#''doc''... the little heart above the smooch...

[biitchcakes]

Jess when Thor merely suggests she didn't grow up with her parents ( which is mostly factual ): 😡💥👊💢😤

VS . . .

Jess when Bruce (accurately) psychoanalyses her: 🥰😊💞😍😘

/ @hubrisdescent

[motthe]

assuming that vik has his little girl and actually gets sick either it be fro the core or of the fumes in zaun it doesn't really matter what does matter is his daughter's reaction and how reader's lumen reacts to a very sad and most likely constantly crying/whining toddler who is being ripped from her father-daughter time.

anon: what would happen if viktor got sick even though doc reader is like a hawk? how would the munchkin react to her dad collapsing and not being allowed to see or lay on his chest like usual?

don’t know what a lumen is? check here for all info!!!

we gonna do this headcannon/story style because damn my heart can’t take writing a real drabble or going into a description of his sad little baby so this is as much as i can do. i cant with this rn 😭💔

when you get the message from jayce that viktor was found collapsed in the lab, you realize with a start that viktor’s lumen is nowhere to be found. it a rush of finding him back in your bed where you had been sleeping, pocketing him in his weak state and grabbing extra clothes and snacks and waking your baby girl up bc it’s late and you’re not letting anyone take care of her when vik is going to need all the “healing kisses” he can get from his little princess

you would have known his condition was worsening, both from being a doctor and having his lumen constantly too weak to float. you likely would have gotten into arguments over it because he refuses to sit back and rest. but you don’t have the heart to keep him from his passion and he always comes back to you and your child because as much as he doesn’t want to show you two how bad it’s getting, wants to stay hidden in his lab and away from the realization that every kiss he gets from his beautiful family might be the last—

needless to say, when he wakes up with jayce to tell him the bad news, it’s a choice of figuring out how the hell to fix this or being with his family for whatever time he has left. he knows his answer with your lumen tucked up under his ear.

when the door opens and his little girl flies in and jumps onto the bed (still not quite tall enough to get up without some help), he has to keep from laughing lest he irritate his lungs.

“help me!” she whines up at her ‘uncle’ jayce. “papa needs his healing kisses!”

“yes he does!” jayce breathes, plucking her up. “stay off his chest though, alright? you’re getting too heavy.” he pretends to struggle as he sets her down next to viktor’s side.

“no i’m not!” she gasps, hands on her hips. she quickly forgets what’s she pouting about once vik’s weak hand comes up to tuck her wild hair behind an ear. “papa! i have all the healing kisses!”

he chuckles, lifting an arm to let her snuggle into his side. she is extra careful after jayce’s comment, much too bright for her age and much too cautious around her father. he hates it. he hates that he has to hide his wince as she kisses his cheek, turning away to cough and cutting off her smooch session.

the sight of her worried face she turns to look at you hovering in the doorway nearly has you breaking down right there.

jayce gives you a hug, whispering a few words before you close your eyes and bury your face into his neck letting him hold you as you fight back the tears.

all he said was “i’m sorry” but you knew what that meant. you know what that entails.

pulling it together, you wish him a good night and thank him for finding viktor and getting him to safety. you’re still hovering by the door as he leaves, watching viktor hold his daughter as she settles down. her kisses have ended, a tension in the air as she holds him close and stares at the wall. you know she’s too smart for her own good.

viktor beckons you with the arm that isn’t wrapped around your baby girl, a grin on his pale lips. “there is always room for you, my star.”

you let the tears fall quietly, walking to the chair by the bed to rest your head above his shoulder, right where you lumen floats away to find his in your pocket and bleed all the love you can into it. viktor rests his cheek on you. you clutch his cold hand tightly.

“it’ll be alright,” he whispers. “i’ll find a way.”

“we’ll find a way,” you sniff, swallowing a whimper as you kiss his shoulder.

“you’re not gonna leave, papa?” your little angel sniffs, curling deeper into his side. “right?”

“who could ever leave you behind, my miracle?” he strokes her head gently as she cries herself to sleep, kissing your head as he feels your tears wet his hospital gown. “who could leave either of you behind?”

[bogkeep]

i wrote down a rough outline for the Timian Fable and Vinta Qir story, just to have it written down Somewhere, and i feel like it’s only fair to share it with people who care about them!! i wrote it in a google doc but i’m gonna copypaste it under the readmore, so i hope the formatting isn’t too fucky.

(here’s a toyhouse page for my iphimery characters)

Prince Aljanah (third son of the queen, pretty far down in line to the throne, generally bored, has zero responsibilities and zero accountability) seduces Timian mostly for the heck of it. I mean, Timian is super cute, so like. Why not. He gives him a smooch and a stealthy “think about it, OK?” and oh god does Timian ever think about it. It’s a really Big Conflict in his brain because he has a DUTY and this goes against ALL DUTY and Aljanah is almost literally his employer (his loyalty is sworn to the royal family) so it’s like! What the hell is he supposed to do!! What the prince wants is supposed to trump what he wants, unless it puts the royal family’s safety in jeopardy, and AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH (and he kind of really wants to?? There’s a lot to unpack here?????)

 There’s some genuine friendship in there, where Aljanah helps Timian overcome some trauma around magic, but for the most part Timian is left pining for a relationship Aljanah isn’t interested in.

(Aljanah teaches Timian some light magic maybe??? Timian isn’t too keen on using it, ever. He does learn some very useful magic blocks though.)

Vinta is on a mission to assassinate Aljanah. Timian stops them and they are equally measured in strength. Vinta is about to use their magic (which they only use as a last resort), but Timian then has a moment of Gay (their faces are very close together) and blurts out something like “oh... you’re beautiful” which takes Vinta so unexpectedly aback they kind of… flee

Vinta tries again another time, but Timian is there again to meet them, and this time Vinta goes straight for the magic - which freaks Timian out bc trauma, but he remembers what Aljanah taught him and counters it. The ordeal leaves both of them so exhausted, they kind of just lie down and… start bonding over how magic kinda sucks. Very begrudgingly, on Vinta’s part at least. 

(“Please don’t forget me?” “I don’t think I could even if I wanted to”) Unsure If Vinta Agrees To Stop The Assassination But They Certainly Seem Very Unhappy About The Prospect Of One

Despite it seeming like Timian may never meet Vinta again… Vinta keeps showing up. Not as an assassin in the dark, but like, on the street? Off the clock? So they sort of start hanging out?? Vinta has a real knack for finding Timian anywhere, anytime… one time they come across him singing by himself down by the water, but they don’t approach him. Just sit down and listen out of sight, a little guilty for intruding. 

Timian seems awfully forgiving of Vinta attempting to murder his crush, but hey, Vinta was just trying to do his job. Timian seems extremely reluctant to talk about Aljanah at all ever though. Vinta slowly pieces together that Timian has some really strong and painful feelings towards the prince. IT’S COMPLICATED

Vinta never ever addresses the whole “you’re beautiful” thing. Timian never brings it up either. THEY’RE BOTH THINKING ABOUT IT, CONSTANTLY

This is like. The first time either of them has a friend who’s really their equal and who kind of really gets them. It’s so incredibly precious and neither wants to mess that up. This has never happened before in the history of gay

Timian’s relationship to romance/sexuality is very… he has a duty, you know? He has to be stronger than that and not let it ever distract him. So of course Aljanah comes along and MESSES ALL OF IT UP. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

He has some issues. He’s working on it. 

In all honesty he started out very clueless like he didn’t recognize crushes as crushes for such a long time because “they’re just such lovely friends :)” you know. So it was very easy to say he was above these things BUT HE WASN’T!! HE WASN’T!!! HE WAS JUST A DUMBASS!!! What Aljanah does is essentially just confront the dumbassery head on and it’s like oh no *pictures of all his dear lovely friends spill out of pocket* “i’m gay???” “always was”

Vinta’s relationship to romance/sexuality was to repress all of it because they don’t belong to themself. They were like, keenly aware every time Some Feeling showed up uninvited and they would throttle it and shove it down where it never got to flourish. 1) they can’t have it 2) they don’t deserve it So don’t even try, you know? There’s no fucking point. 

AND SO THEY PINE FOR ONE ANOTHER

I mean they kind of… help each other a lot, sharing traumas, letting the other that they deserve to have nice things, and be a person maybe?? Maybe duty isn’t all there is for them out there? Sounds fake but ok [gazes longingly into each other’s eyes]

Vinta never goes through with the assassination on prince Aljanah but sometimes they kind of really want to. Not because of a job, but because oh my god Aljanah broke Timian’s heart and also AAUGHH HE DOESN’T DESERVE TIMIAN’S DEVOTION THIS IS UPSETTING I DON’T KNOW HOW TO COPE WITH THIS DSJKSDJKDSFJB!!

