own community, all of them sending cards at Christmas, regaling him of their successes.

Draco had lived a lifetime. He lost his father first. Lucius had never truly recovered from his time in Azkaban, and though Draco had tried his hardest to form some semblance of a relationship with his father, Lucius had remained cruel until the end. Truthfully, Draco doesn’t want to think about what it was that killed him in the end. Whether it was the spite that had poisoned him for years, or whether it was something else. Draco doesn’t dwell on it; instead, he leaves white roses on his father’s grave every Sunday like any loving son would.

Narcissa hadn’t lasted long after Lucius passed. She had been distraught. Whilst Lucius was not a doting father, he was a doting husband and he adored Narcissa until his very last breath on this earth. To Draco, her tears started that day and didn’t stop until she passed away in her asleep. Her heart, the coroner said. She had died of a broken heart.

A feeling Draco knew only too well.

Despite achieving so much and traveling so far, he had only ever been in love once. There had only ever been one moment in his whole life that had been filled with the kind of love read about in books, sang about in songs, and played out in films. Draco had fallen in love with you when he was sixteen years old and entering what would be the darkest period of his life. To him, you had been the light in the dark. The answer to his constantly asked question: will there ever be a happy ending?

Nothing had ever happened; nothing could happen. You were the epitome of goodness; the very incarnate of its definition, and he… he was the opposite. In those days, his self-hatred ran so deep that he would argue he was the Hades of the story. Doomed forever to the underworld only to fall in love with the Goddess of Spring and hope for retribution that would never come.

However, in this version of their well-told myth, Hades and Persephone never fall into a relationship. In this version of events, feelings were known and reciprocated, but letters that pleaded for a chance either never arrived or were never answered.

So for fifteen years, Draco Malfoy has been working hard on repairing his family’s tattered reputation whilst coping with the depth-defying grief that comes with losing both parents within the span of a year as well as never truly dealing with the heart wrenching grief that accompanies a relationship that was never given the chance to bloom.

--------

It was a bright, clear day in the middle of March when Draco decided to clean out the attic. He had woken with the urge to clean; with the urge to organise his life and start to work through the piles of his parent’s belongings. He hadn’t been able to touch them in the beginning; the most he had been able to do was relocate everything to the attic and then shove the very thought to the back of his mind where it began to fester like an open wound.

Bright and clear was the day when Draco chose to enter the long forgotten attic in the Manor. Bright and clear was the day when he had to hold a handkerchief to his face to stave off the inevitable sneezes from the dust floating in the air.

Looking around the old and dusty attic, Draco takes in the first of the mess. Trunks line the wall; some ancient – locks worn down with time, almost rusted from their exile to the attic; others are much newer such as his parent’s belongings. Their trunks remain almost new; their initials still painted onto the lids in bright gold paint.

The majority of the morning is spent creating two piles; one to be thrown away, one to be donated. Expensive gowns and suits were to be donated. Anything that reminded Draco of his allegiance in the Second Wizarding War was to be thrown.

As he goes through the belongings of not just his parent’s, but also his grandparents, Draco begins to feel conflicted. With each addition to the bin pile, he feels lighter, he feels one less burden. However, he cannot help the guilt that unfurls in his stomach as he thinks of his mother’s kind face and her forever painted red lip.

By the time Draco makes it to his mother’s final trunk, he feels as if he has been in battle once more. Weariness hangs heavy over in shoulders, settling in his bones. His body slumped, not just from the tiredness from lifting heavy trunks and boxes, but from the emotional weight of memories freshly unleashed upon him.

Draco’s movements are slower as he opens the lid to this final trunk. He thinks back to the day he filled it; piling his mother’s correspondence and personal effects in here – separate from the clothes he knew he would one day get rid of. He slides his hands over the emerald green lid – a Slytherin till the day she died, Draco thinks as he smiles to himself.

At some point, he lets a few tears fall. It’s the sight of Narcissa’s handwriting, he realises. He hadn’t seen it in so long – not having received a birthday card or a Christmas present this year due to her death. Seeing her strong cursive brought tears to his eyes; he remembers being a child, sitting by her desk, watching her write away and wondering who on earth she could be talking to. If Draco focuses hard enough, he swears he can still smell the fresh ink drying on the parchment and the melted wax being pressed with Narcissa’s signet ring.

At the bottom of the trunk, Draco notices a latch. Frowning, he flips it open to reveal a false bottom hidden away. Uneasiness spreads through him, turning his stomach to lead as he reaches inside to feel two distinct piles.

The uneasiness turns to heavy anguish when Draco realises just what he is holding in his hands.

------

Two piles of twelve letters, hidden away in the bottom of a trunk, browning with age.

Twenty-four letters in total, all addressed to him.

They now sit on his kitchen counter; the ageing paper a stark contrast to the obsidian black of his counter top. Draco leans back in his chair, huffing out a long sigh, running a hand down his face as he does so. It had been fifteen years, but he would recognise your handwriting anywhere.

It had been fifteen years and he hadn’t had any contact with you. He wondered for so long why his letters had gone unanswered to the point where he stopped writing altogether, feeling the keen sting of rejection.

Fifteen years and he now had his answer.

Hidden away in a trunk; squirreled away in the hopes that he would never find them. The hope that he would forget about you and move on. He never had; he just kept his feelings silent, caging them up in his heart along with everything else he kept from his parents.

Anger surges through him. The first emotion he has felt since he opened that damned trunk.

He lets out a choked scream; the intensity of his anger surprising him as he slams a fist onto the counter top, wincing slightly from the pain now radiating up his right arm.

How dare they, he roars. How dare they keep this from him? How dare they keep you from him? Did you not fit their ideal – a pureblood from a well off family? Did you not meet their needs visually? Your hair perfect, your face just the same.

There was no good reason he could think of. Draco pads over to the bar, tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. There, he pours himself a knuckle’s length of the amber liquid, knocking it back with a hiss. The whiskey burns as it goes down; burns just like his emotions, like his anger.

Draco’s lip curls in distaste as he hears his father’s voice: a distraction, Draco, that’s all.

Lucius Malfoy had never uttered such words in Draco’s presence, but Draco was well aware of his father’s distaste of you.

Reading over his home address once again, Draco is hit with a sense of helplessness. He doesn’t know where to go from or what to do. He reads over your home address, neatly written in the top left hand corner of the envelope.

Sighing, he runs a hand down his face, still uncertain what his next move is going to be. He runs through the options in his head once, and out loud after.

To no-one in particular, he argues:

“I could reply. I could write a letter back, apologising for the absence of replies with a brief sentence or two about meeting up after so much time has passed.”

Draco waves that option away; his tongue too tied up to even think about coherently writing a letter out now. He moves onto option two:

“I could show up. I could apparate to the address right now, knock on the door and ask to speak to them.”

He shakes his head; immediately ridding himself of the idea. For starters, what if you had moved, and he finds himself knocking on the door of an unknown family? However, what if you still live there, and you answer the door? What is Draco to say to you then after such a long time apart?

He imagines the situation; forces himself into shoes that he could possibly be wearing in the near future. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Not a word, not a whisper, not an apology.

So he ignores option two.

Draco knows its cowardice that drives him to the third option, but to go fifteen years without a reply to a letter declaring love… it is too long of a time to expect any form of forgiveness, and he supposes that is what he is most afraid of. Draco’s terrified of not being worthy enough for your forgiveness.

So he goes with option three:

Do nothing.

------

Draco does the only thing that makes sense.

He takes the letters to work.

Draco slides the letters into his satchel, latching the buckle afterwards and taking a deep breath. Already, Draco feels the twenty four envelopes burning a hole through the soft, worn leather of his bag.

Their presence continues to haunt him: placing his bag in his locker and grabbing his lab coat, walking towards the admit desk where Martha – the head nurse – smiles at him before handing him a cup of coffee.

The emergency room is swamped. It is full to capacity with even more waiting in triage. They work as hard and as fast as they can, but it takes time to cure burns from potions and injuries from spells gone wrong.

It gets to the point where Draco needs to take a step back. He has to take a step back and re-evaluate. His personal life is shot; the love he had found at sixteen a dead end until this last weekend. His professional life is all that he has going for him, but on days like this, when he isn’t feeling entirely himself for the shock from the weekend, Draco does find himself being short with patients.

He escapes to the break room; the familiar bitter scent of coffee already relaxing the tense muscles in his shoulders. He settles into a chair at the rickety table, head in his hands as he takes a deep breath.

Draco represses the urge to cry. He pushes it down; deep, deep down inside him where he can deal with it another day. At this moment, all he wants is a hug from his mother and the age old promise that everything is going to be okay. It’s her fault’ it is Narcissa’s fault that he is like this.

That he is a husk of a man.

He feels like a therapist’s wet dream. Blaming his mother, his parents as the source of his problems, but he cannot help imagining how different his life would be if those letters had been delivered to his hands.

He would be with you. He would have given it all up for you.

His lineage; his inheritance; his name; the pureblood mania that infected his parents.

He would give it all up for you.

Fifteen years later and he would still give up every aspect of his life, every part of him that makes him him.

Draco would drop it all in a heartbeat for you.

“What’s gotten into you?” A feminine voice questions. Draco turns in his seat to see his closest friend and confidant, Alexandria Delphi, leaning against the door with a smile on her face.

He cannot help the smile that grows on his face at her presence. He shrugs, hoping he appears nonchalant, “What do you mean?”

Alexandria pushes herself off the door, coming to sit next to Draco at the old rickety table that has been at home in the break room since before time itself. She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his obvious aversion. She gestures to his entire being, “I mean this. You’ve been off all day – not as attentive to patients, not your usual flirtatious self with the nurses which I know they are missing very much. What’s gotten into you, Draco?”

Draco sighs, knowing very well he could never hide anything from her. Alexandria and Draco had known each other since their first year of training; an unlikely friendship forming between them, but a friendship nonetheless. Thirteen years later, they had been working in the emergency department of St Mungo’s the longest – second only to Martha, the Head Nurse.

“I was cleaning out the attic over the weekend. Getting rid of some of my parent’s things.”

Alexandria frowns, reaching for Draco’s hand over the table. “You should have called me. I would have come and helped you; you shouldn’t have had to that alone.”

“I know,” Draco starts, running a hand down his face, “I know you would have but I think I needed to do it alone.”

Alexandria nods, releasing his hand at last and bringing it to the coffee mug sitting in front of her. Draco smiles at her before standing, opening his locker and grabbing the letters that call to him from his bag.

Sitting back down, he slides the two piles of letters in Alexandria’s direction, all the while saying, “I found these in my mother’s trunk. It had a false bottom, and they were sitting there.”

Her deep brown eyes widen, “How scandalous! They’re addressed to you?”

Draco nods, “When I was at Hogwarts, there was a girl.”

“Isn’t there always?” Alexandria quips, rolling her eyes at the dramatics of her colleague.

“Anyway,” Draco comments pointedly, “I was in love, or at least, I was as much in love as you can be when you’re sixteen years old. I still am, I think.

“Anyway, my parents didn’t approve of her; they never would so when war started brewing and I went home, I never imagined I would get letters. I never got letters. Turns out, she had been sending me letters all along and my parents had kept them hidden until now.”

“Bastards,” Alexandria spits; furious at people long dead.

“What do you think I should do?” Draco asks earnestly, his eyes never leaving the pile of letters.

“Have you read them?” Alexandria asks; her eyes fixed on the two sets of letters placed between them on the rickety table.

He shakes his head, refusing to meet Alexandria’s eyes, “I think I’m too scared.”

Alexandria smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She sighs, “You aren’t going to know what to do until you read them. Reading the letters should give you the answer you are looking for.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“When you made me Attending,” She quips, yet there is still no heart behind it – none of her usual heat that tends to come out when Draco baits her slightly. She shakes her head, standing from her seat with her coffee in her hand, “I want to see you back out there soon. I don’t care whether you’re the head of the department.”

He raise an eyebrow at her in challenge; she simply smirks. He shakes his head at her antics, already rising from his seat, “I’m on my way.”

“Good, I have plenty of patients for you to see.”

Draco doesn’t reply, he watches her leave with a fond smile on his face.

Alexandria leaves the break room. She leaves as it is the only way that Draco will not see the sorrow and the longing reflected in her eyes. Alexandria doesn’t let him see the jealousy over the letters; the very emotion gnawing away at the ever growing pit in her stomach, only making it deeper as she replays the story of Draco’s first and only love.

She remembers when she used to look forward to coming into work; to help those in need and be a source of comfort for those she couldn’t help. Now, she struggles to make it through the door with the knowledge that she has been in love with the same man for years and nothing had happened.

That’s the thing about loving someone who doesn’t love you back – it turns you into a ghost of your former self.

------

Draco finds himself reaching for the first letter in the pile on a Friday night in the middle of April. If he had to be honest with himself, it had taken him a whole month to work up the nerve to read them. Draco had come home after the conversation with Alexandria and dropped the letters on the side table where they have taunted him ever since.

He knows he isn’t in the right frame of mind to be reading them; a bad shift with too many deaths combined with the two half full tumblers of whiskey consumed creates the equation of self-destruction. However, Draco reminds himself, he’s had fifteen years of internal self-destruction – what’s one more night when you tear yourself down so regularly despite the accolades attached to your name?

Draco hesitates, holding the first of the twenty four letters in his hand. He hesitates; unsure as to whether he is ready to read the handwriting of someone whose notes through class not only made him happy, but hopeful.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he tears open the seal and begins to read.

------

The letters are not long. They aren’t pages and pages of eloquent syntax over your feelings for the blonde haired, cocky teenager he once was. The closer he gets to the end of the pile, the less is written as if you had grown tired of such an act and not getting a reply.

Draco keeps his favourite close to him. It’s tucked away in his inner coat pocket, on the left hand side close to his heart.

