#.......she might jot even make it through the night.

[tacticaltechs]

.

[cursedhaglette]

Thrice Before Dawn

She thought he was having a nightmare, so naturally, she thought she was helping. Opening the tent flap, she's surprised to find something entirely unexpected.

Rating: E Word Count: 2,900 Content: 18+, oral sex, PIV sex, male masturbation, squirting

[ao3 link]

Halia takes last watch, preparing to guard over the camp until dawn breaks over the horizon, sketchbook in hand. It’s been ages since she’d been able to take the time to draw or journal, either tied up in other things that needed doing while she kept watch or simply too exhausted to do anything but stare off into the darkness. 

She opens the book to where she’d left off, finding the page she’d marked to be the one she’d filled with sketches of Astarion. She can’t help her cringe as she looks over her work. It’s not bad by any means, as far as her ruined mind can tell, but since they’d spent the night together out in the forest a tenday ago, things between them had grown strange and tense. 

Gone was the playful flirtation, the long, charged stares, and the touches that lingered just a bit longer than could be called casual. She kept telling herself it was fine, he wasn’t obligated to want her just because they’d slept together. Though, truth be told, she very much wanted to repeat the experience - she wanted him to like her, to want her, more than she felt she should. 

Blasted, handsome vampire. 

Sighing to herself, she turns the page, trying to think if anything notable had occurred in the last couple days that might be worth jotting down. The same thing day after day, fights and hiking and threats of death or the end of the world. At least they were almost to the creche, which might prove interesting or different.

Across camp, she hears a muffled groan and she snaps up at the sound. Scanning the tents surrounding the dying embers of the campfire, she tries to make out if anything is out there - hunting them in the darkness.. 

There is…nothing to be seen though. Only darkness and then - a grunt followed by something almost like a muffled whimper. 

Halia stands, tip-toeing across camp and approaching each tent, praying that without her usual armor and robes she can stay quiet enough to catch whatever had snuck up on them before it caught onto her. At least everyone was nearby to aid her, should it be something truly deadly. 

She doesn’t hear anything again until she finds herself before the last tent - Astarion’s. Then there’s rustling sounds, and another groan almost like he might be…dreaming? Or rather, having a nightmare, she guessed. It wouldn’t be the first time hearing him toss and turn, tortured by the memories of his awful past even while trancing. 

Is it appropriate to check on him? They’ve gotten to know each other well enough and she hardly wants him to suffer through whatever was going on in his trance, but she knows he can sensitive to such vulnerabilities. 

Biting her lip and bouncing on her heels, she tries to decide what she ought to do, and then there’s another muffled groan and acts.

The tent flap swings wide, held open by her hand, and time seems to slow. It wasn’t what she’d expected to find - Astarion tortured by a nightmare, curled on his side and whimpering for her to wake him from the horrors. 

He lays flat on his back, one hand pressing into his forehead and something in his mouth, an attempt to muffle the noise he was making, if Halia had to guess. His shirt was pulled up enough to reveal part of his chiseled torso, but her eyes didn’t linger there.

He was fucking up into his hand, his hips thrusting eagerly and cock weeping pre-cum that glistened in the low light creeping in through the open tent flap. She’s seen it before but like this, Gods, it was like a work of art.

He’s suckling on a rag, which Halia realizes quickly was bloody and - Gods, was that what she’d used to clean up her bloody wound from the fight earlier in the day? How had he…?

She can't move - entirely transfixed as she watches his muscles flexing into another hip thrust, the curve of his glutes visibly working even in the low light. Her breath catches in her throat and she’s trying to process the immediate want that heats her blood at the sight before her, catches his attention and finally, Astarion turns to look.

His ruby eyes widen as he looks over his favorite warlock, and then he smirks, studying how she blushes while he lazily strokes his cock once more - holding her gaze as he works his precum around his shaft. 

“Fuck, oh Gods, I’m so sorry,” Halia mumbles, finally turning away before she can stare any longer, and manages to shut the tent flap with all the urgency she could muster before hurrying away. She wants to stay, of course she does. She wants to watch and taste and touch and moan with him. But if he wants that, she knows she would have been invited. 

“Leaving so soon?”

Halia half turns at the question, already several paces from his tent and thinking of a million ways to apologize for her intrusion but coming up short. He catches her quickly and holds his loose trousers up in one hand, the other snaking around her middle and holding her fast against him. His cold hand sends a chill through her skin, still warm from the fire and encouraging that blazing want that’s settled in her core at the sight of him so unguarded - alone, whimpering, eager. 

“Didn’t enjoy the show, darling?” The question is pressed into her neck, and she knows he delights in the goosebumps that immediately appear under his cool breath. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers without turning to face him. “I thought you might be having a nightmare or…I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“And you didn’t think to wait and make sure I was alright?” He tuts in her ear, his mouth so close she can feel the way it curls into a smile. “So cruel.”

She took in a deep inhale of breath, unsure of what to do with herself as his hand tightened around her waist, tugging her closer to him. He’s still hard, despite his cock being stowed in his trousers, and Halia has to resist the wanton urge to grind against him in the middle of the still sleeping camp. 

“Perhaps you’d like to come help me…get back to sleep,” he murmurs before taking one earlobe between his teeth and nipping gently. His hand crests lower, teasing the waistline of her loose camp pants and moving so slowly towards where he knows she wants him.