They also gotta deal with the pressure from the assassin’s guild. Since they’re one of the top assassins they got a lot of leeway at first, but now that they’re questioning both their purpose and loyalty and kind of push back… it’s getting kind of dangerous maybe. The other assassins start getting on their case as well and Vinta has to keep up appearances and prove that they’re not too Weak to do it.  Vinta has a lot of pride in their skills ok. Pride is one of the emotions they’ve let themself foster.

Meanwhile Timian is kind of slowly able to let go of his yearning for Aljanah, because he’s found a relationship that’s filling in all the wounds from what he’s not getting from the prince?? Like he’s investing in a friendship that’s actually fulfilling and a two way street? And maybe?? Something More?? SJAJHSDJKA???

It’s giving Timain the ability to set a boundary between himself and Aljanah that was sorely lacking before. Things are still kind of Strange and a little Painful but he’s on a healthier path and we’re all very proud of him

Look I haven’t thought too hard about the actual plot with the assassination and stuff but imagine that other assassins take on the mission to kill Aljanah and VINTA TEAMS UP WITH TIMIAN TO PROTECT THE GARBAGE PRINCE BECAUSE HE MATTERS TO TIMIAN. 

Aljanah hasn’t met Vinta before (he just sleeps through assassination attempts for the most time, it happens frequently enough that he just accepts that this is his lot in life???) and is like oh thank you and who do I owe the honor and Vinta just punches him in the face

Since that was overall confusing, Timian and Vinta kind of have to talk about it, and Vinta admits to having some… Selfish And Greedy Feelings and they are clearly not ready to confess properly yet

Timian has, for better or for worse, learnt some things from Aljanah. “You want to see something selfish?” he says, kissing Vinta. “Think about it, OK?” he says before he goes, leaving a VERY DAZED Vinta just standing there

[MORE THINGS HAPPEN????]

In the future. When Vinta has quit the guild and Timian is no longer a royal guard, and they make a home together and create a life where they no longer work in violence… 

Vinta collects knives because they love knifes. Knives have always felt Safe to them because magic has been the dangerous tool. Vinta gets really good at woodworking.

Timian helps out at an apothecary. Which is funny because his name just means thyme in norwegian. He doesn’t keep any polearms around, but if necessary he can wield a really mean pitchfork.

They’re both highly skilled fighters, but don’t try to drag them into any pointless wars, ok? It won’t end well for you.

They love and care eachother 

[missanthropicprinciple]

28!

Thanks! So sorry this took so long! I’m adding this to my current fic Columns so it’s slightly longer than a ficlet.

 28) flannel shirt

“Newton,” Hermann said, gazed slyly over his large coffee mug at Dr. Geiszler, children’s science column writer. “When I said that we should ‘set up a meeting next week’ I meant a meeting and not a second date.”

“That’s true, but you did say yes to a second date,” Newton said, a little sultry tone in his voice. Newt was looking his most dapper - hair actually styled with just the right amount of product, his best (and cleanest) punk slacks, freshly polished Docs, a leather jacket, and underneath, a soft red flannel shirt, open just enough at the top to reveal some of his tattoos and a little chest hair. Hermann was smitten. The coffee house was bustling and cozy but he was only looking at Newt, wishing they could skip the polite conversation and just snuggle by the glass enshrined fireplace at the center of the dining area. 

“Yes, well, business first?”

Newton nodded and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket. He’d spent a great deal of time the previous night plotting out exactly how they could both utilize an equal amount of space for their section of allotted page. Hermann adjusted his glasses and looked intensely at the plan. 

“This is very good,” Hermann said, a hint of pomposity in his voice. 

“And don’t hate me but I think you should do a ‘guest spot’ in my column.”

Hermann raised an eyebrow. 

“Have you spoken to Stacker about this?”

“No, but I think he’d really dig it!”

“He might. Also, I don’t see children being particularly interested in mathematics.” 

“I think they would!”

Hermann looked up as he handed the paper back to Newton. His mouth curved down and his brow was furrowed.

“You look sad. Did I do something wrong?”

“No no, Newton, I just...Do you really think that I could inspire youngsters with maths? Or are you just flattering me.”

“I’m serious! I really think you should give it a shot. Like, you told me the other day that not all perfect numbers have been discovered? Like, ok mind BLOWN. Kids dig that shit.” 

Hermann’s face became less wrinkled and he smiled and blushed. 

“How’s the coffee?” 

“It’s lovely,” Hermann said. He sipped deeply. It was strong and warm and smoky with chocolate notes and the milk was creamy and sweet. “How is yours?”

“Lovely.”

“You haven’t touched it.”

Newt shook himself from his love haze. “Oh yeah!” He sipped his black coffee - a red eye with a shot of vanilla. 

“Is that your usual?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m tryin’ to cool it with caffeine but man, I fuckin love this coffee and I love this place.” 

“I don’t usually like crowds but this place is rather nice.” 

“So...uh, you happy with the layout?”

“Of the coffee house? - Oh the paper! Yes, I don’t have any objections. If you need to cross over ever so slightly I will be happy to negotiate - within reason.” 

“Sounds good, handsome.” 

Newt’s heart leapt, surprised at what he had just said, but he knew he’d done the right thing when Hermann’s mouth fell open. 

“Yes, I think you’re handsome. Big news,” Newt smiled. 

“And you,” Hermann said inhaling and exhaling. “You look quite fetching this evening.” 

Newt waggled his eyebrows. “Am I a hunk? Perhaps even...sexy?”

“Don’t press your luck, Geiszler.”

“Oh you got some milk...just..lemme...” Newt reached across the table and thumbed off a tiny smear of milk from Hermann’s upper lip. “Sorry, dude, but we’re on the date portion of the evening and we should probably make some sort of physical contact.” 

“Ah, in that case.” Hermann reached out for Newt’s hand. 

Newt put a hand over Hermann’s gorgeous long-fingered hand. The palm was warm but the top of his hand was chilly and he rubbed it tenderly, making sure his calluses didn’t scratch the soft skin beneath. He pulled the hand to his own lips with both hands and planted a gentle kiss on top of Hermann’s knuckles. 

“Oh Newton,” Hermann said barely above a whisper. He felt like swooning. He felt the edge of Newt’s flannel sleeve brush against his fingertips. “Far be it from me to rush into things but I have a proposal.” 

“Huh?” 

“Not that kind of proposal.”

“Hey hey!”

“Not that kind of proposal either! I just...I would like very much if we went somewhere private after this to...um.” 

Newt eyebrows hit the ceiling hopefully.

“To perhaps cuddle?” 

“Hell yeah! Check please!” 

“You already have the receipt. And I didn’t mean we should leave straight away. I thought perhaps we could sit by the fire for a while and then go to your flat...my flat?” 

“Wherever you feel comfortable.” 

“My flat.” Hermann looked into Newt’s gentle green eyes. 

They moved over to the fireplace when a few hipsters had gotten up. Hermann rushed over to save the spot and Newt brought the remainder of their coffees. Hermann slipped his arm through Newton’s as they sat near the fire and chatted about maths and science facts and which ones kids would most be interested in. When they returned their cups to the wash bin they left, walking in the leaves hand in hand all the way to Newt’s car. 

Hermann let them in and offered Newt the couch. “Would you like a glass of water? I’d offer you some wine but I don’t have any.” 

“Water would be great.” 

“I’m just going to take my meds, I’ll be right back.” 

“Sure. I’ll be here.” 

Hermann set the water down and Newt took a swig. 

“So...uhhh...cuddling was mentioned.” 

“Yes,” Hermann laughed. “I feel silly now but...yes, I would like that very much.” 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Newt said, shucking off his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch. He welcomed Hermann into his arms and Hermann slid over, resting his cane on the side of the couch. At the touch of the soft flannel against his skin he felt so warm inside, so at peace. He tentatively rubbed his hand up and down Newton’s shirt. 

“Aww yeah that’s nice,” Newt said, closing his eyes and pulling Hermann a little closer. “Do you like this shirt?” 

“Very much,” Hermann said, his voice muffled by the fabric. “I believe you were wearing this shirt the day we met.” 

“Oh yeah, you’re right!” Newt snuffled the taller man’s hair. They embraced, almost drifting off, listening to the fall wind. Hermann’s digits toyed with Newt’s collar. 

“Go on, you can put your hand in there.” 

“You sure it’s alright?”