The letter has been with him a month now. A month of one letter being read and reread too many times a day; to the point where Draco is reciting it in his sleep. It’s creased beyond recognition, but he still takes the risk every day to take it out and read it.

He misses you. He misses you. He misses you.

Now, Draco unfolds the paper. He unfolds the paper and reads the opening line: do you remember that night in the greenhouse? Writes your neat handwriting; the letters perfectly formed on the now browning parchment.

How could he forget? Draco closes his eyes, letting himself fall into the memory perfumed with compost and night blooming evening primrose.

*****

“Name two purposes of Valerian Root.”

“To help someone sleep as well as to ease anxiety.”

“Very good,” You laugh, moving quietly between the rows and rows of plants. You turn to him suddenly, “What is one danger of Black Henbane?”

Draco pauses, eyes already searching for papery flower with spidery black veins. He finds it nestled towards the back of the greenhouse, hidden away from sight and away from the wandering hands of children. Draco follows you closely; remaining near you as he says, “As a member of the nightshade family, the plant can be toxic if used in large quantities.”

The sight of your smile takes his breath away. You rush to him; toothy grin and loud laughter as you nod your head. “Madame Pomfrey was right,” You splutter, “You’re going to make an incredible Healer, Draco Malfoy.”

He doesn’t need to see the blush to know it’s there; he can feel the heat creeping its way up his neck to his cheeks. “I don’t think I’ll get there if I don’t have you.”

A satisfied smile replaces the happy grin that was on your face only moments ago. It was as if you were waiting for those words to fall from his lips; the reassurance within those words spreading over your worry like a balm over a wound.

How many more nights would they get like this? How many more nights would they have together?

Somewhat foolishly, Draco hopes he has forever. He hopes he has an eternity and a day with you, but he can feel the changes in the air, and he knows it isn’t good. Draco can see the tension at home; more and more people arriving, each just as secretive as the last, and Draco suddenly knows he only has a short amount of time before he’s inducted into the same fanatic group as his parents.

He’s on limited days with you so he’ll take the nights.

He’ll take all the nights.

-------

The shoebox had remained untouched under his bed for years now. Draco had shoved it there in a fit of anger and despair and he hadn’t looked since.

Reaching for it now, Draco represses the growing anger directed at his parents. He ignores the growing resentment surrounding the fact that they hid your letters for years and never thought to whisper a word of it – not even on their death beds.

The shoebox has aged; not unlike himself, he thinks as he wipes the dust from the top. The thick layer drawing a sneeze from him before he can open the box.

It doesn’t matter how many years it has laid unwanted under his bed; it doesn’t matter how long it has remained there, untouched and not thought of – Draco, to this day, can still recount for every little thing in there.

Notes that have now turned brown with age; old photos where youthful faces glance up at him; a chocolate bar wrapper from Honeyduke’s.

They each line the bottom of the shoebox. Draco’s memories of you out there for him to finally confront, to see. He sinks down onto his childhood bed; almost blinded by the force of the wave of nostalgia washing over him, threatening to drown him with the strength of his memories.

The memories hadn’t plagued him for some time though you played on his mind constantly – even more so since the letters.

They’re silly memories, but memories, nonetheless. Ones that he adores; ones that he cherishes.

It was the letters that triggered this. The letters that have brought the ghosts back from where they had been hidden, haunting him quietly until now.

Draco runs a hand through the trinkets in the box. He smiles at them, thinking of Hogsmeade and how he had surprised you with a bar of your favourite chocolate. The grin on your face worth all the jibes from Crabbe and Goyle when he got back to the Slytherin common room that evening.

Draco falls back onto his childhood bed with a huff.

He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t know where to begin. He has a decision to make, and he doesn’t have the guidance he so desperately needs.

Draco wants to see you; he needs to see you, but what if you don’t want to see him?

----

“I heard you handed in your notice,” Draco states as a way of breaking the ice.

Her notice of leave had landed in his hands not even three hours ago. He had spent the time since in a panic; rushing about the hospital to find Alexandria and to question her, to find out why she would leave after so long.

Why she would leave him.

Alexandria nods, “I have. I leave in two weeks.”

“Why?” Draco all but demands, “You love this place.”

“You’re right,” Alexandria sighs, “I do.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“Because I can’t do this anymore, Draco. I can’t sit here and listen to you talk about those letters and sigh dreamily, or date someone else. I can’t do it,” Her voice breaks, “So I won’t. I want a fresh start, so I’m going to get one.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“If I had known…”

“What? You’d have loved me?” Alexandria laughs mirthlessly, “Love me, Draco! Love me.”

“I can’t,” He whispers; the words the death knell to any scrap of friendship remaining.

Tears fall down her face, “And that’s why I have to go.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek; lingering for longer than what was probably good for her. When she pulls away, she can see the wetness of her tears on Draco’s cheek. “I hope you find her, Draco. You deserve a love story.”

-----

The cottage is small, but it is perfect. Ivy covered walls with a neat front garden; every inch showing the love and attention being paid to it. From the red roses that makes Draco think of his beloved mother to the intense scent of lavender that reminds Draco of the perfume you wore through Hogwarts. Looking up at the cottage, Draco realises that he had never seen a house look so much like a home.

He pauses at the gate; eyes focused on the bricks of the cottage and nowhere else. He doesn’t let the hope grow; he doesn’t let himself dream of what could happen. He’s thankful he has made it this far.

That he’s made it back to you.

The black gate creaks when Draco pushes it open. He winces at the noise, praying it doesn’t give him away and that you answer the door unexpectedly.

He needs this.

He needs the time.

It’s been fifteen years and since he found your letters months ago, he thought he would be ready by the time he found you.

Now Draco is thinking, perhaps he isn’t ready.

Will he ever be ready? He asks himself. Will he ever be ready to confront the very person he has been in love with since he was sixteen years old?

Draco doesn’t know; he doesn’t think he’ll ever know until he steps through the gate.

Draco’s hands shake as he rushes down the well-worn footpath to your dark brown front door. His hands continue to shake as he raises a single fist to knock on the door, three times.

He’s about to turn away; he’s about to walk away and never enter your life again. He will go away and never think of you again; of what could have been.

But then the lock clicks, and the handle moves.

“Hello?” A sweet voice calls out; your voice calls out.

“(Y/N)…” He breathes, and suddenly his nerves are gone and so is his worry. Suddenly, Draco is back at Hogwarts, the feel of your hand in his as he presses you into walls and steals kisses behind statues. He’s back to being sixteen years old and feeling the unrelenting agony of teenage love for the first time along with the merciless fear to do with the rising tensions.

“Draco,” You whisper, bringing a hand up to your mouth. Shock reflects in your eyes; your eyes that show no signs of aging other than the lines that are now forming in the corners.

Draco can’t help himself; he runs his eyes over your body, taking in the changes that becoming an adult has brought. It means nothing; he would love you regardless, but he cannot seem to help himself from drinking it all in.

From the realisation that he in fact stood in front of you.

You are there, and he is here with you.

“How have you been?” He asks; more out of politeness than anything else.

You shift awkwardly, “I’ve been good, Draco. How have you been?”

Draco nods, “I’ve been good too. I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here.”

You laugh, tucking yourself slightly behind the door, “That did cross my mind.”

He smiles; a large grin that he hasn’t felt on his face in a long, long time. Less than five minutes with you, and you’re already bringing out a side of him that Draco had long thought was extinct. He reaches into his coat, grabbing some of the letters that he keeps there. He holds them out to you, “I’ve only just found them.”

Audibly gasping, you instinctively reach for the letters. Your fingers brush Draco’s and he swears his heart skips a beat at the small touch. “I sent these years ago.”

Draco closes his eyes, “I know, and I cannot apologise enough to you for how long it has taken. I thought a reply in person would be better.”

Tears line your eyes as your fingers brush the worn paper; the crease marks more than evident from where Draco has folded and refolded the letter to read. “I always wondered what had happened…” You trail off, lifting your gaze from the letters to meet his eyes.

“My parents,” He whispers; voice pained. He takes a moment to collect himself, but you put a hand up to stop from saying anything else.

“I understand. You don’t need to explain more, Draco.”

“Thank you,” He replies, smiling softly. Then he launches into his tale, “I was cleaning out their belongings; cleaning in general really when I found a false bottom in my mother’s trunk. When I took it out, I found your letters… and I read them and reread them. I practically memorised them. I don’t think there are enough words in the English language to convey just how sorry I am.”

“Draco…”

“No, let me say this… please,” He whispers, adding on the last word for politeness. You fall silent, your eyes begging him not to say out loud what you know he is going to confess.

“Until the last star fades and we succumb to darkness, I shall love you. I have always loved you; from being a scared teenager to being a just as scared adult. My feelings haven’t changed. I’ve thought of nothing but you for fifteen years,” He pauses, drawing in a shuddering breath, “I love you.”

Silence falls over you both. Draco’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the emotions flicker over your face in a pace he didn’t think was humanly possible. Acceptance, happiness, relief and then finally, sadness.

He furrows his brows; surely this would be a happy event no? Draco has tracked you down after a fifteen year absence. He has found his one true love at last, and now he stands before you wondering the cause of such sadness on your face and in your eyes.

“Draco…” You trail off, holding up your left hand, “I’m married.”

******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines

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angelkurenai · 4 years

Text

Imagine Dean trying to avoid research any way he can and finding an excuse in flirting with you, all the while hoping he might be able to confess his feelings for you.

“If I have to spend one more hour over another book, I will take that tome over there and smack my own head on it. Supposed I can lift it in the first place.” Dean muttered with a small whine when he opened another book.

You couldn't help but chuckle, looking at him through your lashes “If you really smack yourself with that tome, you will be left unconscious for days, Dean.”

“Hence, no more researching!” he said with a smile, shrugging “Sounds like heaven to me. Concussion be damned.”

“But that's the thing. With that size it will cause more than just a concussion. I'll give you a 50-50 chances of survival.” you said casually, flipping through another page of the tenth book in a row; barely batting an eye, let alone showing any signs of exhaustion.

“Doesn't matter, at least I am going to die doing what I love.” he said with a huff, easing back more in his chair; resting his chin on his arm with a pout he couldn't help even if he wanted to.

“What do you love?” you raised an eyebrow at him, before he looked up from his book to meet your eyes.

“Dying.” he said in absolute seriousness and you shook your head with a snort. It was hard to hide your smile but sometimes you knew you had no reason to, no matter how much you needed to be serious to keep the man on track.

“Why did I even ask?” your eyes focused back on your book “Either way, I said it's only 50-50. There's still equal chances you could wake up thinking you are a twelve-year-old girl with a crush on Chris Evans.”

“Why a twelve-year-old?” he frowned, more than a little willing to keep up a conversation instead of get back to reading.

You shrugged “Cause it's more fun. For the rest of us, that is.”

“Whatever. We both know that even if it were to happen, there is no way I would be crushing on Evans of all people.” he shook his head stubbornly .

“Right, I almost forgot he's your sworn enemy.” you made sure to hide the fact that you took pleasure in the case because you had made it obvious that you had a crush on the actor “Well, whoever it is, let's just agree it would make for one hell of a moment and, guess what? Go back to research! Cause we're going through all those books whether it takes one day or one week. 'S up to you and how you act. You know, maybe if you tried to see things more positively, they would work out better.”

Dean didn't bother to hide his groan as he threw his head back in frustration “Yay books!” he paused, letting out a heavy sigh “Does that somehow help? Cause I feel no more inclined to read than before.”

“Go back to reading, Dean.” you said, trying to look stern and reprimanding but it only came out as fond and he couldn't help but smile to himself at the thought; sneaking a glance (the way he seemed to be doing more and more often lately) at you and bathing in your calming and caring presence the way a cat would bask in the warm summer light of the sun. And the fact that he made that kind of comparison in his mind was the least of the weird things happening to him from the moment he met you, if one took into consideration the way he fell in love with you and acted as if you were only friends for the sake of not losing you.

And he did try to, for your sake as he did so many other things, but he only lasted about all of 30 seconds before he sighed once more and spoke “Boy, what I would give to be a caterpillar right now.”

He saw you purse your lips, slowly starting to chew on your lower lip and if the action wasn't so damn distracting to the point he almost forgot his own name, he would have noticed the way you narrowed your eyes at him for a second or two. You didn't say anything for a couple seconds, as if contemplating whether it was a good idea or not to do so and as if you were trying to fight off your curiosity, until you finally let out a sigh and looked him in the eyes “I know I am going to regret this later but-” you tilted your head “Why a caterpillar?”

“Well, it's simple. Eat a lot. Sleep a lot. Wake up beautiful. Not to mention, no freakin' research.” he said as if it was the most simple things in the world.

“You know caterpillars have a lifespan of about a week, right?” you questioned back, an amused smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

“Yet another highlight!” he ended up grinning, throwing his hands in the air.

“See, I knew I was going to regret it. I should have known better. We will have to talk about that general lack of willingness to live at some point, Dean, but now's not the time. Especially since I can relate right now.” you huffed, eyes back on your book “Get back to reading.”

“Oh I'm used to it, been going through it my whole life. Nothing new.” he scoffed, brushing it off “However if you feel like it, I really think you should talk about it. Discussing about it takes some of the weight away. You know I'm always here, ready for a chat whenever you need me. Anytime. Heck, even now!”

“Dean” you narrowed your eyes at the man dangerously “I know you're not really into this, but maybe try a little bit? It's actually important. And I am sorry to tell you but those books won't go away until you've read them. Properly.”

“I mean, come on!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air “You can't tell me you're enjoying this. This is something only- only masochists would. Or- Or people that get off on being tortured or something.”

“Alright, first of; bold of you to assume you know the least bit about what I get off on.” you started, pausing when you noticed the way his eyebrows shot up in surprise and a smile slowly started forming on his lips. You started “Oh no, not that you little per-”

“Well, if you are willing to talk about them or, better yet, reenact them with someone, my body is at your disposal.” but you didn't get to finish off because he spoke up first.

“Oh I had no doubt.” you laughed, shaking your head “However, the only thing I will be taking to bed tonight is those two last books while I leave you deal with your half of the research. Because, as I was saying; you're not skipping this. No matter what you do or say. There is no way.”

“Yeah, but what if the Earth is destroyed in the next hour or something? That's a way.” he shrugged innocently and you groaned, shaking your head as he went on “What is the purpose of all this? And besides that, is this how you really wanna go out? Saying this is how you spent your final moments on this planet?”

“Well, Earth is perfectly safe, I'm sorry to ruin it to you. Now, read.”

Your tone left no room for arguing, as Dean knew really well he didn't have anything else to say either. Watching you focus back on your book, your shoulders relaxing after a couple seconds made him get his attention back on the words before his own eyes. If only that were to last for more than a minute that is.

“Yeah but what if-”

“Dean, so help me! If you don't get back to reading, I will do something so stupid and something that you will regret for the rest of your damn life! So, zip it.”

Dean's lips parted, staying that way for a couple seconds, because he knew he really should not push it. Deep down and even in his own mind – right next to the instinct of survival – there was an urge to listen to you; maybe it was the instinct of survival because he could easily say that between an angry you or an angry leviathan, he feared you the most. However, no matter how scary you could be when angry – or maybe hot, those two always ended up getting mixed up in his mind – it didn't stop the small part of him that dared to be bold and flirty at that moment.

So instead of staying silent he said “I'm something stupid. Do me.”

Your head shot up and at least your eyes were wide instead of narrowed or glaring at him. Your eyebrows raised in surprise as you stared at him for a good few seconds “...I am going to throw that tome at you. Like right now. Go back to research!”

“Well, at least it was worth a try.”

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #dean #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean imagine #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean one shot #dean winchester one shot #spn

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hpkinktober · 3 years

Text

Almost a month after HP Kinktober ended, I have finally created a complete masterlist of the wonderful Drarry works we were gifted with from this astoundingly creative community. Since I am only human, please let me know if anything is wrong with this post (broken link, mispelled author name, etc).

Day 1: Foreplay

Love Me Like Red Wine by @triggerlil (M, 290)

Harry prepares a meal, but Draco can't focus on the food. It's not his fault that Harry's so damn attractive.

Foreplay by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

In which Draco wears sky-blue, lacy bikini knickers.

Kiss Him All the Way Up by @chuckweasley (M, Digital Art)

Is Harry into feet? Does he want to kiss Draco on every square inch of his body? Is he kissing a trail from his toes up? You decide!

Water Spirit by @laurisophi (E, 703)

Harry wants to surprise Draco for their anniversary and show more of himself.

"You look like a lake spirit, bath by the moon, covered in green.” He kisses your shoulder and one hand slides over your back, your side, your hip.

A ficlet for the first day of HP Kinktober 2020: foreplay.

Day 2: Instant Darkness Powder

Under the Cover of Darkness by @manixzen (M, 2k)

Thanks to Pansy, Draco's stuck at a party with a whole bunch of drunk Gryffindors. And now they want to play party games. If only Draco can slip out unnoticed before this gets any worse.

Instant Darkness Powder by @ladderofyears (M, 116)

Auror Partners Harry and Draco are trapped in the dark. Flirting ensues.

A Smoke Afterwards by @chuckweasley (M, Digital Art)

I wonder who’s holding the lighter...

Day 3: Polyjuice

Prompt: Polyjuice by blackswingsblackwords (T, 349)

In which there is (supposed to be) roleplaying.

Polyjuice by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry takes Polyjuice Potion so Draco can fuck himself.

Polyjuice by CuriousEmWanders (E, 985)

In which Draco lets his curiosity and obsession get the best of him. He just needs to know what Harry looks like. How else is he supposed to find out?

Day 4: Amortentia

Occupational Hazard by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Potions Master Draco has been brewing Amortentia.

Prompt: Amortentia by blackwingsblackwords (T, 463)

In which there is a secret relationship.

Smells Like You by CuriousEmWanders (E, 3.1k)

Draco may not smell anything in his Amortentia, but that doesn't stop him from taking it to help him submit to his Dom de jour.

Day 5: Spell Play

A Magic Number of Orgasms @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry and Draco experiment with a sex spell.

Just Let Go by @manixzen (E, 3.4k)

Draco struggles with letting go of his need for control, both at work and at home. Harry can help.

Prompt: Spell Play by blackwingsblackwords (T, 1.1k)

In which an exhausted dad dates a smitten hero.

Day 6: Parseltongue

Lucky Bloody Serpent by @ladderofyears (G, 100)

When Harry gets a pet snake, Draco gets (a tiny bit) jealous.

a simple thank you can go a long way by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 2.7k)

The one where Draco needs to thank him and Harry allows him.

Also Parseltongue.

And dicks.

Draco’s Favorite Thing by CuriousEmWanders (E, 1.2k)

Draco has a thing for when Harry talks to him in parseltongue, and he's glad Harry doesn't know. Or does he?

The Hottest Parselmouth by @chuckweasley (T, Digital Art)

Draco cannot handle how hot Harry is when he’s speaking parseltongue, even though he has no idea what Harry’s saying.

Day 7: Creature!Fic

I’ll Huff, And I’ll Puff, And I’ll Blow Your House In... by @ladderofyears (M, 100)

There’s a Werewolf on the loose and he’s out to get Draco!

Thirst by @fluxweeed (E, 4.4k)

The path of Malfoy’s scent is obvious; Harry hasn’t fed for days, so his senses are sharp. Deadly.

And Malfoy smells so good.

Day 8: Imperius

Imperius by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry and Draco are put under the Imperius Curse.

Non-con warning

Day 9: Legilimency

Legilimens by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Draco shares his sexual fantasies with his lover Harry.

Day 10: Dark Magic Ritual

Reanimation Ritual by @ladderofyears (M, 100)

Draco performs a Dark Magic ritual to bring his dead lover Harry back to him.

A Moment of Intent by @manixzen (E, 4.6k)

Auror Harry Potter and Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy are on another case, this time a Dark Arts Ritual gone wrong. Surely, they won’t botch up yet another crime scene.

Day 11: Invisibility Cloak

Tryst Behind The Tapestry by @ladderofyears (E, 1k)

It's Eighth Year and Harry and Draco enjoy some very sexy - and very invisible - fun after dark has fallen at Hogwarts.

Invisibly Arouse (E, Digital Art) by @chuckweasley

The boys get frisky under the cloak!

Day 12: Duelling

Duel by @ladderofyears (M, 365)

Harry and Draco practice duelling and things get a little heated.

Prompt: Dueling by blackwingsblackwords (T, 534)

In which a lesson is learned.

Cut Me Open (and use me) by @triggerlil

Draco is the heir to the throne of England. Harry is a nobleman who wants to reclaim his honour. Somehow, these two things are intimately linked. Enter a sword, a dagger, and the hands of God, and you have a story about two men with tongues like knives, learning to lick love off sharp edges.

Day 13: Mirror

Deep Dark Truthful Mirror by @ladderofyears (E, 2k)

Draco shows Harry a very old, very powerful magical object: a mirror that will show his deepest, darkest sexual desires.

Getting Ready for Harry by @chuckweasley (G, Digital Art)

Harry likes Draco in glitter and cozy sweaters...don’t we all?

Day 16: Magic Sex Toys

hot damn, hot water, hot shower by @crimsonhead-ache

Harry was more than ready for a long soak, a nice glass of firewhiskey, and twelve hours of sleep.

Too bad life never works out the way it's planned, or is it?

Colour, love? by @choulatte (E, 7.7k)

Holding Harry’s gaze, Draco took out the lube and let his fingers dance over the golden cockring he'd previously kept hidden, liberally coating it in the slippery substance. He watched how Harry’s eyes followed his movements, a desperate groan escaping the other man when he finally recognized his fate.

Draco merely smiled.

Both by @chuckweasley (E, Digital Art)

Harry knows Draco likes to be filled.

Day 17: Room of Requirement

No Fantasy Required by @manixzen (E, 4.1k)

The Room of Requirement has never quite recovered from the war. It seems hell-bent on fulfilling every need of students and faculty alike, in or out of the room itself. Professors Potter and Malfoy really wish it would stop trying to do the students’ homework, though.

The Room Of Requirement Always Provides by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Just a hundred words of Draco and Harry having some smutty fun in the Room of Requirement.

Day 18: Herbology

Knowledge by @ladderofyears (E, 100)

Harry and Draco inhale sex pollen.

Day 19: Hair Pulling

Yeah, Pull it Harder by @chuckweasley (E, Digital Art)

The sex is very good.

Day 20: Veritaserum

Neither Of Us Have To Say A Single Word by @ladderofyears (T, 365)

When Draco is being badly bullied, Harry steps in and looks after him. Pre-slash.

A Bit of Honesty by @manixzen (E, 3.6k)

A Hogwarts ball, a spiked punch, Professor Potter and Professor Malfoy on chaperone duty… what could go wrong?

Day 21: Dragonhide

Dressing Up by @ladderofyears (T, 333)

The Potter-Malfoy family negotiate the tricky issue of Halloween costumes.

All Wrapped Up by @chuckweasley (E, Digital Art)

The boys take care of each other the best they can.

Day 22: Gillyweed

The Shape Of Love by @ladderofyears (E, 200)

Harry and Draco take Gillyweed and make love in The Black Lake.

Day 25: Tattoos

Tear it down piece by piece by moonstruckmuse (E, 7.8k)

Draco just wants to get rid of this stupid Dark Mark. Why is this so complicated?

His to Adorn, to Cherish, & to Keep by @maesmora (E, 1.4k)

Draco Malfoy is many things: calm, collected, in control. At least until Harry Potter gets his hands on him, and those aren't the only things Draco lets Harry put on his body...

Day 26: Exhibitionism

how can anybody have you and lose you and not lose their mind too? by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 3.8k)

As soon as he received that letter in the post last week from Potter’s boyfriend, he knew he would be in for it.

Day 27: Formal Wear

I guess that’s just me, honey, I guess that’s how I’m built by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 4k)

The way they adorned Potter’s body like they were made for him made him want to kiss his seamstresses’ feet. The lines, the colors, brought out his skin tone like nothing ever could.

Well, except perhaps the ropes Draco keeps in the bottom drawer of his bedside table.

Harry Potter and his Great Big Suit Kink by @swisstae (M, 2k)

Harry really doesn’t want to say it. Not because he thinks Draco will judge, mind you, but because it’s so embarrassing. Harry Potter—Saviour of the Wizarding World—turning into an incoherent mess at the sight of his boyfriend wearing a suit.

Waste Not, Want Not by @dragontamerdame (M, Art)

Harry may have gone a bit too far.

Day 28: Floo

the rush I get touchin’ you is somethin’ else by @crimsonhead-ache (E, 3.1k)

Harry frowned though; instead of feeling his joggers that had adorned his lower-half, now he felt the air hit his bare legs. He was going to murder Draco.

come through the fire my love by @triggerlil (T, 534)

Harry prepares for date night with Draco... until the man calls him through the floo to tell him he'll be late. Draco's just lucky Harry has a thing for fire.

Day 29: Wandless Magic

Without a touch by moonstruckmuse (M, 207)

Learning to do wandless magic.

#hpkinktober #hp kinktober #harry potter #draco malfoy #draco/harry #harry potter/draco malfoy #draco malfoy/harry potter #drarry #kinktober drarry #drarry master list #drarry fic post #fic recs #drarry fics #drarry fic list #drarry rec list #harry/draco

108 notes · View notes

farfromsugafanfic · 3 years

Text

Waiting For Superman

Genre: Superhero AU, Comic Book AU?, Journalist Namjoon, Journalist OC, best friends to lovers, Action, Angst if you squint, Fluff

Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury, hospitalization, bombings, hostage situations, kidnapping, uses chloroform to make someone unconscious, alcohol, physics lol

Synopsis: After your father, one of the top antimatter scientists is killed in his laboratory by villain Outlier, you and your best friend, Namjoon survive the only known antimatter bomb, you both go on to be two of the top journalists in Metropolis. Only, there’s something off about you that most people can’t put their finger on. Namjoon is the only one who notices, not even you know your biggest secret. Hoping to protect you from Outlier, Namjoon also guards a secret of his own.

Note: This is the beginning of a new AU series. This is also in the same universe as my Jin imagine, Heartbreak Weather. This story will continue in the background of future installments.

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"Damn," you said, looking through the article proposals for the week. "I have five proposals to do a story on the two weathermen that got together. Is nothing else interesting happening in Metropolis?" Reaching into your desk, you pulled out your lunch consisting only of a slightly too brown banana. You frowned. "I hate to say it, but it's really too bad that Outlier has been so quiet lately."

Namjoon chuckled. "You'd wish for a little peril in Metropolis if it made a good story." His lips curled upward and he adjusted his slightly too large glasses.

You smiled at your head writer's sarcasm. "Just a little peril. Not too much." Turning around to place the accepted and rejected proposals in their respective boxes, you returned to find a bright yellow banana sitting on your desk. It made you pause, but you shrugged as you peeled it open. "Besides, Antimatter Man always stops whatever his antics are."

"It's not always Antimatter Man."

You hummed in response, already marking up an article in red pen. "Most of the time though."

The conversation lulled, but it didn't feel awkward. You'd worked with Namjoon for nearly three years now, but known him much longer. You were his soundboard and he was your common sense.

"Maybe we do a piece on his recent quietness?"