“Yes, please.” 

Hermann touched his fingertips to Newton’s collarbone and down his chest, parting the soft fabric as he went. Newt shuddered and exhaled as large fingertips seemed to trace electricity along his tattooed skin. His head fell back.

“Oh....babe.”

Hermann took the flannel in his hands, pulling Newt down to him. Newt opened his eyes and their lips met as they gripped each other with tender ferocity. Their kisses were languid, exploring. Hermann caressed Newt’s sides and back and Newt opened his mouth in a gasp. Hermann pushed forward, tasting him, chasing his tongue. Newt was equally enthusiastic, kissing until they were both breathless. 

“Would you considered writing about Euclid for your guest spot?” Newt’s eyes were still closed and he was panting. 

“That does sound like a good idea. I shall consider it.” Hermann looked up drowsily. 

“I should go,” Newt said, stealing another smooch. “Before I get too sleepy to drive.” 

“Yes. I’ll - I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.” Newt got up to leave, still holding Hermann’s hands. 

“I look forward to more...collaborations in future.” 

“How about this weekend?” 

“I believe I shall be free.” 

(Autumn fic asks)

[buckyownsmyheart]

Duty [5/12]

CHAPTER 5: The Punchline

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Language, unbearable sexual tension (with some more smooching) and terribly choppy writing

Series Summary: Ex-army doctor, and now on-mission-for-the-Avengers doctor, Major (Y/n) (Y/l/n), had prepared herself for anything. That was, of course, until she met a devastatingly charming Sergeant from Brooklyn with a quick wit and a kind smile. I wonder what will happen.

A/N: Have been back on placement so chaos has ensued, this isn't as good as I’d like it but hey! We’ll survive! Some terrible jokes are within it, and so I apologise

Series Masterlist

Chapter 4

 “Hey Major,” Tony sang, rounding the corner into the kitchen, looking guilty,

You narrowed your eyes at him, peering over the top of your mug of fresh coffee, “What?”

“How do you feel about going undercover?”

“Very, very badly,” you cocked your head, “Why?”

“Oh, you and Barnes are going undercover.”

“You what? Tony!” you placed your cup onto the table and stared at him, “Why me! There are so many other people that would be so much better! You have literally hundreds of agents at your disposal if you don’t want anyone being recognised!”

“If I say amusement factor, will you hit me?” You looked at him warningly and pointed your finger at his chest. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! I need someone with boxing expertise who won’t turn a match into an MMA fight, get carried away and accidentally kill someone.” He sighed, “I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this. I know you hate it, but we have word that HYDRA is using this ring to scout fighters for Project Moonshine and it’s important we can gather as much information as we can. There won't be any violence.”

“Except for the whole underground boxing ring thing.”

“Yeah, aside from that,” he put his hand on your shoulder, “I’m not going to force you to do this, you know that.”

“I know,” you stood, “How can I say no to such a kind offer? Let me change and I’ll meet you in the briefing room in 15 minutes.”

“I owe you one!” Tony called out, as you made your way to the door.

“You bet your ass you do,” you looked back over your shoulder.

The briefing revealed that you and Bucky, Tony had become quite fond of putting you together on missions, would be joining the CUB ring, short for something a little more obscene than you had imagined. You were the fighter with Bucky as your ‘handler’, making sure no harm came to you and each fight was fair, he would step in whenever he needed and suspected that they wouldn’t pit you against anyone soon because the matches would already be planned for the length you were expected to stay there for.

-

A few days later, you found yourself standing in front of a man who was so tall that he rivalled Bucky, and so wide that when he walked through doors, his shoulders looked like they might get wedged in the frame. You felt like a show dog, wearing sports clothes that left a lot more skin on show than you would prefer, to be ‘assessed’. He eyes bore into you, unblinking. You found yourself pressing your arms against Bucky’s beside you for some comfort, but you clenched your jaw and looked ‘The Jack-saw’ in the eye. You were 80% sure that a jack-saw wasn’t a thing, but that wasn’t an opinion you were about to voice.

“Bellatrix, fight name Trixie,” you spoke, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that had arisen as the Jack-Saw loomed over you, eyeing you up and down. “Like Bellatrix Lestrange, but with more finesse,” you laughed a little at your own joke, but your face fell quickly and coughed the rest of your laughter as Jack-whatsit didn’t seem to appreciate your attempt at lightening the mood. Honestly though, you couldn’t tell. His face was like a brick wall. It looked like someone had sculpted it out of clay, with a wide-set, well-defined jaw, a high brow and a nose with a high arch, but then the sculptor had dropped the face on the floor, to give a now squashed and slightly uncomfortable looking result. He continued speaking as if you hadn’t said anything and boomed down to you.

“Our fighting is mixed, so you and your trainer here,” he eyed Bucky with suspicion, “Need to get prepared. We only have 1 other female fighter and she’s missed the past few matches so we’ll slot you in instead of her. Your first fight is tomorrow evening, 1:30, here.” And he strode out the door, leaving you and Bucky staring at each other.

“Well, that was easier than I was expecting,” you shrugged.

Bucky gently pulled your arm and turned to you to face him, he looked serious, “This is bigger and sooner than we expected, you don’t have to go up against these guys and risk getting hurt, we can send in other agents, it’s no big deal.”

“Careful Sarge, people will think you’re getting soft,”

“I’m serious.”

“I know, Buck, but I’m a big girl, if I can get a few punches on a super-soldier, I can hold my own out there.” You met his eyes and tried to abate his concern and assure him that this mission was going to be okay. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his blue eyes as he offered you his hoodie to try and ward off the chill that had settled in the room.

You gratefully accepted and pulled the hoodie over your head. You had to try very hard not to completely cocoon yourself inside it and never breathe any other air that didn’t contain Bucky’s scent. Because that would be weird. Instead you bumped his shoulder and walked towards your new living quarters.

“Just so you’re aware, you’re never getting this back.” You casually mentioned and grinned at him when he let out a laugh.

-

You and Bucky both stood, staring, looking between each other and the situation in front of you. This was definitely new, and typical of the universe to throw it at you both.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,”

“Bucky, you’re not going to sleep on the floor,”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind, I’ve slept on the floor before,”

“We are grown adults, and we can sleep in the same bed together without falling dramatically in love from each other.” Oh yeah, nice one. Like that won’t happen. You were still wearing his hoodie and would have 100% slept in it if you weren’t in this current position. “Alright, I’m gonna have a shower and change, you do your thing.”

After taking a cold shower and using your nice soap because of a certain reason that was currently in the room next door, you wandered back into the room and saw Bucky, shirtless, in tartan pyjama bottoms, reading a book.

“Didn’t know you could read?” you smirked at him, ignoring the flutters in your stomach, “Bathroom’s free if you want it,”

He chuckled, “Yes, ma’am,”

You got into bed, pulled the covers up to your chin and willed your heart to stop beating so wildly. The bed dipped down, and the smell of peppermint filled your senses.

“Night, Major,”

“Night, Sergeant. Remember no funny business. You’re in bed with the new underground boxing champion Trixie, and she takes no prisoners.”

He chuckled lightly and moved around under the covers, trying to get comfy. Sleep came surprisingly quickly considering there was a human sculpted by the gods lying there next to you.

-

You woke up and the first thing you noticed was that your cheek had stuck to your pillow. As you tried to unpeel it, you had to wiggle around to try and get comfortable again. Why was your pillow so high? And hard? And warm? Your eyes snapped open and you didn’t dare move another muscle. This was not your pillow.

“Morning Doc, didn’t quite picture you as a snuggler,”

“Barnes, if you dare move before I’m fully awake, I will strangle you and your imaginary dog for good measure.” But now you were very much aware of his flesh hand encircling your waist, his fingers resting on your hip and the heat radiating off him from where half your body was in contact with his.

“You know, you’re almost endearing when you’re half-asleep.” He gave a small chuckle.

“Shut up. Alright, where’s the coffee? I’m up, you can release me from your titanium clasp.” You rolled over, “Seriously though, do you work out your finger muscles? They’re weirdly strong.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked, suppressing a snort that caused you to jolt up,

“I didn’t mean it like that! You pervert!” You threw a pillow at him, with a look of disgust on your face. “I’m going to get ready, so I can train for this evening, whilst simultaneously removing those disgusting images from my head.” You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. Please god let this be over soon, because charming and flirtatious Bucky was way more than you could handle.