You looked up. Namjoon already met your eyes. He sat with one leg on top of the other, forming a triangle and his arms crossed over his chest. You'd noticed the way his clothes began to fit tighter, stretching over new muscles. It surprised you. Namjoon never seemed like the athletic type. You were more likely to find him studying physics at the city library for his newest piece on Antimatter Man than in the gym building a physique rivaling a marble statue.

"That seems like a good idea." The pen pressed to your lips you didn't notice the way the ink blotted against your lips. "You wanna take it on?"

"Sure." He pushes one leg off the other and stands up. "I'll try to have it to you by morning."

You nod, trusting him fully to have his piece ready for the morning edition. He moved towards the door and you felt as he paused. Even though you weren't looking at him, you could tell the way he stood, with his hand gripping the door frame, his body half in, half out.

"Don't stay too late, Y/N. He might be quiet now, but you know that won't be forever."

You did know. Maybe more than anybody.

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Outlier first started terrorizing the Greater Metropolis area when you were twelve. It started off typical. A few particularly successful bank robberies netted him more than enough money for a lifetime. If it were you, you would've taken the money and moved far away, lived out the rest of your days peacefully. But, Outlier didn't want just the money.

When you were fifteen, however, it all changed.

It was nearly 9 pm. Your father had not returned home from work. It wasn't all around unusual. He often pulled long hours at the lab. But you felt an itch at the back of your spine. Like a spider crawling up each vertebrae like a ladder.

You called Namjoon. He was the only person you knew with a car, and the only one you knew wouldn't ask too many questions. Twenty minutes later, his headlights showed through the curtains of your bedroom.

"Hey," he said. His voice greeted you, full of exhaustion and the buoy that had bounced back and forth in the water between you.

Namjoon was your longest friend. You met in Kindergarten when you'd come across Namjoon in the back corner of the playground. Pushed against the pavement, two second graders tore off his glasses and put them on, mimicking his front teeth that stuck out before he got braces in high school.

You'd chased them off, managing to pick up his glasses off the ground. They were still broken, but you helped Namjoon tape them to get through the rest of the day. Since that day, you'd become almost inseparable. That was until you got a boyfriend.

You, of course, accused Namjoon of being jealous when he didn't immediately take to the idea of you and Vincent. Though, despite the accusation, you knew it was far from the truth. It wasn't hard to see that Vincent was bad for you. He was the reason your grades began to drop, why you knew the familiar burn of whiskey down your throat, and why were spending that night--Valentine's Day--alone.

"You haven't heard anything from him?" Namjoon backed out of your driveway before you even managed to get the seatbelt hooked.

You shook your head. "He normally calls if he's running late."

It takes another twenty minutes to reach your dad's work. Located just outside the city, you could see Longevity Labs ten minutes before you reach it. Up on a hill, it was agonizing watching the building cycle in and out of view with every turn and switchback.

When you get there, you look up to the fourth floor where your father's lab was. The lights were still on and you felt the coil in your chest unravel a little. Though not completely.

The elevators in Longevity Labs had been broken for years now and you didn't pay them any mind as you walked to the staircase and climbed the four floors. Namjoon stayed close behind, though you didn't speak. It wasn't the first time the two of you had come to the labs together when you'd become worried. After losing your mom when you were young, a burr of worry attached itself to your heart and poked you when your father wasn't home by eight.

The metal of the doorknob felt warm. There were plenty of reasons for that, you rationalized. Your father was one of the top scientists in Metropolis, he worked with all sorts of dangerous things that could need a warm environment, or cause one.

You pushed the door open and met your father's eyes. They were wide open and empty. A silent scream falling from his wide open mouth. Your vision blurred and the thing you remember next is feeling Namjoon's hand on your shoulder as his voice elevated. It was only then you noticed that you weren't alone.

"What are you doing here?" Namjoon asked, his voice like the bark of a guard dog. It surprised you. For a boy of barely sixteen at the time, it felt like he suddenly was a man standing beside you. You were still just a tiny girl.

The man wore a mask. Of course he wore a mask. It was white with two diamond shapes for the eyes, only revealing a small bit of his pupil. The man didn't speak when he opened his hand, a metallic orb drifting upwards. He didn't throw it, but the orb moved quickly, like it was falling.

It was only later you learned that it was rigged to move upward like that. Real antimatter would act just like regular matter, nearly indecipherable. This--while true antimatter--was meant to hold your attention long enough.

The explosion pushed you towards the ceiling. You woke up to a firefighter reaching for your hand. It was only when you took it and tried to place your feet on the ground that you noticed that you and Namjoon ended up pushed through the wall and into the vent system near the ceiling. He wasn't fully awake, yet his arms still reached for you after you were peeled away from his body.

The two of you were the only known survivors of an antimatter bomb. Well, it was more like a grenade. Your father's lab, body, and work was largely destroyed in the explosion, but for some reason, you and Namjoon survived. It's wide believed that there was something wrong with the bomb. That it didn't attack your living cells.

You and Namjoon did not come out unscathed. Somehow, you got off fairly easy with a broken collarbone, a concussion, and a few deep cuts around your body. Namjoon, on the other hand, never fully awoke for a week. He'd broken three ribs, one of his lungs collapsed, his head injury much worse than yours, permanent damage to his spine. When he woke a week later, you wanted to envelope him in a hug and never let go.

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Namjoon found you curled up in the newspaper archives at midnight. He was the only one who knew your Valentine's Day ritual. He moved the papers from your lap and took the glass of wine from your hand before it spilled. Just like every year, the paper was open to your dad's obituary and the news coverage of the explosion.

The edges of the paper were brown and crisped as if they were sixty years old instead of ten. His brow furrowed as he touched them. Between his fingers, the brown edges lightened as he brought them towards the light.

Ever since that night, your mission was to expose Outlier. You knew he wasn't some superhuman. Your dad worked with antimatter to harness its capabilities for good. For medical applications and using its destruction for renewable energy. Outlier wanted to use antimatter in the way everyone feared. To destroy.

As he moved the paper with your father's smiling face, he saw another, a jolt running down his spine. The headline took up almost half the page, "New Hero Emerges In Fight Against Outlier."

Outlier's antics became more calculated. Everyone knew he had the capability to use antimatter, but his subsequent movements involved raids of laboratories outside the city and taking a graduate student hostage. No one else died.

It was during the hostage situation that Antimatter first saved the day. It was around a year after your attack and Antimatter Man successfully infiltrated the laboratory and got the hostage to safety before the entire lab exploded. It was only in his next act of heroism that the city realized he was more than just someone who risked his life to save someone. He had powers.

Next time, Antimatter Man disabled a device strapped around a victim's neck with just a touch. It was determined to be a miniature explosive that would've destroyed the man had it gone off. The hero could manipulate antimatter. Destroy it--and was later determined--create it.

When Antimatter Man caused an explosion in an alleyway, he was lucky that only one bystander died. Like all the previous times he disabled one of Outlier's antimatter devices, he placed his hand on top of it. Instead of feeling the molecules burst like boba, he felt an energy build until it exploded.

Outlier purposely placed a more standard bomb that would explode in the presence of antimatter. It was a test. One Antimatter Man hadn't anticipated. In fact, it was rumored the hero had no idea the full scale of his abilities until that moment. The only reason he came out unscathed is because he was able to clock himself in antimatter to prevent the explosion from destroying him.

Namjoon knew that Outlier knew who Antimatter Man was. While the general public may not know that Antimatter Man was a victim of Outlier, or that he used chunky glasses and the Metropolis Daily to control the public's view of Kim Namjoon and Antimatter Man. Outlier was the only one who knew, not even you.

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The authorities always told you that Outlier may come back. Your father was the most prominent scientist working with antimatter technology and there were likely things Outlier had not figured out yet. He may come for your father's notes. Yet, he never did.

You weren't too worried about it anymore. It wasn't as if Outlier had a personal vendetta against you or your father. You hadn't seen his face. You'd practically passed out when you saw him, and probably would've had he not dropped the grenade when you locked eyes.

Still, you always watched your back when you walked from the Metropolis Daily office to your apartment. It was only a few blocks, but normally traversed after dark. Sometimes Namjoon came with you, though most of the time you persuaded him to just go back to his own place. Especially this night, you did not want Namjoon to know you didn't plan on going home.

Normally, when you hid your plans from Namjoon, it was because you were heading somewhere dangerous for research. Like the time you drove out into the forest on your own in search of Outlier's supposed hide out, or the time you decided to follow a man suspected to be Antimatter Man. Even as an editor, you still wrote, tending to keep the most hard hitting stories for yourself. Besides, few of your journalists were willing to possibly get close to Outlier. You'd survived once, you felt you could again.

However, this night, you were headed to the club. There was no reason or ulterior motive. You simply wanted to let loose. You knew Namjoon wouldn't like it. He wasn't smothering, he let you make your own decisions and do what you want, but his disapproving and worried looks always cut you deep.

You knew it all came from a place of concern. He always told you how thankful he was that he was with you that night. But, you always fit a pit of guilt in your stomach. Namjoon nearly died because of you. There was no way you were going to let that happen again.

You'd changed into something sexier before leaving the office, leaving your office clothes in your desk drawer. You always kept an extra set there any way in case you needed to pull an all nighter at the office. It was rare you got to go out and enjoy yourself on a Friday night and you already felt the contentment rising in you as you approached the club and heard the rhythmic thud of bass.

This particular club wasn't one with a line of people which was why you chose it. There was no wait. You could get in and out easily and without fuss. When you didn't get to do things like this often, you wanted to truly get to do them.

It wasn't long until you lost yourself. In the crowd. In the music. In your thoughts. Or rather, lack thereof. This is why people liked clubbing and loud music. It drowned out your worries. Everything became a constant hum in the back of your skull, where, for once, you could ignore it.

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Namjoon had suspicions. It started when no fruit stayed ripe around you. The way that the microwave always sparked when you tried to make popcorn. And no matter what you did, it always ended up just a little too burnt. Nothing you did was ever quite right, but never quite wrong.

He always found his way to you whether he wanted to or not. It was as if the particles in his body were attracted to yours. Recognized them like their reflection. You got into a car accident two years ago and Namjoon had left work early that day, having felt an aching in his lower stomach. Fearing appendicitis, his supervisor sent him home.

He'd walked a block when he came upon it. You were sitting on the sidewalk, your hands pulling at the roots of your hair and your feet pointed towards each other. Something caused you to look up then. Namjoon wondered if you had the same uncanny sense he did, if you could put together when the other was in peril. When you saw him, your arms came around him and your shaking body burrowed into his for warmth.

When he was eighteen and you were seventeen, the two of you briefly shared an apartment. Namjoon had started taking classes at the university and you were in your senior year. While your dad had left everything to you--you were all he had--you sold the house a year after your dad died, unable to live there alone.

You'd come home one night after a basketball game. Namjoon always encouraged you to go, wanting you to feel like a normal high schooler. Though, while he was well intentioned, the efforts were ultimately fraught. You'd left at halftime because you think the concession stand hot dog made you sick.

Yet, when you came home. You found Joon spread out on the couch, bottles of alcohol spread around him like the crime scene markers around your dad's body. He'll never forget the light touches on his shoulder, then forehead, then bicep. The way it reminded him of feeling just a little too warm on a winter's night, pleasantly so.

His feet brought him to the entrance of the club and his heart sped up. You never came to places like this, but Namjoon knew you had the secret desire to. You'd always loved to dance even though you weren't particularly skilled at it. He walked inside, loitering at the edges of the dancefloor.

Namjoon had to keep himself from sneering at the sweaty bodies and couples dry humping each other. He never really understood the appeal of clubs. His eyes flit across the crowd, spotting your hair first. Even though you'd worked all day, you looked beautiful still. Your hair a little frizzier than usual and he recognized the tiredness in the way your moved your body to the bet. It wasn't lazy exactly, but it didn't have the same gusto as some of the others around you.

He wondered if his feeling had been off. Maybe he was just too on edge lately because Outlier had gone so silent. There was a parasite in the back of his mind that fed him anxieties. Was he planning something big? Had he finally figured out to build the bomb he wanted to? Was he committing lower level crimes Namjoon wasn't privy to? Did he know about you?

Watching you dance, he shook his head. You weren't in any danger. It was just in his head this time. Turning with his hands in his pockets, he took two steps towards the door of the club when he looked back and caught a glimpse of your smile. It was rare these days and not something he wanted to ruin with his worries.

With a small smile of his own, Namjoon left.

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You ended the night at around two a.m. You'd had two drinks, not enough to make you stumble out on the sidewalk, but enough to make you feel like you were. Taking off your heels, you gripped them in your fingers as you walked back towards your place. The walk should take fifteen minutes, but in your current state, you found yourself sauntering along as if the streets of Metropolis were perfectly safe in the wee hours of the morning.

If it were not for the alcohol in your system, maybe you would've sensed the presence behind you. Maybe you would've seen the dark shadow lingering behind you for the last two blocks. It wasn't until a hand clamped over your mouth, the other clamped around your jaw to prevent you from biting down on your abductor's fingers.

It was then you tasted it on your tongue. The rough, bleached taste of fabric. Something mildly sweet. Like laughing gas at the dentist.

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Namjoon prided himself on his intuition. When you called him the night your father died, he almost ignored it. Nearly blinded by his teenage jealousy, it was a small pain in his stomach that made him answer his phone and rush to you that night.

He had the same pain now. Just below his ribs this time, he rubbed his fingers along the cotton of his button down as he glanced at your dark, empty office. You hadn't come in for work this morning. No one heard from you last night or this morning. And, despite this being unlike you, no one else seemed concerned.

You'd gained a reputation for your independence and ability to take care of yourself. You hardly ever asked for help--and while your own mind tended to think that an admirable trait--it only made Namjoon's mind race more. However, this made everyone else go about their day.

A half hour later Namjoon stood in his boss' office. "I'm not feeling well. Would it be all right if I took the rest of the day off?"

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When you came to, you immediately noticed the lack of rough rope around your wrists or ankles. When you opened your eyes, however, you noticed the white cuffs floating half an inch from your skin. One cuff circled each wrist and another two around each ankle. You knew enough about how Outlier operated to know about these.

First seen in his second major hostage situation following your father's death, these cuffs did not touch the skin. But, if the hostage moves or tries to escape and their skin brushes the edge of the cuff, the invisible antimatter will attack the matter rich skin, flesh, and bone.

The first hostage to have worn these cuffs lost a hand before she understood how they worked. Now, Outlier gained easy compliance with even just the threat of his antimatter cuffs.

"Ah, so you've heard of them?"

Outlier sat across the room. HIs diamond slit mask shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit room. It made your heartbeat easier knowing he still wore the mask. It meant he didn't plan on killing you. At least, not yet.

"You know--" Outlier paused, a soft lilt in his voice that annoyed you. Normally, the sort of singsong quality he had would make you flutter your lashes at him across the bar. Outlier's voice though, sounded like a children's song slowed down and played backward. "The technology for those cuffs I developed from some of your dad's research."

He stood up, moving closer. "The ability to suspend antimatter around a given object using the only gas in our world that antimatter cannot destroy. Quite brilliant, really."

As a teenager, you really did not know much about your father's research beyond its main goal: make the world better using the one thing that could destroy it. Your father had seen success in his lifetime. The use of antimatter in some medical technology aided the treatment of cancer and detecting major illnesses. It had saved lives.

You'd looked over a bit of your father's surviving research, of course. The things you had mainly consisted of experiment notes, a few crude sketches, and one report about a failed experiment. Nothing of value, really. It's why you always brushed off Namjoon's worries that Outlier would come back for it. What did you have that he would want?

"I imagine you know why you're here." Outlier was now only a few feet away and he leaned leisurely against the wall as if he were an old friend visiting your new apartment.

"No, I--"

"But, my assistant has something they want from you first."

Your head turned to the darkness in front of you from where Outlier had originally come. You made out the figure of another man. Smaller in stature, he shuffled slowly into the dim light. He didn't wear a mask, his hair falling into his eyes.

"My report," he said, his voice hesitant, almost scared. If you didn't know any better you'd believe he was the one being held hostage by Outlier. "Do you have it?"

"Your report?" Your brow furrowed as you thought about the one report you had. It detailed only the attempt to create an anti-oxygen particle. "I-I don't think so."

The air in the room became stuffy. Outlier seemed not to believe you, his arms crossed. You had no idea who Outlier's assistant was, but you were certain that whatever experiment he was a part of, your father would never have done something to make this man resent him. You almost wished you had the report.

"My assistant, you see," Outlier began in his singsong voice. "Suffers from a particular ailment brought on by one of your father's experiments. It tends to leave people, breathless. Isn't that right, Yoongi?"

The other man--Yoongi--glared at his supervillain boss. Something turned in your stomach. Yoongi didn't appear to be overly loyal to Outlier. Maybe he would be your key to getting out of this.

"Well, that was merely a favor. His report was never recovered and I thought there was a chance you may have it. But, now onto the real reason I've brought you here."Outlier crouched down, coming face to face with you. "Now, for an experiment of my own."

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a short rod. Holding it above your bindings, the cuff fell limp and motionless against your wrist. You nearly flinched, worried it would begin cutting through the skin. But, it didn't.

Despite his mask, Outlier's form seemed to perk up at that. As if he had the first evidence that his hypothesis was true. With his thick, black gloves, that you were assumed were made of antimatterium--an element created by your father to make the handling of antimatter safer--Outlier slipped the ring off your wrist.

Reaching pack into his pocket, he pulled out a new ring and placed it around your wrist. It looked identical to the last, white, vaguely metallic with a visible field of matter--or possibly antimatter--surrounding it. Stretching it over your hand, he slipped it around your wrist.

"It should only take a few minutes."

Outlier stood back up.

"What's the point of this?" you asked, becoming more frustrated that nothing was happening. You knew you should be thankful you are still alive. It would be easy enough to kill you and rummage through your apartment for whatever he wants. Yet, for some reason, he refrained.

"I imagine you can figure that out on your own." Outlier watched the ring around your wrist carefully. "My biggest foe can only have a mind that rivals my own."

Biggest foe? Your mind turned over the possible meanings of his words until it clicked. "You think I'm Antimatter Man?"

Outlier didn't flinch. "Of course."

You laughed. You couldn't help yourself. While you'd never come to face to face with Antimatter Man himself, it was obvious that the superhero was easily many inches taller than you and his shoulders were easily the entire length of one of your arms.

"Me? Of all people?"

"It would make some sense, wouldn't it? Very few people survive the blast from an antimatter bomb. And those that do often acquire certain--capabilities."

You shook your head. "But, I'm not the only one who survived, Nam--"

You were interrupted by the sound of Outlier's surprise as well as the sound of banging from outside the room. Yoongi--who hadn't been paying attention--suddenly popped his head up and glanced towards the door to your left. With so many things happening at once, you chose to only focus on where Outlier's eyes went.

The ring around your wrist had begun to crumble like cheese. Bits falling off as they became too heavy or lost their support. Squinting your eyes you wondered how this was possible. You didn't get a chance to hop on your train of thought before the door burst open.

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Antimatter Man burst into the room. He never wore a specific costume like superheroes were often penchant to do. Normally, he just wore an all black ensemble and a mask, obscuring most of his face. A hat usually then kept his hair hidden, beyond the tiny wisps of light brown you saw peeking out from underneath.

"Let her go," he said, his voice matter of fact and deep and familiar.

Outlier--to his credit--did seem genuinely surprised. Though, he bounced back quickly, ordering Yoongi to shut the door. The other man did so slowly and pathetically, letting it scrape against the splintered hardwood floor.

"Hmm, well, it would seem your presence here would confirm that my original hypothesis was wrong." A pause and he points down at you. "But I may have a new one."

For some reason, it took you this long to put together that you were destroyed the ring imprisoning your left wrist. Why hadn't the first one crumbled into nothingness like this?

"That ring is made of matter. Like most things in our universe. However, it is designed to crumble when it detects antimatter energy. She produces antimatter energy. Probably in small amounts which is why she and the world haven't destroyed each other yet." He looks back at Antimatter Man who's dark eyes are flitting between you and the villain. "Much like you, my nemesis. You destroy all antimatter you come into contact with through the latent production of pure matter. You really should correct the press on the name, you know?"

Your mind swirled. You created latent antimatter? Did this explain why everything in your life with a timespan seemed to die or wilt quicker than usual? Why people found you just slightly off?

"She has the potential to be my greatest weapon. If I can harness the antimatter inside of her. Determine whatever is producing it, I would no longer need to spend weeks producing such tiny amounts." You were certain that if his mask was off, his face would be lit up like a child's. His hand reached for yours and he pulled you up off the ground. The cuffs shifted with you since both you and the antimatter cuffs were under his control. Would they even work on you though?

Outlier held your back against his chest. It surprised you how much he felt like a normal man. Of course, that's all he was in the grand scheme of it all. Outlier was nothing more than a man desperate for something.

"No!" Antimatter Man sounded almost desperate. "Don't hurt her! She's been through enough. She didn't ask for it. She didn't even know about it. Please just let her go. I'll--" You can also hear the thoughts turning in his mind. "You can have me instead."

Your eyes went wide. Antimatter Man seldom placed himself directly into Outlier's hands. He was known for foiling the villain's plans remotely, sometimes even not showing up to the scene. And, even when they did come face to face, it was usually brief. What made this so different? What made you different?

Also, why did he talk like he knew you? Sure, your story had been in the papers a long time ago? You occasionally met a stranger who would recognize your name, but it was becoming less and less common with every passing year. How did Antimatter Man know you?

Outlier's grip on you tightened. One of his hands reached down for your wrist and held it up. Taking hold of the cuff, he brought it within millimeters of your skin.

"Now, let's be civilized about this. If you were truly worried about this girl because of her past, you wouldn't have let me take her in the first place."

Antimatter Man gulped. His body was stiff and his hands opened and closed. It reminded you of how Namjoon kept a stress ball in his desk drawer for whenever he had a stressful day. He'd squeeze and release it a few times in time with his breaths, getting out of his head.

"Yoongi," Antimatter Man said, his breath tickling the shell of your ear. "Open the back door for me would you?"

Yoongi didn't move. His gaze was hard, but not in a way that felt piercing or like he was looking through you. He was thinking.

"Yoongi," the villain said again.

Yoongi didn't move.

Antimatter Man took the opportunity and lunged. It was a risk. The cuffs still encircled one wrist and both your ankles. As you fell backward, it felt as if the world moved in slow motion, you watched your wrist fling back, hitting the ring of the cuff and bounce back, completely unharmed.

You land on Outlier's chest, but his grip on you loosened. You got up but immediately felt your legs give out. Someone caught you and you looked up to see Yoongi looking down at you. He didn't speak, or really show any expression beyond motioning to the back of the room where there was a door concealed within the wall. Likely, this was the back door Outlier wanted him to open earlier.

Even though Yoongi was working with Outlier, you felt like you were free. Something told you he was helping you. The man obviously did not swear much loyalty to the villain. You reached and pulled the cuffs off, causing Yoongi's eyes to widen and you felt his arms waver as you tossed them in Outlier's direction, hoping one would at least chink his antimatter protective armor.

Someone winced. And you recognized it. It was the same pain you heard that night when the bomb went off and you felt Namjoon's body wrap around yours. When he woke up in the hospital and you couldn't help but hug him, forgetting he had multiple broken ribs. Even in his pain, he didn't stop you.

"Oh my God."

You wrestled out of Yoongi's grasp. Outlier--seemingly not really wanting to fight--ran as soon as Antimatter Man fell to the ground. The cuff had sliced through his clothes and a gash opened on his leg. You crouched next to him and reached for the gash, applying as much pressure as possible

"It's not as bad as it looks. It'll heal by tomorrow."

You looked up at him and met his eyes. It was him. It had to be. You reached up for the edge of the mask. He didn't stop you, his dark eyes watching your hand as you reached up and revealed his identity.

Namjoon.

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sgtbradfords · 3 years

Note

Chenford + “Hey, take a breath. Here, hold my hand.”

Thanks for the prompt anon! I hope you’re ok with an AU because that’s what my muse produced. Enjoy and Happy Friday!

Tim Bradford sat on a tattered barstool in front of a bar, taking small sips of the amber liquor that occupied the glass in his right hand. He couldn’t believe her. No, scratch that. He could believe her, but chose to ignore that small fact.

“What do you want?” He grumbled, his focus staying on the rows of multicolored bottles behind the bar.

“Now Tim, is that anyway to treat a friend?” She smiled, sitting down at the counter next to him.

Tim grunted, holding the glass against his lips. “I’m not your friend.”

“Is that anyway to treat your wife then?”

He roughly sat the drinking glass down onto the mahogany wood, turning his body towards her. “We’re not married.”

“Maybe not legally, but you have to admit that trip to Barbados was fun.” She gleamed.

“Fun? We almost became shark bait.”

“Keyword being almost Tim.”

Tim sighed. “Why are you here Lucy?”

Lucy pouted. “Can I not have a drink with a friend?”

“We’re not fr-“

“We’re friends Tim. Whether you like it or not.”

Tim turned his head. “Give me one reason as to why shouldn’t I arrest you right now?”

Lucy bit her lip, placing her right hand onto his left arm. “Because that’s not part of our deal and you know it.”

Tim shook his head, turning his focus back to the rows and shelves of bottles behind the bar. “What have you heard?”

“Not here.” She smiled, shaking her head. “What’d you say we get out of here?”

Tim tossed back the rest of the whiskey, sitting the empty glass on the counter as he stood.

Twenty minutes later, Lucy was leading Tim through a penthouse apartment.

“I’m not even going to ask how you’re affording this.” He sighed, kicking his shoes off by the door.

Lucy shrugged. “I’m one of the best thieves in the business Tim.”

“Used to be.” He told her as he made his way to the kitchen. “You used to be one of the best thieves Lucy.”

Lucy followed his retreating form. “Semantics.” She told him, offhandedly waving as she leaned against the wall separating the two rooms.

Tim grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, twisting the cap off before taking a long drag of the cold liquid.

“Are you going to tell me the plan Chen? Or are you just going to stare at me?”

Lucy felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment at being caught before she jumped, moving to sit up onto the marble countertop. “How do you feel about Dexter?”

Tim set the plastic bottle down on the other side of the countertop, staring at his partner before he leaned forward against the chilled marble.

“The TV show?”

“No,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “Maine.”

“Can’t say that I have visited there recently. What have you heard?”

“Word is that the artifacts that were stolen from a museum in Madrid last week, are about to be sold, amongst other things.”

Tim ran a hand down his face. “Ok, stolen artifacts from Spain. What are they doing in the States?”

Lucy shrugged. “Not sure yet but, I do know that there are some major players involved. Cole Midas, Nick Armstrong, Rosalind Dyer.”

“Fuck.” He cursed, propping his hands on the countertop. “Have you notified Grey?”

She shook her head. “He vaguely knows the details, but he also said not to tell him if we were fixing to do something illegal.”

Tim chuckled, lifting off his top half off the counter as he moved to the living room, stopping in front of the panoramic windows that overlooked the city below.

The view from the top of the high rise was breathtaking. Views of the Pacific Ocean and vast rolling hills could be seen off in the distance, other skyscrapers and smaller occupied buildings on every corner. The glow of headlights and taillights lighting up the darker corners of the City of Angels. The sound of sirens could be heard as they echoed down the streets and up the sides of the buildings around them.