-

The morning had been spent planning and scheming. Paper, highlighters and files spread around every inch of the bedroom. You had laid out the mainframe of what was going to happen, with Bucky on the lookout for where they were taking people and asking other handlers about the girl who had gone missing, and you would be focussing on not getting your ass handed to you on a daily basis by the other fighters. Bucky had tried to convince you that a banana and mayo sandwich was normal, and it felt oddly domestic and comforting.

By late afternoon, you had gone to the gym, warming up and stretching a little, but before long, you were back in the ring, circling Bucky as he held out training focus pads. “I know you’re good at this, but these guys will be a lot bigger and heavier than you, so your main aim is not to get hit,” He coached.

You stood up, dropping your fists and deadpanning him, “Really Buck? You think my main play was going to be 'let them hit me as many times as they wanted'?

“Come on, you know what I meant, play to your strengths.” He motioned to the pads, and you jabbed and swung at them. Bucky continued, “They’re going to think you’ll be running them around in circles, so they'll be trying to pin you in a corner. Let them do this and hit them with the body shots. You’ve got a strong left hook, and hopefully your southpaw stance will throw them a little. Go left hook, right hook just above the belt and uppercut.”

“Like Tyson did to Boyd in 2015?”

“Yeah right, exactly. Okay, I need you to try it out on me.”

Without letting him rethink his decision, you immediately threw your entire weight behind your left punch, aiming it at his abdomen. You realised too late that this was a mistake. Bucky stepped you and swept his leg under yours. On the way down, your legs tangled in his as you tried to find a foothold. This managed to leave you both on the floor, panting heavily as Bucky tried to support his weight above you. Your faces were only inches apart and you could feel his breath fanning your face. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyes flicked down to yours. Oh man. You were so screwed.

“That was an illegal move,” you whispered, trying to ignore his numbing gaze.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’re seriously thinking about right now,” He practically growled at you,

“It’s one of the things, in there, somewhere...” You trailed off. You were really struggling to think straight given how quickly your mind was racing. It was wrong for this to happen and it would most likely lead to falling down the rabbit hole, but my god he was so tempting. His hand pushed a stray hair away from your forehead.

“Bucky…”

“Nope,” he interrupted you, “For once, don’t use your logic brain,” and his lips crashed into yours. This kiss seemed different from the one at the art gallery, it was needier, more desperate, and conveyed more emotion than words ever could. You pulled your gloves off and weaved your hands into his hair, pulling gently at the roots to try and ground yourself. As he gave a soft moan, the slight parting of his mouth allowed your tongue to slide over his lips and find his, deepening the kiss. Your bodies were now pressed so close together, you could feel every ridge on his body, every bump and curve. You had never felt so safe, so at home as you did now. You couldn’t deny your emotions and had to accept that he was everything to you.

A loud cough brought you back to reality, and a loud voice shouted, “Not here, use a room!” After hearing a door slam, you pulled away, looking a little sheepish. Bucky was scanning your face, the tips of his ears were tinted pink, and he gave a small laugh. Rolling off of you, he stood up, holding his hands out for you to take. He hauled you up, and you gripped him hard as your knees weren't quite ready to support you yet. You stood, chest-to-chest, your hands on his shoulders, and his on your waist, unable to move for a few seconds. Him? You could definitely get used to. This? Absolutely-bloody-terrified you.

-

After the small heated make-out session incident in the boxing ring, you had abandoned training and gone to have a shower in the changing rooms, not-so-subtly avoiding Bucky. You were now stood outside your door, trying to find some courage that had all but deserted you. You counted yourself down, took a deep breath and entered. Before you could say anything, Bucky turned to you, as if he had been expecting you, and started talking.

“I like you, Major. I like how you know already but won’t admit it to yourself. I like that you’re fierce and you stand up for what you believe in. I like how always wear odd socks, and especially how you keep them on when you know it annoys Tony. I like how you can read me like a book. I like your sarcastic comments and stupid jokes. I like how you squeeze my hand twice to reassure me. I like how you care about people above and beyond a normal human. I like how you make me hot chocolate after I’ve had a nightmare, and never push me to talk about it until I’m ready. I like everything about you, darling, I hope you know that.”

“You know I think the world of you, Buck, and I want to be with you, but the thought of someone knowing me intimately, and letting my walls down, showing people that I’m not always okay scares me. I wish more than anything that I could leap into your arms, but I don’t think I can. I need some more time to try and get my head sorted, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, and you glanced up, forcing yourself to look at him. As you did you were engulfed in a hug, his arms wrapping around you and his aroma entirely filled your senses. All you could do was fold yourself inside his embrace and will the tears to stay away.

“Don’t be silly, don’t apologise, I understand,” he murmured into your ear.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, and prevent any tears escaping, you choked out, “How long you been working on that speech, Sarge?”

He chuckled, his body reverberating around you, “Well I’ve had a few months to think about it.”

You squeezed him harder, trying to tell him how you felt, how much you appreciated him through this hug, and the returning squeeze he gave you made you hope he understood.

He lifted his arms from around you, and you immediately missed the comforting weight they had given you. “(Y/n), I’m going to give you some space and I'll work on...” he paused, his eyes flicked to the side, “This excuse. I’ll be back in an hour or so for your fight.”

He grabbed his coat and walked out of the door, leaving you to flop dramatically onto the bed. You were so close to swearing off any emotion and becoming a hermit in the south of France with a goat named Gilbert. Or Godfrey. That was undecided.

You knew that, for you, at this moment in time, you had made the right decision. It would be unfair on Bucky to initiate something that you both might regret. You had spent so long relying on yourself and being your own support that you had forgotten what it was like to lean on someone else, and you hated that you struggled to do it, but you needed an adjustment period.

-

A few hours later, you found yourself heading towards the changing rooms again, headphones plugged in and turned up loud, tuning in your senses to prepare yourself for the match. As you sat down on the bench, Bucky entered, looking tall, broody and devastatingly handsome. Come on, get it together you thought, now was not the time.

“You okay?” He mouthed, knowing your music was far too loud for voices to be heard, his ever-piercing blue eyes searched your face as he rested his hand on your shoulder, concern lacing through his features. You nodded in response and held out your hands to him for him to wrap. You were thankful he didn’t mention them shaking. Although you had boxed throughout university, and sparred at the compound, you hadn’t properly fought a boxing match in a few years. You were also used to sparring with you opponents before the match to see what their level was and gauge their moves, but apparently that wasn’t a thing in the illegal underground boxing scene. You didn’t even know who you were fighting. Bucky gently pulled out your earbuds and you realised he had been trying to say something to you.

“Come on Trixie,” he said, using your fight name, “We’ve got a fight to win and underground schemes to mess with.”

You nodded, sliding your hands into the gloves he was holding out and touching them together a couple of times. He pulled the hood up of the kimono you were wearing and lead you to the door.

The cheering of the crowd was deafening as they called out the name of your opponent, Dave “The Cleaner” O’Neill. He was shorter than you had expected, and a lot slimmer. It seemed they did take weight classes into some consideration. As your name was called out Bucky led you to the red corner, and a surprising number of cheers went up. I guess they were all pretty excited about the prospect of violence.

In your corner, Bucky pulled off your kimono and put in your gumshield. He cupped your cheek and moved to speak in your ear, “Just like we practiced, you’ve got this, I believe in you.” You leaned into his hand, closed your eyes for a brief second before turning and taking a few strides into the centre where your opponent waited.

The ref said a short, “Let’s keep it entertaining,” before blowing his whistle. You and Dave (you had decided to call him this because it was a little less intimidating than ‘The Cleaner’, not that that was much better), tapped gloves and darted back, on the defensive. He immediately started circling and jabbing out, trying to ascertain how experienced you were, and whether his reach was an advantage, but you kept back, dodging and watching for any tells. He was throwing a lot of his weight into his punches already, I guess he was used to fighting bigger guys, but it meant his footwork was sloppy.

Trying to draw him into his mistakes some more you took a few left swings at his face, seeing whether it would unbalance him, but he seemed pretty steady. Thinking back to your session with Bucky earlier you tried to remember what he had done to take advantage of you making the same mistake that Dave was doing, but that only brought back the memory of him pressed up against you. This distraction earnt you a punch in the face. Yep, should have seen that coming. Man, he could punch hard. Luckily, he had only hit the side of your mouth, your lip probably wasn’t bleeding, but you might have some funky colouration in the next few days. You were now, however, extremely pissed off. Leering forward, leading with your left, you snuck some body punches in with your right, but the bell went off, signalling the end of the first round.

You moved back to the red corner, opening your mouth for some water and panting hard. Bucky looked at you seriously, but you just shook your head, don’t, and he got the message.