“You’re thinking too loud.” She softly spoke from behind him.

“We are not going to have a repeat of last time Luce.” He whispered into the night.

“Hey, what happened last time-“ Lucy told him as she took a step forward, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, the touch causing Tim to release a sigh.

“Was my fault.” He finished for her. “You almost- I watched you die Lucy.”

“That was not your fault Tim Bradford, and you know it. What he did- I’m alive because of you.”

“I can’t-“ He hesitated, the words catching in his throat as he looked down at the world moving around them. “I can’t lose you again.”

Lucy could feel her heart break at the emotion in his uttered confession.

“Here,” She told him as she removed her hand from his shoulder. “Take my hand.”

Tim turned slowly, making no move to reach for her hand, causing Lucy to take matters into her own hands, reaching for his. She grasped his hand in hers, his calloused skin a stark contrast to the softness of hers.

“I’m alive Tim.” She sighed as she gently squeezed his hand with hers. “And you know that doing the job that we do, we have to take risks. You knew this when you swore an oath and put on that badge, long before you were tasked with capturing me.”

He shook his head. “These risks, are they worth it?”

Lucy looked up. “You know it is, if it means that I am not locked up in a federal prison or extradited to another country, it’s always worth it.”

Tim’s other hand moved on its own accord, his calloused fingers brushing against her skin as he pushed the strands of hair that had fallen back behind her ear.

“You know I won’t let that happen.”

She smiled at the truth in his words. She knew he wouldn’t. “I know. Now Grey on the other hand…”

“I’ll handle Wade.”

Lucy couldn’t hold back the snicker, letting go of his hand as she stepped back. “I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Have you talked to the team?” Tim asked, walking away from the window, moving to sit down on the couch.

“Nyla is picking us up in the morning, the rest are on their way to the safehouse.”

Tim sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned his head onto the back of the cushion, time passing as Lucy sat adjacent to the couch in the navy armchair.

“Lucy?” Tim’s gravely spoke after letting his body conform to the plush couch cushion.

“Yeah?”

“This isn’t your penthouse, is it.” He stated, already knowing the answer as he continued to keep his eyes closed.

Lucy chuckled, the only answer he needed as he opened his eyes, his body now tense as he stood up from his relaxed state.

“We’ve talked about this Chen.” He said exasperatedly, running a tired hand down his face as he turned towards her. “You can’t just find something you like and claim it as your own.”

“You going to arrest me?”

Tim cut his eyes at her, just as the faint ding of the elevator arriving to the floor, in the hall sounded.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Lucy looked at Tim panicked. “They weren’t supposed to return until this weekend.”

‘’Yeah well, our lives are just full of surprises.” He told her as he ran across the room, slipping his shoes back onto his feet. “Don’t just there on your ass Lucy!”

She stood quickly, spotting a clear box built into the outside wall that was lit up by the lights of the city below. “Get outside.” She whispered loudly as she pulled the balcony door open, stepping onto the concrete platform, rushing over to the wall.

Tim ran after her, jerking the small glass door open as he pulled the fire ladder out, heaving it over the railing as the ladder extended into the night, landing two balconies below.

“We better hope no one’s at home or we’re going to have a hard time explaining this one.” He told her as he tossed a leg over onto the metal rung, followed by the other leg.

“Later Bradford. Now move!” She chastised as she followed. “And don’t you dare look up!”

“It’s dark out Chen, not a whole lot to be seen!” He said as he focused on moving down to the next step below. “Why are you wearing a skirt anyways? You never wear skirts.”

“Are you looking up?” She lowly asked. “Don’t look!”

Tim rolled his eyes. “It’s not anything I’ve not seen before Luce.”

His footing quickly found solid concrete as he planted them on the balcony, keeping both hands on the sides of the ladder, attempting to hold it steady.

“Different circumstances Tim.” She told him as the soles of her shoes touched the concrete. Lucy turned, opening the apartments sliding door.

“Why is it not locked?” He asked.

“We’re almost six hundred feet off the ground, why would you lock your door?”

He sighed as they walked through the seemingly vacant apartment. “Because someone-“

“It’s time turn your training off Tim, join the dark side.”

Tim stopped, pulling open the front door, ushering her through as he locked the door behind them, pulling it close.

“The last time you said that we were thrown out of a plane at twenty thousand feet by those Cubans. Mind you, with a half-assed parachute.”

Lucy pressed the button on the wall for the elevator, the arrow above showing the cart slowly coming down.

“You got us down.”

Tim turned, staring her down. “When do we have to be at the airfield?”

“0700. Harper said something about a bumpy ride so I hope you pack your Dramamine.”

“As long it’s not that damn Stratotanker again, I’ll be fine.” He grumbled as the elevator hit the ground floor, the doors opening.

“I’ll see you in the morning at the airfield, I’ve got a few things that I need to wrap up here.” Lucy told him as they walked across the lobby. “And you might want to call Wesley, have him wipe the security tapes.”

Tim shook his head. “No more breaking into houses.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” she smirked.

“You better not be late.”

Lucy turned, walking into the night but not before getting in the last word. “And have you condition my ass again? Never.”

Twelve hours later, Tim found himself 33,000 feet off the ground, his body strapped into the uncomfortable harness of a C-130.

“You good?” Lucy asked as she walked back from the cockpit, sitting down next to Tim as she began strapping herself back in to the seat.

“For the third time Lucy, I’m fine.” He sighed, finding the familiar rocking motion of the military aircraft more comforting than sickening.

“Nyla said we’re about twenty minutes from landing. I tried getting the pilot, his name is James by the way, to tell me how Nyla was able to convince him to smuggle us on, but he wouldn’t budge.” Lucy told him as the corners of Tim’s lips threatened to turn. “I’m pretty sure their sleeping together.”

Soon the wheels of the aircraft touched the ground once again, landing at a military base in Vermont before they picked up the government issued vehicle that was left for them, making the six-hour drive to Maine.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Nyla asked from her seat in the back of the sedan as they made their way northeast on the interstate.

Tim scoffed. “I know how to punch in the address into the GPS Harper. Or would you rather stop and ask for directions every hour?”

Lucy rested her head on the windshield of the passenger door, smiling as the backseat driver chose to keep her critiques to herself for the remainder of the ride.

The ample afternoon sunshine, quickly turned into dusk as Tim steered the vehicle onto a flat gravel road, the rocks under the tires paving the way before coming to a stop in front of an elegant two-story lake house.

“How are you two affording this?” Nyla asked as she stepped out of the car, her boots crunching the rocks under her feet. “On second thought, I don’t want to know.”

“Plausible deniability?”

“Yep.” She told them as she grabbed her duffle from the open trunk. “Anyone else here yet?”

“Angela and Wesley, so yell before you enter.”

Nyla sighed, grumbling about newlyweds under her breath as she walked towards the house.

Tim pulled out another duffle, handing it over to Lucy before grabbing her luggage, extending the handle before grabbing his own, sitting it on top of hers.

“What the fuck do you have in here Lucy?” He asked as he pulled the suitcase across the gravel. “Your picks don’t take up that much space.”

“Stuff.”

Tim rolled his eyes as the bag hit the walkway lined with pavers walking the brick that led to the entrance as he heaved the bags up the stoop and into the house.

“Lucy.” Angela greeted with arms open wide as her and Tim stepped into the house. “May I just say, you are rocking this new look.”

Lucy dropped her bag, stepping into the embrace as she wrapped her right hand around Angela’s back for a few seconds before pulling back out of the hug.

Angela stepped back, moving in front of Tim. “Did you forget to shave?”

Tim exasperatedly sighed, running a hand along the stubble. “It’s not that bad Angela.”

“You sure about that?” She told him earnestly before turning away, leading them out of the foyer and towards the quaint living room. “So, what highly illegal task do we need to accomplish this time for a federal agency that shall not be named.”

Lucy and Tim shared a glance. “We’re not-“

“Please.” Wesley told them as he entered the room from the kitchen. “I done my research on the two of you, well your cover identities, when you first approached us about Istanbul. If it’s on the internet, I can find it, just sometimes in less than legal ways.”

“You know that’s a federal crime, right?”

“Legal or not, your employer pays the bills.” He told them shrugging. “Besides, you can always think of it as our own version of don’t ask, don’t tell.”

The sound of the front door opening once again caused the heads in the room to turn, as a familiar voice echoed off the walls. “Lucy! I’m home!”

“Nolan, I think you watched one too many episodes on the flight.” Jackson West told his friend as he walked through the entry way behind him.

“It was the only show that seemed entertaining during our three-hour flight and, I’ve always wanted to say that.” He sighed with a smile as he set his bag down onto the hardwood floor.

After all the greetings were exchanged and sleeping arrangements made, the group unanimously made their way around to the back of the house, a variety of beers and seltzers in hand as Tim found dry kindling to build a fire in the large stone firepit. The atmosphere around them light, a cool summer breeze making its way off the lake behind them as they caught up with one another.

“So, what are we recovering exactly?” Nyla was the first to ask, leaning forward in the Adirondack chair as she stared down the two people that called them all together once again.

Lucy took a deep breath, her thumb rubbing at the corner of the plastic label on her bottle. “Artifacts, stolen artifacts.”

“Like Indiana Jones?” asked Jackson excitedly. “You know, I’ve always wanted to try the sandbag trick, well minus the whole chased by a giant rolling rock, dodging poisonous dart and spears that want to impale you.”

“Don’t forget you get to carry a whip and the fedora.” Added in Nolan, pretending to crack a whip in his hands. “I always wanted one of those as a child.”

Tim rolled his eyes at the antics of the hired help.

“Come on Tim, you can not tell me that as a child, you never once pretended to be a treasure hunter.” Lucy smiled as she took a quick sip from the bottle in her hand. “Unfortunately, these artifacts are not as cool. But they do cost a pretty penny.”

“So, expensive treasure.” Pointed out Wesley. “Where do we come in?”

“We have three days to get everything into place, but the meet is taking place at a boat dock about an hour north of here.” Tim sighed, the plan unraveling as he stoked the fire. “So far, we know of three major players involved but expect there to be one or two more.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“Cole Midas, Nick Armstrong and Rosalind Dyer.”

Wesley let out a low whistle. “That’s the names of three people on three different most wanted lists right now.”

“Which is why this job is not going to be an easy one.” Tim told their misfit group of friends as he shared a look with Lucy. “If you want to walk away now, there would be no judgement from either of us.”

The five looked at one another, eyes bouncing from one person to the next as they each made their decision.

“I for one, could use a break from building treehouses.”

“I’m game, as long as I am back in time for my audition next week.”

Angela and Wesley shared a silent look. “We’re in.”

Lucy turned her head, looking towards the one person that had not given their answer yet. “Nyla?”

“We need a boat, right? I mean if the meeting is on a lake, we’re going to need a boat.”

Tim nodded, leaning back in his chair as he looked around the firepit at the faces of those that had saved his and Lucy’s asses more than once in the past few years. “Good. Then let’s get started.”

#the rookie fic #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford #fanfic

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achillestiel · 3 years

Text

the parent trap only works if you’re identical | part five (if this get’s any longer I’m putting it on ao3)

Tag List: @littlerachelbee @imthedoctorlove @deancas-handprint @castiel-loves-dean @wanderermatthews @thelahatiel @priscillahc @mridzyp @multi-fandom-dark-lord @thefantasyfiend @harmonyhelms @imlivingliferightnow @kara-merlin @still-clowning-in-this-house @never-forever-more @continuezmesfilserrants @2musiclover2 @castiels-bitch @stjimmie @cmths5

“Well thank you for dinner but we should probably be heading out.” Dean said towards the end of one of, if not the most, awkward dinner of his life.

“Dad what about dessert?”

“Claire, we need to get going. It’s a long drive back to Kansas.” Dean said, sighing internally because he knew getting Claire out the damn house was going to be hard.

“Dean, don't be ridiculous. You’ve been driving for most of the day.” Cas said. “We have the spare bedroom-”

“That’s my room!” Gabriel interrupted.

“It’s not your room Gabriel. It’s the guest room. You have your own house with your own bedroom.” Cas said, giving Gabriel the bitchiest look Dean had ever seen. That was saying a lot seeing as he’d grown up with Sam. “Dean, why don’t you and Claire stay here for the night? Claire can sleep in Jack’s room and you can sleep in the guest room.” Cas suggested. Claire and Jack grinned at each other and Dean just knew they'd stay up half the night whispering to each other. Or plotting. Most likely plotting.

No. Nope, Absolutely not going to happen in a million goddamn years.

“Cas, we can just grab a motel if I get tired.”

“Dad, I’m not staying in a motel if we can stay here.” Claire said stubbornly. “Plus Jack and I were already planning on making waffles in the morning!” Oh, Jesus Christ. These kids were going to be the death of Dean. And damn if both Claire and Jack weren’t giving him the puppy dog eyes.

“Fine. Fine. But we’re heading out in the morning Claire, I mean it.”

“After waffles.” Claire and Jack said in unison. When the hell did those two learn how to do that?

“Excellent, now that’s all sorted I’m going to head home as Winchester’s stolen my room. All the wine is gone anyways.” Gabriel asked, slapping his hand on his thighs as he got out of his seat

“See you in the morning Uncle Gabriel.” Claire said with a grin as Gabriel patted her on the head, ruffled Jack’s hair and gave both Dean and Cas pointed looks.

“Good night Gabriel.” Cas said, giving his brother a stern look Dean didn’t understand.

“Same to you bro. Good to see you Winchester, try not to keep this madam a stranger.” Gabriel said, nodding towards Claire.

“I’ll try.” Dean said, mainly to placate Gabriel. Gabriel gave them all a salute before heading out. “Nice to see Gabriel hasn’t changed at all.” Dean said once Gabriel had left.

“No, he’s still the same annoying ass he’s always been.” Cas said.

“I like him! He’s invited us to Thanksgiving this year.” Claire said. Yeah that’s not happening. Dean thought.

“I’m going to teach Claire my secret yam recipe.” Jack said cheerfully.

“Ah yes, Jack Novak’s secret yam recipe. Involving two whole bags of miniature marshmallows and a ruined casserole dish.” Cas said, shaking his head but giving Jack a fond look.

“Sounds about as successful as when Claire tried to make apple pie on for Father’s Day.”

“What did you set on fire that time?” Jack asked Claire. Claire could stick her tongue out all she wanted but there were still scorch marks in their kitchen.

“Yes well, Jack why don’t you and Claire clear up while Dean and I have a quick chat. After that, you can show Claire where she’s sleeping for the night. You two can watch a movie in your room.”

“Cool, how’d you feel about The Avengers?”

“Black Widow is a badass.” Claire said. “Rock, paper, scissors for who washes and who dries?” she then asked.

“Oh Jesus.” Dean muttered as Cas motioned for him to follow him. Instead of going into the warm looking living room, Cas took Dean upstairs and into a spacious guest room. The walls were painted a deep, honey colour that matched the wooden furniture perfectly. Unlike Dean’s guest room, which was really a junk room, it was immaculately clean. Dean was about to make a quip about the cleanliness of the room before he stopped. In the corner of the room was the very turntable he had brought Cas for the first Christmas they had been together. Without saying a word, Dean walked over and glanced at the records neatly stored in their storage box. Bob Dylan, Fleetwood Mac and even the rare Otis Reading record that Dean had found at a vinyl fair. Cas had kept all of them. For a fleeting moment, Dean wondered if the note he’d hidden in the Bob Dylan record was still there. A hastily scribbled note saying I wasn't born to lose you. Oh, the irony.

Cas watched with cautious eyes as Dean ran a hand over the box of records. Each one Dean had carefully picked out for Cas in another life. He had battled over getting rid of them for years. Gabriel had always said it was strange to keep hold of them but Cas could have never parted with them. When Jack was a toddler Cas had played all of them for him, smiling to himself at how Knocking On Heaven’s Door would always send Jack to sleep.

“I think we need to have a talk.” Cas said, trying to ease the tension that had enveloped the room.

“Um yeah.” Dean said with a cough as he straightened up, looking away from the records. “Cause apparently I’m cancelling my Thanksgiving plans with Sam to spend the day with my ex-brother-in-law, eating my body weight in mini marshmallows.” Dean said. “Cas...what are we going to do about this?”

“And by this you mean…”

“The kids. There’s no way Claire’s going to just go back to how it was before. Plus, Jack is an awesome kid. There’s no way I want to go back to how it was before. I mean, maybe Jack could stay with me during the summer?”

“And what? I get Claire during Easter? Christmas?” Cas asked, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. “We came up with this arrangement so the kids could live a normal life. What’s going to happen next, I have them for one year and you have them for the other? That won’t work.”

“No shit Cas but...did you see those two at dinner? They’ve only known each other for a few weeks but it’s clear they adore each other. Claire’s gonna be an even bigger pain in my ass after this. I don’t want to break my...our daughter’s heart when we separate them again and I’m sure you dont want that for Jack.”

“Of course I don’t! What do you honestly suggest then because not only did we come to this agreement to have the kids lead normal lives but it was also so we didn’t have to see each other.” Cas said because even though neither of them would say it, they both knew that seeing each other again would end in a huge fight and a lot of sex.

"Then why did you ask me to stay?" Dean asked. Good question Dean, very good question.

"Because it's late and you can't drive throughout the night when you've been driving all day." Cas said. Liar a small voice inside Cas said. As much as he annoys you, you still love him.

"Oh." Dean said in a small voice.

"Why? What do you expect me to say?"

"Nothing...forget it." Dean said. “You know, now that we’re here and I’ll probably never be here again. About that day you packed, why'd you do it? Why did you just hop on a train and leave?”

“Dean.” Cas groaned. “We were so young. We both had tempers, we said stupid things so I packed. Got on the train and you didn't come after me.”

“I wanted to but I didn’t think you’d want me to follow.” Dean said in a small voice. “Dammit Cas, you just had to send Jack to the exact same camp as Claire didn’t you? ”

“We haven’t spoken in twelve years, how on earth was I supposed to know where you were sending Claire for the summer? It might shock you to hear this but I can’t read your damn mind Dean. I didn’t send Jack there because a little voice in my head said ‘Oh Dean is sending Claire to this camp! Send Jack so he can meet the twin sister he never knew he had.’” Cas said. "You are so infuriating, you know that right?”

"I'm infuriating?” Dean asked, looking highly offended. “What about the time you recorded over my Star Trek episode with a documentary on the life of Tomas Jefferson?"

"You have the whole series on DVD! Why did you need to record it off the SyFy channel?"

"You know why! It was the Trouble With Tribbles episode and that was on the DVD that Sam scratched when I let him borrow it!" Dean shot back.

"Well, you set fire to the patio furniture! Don't even say you didn't because Eileen told me it was you and Sam the next morning." Cas said.

"You scratched the Impala!"

"That wasn't me, it was Gabriel. I lied and said it was me because he was already on his last warning from when he spilt red wine on the couch."

"Yeah well, you did break my Captain Kirk mug."

"No Dean, the asinine way you stacked kitchen items broke your Captain Kirk mug."

"Yeah well, you...you…" Dean said and something inside Cas just broke. This man, this irritating and stubborn man had been the love of his life, his husband and the man he wanted to spend this rest of his life with. Twelve years hadn’t changed a damn thing.

"Oh for god sake Dean, shut up." Cas said and even though he knew this was the worst plan in the world, even worse than his non-identical twins switching places, Cas pulled Dean in close, their lips crashing against one another. Oh god, it was like going home after a long trip. Cas knew this, knew it better than breathing. Cas still loved Dean more than anyone else in the history of the universe.

"Cas this is the dumbest-" Dean tried to say between kisses. Frantic kisses that set Cas’ skin ablaze.

"Just shut up and take off your pants." Cas said before his brain could come up with a million reasons why this was a stupid idea.

“What?”

“Dean, shut up and take off your pants.” Cas said before crashing their lips together again in a kiss that was more like a battle for dominance than anything else.

“I can’t take off my pants if you keep kissing me.” Dean said as he pulled away and Cas just groaned because this man drove him so insane but all Cas wanted to do was kiss every inch of his body. "This is the worst idea ever."

"Worse than when you let Jo pierce your lip?" Cas asked. He could still the slight scar on Dean’s bottom lip.

"That was not as bad as the time you wanted to make your own honey."

"One bee flew in the house Dean, one."

"Bees don't belong in a house Cas, they belong in a beehive."

"Are you really trying to start an argument when we're about to have sex?" Cas asked. Thankfully Dean shook his head. "Good, now take off your clothes and get on the bed."

With The Avengers to mask the sound, Claire and Jack sat in Jack’s room as they called their Uncle Sam. After a few rings, he accepted the video call. Grinning at the pair of them with a warm smile.

"Hey kids...man it's weird seeing you two together. How's it going?" Sam asked.

"Awesome. We made chilli and got them to sit in the same room." Claire said.

Well, that's something Eileen signed. So what's the plan?

Plan?

Yeah, the plan. You two are definitely up to something because Claire's involved.

Why do you always think I'm up to something? Claire asked.

Intuition

"Past experience." Sam intoned. "Where’re your dads now?”

“Guest room we think, we heard shouting in there about ten minutes ago.”Jack said. “Something about tribbles.”

“Is he still on about that?” Sam groaned. Just out of view on the screen, Eileen signed something to Sam. He groaned and signed back.

“Hey! Winchester family rule, no covert signing.” Claire said. Sam looked back at her with a classic Uncle Sam Bitchy Face. “What did you say?”

“Ugh.” Sam said. “Fine, your aunt said that if they’re fighting there’s good chance they’ll end up having sex.”

“Ew! Gross!” Jack and Claire said at the same time. “Those are our dads.” Claire said, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah? And how do you think you two were made?”

“With a turkey baster and a very patient surrogate.” Claire shot back. “Wait...if they do...you know...do gross stuff, does that mean they’ll get back together?”

Going from past experience, no. They’ll just fight and make noises that, according to your uncle, only dogs can hear.

“That’s really gross Aunt Eileen.” Jack said. “As far as a plan goes, we don’t really have one. Come on, we’re twelve. We need help and Uncle Gabriel has gone home.”

“Good, his plan would have been awful.” Sam said. “Look kids, I know damn well that Dean still loves Cas and judging from what you’ve told us, Cas probably still loves Dean. Just let them fight it out, turn whatever movie you’re watching way up and see how things are in the morning. I know these two idiots pretty well, you can’t force them into anything.”

“We can’t play the long game here Uncle Sam. Dad’s making us leave in the morning.”

“After waffles.”

“Yeah, after waffles I’ll be shoved in the car and grounded until graduate.” Claire said. The four of them sat in silence for a moment before Eileen’s face lit up.

Ok I have a plan but if it backfires then you do not get it from me. Claire, do you remember how to disable the battery on the Impala?

“Yeah, I remember...oh...no car means not having to leave.” Claire said with a grin. “Aunt Eileen, you are a genius and never let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I want no part in this part of the plan.” Sam said hastily.

“Too late Uncle Sam, welcome to Team Parent Trap.” Jack said happily.

#deancas parent trap #deancas fic #destiel fic #castielsbeeslippers #wanderingcas #fic #seriously this is getting longer than i thought it would #i'm probably putting it up on ao3 #deancas #destiel #dean winchester #castiel

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kyber-crystal · 4 years

Text

Maybe It’s Meant To Be

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~3.7k

Summary: Sometimes, love finds people in unexpected ways. In this case, fate has extra special plans for America’s golden boy and one of SHIELD’s best agents in history. And you know there’s no running away from fate once she’s set out your futures for you.

Warnings: mentions of violence and blood, angst, and once again, soft steve :)

A/N: I haven’t attempted a soulmate AU in over a year. this is one of my fav works but it’s really poorly written rip. The age gap between you and Steve is ~3 years. 2017 AU where they made up after the Accords :) Steve’s back with his WS look bc that suit was hot af

Tags: @pies-writes-and-more this is for you! THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS BEING SO ACTIVE ON MY BLOG AND FOR YOUR SWEET AND SUPER ENCOURAGING WORDS. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. AND @marvelsswansong BECAUSE YOU'RE MY IDOL AND I LOOK UP TO YOU YOU'RE AMAZING

Soulmates.

You'd heard plenty about them growing up. Seeing your parents' perfect relationship blossom over the years piqued your interest, and for the longest time, your only wish was to find someone who could love you with their whole heart and soul and mind, like the way your Mom and Dad loved each other.

Unfortunately, as all stories must come to an end, love stories had to find their ending. And not all of them ended on a high note.

Their jobs should've kept them apart from the beginning. Your mother was head surgeon at one of the best hospitals in Brooklyn, and your father was head of SHIELD's navy division. Constantly out and about, they were rarely granted any time to rest. Yet they still found a way to make things work; and it all started because of a run-in at a café around the corner.

Then when you were fifteen, you got word that your father had been deployed overseas again, but this time, he wasn't coming back.

You had to stand there and watch your mother slowly fall apart, breaking down a little more each day until she fell gravely ill. A mere week after her diagnosis of cardiomyopathy, she passed away in her sleep.

A person's soulmark didn't appear at a specific time. It could show up at any point in their lives, when the Gods believed the time was right for them. When those Gods felt the time was right for you to find out who it was, you'd feel a slight tingle where the mark was etched into your skin.

Some people didn't receive the soulmark at all. Along with this came a sense of freedom to fall in love with whoever they pleased, but often times it would end in a loveless relationship. But they were additionally granted the ability of being able to carry on by themselves.

If your soulmate got injured in any way, you would feel the same pain that they endured. And if they died, you would carry a weight around with you for the rest of your life that slowly progressed into a disease. So ultimately, those left in the world without their soulmate would also die in the end, further proving the claim of humans being unable to live without love.

One by one, you watched your friends find their match. They would excited come up to you, goofy grins on their faces as they showed you their marks. You were happy for them in the beginning, of course. But as years went by, and you passed adulthood with still no sign of your designated soulmark, you slowly began losing hope. There was no point in looking forward to the future when you watched one fall apart before your very eyes.

Maybe it was because of your job. None of the Avengers had received their soulmarks either, asides from Tony and Pepper. But they were an exception. Everyone could see it coming from the day they first met, judging by the way they lovingly gazed at each other from across the room. It was a match made in heaven.

You believed that maybe, just maybe, you were destined to be alone. So when you woke up one morning with the burn mark on your wrist, you were taken completely by surprise.

"Hey, Tony? Bruce?" you asked, walking into the lab with a frown. "I need to ask you guys a quick question."

"Ask away, Killer," Tony nodded, using the nickname he'd given you years ago when you first joined the initiative. "What's on your mind?"

"So, um..." you fiddled with the sleeve of your sweatshirt for a moment, before pulling it up to reveal the mark, "this happened."

"That's a soulmark," he stated.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," you rolled your eyes. "But why would it appear now? I don't see any sign of me meeting them anytime soon."

"When did it appear?"

"I don't know. I woke up this morning and saw it."

"Let me take a look at that," Bruce carefully took ahold of your wrist, squinting as he adjusted his glasses to peer at the mark, "huh. So it appeared last night...have you felt any side-effects?"

"Not that I know of yet, no..."

"If you start feeling any severe symptoms, I can prescribe you some medication to deal with the pain, though I doubt that's going to happen. In the meantime, we need to figure out who this could be."