In the next round, Dave had a stupid cocky look on his face. This did nothing for your mood. You tried to keep a level head, because that was what you had always been taught, in any situation, keep a level head and you can worm your way out of it. Stretching your neck as the whistle blew, you prepared yourself. You leaped forward, ducking under his obvious first right hook and delivered a blow with your left to his now exposed side. As he instinctively tried to cover it, but you dropped under his arms and executed a right hook to his other side. As he moved back, you seized your opportunity. Bringing your right fist upward in a decisive uppercut, Dave’s head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground. Knock-out. You were in a daze as your hand was held up and you were ushered out of the ring, down a corridor. Before you had fully processed what was happening, you were in an unknown room, handcuffed to a chair, with an aching jaw and ‘The Jack-saw’ standing in front of you.

“Usually when I’m handcuffed somewhere, I know the person a little better.” You joked, but he, again, didn’t seem to appreciate it. “Come on, smile a little, it won’t hurt. Why don’t we play 20 questions? I’ll start first, if there was a song that embodied your life, what would it be? Mine would be ‘I Don’t Care’, you know the new Ed Sheeran one? I feel like he understands me on a whole new level.” You were trying to delay him, either talk him to death or distract him long enough to work the pin that had previously been holding your shorts up into the handcuffs.

“You talk too much.”

If it was possible, you would have said he looked even stonier than before.

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” You made a thinking face before continuing, “I feel like you’re a Taylor Swift man. You seem like the type. It’s always the unexpected ones you know, I had the scariest boss ever, but he was never so scary after I walked in on him singing ‘I Knew You Were Trouble’. Kind of takes the terror out of a person.”

“We’re taking you on a little road trip, somewhere that will permanently freeze your mouth closed.” But before he could continue there was a commotion outside the door. He looked back at you, “Don’t move.”

“Bit difficult in handcuffs!” You shouted after him as he walked out the door. Wiggling the pin around the lock wildly, a delightful ‘click’ sounded and you had to bite your lip to prevent yourself from yelling out in joy. You made quick work of the other handcuff before flattening yourself against the wall, the chair outstretched in front of you to use as a weapon. As the door barged open, you swung the chair at them. They dodged it easily and looked at you in surprise.

“Really? A chair? Thought you were trained better than that, Major.” Amusement laced in his voice, and his signature cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“Oh my god, Tony,” you ran up and hurled yourself at him, “How the hell did you get here so quickly?”

“Tin-man called us to standby a few hours ago, I guess he sensed something was up.” He patted your back, “Quite a few bad guys out there, kind of need you to unhand me.”

“Right. Sorry. Got a spare gun?”

“And your med backpack,” he said, holding out both to you.

“You’re the best, I take back any bad thing I said to you,”

“You’ve actually never said anything that bad to me,”

“In that case, I take back any bad thing I said behind your back.” You replied, and luckily, he laughed in response. You took your backpack and gun and ran through the door.

Most of the thugs had been rounded up by the Avengers and other agents. It seemed they had gone a little overkill with the personnel on this mission. You wondered vaguely what exactly Bucky had said to get this many people here so quickly, and an unwanted but pleasant warm feeling spread through your chest. The journey back was filled with closing some scrapes and replacing a dislocated limb. It wasn’t until you got back into the compound that you were able to go and find Bucky. F.R.I.D.A.Y. alerted you that he was in his room, and so chucking on his hoodie, you went straight for his room and knocked twice on the door. A quick “I’m through here!” call from Bucky and you wandered through to his bathroom. The sight at the other side was something to behold. Bucky was lying in the bath, his metal arm glinted as he made a movement to cover himself. You immediately averted your eyes, until you realised that the bath was full of bubbles.

“Didn’t peg you for a bubble bath type of guy, Sergeant,” you raised an eyebrow and laughed. Your laughter immediately stopped when you saw a huge cut across his cheek facing you and one from the end of his collarbone to the middle of his chest. “Bucky!” You exclaimed, reaching in your pocket for some surgical glue, “Why didn’t you come to me about these!”

“Figured you were busy,” he mumbled unconvincingly. You shook your head, whilst muttering something along the lines of ‘stupid fucking idiot’. You dipped a flannel in the water and dragged it across his cheek, trying to be as gentle as you could and removing the dirt and muck that had accumulated inside the wound. His jaw tensed each time you put the damp cloth on his injured skin, and you guessed it hurt a lot more than he was playing on. You put your other hand on his other cheek, trying to steady yourself, and you moved your thumb in a soothing motion. As you sealed it with the glue, Bucky’s wet flesh hand found its way to the hand that was on his cheeky, drawing your eyes to his. The look on his face broke your heart, sadness dulled his bright eyes, and drew the corners of his mouth down.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there," He began, "I promised to protect you, and you shouldn’t have had to be alone. I should have been there. I don’t know what I would have done if something worse had happened to you.” You cut him off with a kiss but broke it off before your self-control gave up all together and made you jump into the bath with him. Instead, you rested your forehead against his.

“Before you say anything else, I need to say something. And I wrote it down beforehand, so don’t interrupt me because it'll throw me off.” You said quietly, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath in. “I like you Bucky. I like how you never push me to do anything I’m not comfortable with. I like how you wring your hands when you’re nervous. I like your electricity and how you light up every room you walk into. I like the scar under your chin from when you fell over getting into the pool. I like how you always choose pancake house when it’s your turn to decide a restaurant. I like your sweet tooth, even if it means you steal all of my hidden cookies. I like your compassion, and how you’ll do anything to make someone happy. I like your unwavering faith in me and the rest of the world that things will be okay. I like how you feel like home, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. If you want me, I’m yours. All in.”

You opened your eyes and leaned back, looking into Bucky’s in search of an answer. He grinned at you, and you found your lips curving in an involuntary response. Warmth was emanating out of him and filling your chest. His hands held your face, and he gently kissed you again.

“I’ve been all in since the very beginning.”

“Careful, Sarge,” You grinned, “People will think you’re getting soft.”

“Shut your mouth,” he smiled coyly at you, and gave you another peck before continuing. “Now, you pervert, I’m getting out the bath so unless you want the full Monty you should probably leave,”

“And what if I am a pervert?” Bucky splashed you, and you laughed, “Okay, okay, I’m leaving!” As you closed his bathroom door tried to contain your smile. Yes, you were scared, but you had realised that there was always going to be a time when you had to take a leap of faith, and there was no one else you’d rather take that with.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist and Bucky rested his head on your shoulder, gently kissing the crook of your neck. You hummed in contentment and turned around in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck and playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “I could definitely get used to this,” you said as you pressed yourself against him. You walked your fingers up his bare chest and putting on your most flirtatious voice. “We still might need a little time to figure things out though, potentially an entire night, that okay with you, Sergeant?” You looked up at him through your lashes. However, before either of you could do anything about the growing sexual tension, Tony burst through the door. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him, and he gave a yell behind him.

“Hey Nat! The double bed worked! You owe me $10!” He looked back to the both of you, who had frozen in shock. “You ladies enjoy yourselves.” He slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. As you turned back to Bucky, you heard a muffled shout, “I’m putting a sock on the door!”

You burst out in giggles, hiding your face against his chest, as Bucky grumbled, “Those meddling motherfuckers.”

 Chapter 6

 tags (message me if you want to be added!):

@broco8​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @sebbbystaaan​ @mcubuckyandsteve @cutiepiemimi13​ @velvetwonderbucky​ @livylou3333​ @cap-just-said-language​

[rm-dimplemaster-blog]

don’t deserve your love (vhope)

(read more break included- press to read the whole fic :) )

for @ollania

The first time Hoseok hits Tae, it's by accident.

Middle of July. All seven of them are working on a complex dance in the practice room. AC is busted—it's literally in pieces hanging off the wall with all its green and yellow wires dangling like tangled-up cat whiskers. Tae is sweating off all his mascara. He put some fairyland purple on his left eye, disco animal black on his right (massive chunks of glitter that poke your eyeball everytime you blink included) earlier in the kitchen while he was catching a tan by the giant window all across his bare back and freckled shoulders. And now it's running down his cheeks, pooling in his cupid's bow, and it looks like he's been crying stardust tears.

The blow comes outta nowhere. An elbow straight to the chin. Knocks him down in a sec cause he wasn't prepared. He falls in a heap on the floor, red and purple striped shirt, dark damp hair and unlaced light-orange snickers.

Someone goes aigoo!

Jin goes waaaa and pushes the bangs out of his eyes using the hem of his tee.

Namjoon's deep voice from the left, to Hoseok you're like a typhoon. With two fingers he does a whirlwind motion accompanied by a whooshwhoosh!

A warm hand on Tae's left shoulder.

Hoseok's face above his: peach-colored lips from a creamy lip balm that makes his cupid's bow all shiny and well-contoured; lashes so fine it looks like they were drawn on with the lightest of mechanical pencils; a black string necklace around his neck with its dove pendant swinging all silver and weightless above Tae's face.

Bits of neon lights weave themselves into Hoseok's hair and beam on the smooth line of neck and shoulder. In the big mirrors: Yoongi scratching an itch on his right elbow, Jimin blowing into his loose tanktop cause midday summer heat, Jin making fun of Namjoon's dancing skills, Jungkook snacking with his nose all scrunched up.

The room smells like Yoongi's raspberry handcream, the detergent they all wash their clothes with, a faint trace of cigarette smoke from the all-black wearing dance instructors, and youth. From above him, Hoseok smells like fresh fabric and sun-kissed jeans and for the first time ever, looking into his eyes makes Tae's heart go a little faster, a little rougher.

Hoseok's soft bony fingers on Tae's face, checking for injuries. Hurts somewhere?

Yoongi you probably knocked some of his molars out.

Jimin ah you make it sound like he has like ninety nine of those.

Namjoon still alive there, Tae?

Jin no, he's freshly deceased.

Tae shakes his head at Hoseok, bangs flying all over the place.

Sorry Hoseok says all small and smiley, music makes my mind go poooof! I lose track of everything. My arms turn into windmills.

He tries grabbing Tae's hands but gets handfuls of red and purple striped sleeves instead. Tae huffs out a laugh through his nose and squeezes Hoseok's hands through the fabric. His jaw aches. So does the side of his face. But it doesn't matter, not now.

*

The second time it's part of a game.

It's past midnight and they're playing the 키스 또는 히트 game. You're supposed to spin a bottle aka truth or dare style: the cap points to you and you get to decide if you smack the receiving end across the wrist or give 'em a kiss. They didn't have a bottle and trying to spin Namjoon's yellow slipper was a fail so they went for Jungkook's pumpkin spooks special Halloween edition lip smacker instead.

They're sitting out in the hallway where all the lights are out for the night. They have Jin's scented candle crackling all soft on one of the mint green plastic waiting chairs

(jin, all eyes:

What if we set off the fire alarm

Yoongi what, with that candle. Ha. Goodluck with that. Weak flame. Plus this building's so old, half the shit here don't work.)

--and like four empty bags of banana chips just lying everywhere and their phone screens are sending fuzzy columns of light towards the low ceiling. The darkness has everyone all giddy and alert and shushing eachother cause they're laughing too hard.

So far it's been a whole lot of wrist smacking, but also a whole lot of kissing and Jungkook's lip balm doesn't only serve as the pointer in the game it's also being passed around for extra softness and sweetness and everyone's lips taste like pumpkin and spice.

Sitting in a circle with shadows under their eyes and flickering orange candle light fluttering in their irises, all seven of them play the night away.

Jimin smooched Namjoon. Slipped on a chips bag while crawling on all fours to get to Yoongi and rolled on the floor laughing for five minutes straight till he was clutching his belly and going all red in the face.

Jungkook smacked Jin's wrist so hard the slapping sound bounced off the walls like an outta control rubber ball

(Jin, gawking at literally everyone did you see what he just--

Jungkook smiled extra wide and his teeth shone almost translucent in the dark)

Yoongi gave an ok to kissing Hoseok but when it was time for him to actually do it he whined

Aish I'm so sleepy and hugged his backpack and put his chin on it and Hoseok wah how lazy can one be took the whole kissing thing on himself and planted a quick one on the left side of Yoongi's mouth to which Yoongi hasn't objected and which made the tips of his ears turn a little red.

When the lip smacker's end ends up pointing to him, Tae hugs his knees a little bit tighter and looks up from behind a curtain of freshly cut and dyed bangs. First time it points to him tonight. Moving his toes inside his red Doc Martens, he blinks around, the sudden silence all around him sticking to his lashes like glue. Six pairs of eyes stare at him in the dark. The hallway smells like pumpkin and grape gum, shampoo and warm skin and past midnight draft.

The cap of the lip smacker pointing to him, Hoseok looks at Tae with a twinkle in his eye, hugging one knee, colorful bead bracelet hanging off his right wrist.

Jin and Namjoon exchange insinuating glances.

Jungkook looks from Tae to Hoseok and back again with his mouth open, curious.

Yoongi says all deadpan kiss is bliss.

Jimin bites his knuckles on a smile.

The dark closes in on him and his heart beats all muffled under his baggy black shirt.

Hoseok looks at him all soft and insecure, pushing the blue and purple beads around, mustering the courage to crawl across the light-orange tiles and weave his fingers into Tae's hair and really gentle press his lips to his.

Tae swallows hard. Blinks down at the tiles without looking up again.

When Hoseok pushes his hair behind his ears and goes on his knees to head his way, Tae lifts up his sleeve and exposes his wrist.

Hoseok kinda freezes on the spot, smile faltering, fingers of one hand splayed out on the floor while those of the other running up and down his thigh, scratching lightly and crumpling the denim.

Whoa Jin says.

Nibbling on his bag's zipper, Yoongi goes hello there tough guy.

Jungkook scrunches his nose plot twist!

You sure? Hoseok asks, whisper the same tone as the smoke curling upwards from the candleflame's belly.

Tae sucks his lips in. Nods. Offers Hoseok his wrist, veins up, making a fist.

Hoseok doen't wanna do it but those are the rules. Setting himself on his knees infront of Tae, he helps him push the sleeve up higher, then grabs his wrist.

He hits with two fingers.

Jimin flinches for Tae when Tae doesn't even blink.  

*

Third time it's playful.

First time they kiss, it's in a street corner in Singapore.

They sky is bluish-grey and short sleeved dress shirts are flailing really faint on the clotheslines overhead. It's funny because with all that bright afternoon glow, the clothesline themselves seem to disappear and if you look up from the street below, all you can see is a mess of shirts and light jackets tossed everywhere amongst the puffy weightless clouds, a senseless scene from a futuristic painting.

The roads are packed with carts full of oranges and apples and chubby rough-skinned pears. Everywhere you look it's food booths with noodles and saucy meats and steamed rice that smells like the ocean and stings your tongue with delicious saltiness. It's flowery parasols that fly open like a flock of birds reaching for the sun; it's girls in dresses and women in sandals that let out a soft squishy sound when the heel leaves the ground. It's lanterns as big as pumpkins filled with light that birds flutter by with a song. It's shop signs with Chinese lettering that Hoseok, during their stroll earlier, used to point to and attempt to read

(what Hoseok said when he spotted Tae giving a little smile after he read aloud a bookshop name.

Tae gave a shy shrug just love the way you make the 'sh' sound when you speak Chinese. I love the way it sounds.)

It's turquoise-painted doors and wind chimes that ring out so delicate it tingles down your spine.

And it's Hoseok's soft hot mouth on his when the wind comes from the left knocking a few shutters closed and billows their shirts and sends their bangs flying into their eyes. Tae's holding a half empty pink glass bottle of fizzy sweet blueberry soda and the straw pushes between his ring and middle finger. His left hand, Hoseok holds between their bodies, almost hidden by the fabrics of their shirts.

It's summer and they're on their first Asia tour and the street smells like oranges and Hoseok presses his forehead against Tae's temple, lashes fanning across Tae's cheekbone.

I'm seeing stars Tae kinda whispers. He's not trying to be funny, it's actually what it feels like, but Hoseok laughs all bubbly and weightless.

He smacks Tae's shoulder, suddenly shy and self aware.

*

Fourth time, it's emotion.

Hoseok slaps Tae hard. The sound rings out across the empty stage like a clap of thunder.

They had just finished rehearsal and almost all the lights are out. Tiny grains of dust float in the air like fireflies. Behind Tae, a giant screen shows chunks of silver glitter falling and falling and falling, endlessly, the loop invisible.

Tae touches his ring finger to his lip. The corner of his mouth is bleeding.

Tae kissed another boy. He wanted to. The love Hoseok gives, he feels like he doesn't deserve. Never has. Never will.

He looks at the smear of blood on his finger. Winces with the stinging tear in his lip. 

This, he deserves.

[braincoins]

“There, tell me what you think.” Krolia, sitting beside her on the couch, held the hand mirror up for her.

“Oh!” Allura smiled at her reflection and then laughed. “It’s so weird to see my face half made-up! But it looks lovely. I’m not sure what I think about the eyeshadow color?”