"Imagine if it was someone who already died, and I'm slowly dying right now," you joked.

"No, if that were to be true, you'd be lying in a hospital bed right now."

"Does the symbol have any specific meaning?"

"That I'm not so sure about," Tony shrugged.

Bruce was silent as he began typing away for a bit, before turning the screen over to you.

"I've checked out over a dozen different sites about this, and..."

"And what?"

"Well...once both people discover their mark, they have a week to find each other before both of them disappear off the face of the earth, forever."

"Sounds like a damn time bomb to me," you muttered. "What the hell? I thought that the point of this whole thing was the gods trying to push us with someone else! Not the other way around!"

"I don't know, Y/N," Bruce sighed. "Feel free to do your own research, but everything I've read up on so far says the same thing."

"So basically, what you're telling me is I'm gonna die if I don't find out who the hell has this same mark as I do," you repeated.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, I'll have to worry about that later. Got a briefing with Cap, Bucky, and Wilson in five. Fury's gonna kill me if I'm late again," you breathed out as you tugged your hoodie's sleeve back down. "See ya."

"Agent Y/N," Nick Fury gave you a curt nod as you burst into the meeting room, breathless. "I hope you slept well last night."

"Of course."

"I need you four to track down a weapons dealer in Skagway," he explained as he handed Steve a black manila file folder, "shut down the base, download the intel onto the flashdrive. You’ll be staying at a safe house in Juneau afterwards for about a week to keep things on the down-low in case something goes wrong. Simple in-and-out job."

"When are we leaving?" Sam questioned.

"You're taking off in half an hour. Suit up."

You sighed. Finding your soulmate would just have to wait, then.

...

"Y/N, look out!"

You quickly whipped around and narrowly missed a bullet whizzing past you, as Steve tugged you around the corner, an arm wrapped firmly around your torso as he hid you both behind his shield.

You gasped as you felt a sharp pain in your chest, and Steve immediately pulled away from you in alarm, gripping your shoulders worriedly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you panted, trying to steady your rapid breathing, “I’m fine. But we’re gonna have to split up from here if we wanna get the job done faster.”

“Y/N, I can’t-”

“Steve,” you interrupted, the firm tone of voice making him immediately shut up. “I can handle myself just fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure! Go find Sam and Bucky, and I’ll meet you guys by the rendezvous point as soon as I’m done. Okay?”

“Alright.” He looked around for a moment before stepping away, as if he was hesitant to leave you on your own.

Ignoring the slight ache in your chest, you parted ways, darting down the hall with your guns up and ears alert.

From there, it was easy to fall into your usual routine. Keep all eyes and ears open; don’t hesitate, shoot on sight unless ordered otherwise. If necessary, engage powers but if not, use your fists or bullets. The mantra repeated itself over and over in your head as you followed through with your job.

You hid behind a tower of wooden crates, back pressed up against the steel walls. “Sam. Status update?”

“Controls room with Barnes, disabling all security systems. Steve’s retrieving intel from the north wing. You?”

“Outside on standby,” you murmured, keeping a finger pressed to your ear. Three technicians were loading equipment onto crates as the other six stood guard several yards away. “I make nine hostiles on the load dock straight ahead at twelve o’clock. Three dozen in total scattered around the area. Most likely preparing for an overseas arms trade. We’ll have to stop them.”

“And...done. We’re heading your way,” Bucky reported. “Be there in three.”

“Roger that.”

Exactly three minutes and two seconds later Bucky showed up, with Steve and Sam in tow. You came out from your hiding spot and began making your way towards the loading dock where the agents were stationed. They were quick to stop what they were doing and noticed the four of you approaching, whipping their snipers out and proceeding to open fire.

...

Your breath came out in white wisps of fog as you got caught in between a fistfight with one of the three dozen men on the docks, the freezing cold slowing all your movements and making them feel more sluggish than usual. If it weren’t for the thick material of your suit and your enhancements, you would’ve succumbed to the harsh weather hours ago.

The man captured you into a tight headlock with his thick arm but despite your frostbite you were too fast; you quickly whipped around and grabbed his wrist, twisting it to the side. His eyes widened slightly as he cried out in pain, the sickening crunch of bone echoing through the frigid Alaskan air as you swiftly dodged each one of moves as he attempted to come at you, countering with a sharp right hook to his jaw.

His body slumped to the ground with a thump.

“Why the hell do you even carry around a sniper if your fists do all the work for you?” Sam yelled over the cacophony as he released Redwing, swooping down from the rooftops. “Seriously, you don’t need guns! You’re strong enough as it is!”

“I prefer versatility in fights, Wilson!” you yelled back, grunting as you dodged a blow to the stomach, sweeping out your attacker’s feet from underneath him as his head smacked against the wall, before sliding down to the ground with a dull thud.

“Y/N, look out-” Bucky called out, but it was too late. You didn’t get to hear his warning in time before you felt something cold and hard hit your lower abdomen. A yell of pain ripped through your throat as you felt a sticky warmth spread across your skin, your knees hitting the ground as you clutched the wound.

At that exact moment, Steve felt a sharp pain flare up his side as well. “Shit,” he cursed to himself, “Buck, cover me so I can get to her.”

You were barely clinging on to life by the time he reached you. Your breathing was heavy and labored, your eyes beginning to roll back as you struggled to stay awake. Everything hurt. Your arms and legs felt like they were weighed down with bricks. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t open your mouth to scream, either - you had no energy left to do so.

“Come on, Y/N, stay with me, please stay with me,” he muttered as he began carefully applying pressure to your wound. You let out a hiss of pain at the same time he did. “Just hang in there for me, please. Sam’s getting the Quinjet ready. We’re gonna get out of here in just a few minutes, okay? Please don’t die on me.”

“Look, if I don’t make it-”

“Don’t say that,” he spoke in between clenched teeth while fighting back tears of his own, “you’re not going to die. Not today, not tomorrow, and certainly not on my watch.”

“Steve…” you croaked out, the stinging from the wound almost becoming impossible to bear. Your eyes were becoming heavier by the second, your body throbbing painfully now that all the adrenaline had worn off. It was a struggle just to take in a single breath and to stay awake. "I'm so tired, I can't do this anymore..."

He disappeared from your line of sight as your began seeing spots at the edges of your vision momentarily, before reappearing and pulling you into his lap, trying to put pressure on the area of injury again in an attempt to stem the bleeding. But it didn’t seem to work. There was so much blood. So much of it, coming out so fast. There was no way you’d last out here for longer than ten minutes before bleeding to death.

"Stay with me..." he murmured as he looked up around him. "Hang in there for a few more minutes, please…Damn it, Sam, how much longer is this gonna take? Y/N’s down. We gotta get her to the safe house as soon as we can. She’s bleeding out.”

"Three minutes, tops. I’m circling the perimeter as an extra precaution," Sam replied. "You guys hang tight for a sec."

"We don't have time!" he raised his voice. "Just hurry the hell over here."

"I'm so sorry," you choked out before going into a coughing fit, blood dripping down your lips and chin much to Steve’s alarm. "I'm sorry for everything, I'm sorry for being reckless and not keeping a look ou—"

"Shhh, it's okay," he soothed, "There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just save your energy for later, okay? You're gonna be just fine."

"Hold my hand," you begged hoarsely.

"I already am," the super-soldier answered, but his look shifted to that of an alarmed one when he realized you couldn't feel it. "Y/N—"

"I'm cold," you said weakly, already feeling your limbs grow heavy and numb and your vision growing blurrier with each passing second. "I'm so tired, Cap, I just wanna sleep—"

"No no no, please don't leave me," he pleaded as he felt his head begin to spin as well. Where had the sudden wave of dizziness come from? "Hang in there for a little longer, please, I l—"

You didn’t get to hear the rest of his sentence before your eyes fluttered shut and everything went dark.

...

When you came to, your throat felt dry and raw, the metallic taste of dried blood around your lips and chin overwhelming your senses as you adjusted your eyes to the harsh bright lights streaming into the room. It looked like you were in some sort of antique coastal house, strangely void of belongings with the only decoration being a plain floral calendar hung on the wall opposite you, above the fireplace.

You were still in your suit, but your wound had been treated and wrapped up in a thick set of bandages. The couch you were on was old but extremely comfortable, so you found yourself not wanting to sit up at the same time you wanted to get up and look around.

The blinds were drawn shut, but the sunlight still managed to shine through. It was light outside, but you weren’t sure what time it really was. The walls were a dull grey, and if you listened hard enough you could hear the faint ticking of a nearby clock and probably Bucky or Sam talking on the phone upstairs with someone in hushed whispers.

You finally pulled yourself up into a sitting position, glancing around at your surroundings. Someone quietly entered the living room and you looked up to see Steve. His shoulders sagged in relief upon seeing that you were awake.

“Hey,” his voice came out so softly it took both of you by surprise. You moved over slightly to make room for him to sit. “How are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” you groaned lightly, feeling a dull ache in your stomach where you’d been hit. “But other than that, I’m fine. What about you? Did you get hurt anywhere?”

“Body aches that come and go, but I’m fine. It isn’t your place to be worrying about me right now though, Y/N. You got shot.”

The curtains fluttered and a cool breeze rushed in, making you shiver. Steve took notice and stood up to go light up the fireplace, then sat back down and wrapped the fleece blanket around your body. You let out a small sigh of contentment. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You knocked out for over twenty-six hours .”

“I’m fine, Steve, just tired...hey, how’s Bucky and Sam?”

“Sam’s upstairs radioing Fury on the mission status. Bucky’s taking a nap in the guest room.”

“Oh. Okay. So, I-” you were interrupted by a sharp stabbing sensation in your wrist. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Language,” he joked lightly, but when he saw the obvious pained expression on your face, his face fell. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just...I get those random pains from time to time. I don’t know why, but...they’ve gotten worse since we took off for Skagway and then came here...”

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “I should’ve kept a closer watch over you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine...I should’ve watched my own back better.”

You both fell into an awkward silence for several minutes before he spoke up again, the realization finally dawning on him.

"Y/N."

"What?"

"Your wrist."

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked down and saw the star glowing brightly, sending a white-hot pain down your arm. "What about it?"

Steve pulled at his shirt's sleeve for a few seconds before lifting it up to reveal the same exact symbol.

"We're soulmates," you breathed out, the realization hitting you like a flash flood.

"Yeah, I guess we are, huh," he smiled softly.

“W-when did yours appear?”

“Monday afternoon.”

“Mine appeared in the morning...I showed it to Tony and Bruce and they said I had a week to find who it was or both me and my soulmate would die. So I guess we got lucky, huh? Only four more days, then...”

“Yeah, we did,” he exhaled. “I’m glad you’re the one. I can’t imagine living out the rest of my life with anyone else.”

“But Peggy...”

“She found her soulmate decades ago,” he explained, “which explained why our relationship was so short-lived. I didn’t expect to find mine...especially not after coming out of the ice. Maybe I had this coming from the get-go, I’d wonder...”

“Then how come they’d appear now?” Your brows furrowed together in confusion. “I don’t get it. We’ve known each other for years.”

“Because it was only this year that I accepted it.”

“Accepted what?”

“That I’d fallen in love with you, and I kept that inside for far too long.”

“You...what?” You were officially rendered speechless.

“Yeah,” he chuckled lightly, face breaking into a gorgeous, million-dollar grin before turning serious again, lowering his voice. “Y/N, I’m in love with you. You are my infinity and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. You’re my present and my future, and I hate that I couldn’t see that sooner. I should’ve known from the start that Peggy and I wouldn’t work out, but I never understood why...until I met you. I didn’t believe in the concept of soulmates because I felt I was undeserving of that love, but then you came along...and I started hoping and praying I’d find someone who’d love me as much as I love you. So now that I know for sure it’s you, that it always has been and always will be...I couldn’t be more happier that you’re my soulmate.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he reached forward to brush your hair away from your face and wipe the stray tears that fell, before wrapping an arm around you and gently pulling you towards him.

“God, I made you cry, I’m so sorry,” he choked on a sob of his own. “I’m the worst.”

“I’m not mad at you, Steve,” you sniffed as you wiped your nose with your sleeve, and looked up and cracked a small grin. “You’re just so cheesy.”

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t catch what he said.

“You can kiss me any day, Captain,” you smiled.

“I love you more than you know.”

“I know. I love you too.”

He then brought a hand up to cup your face, allowing his thumb to lightly skim against your cheek, his warm breath fanning against your skin.

When his lips met yours, it was like you were turning back the clock. Everything in the world stopped and held its breath, and all the hurt, all the sadness and heartache and pain bottled up inside your body, washed away.

...

BONUS

“HOLY SHIT, Y’ALL ARE SOULMATES?”

The sound of Sam’s screeching made you finally break apart for air. You could’ve been like that for two minutes, two hours, or two weeks, you weren’t sure.

You blushed and quickly averted your gaze.

Steve’s face was as red as a tomato. “Yeah. We are.”

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW SOMETHING WAS GONNA HAPPEN BETWEEN THEM SOON! PAY UP, BARNES! YOU OWE ME TWENTY BUCKS.”

“Come on, man,” Bucky groaned, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “We’re gonna head back home soon, anyways! And you’re not even poor.”

“A bet’s a bet, Barnes.”

“Of course you two bet on it,” you groaned. “Classic Sambucky activity.”

...

NINE MONTHS LATER

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Captain Rogers,” Fury announced, a rare smile gracing his normally stoic features.

Steve did his best not to break down sobbing as he slid the ring onto your finger. With the backdrop of the waves gently crashing against the shore and the sun slowly sinking lower and lower into the horizon, he leaned down and cupped your face in his hands, passionately pressing his lips to yours. Your soulmarks glowed brightly in tandem, lighting up in a brilliant gold hue.

Needless to say, there wasn’t a single dry eye in the house.

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