“Hm. Well, let me set up a stand mirror; you can try the other side yourself and I’ll get you some different shades to try.” She set the hand mirror down. “And the lip color?”

“You were right,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t have doubted you there; it looks fantastic.”

Krolia beamed. “So, while you’re working, shall I?” She was putting a light-up stand mirror on Allura’s coffee table.

“Please. Oh, here, use these...” She indicated the stack of coffee table books she had: Italian architecture, stunning news photos, and gorgeous Hubble Telescope images of various deep space objects. 

“Thank you.” Krolia went ahead and moved the stack over and put the mirror on top, angling it appropriately. “So, we’ve had a lot of people come in lately complaining about their prosthetics.”

Allura’s eyebrows went up. “So they used that same woman’s quintessence in multiple prosthetics? I suppose it’s too much to hope that they weren’t specifically targeting Shiro?”

Krolia shrugged. “There’s really nothing special about any of these other people, and they’ve all come and left again with no unusual interest. And there are still a lot more people who haven’t come in for anything other than their normal check-ins. So they didn’t use her quintessence for all of them.”

“Still, they cast a wide net to catch one fish,” Allura murmured. “Tilt that a little more towar- ...there we go, that’s good.” She picked up a makeup brush.

“I’ve tried to find out her identity, but that’s waaaaay above my pay grade and security clearance. Hopefully Thace’ll get us more.”

“So, tell me about Ulaz and Thace?” Allura asked. It was off-topic, but she was having fun. She had to admit, the whole little “spy ring” thing they had going on was thrilling. And it was reassuring to her to have all these other people helping her save the city and Takashi. Also, Krolia’s excellent at doing makeup! 

She was just chit-chatting, having snacks, and trying on makeup. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a pre-teen. That she had an “excuse” to do it just kept her from feeling guilty. Ever since she’d become a superhero, she’d prioritized that over everything else. Most of her “parties” and celebrations were with Coran alone. She didn’t do things for herself; not when there was so much to be done for others.

So, yeah, poking around in the doctor’s love life wasn’t exactly relevant to the city’s protection, but... well, she was curious.

Krolia beamed. “Ulaz feels like he’s too ‘alien’ for Thace, too used to being looked at funny for his accent and his name. And let me tell you, he’s not the warmest, most outgoing guy out there. But he’s a good man underneath all of that. I think he’s just shy. 

“And Thace is just a nerd - apparently like Shiro? - and IT workers are generally ignored by everyone else. So he assumes ‘the big fancy doctor’ wouldn’t be interested in him. But you should see Ulaz’s face the rare times he gets to see Thace. He’s like a puppy dog, all wide eyes and hopeful longing. I’m surprised he doesn’t whimper.”

Allura laughed as she worked on her makeup, studying the example Krolia had done on the other side of her face. “They need to stop being stupid and just kiss.”

Krolia burst out laughing.

“What?” Allura asked her.

“Sorry, but from what Keith’s told me, you’re the last one who who should be saying that.”

“Excuse me?”

Krolia grinned. “Keith would complain to me all the time about how Shiro was just pining over you for so long. And now that they’ve talked more about how things went?” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You should have just pinned him against the wall and smooched him silly.”

“We’re not talking about me,” Allura replied archly.

“Honey, he’s gorgeous. The chest, the arms, the a-...” She fell quiet so suddenly that Allura frowned.

“What? What is it?”

Krolia dove for her purse and yanked her phone out. She hastily pressed a contact and put the phone to her ear. “Pick up, pick up, pic- ...DOC, THE BLOOD.”

Allura felt a chill come over her. “Blood?”

Krolia was still talking. “His lab results are one thing, but we need to check the lab! Do you think they won’t go through a biohazard bin to find it if they think of it?” She was quiet a moment. “Not until tomorrow.” Pause. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I’m with her now. I will. Okay. Bye.” She hung up.

“What’s going on?” Allura asked her.

“We did a check-in for Shiro last week. I take blood every check-in, for routine testing. There’s usually leftover blood; it gets thrown in the biohazard bin and every week a service comes to gather up the bins and take them to be incinerated. They don’t come until tomorrow, and in the meantime, that tube with his leftover blood is conveniently labeled with his name and study number.”

“Oh, gods,” she breathed. 

“Ulaz is going to see what can be done. But... well, they’re not going to let him dig through the bins. And even if he did, it’d draw attention to him.”

“Can Thace go through security footage?”

“Hopefully?” She sighed. “He’ll do what he can. And there won’t be a lot of blood left - I only take one tube. But if quintessence is life energy...”

“...there might be something they can find out from the blood,” she agreed. “What about his results?”

Krolia shrugged. “It’s all standard health stuff: CBC, basic lipid panel, that sort of thing. I don’t think there’s anything in there that would be interesting to them.”

She nodded absent-mindedly. What could they do if they got a hold of his blood? What would they do with it? If they could cause him that much pain with someone else’s quintessence, what could they do to him with his own?

“Hey.” 

A hand appeared on her arm and Allura snapped out of it to blink back to reality.

Krolia was looking at her in concern. “We’ll do everything we can. We don’t want him hurt either. He’s a good guy, he’s been a good friend to my boy. We’ll look after him, okay? Don’t worry.”

She nodded again. “Right.” She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thank you, Krolia.”

“Do you want to finish your face, or would you rather clean up?”

“Um... no, let’s finish. I need something to do.” 

“You love him a lot, don’t you?”

Allura nodded. “He’s the first one to know who I am, and he’s... he’s unlike anyone I’ve ever known. He is handsome, but he’s also sweet and funny and he cares so much about helping people...”

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” Krolia warned. “Look up! Look up at the ceiling, breathe!”

Allura did that and tried to keep the tears from starting up.

Krolia’s voice, when she spoke again, was gentle. “Keith’s father was a firefighter. He loved the thrill of it, of course, but mostly he just wanted to help. He was one of those guys who remembered the pets, you know? He would rescue family photos if he had the chance. He took no shit and did no harm and he could lift almost 300 lbs. over his head, but he was so gentle about everything.

“At first, I thought he was an idiot. I grew up hard, rough, running with gangs because that was what you did in our neighborhood, because you needed people watching your back. And here’s this guy who’s giving me flowers, asking about my hopes and dreams, wanting to know what I wanted out of life. Before Steven, I just wanted to survive; after he came along, I wanted to live.”

Allura lowered her head to look at her. She was just staring off out the window as she spoke. 

“It wasn’t as simple as him doing something wrong. He wasn’t taking some stupid risk, going back in when he shouldn’t have. He did everything right and... he still didn’t make it out. Flashover. It happens. And I knew that when I married him, but I... I guess I just thought it wouldn’t happen to him. Not to someone so good. But life isn’t ‘fair’; it doesn’t care if you’re good or not. Life happens, and so does death.”

She looked down at her hands. “Probably won’t ever be a time I don’t miss him. And when Keith said he wanted to be a cop, oh, my heart seized at first. I wanted to tell him no, I wanted him to pick something safer. But he wanted to help people, and there’s no stopping him when he wants to do something. He gets that from me.” She sounded a little proud there. “So all I can do is make sure he knows I love him.” 

She looked back to Allura. “It’s hard to let someone you love go into danger, even when you know it’s the right thing to do. You have to let go with your arms, but your heart holds on. There isn’t anything I can do or say that’s going to make it easier for you. But I can promise to be here, to do everything I can to make sure he comes back to you.”

Allura hugged her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said as she hugged back. “And thank you.”

“Me?” she asked as she straightened up. “What for?”

Krolia smiled. “I looked into it: thanks to you, this city is actually one of the safest big cities to be a cop in.”

Allura laughed a little. 

“Come on, finish up so you don’t look so much like a before and after photo.”

“I won’t do it nearly as well as you did,” Allura told her.

Krolia patted her arm. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

{The Adventures of Starlight & Paladin}

[glitchinthesystemspiderbyte]

[14] Glitch in the System - Chelsea Morning (The Mission: Pt. 3)

By K. A smooch(!) happens. Chapter title is a reference to Joni Mitchell's "Chelsea Morning", which you can peep here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_y7O06z77Q.

–

Widowmaker wasted little time in procuring an audience with Akande inasmuch as she offered him no say in the matter. She stewed the entire flight from Milan to Venice, punctuating the assistance she offered their medic with sporadic reprieves to the observation deck. There, alone, the sniper paced in silence as she struggled with with the unplaceable, coursing adrenaline that fueled her restlessness and left her balling fists so tight they left tender, narrow crescents along the inside of her palms. Even devoid of the ability to connect with it on a cognitive level, she recognized the physiological manifestation of what, in anyone else, would be anger. Unfortunately, Talon’s air transport offered little in the way of outlets for that frustration; instead, she grabbed her comms device on one of her trips between the medical bay and observation deck and dialed Doomfist’s number with as much deliberate force as the screen could withstand.

“What?” he asked, irritation filtering through static space with digitized crispness.

“We are going to talk,”  Widowmaker commanded flatly. “ETA 1930. D’accord?”

“Lacroix-,” Akande began, but she hung up before he could respond. It felt strangely vindicating.

After seeing Sombra to her room and tipping the medic generously, Widowmaker crossed to the eastern wing of the estate, ignoring evening greetings from other agents as she transitioned from the relative quietude of the west side to the bustling heart of their current operation. Taking the stairs two at a time, she made her way to the second floor and shouldered straight through Akande’s office door without so much as a knock.

Doomfist rose from behind his desk in acknowledgement.

“I don’t much appreciate being hung up on,” he said, setting aside a handful of papers as he stepped around the edge of the desk.

“I do not much appreciate being sent on fool’s errands,” Widowmaker replied, light and clipped as she closed the door behind her.

“Excuse me?”

“Fool’s errands,” she repeated, giving the words enough space to emphasize the accusation. “You knew it was a trap. We all did.”

Akande stood unmoving as she approached, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen slacks; as always, an impossible read. Widowmaker gave her imprecation a wide berth, locking eyes with Doomfist as she waited.

“What do you want?” Akande asked calmly, his expression unwavering. The sniper inclined her chin, searching his face for any indication of intent and, unsurprisingly, finding nothing.

“What do you mean, ‘What do I want’?” she asked.

“I fucked up,” he replied matter-of-factly. “No way around it. What do you want?”

Widowmaker pursed her lips, brows knitting thoughtfully. Her first inclination was to suspect foul play, and if Doomfist were anyone else, that reflex would be warranted. Akande, however, made good on his reputation as a man true to his word; as long as loyalty or the impression thereof was maintained, he rarely, if ever, leaned on deceit where it was unnecessary. In this regard, he was as transparent in his communication as he was opaque in his tactical decisions.

“Lacroix?” he asked, expectantly.

“Two weeks,” she replied. “Sombra, too. No questions. Expenses paid.”

Akande, eyebrows raised, tilted his head. “And?”

The assassin shrugged. “That’s all. Give me that and I forget this mission ever happened. Y’en a plus.”

“Done,” Doomfist nodded. “Make your arrangements, give me a ballpark estimate, and we’ll wire the funds. Give our girl a week to get back on her feet and the next two are yours. Then we put this behind us.”

He extended a hand.

“Put what behind us?” Widowmaker asked, accepting the agreement with a single, firm handshake. Relinquishing his grip, the sniper turned toward the door.

“Knock next time,” Akande called after her.

“There had better not be a next time,” she concluded with a single, backwards glance.

All things considered, the breakfast Widowmaker managed to cobble together from their haphazard pantry was surprisingly robust. As the last of the toast decreed its readiness with a chirp and mechanically-bolstered leap into the air, she plated it and considered her work. It was heavy by her standards, possibly even excessive: eggs with goat cheese and a variety of sautéed vegetables, bacon, toast, fresh berries, yogurt, and, to her continuous chagrin, the same overly sweet cereal Sombra favored despite infinitely more complex and healthful offerings. Still, given the circumstances, the spread felt somehow insufficient. Lacking.

She turned abruptly toward the fridge, scanning its contents.

Champagne.

Orange juice.

“Parfait.”

The medic had told her liquor was a poor idea - that nanotechnology expedited recovery but that soreness and pain would persist even after the wound was mended. For that lingering discomfort, he prescribed a relatively small but powerful regimen of painkillers for the ensuing week, offering the caveat that it be taken with food and to avoid drinking.

Popping the cork on the champagne, she scoured the cabinets for a flute and found only juice and pint glasses - both gauche in their own respects, but her options were limited. Settling for the latter, she poured the sparkling wine into the glass in equal parts with the juice and decided that what the medic didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. She knew she’d want a drink, were she in Sombra’s place.

She set the glass beside the dry cereal and adjacent cup of milk, shouldered the tray on which her work was arranged, and made her way through the hall toward Sombra’s room. She passed Gabriel en route, shushing him with a raised finger before he could so much as snicker.

“Just don’t,” she glowered. “Not today.”

Biting back whatever opening volley he’d prepared, Reaper rolled his eyes as loudly as possible before ducking around the corner.

Widowmaker continued uninterrupted, shifting the tray to her left shoulder as she approached the hacker’s door. She knocked lightly, lest her injured colleague still be asleep; even under that light touch, however, the door gave way with a slow, creaky groan.

“Manda huevos, doc,” Sombra whined from within. “If you’re here to check on me one more time—.”

The sniper poked her head through the door, quirking a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You’ll what?”

Propped up in bed with the aid of a collection of pillows, Sombra acknowledged the sniper with a tired half-smile and the ghost of a chuckle. “I honestly have no idea,” the hacker conceded, brushing a few strands of wayward hair from her face with her unencumbered hand. Her opposite arm was cradled in a sling which the medic ensured them was only necessary for the day or two required for the nanites to work their magic. That aside, the only other evidence of their failed mission and the injury incurred therein was the swathe of bandages creeping above the neck of her shirt and the softness exhaustion lended her usually sharp features.

“You coming in or what?” she asked.

Widowmaker obliged, slipping through the door with care before bumping it shut with her hip. Sunshine illuminated the typically darkened room, throwing its light across the walls and bed in a wild, radiant pane that made the hacker’s room somehow more inviting than usual - warm, lived-in, soft. She had opened the curtains as she left the evening prior, to Sombra’s chagrin, insisting sunlight would do her well, even if only to bolster her mood. Ironic, coming from her.

“You didn’t,” Sombra started, violet eyes hovering on the tray.

“I did,” the assassin replied, crossing to the bedside and setting the tray on the adjacent nightstand.

“Araña.”

“Quoi?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” Widowmaker retorted, offering her the mimosa by the rim of the glass. Sombra accepted, lifting it to her nose and sniffing with a knowing smirk.

“I missed,” Widowmaker continued quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed. “I missed and you were injured because of it. Breakfast in bed is the very least I could do, and it is far from enough.”

Her admission, even coupled with the offering of breakfast, felt inadequate, a poor conveyance of the heaviness that settled in her chest and stayed there even after the weight of that dead soldier was long removed. Widowmaker wasn’t sure what to call it - guilt was the most obvious choice, but there was a complexity to this burden she struggled to parse, a collection of independent sentiments informing its composition. Failure was among them, redolent in its vicious poignancy, its blistering sharpness the only thing that had been required to reduce her to her basest, violent instincts. But there were other inclinations there, present only in her interactions with the hacker, warm and embarrassingly tender despite the cold baseline by which she was programmed to operate.

Now, sitting beside Sombra as the sun threw its light beneath her sleep-tousled hair, Widowmaker wasn’t sure a name was necessary.

“Would you like to go to France? With me?” she asked abruptly.

Sombra blinked, midway through raising a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. “Que?”

“My family owns a château outside of Annecy. Beautiful, but mostly abandoned. I was thinking some renovations were in order.”

“Let me know when you get the time,” the hacker shrugged. “I’d go.”

“We have the time.”

Sombra tilted her head, curious. “Go on.”

“I ah,” Widowmaker began, a shy grin tucked into the corner of her mouth, “I may have secured us a few weeks’ vacation effective whenever you are feeling well.”

For a long, unbroken moment, Sombra simply stared at her. Eventually, she set the bowl of cereal aside and reached out with her good hand, curling a loose fist in the knit of the taller woman’s sweater and tugging gently.

“What?” Widowmaker asked, allowing herself to be pulled closer.

“I want to kiss you.”

“You are hurt,” she protested, even as she rolled onto one arm and settled at the hacker’s side.

“It’s a kiss, araña, not a boxing match.”

Widowmaker smiled, small but sincere as she leaned into the hacker’s grip and pressed her lips to Sombra’s, sinking into the warmth she found there that was unfamiliar and welcoming in equal measure.

They lingered a long moment even after breaking apart, nothing between them but the space of their breath and ghost of Sombra’s grin against her own.

“You don’t have a garden at this place, do you?” the spy asked with the faintest brush of teeth against her bottom lip.

“No gardening. Promise.”

*Read from the beginning or check out our intro post! All stories tagged under #glitchfic