“Only -” she pauses as he kisses her neck, humming in approval as his hand dips lower, finally touching at her core. She knows she’s already soaked, the sight of him fucking into his own hand, cock glistening with precum, had immediately drenched her. Now Astarion knows it too. 

“Only if you want me,” Halia stammers, biting her lip as a single, cold finger dances across her clit. 

“Oh my dear, I believe you’ve already seen how badly I want you tonight,” a second finger joins the first, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against her. Astarion huffs a smug laugh as she bites her lip, holding back a whimper of desperation and pleasure. “Come with me.”

And then, Astarion’s hands are gone - a hollow ache left where he’d been. She can’t help but follow him back to his tent, called by the pleasure she knows can be found within. The mess of blankets and open books welcome her, as does the smell of him - earth and spice and whatever perfumed oil he uses to make his skin smell like heaven made flesh. 

The flap drops behind Astarion as he moves and kneels before her, and the space goes dark, but she doesn't need any light as his hands move to the laces of her pants. He makes quick work of them and then her legs are bare and he’s teasing, and Halia knows it - knows he wants her to beg for more, for his touch or his tongue. 

“My golden, little bird,” he purrs as he nears her center, finally calling out how soaked she’s been for him since the first touch. “Look at you, such a mess. Is this all for me? All from your spying?”

Halia has to force herself not to give in to her nerves, not to wrap her arms around her waist or cover her face to hide her slowly growing blush - knowing it will only make him more smug. He likes her shameless, knowing he can pull that side of her out with each touch as she grows more desperate. 

“I wasn’t -” he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, humming in approval when she gasps in response, her argument lost at the feeling of his lips drifting higher and higher. 

He pulls her panties down finally, one swift movement freeing her pussy for him, but he continues teasing along the edge of where real pleasure would be found and Gods if he doesn’t touch her again soon, she’s going to be reduced to begging. 

And she really doesn’t want to have to beg, it will only mean far too much smugness to deal with tomorrow if she does.

“Lay down,” he commands. When Halia does, he finally descends upon her, ready to feast. 

Astarion draws the flat his tongue up her core slowly at first, and once he reaches her clit, he pauses to softly suck and kiss at the swollen bud before licking up her again. It’s simultaneously everything and not enough, her hips rolling up as she seeks more from his practiced, wicked mouth. Each soft kiss has her whimpering, and finally he indulges her fully, sucking herr pulsing, ready clit into his mouth and plunging two fingers inside, spreading and filling her.

She desperately wants to fuck herself on his fingers, but his other hand holds fast to her hips to keep her in place while his hand continues slowly, testing how she stretches around him while his tongue dances up and down along her folds.

“If I’d known how greedy you’d be for me, I’d have you like this every night,” Halia hears in her mind, his voice echoing through the tadpole so he can taunt and tease without removing his mouth from her cunt. “I’m going to have you begging for more before I finally take you.”

“Oh Gods,” she moans, his words adding to the intensity building in her core. She can feel it building, his tongue the spark to the kindling of her want.

Astarion huffs a laugh against her soaked cunt as he curls his fingers inside her, finding a spot she’s never had stroked before and immediately makes her squirm. Halia’s legs twitch, wanting to close at the intensity of the sensation, but Astarion’s broad shoulders keep her from moving too far. 

“Keep these spread,” he chides, picking up speed. And then she’s lost in her release, covering her mouth with one hand to stifle the primal, desperate moan that tears through her chest as her body clenches around his hand. A gush comes as she rides out her climax, soaking his wicked mouth and the blankets below her. 

She’s never experienced such intense pleasure, never been so wet, but cumming so hard for him only leaves her mindless and unable to be bashful about what’s just happened. Her body just wants more, aching for the stretch of his cock and to feel the heat of his pleasure inside her.

“Good girl,” he tells her, pulling his mouth away. He wipes away the shine of her squirting release with one hand, the other firmly in place as his thumb circles her sensitive clit and fingers continue to work inside. “Can you give me a little more? Can you soak my hand again before I fuck you?”

“I want you to fuck me now,” Halia pleads, her voice thick with want and almost whining for him, every trace of resolve not to act desperate for him gone in the wake of her climax. 

“Then cum for me again, sweet thing, and you can have your fill of me.”

His thumb presses into her harder and she sees stars, the intensity of the feeling earning him a deep, guttural moan that he chuckles at. His fingers keep working inside her, and Halia can only watch as he reaches for the rag he’d used to muffle his moans and presses it into her mouth. 

“Bite down on this, love, we don’t want you waking up the whole camp, do we? I don’t intend to share your pleasure with anyone else.”

Before Halia can protest, his fingers find the rhythm she needs and her body crashes again, soaking him just as he’d asked while he continues to finger her through the peak of her pleasure. He only pulls his hand away once she’s finished clenching around him, trying to catch her breath and watching as he lifts his soaked fingers to his mouth.

He sucks her cum off himself as he undoes his pants with his other hand, groaning around the taste of her while his cock springs free. It’s still desperately hard, soaked in precum and actively leaking more. Any other night, she might have asked to taste it - to lick every drop of his precum clean and have him fuck into her mouth with abandon.She wants his hips rolling into her throat just like she’d seen him fucking into his hand. 

“Now, what was it you wanted?” he asks smugly, nudging her legs apart further and smiling at the mess he’s made. He rolls the sheath of his cock, smearing the precum as he prepared himself to fuck her. 

“I warn you, darling, I was close before you showed up the first time so I don’t know how long I’ll -” his words are quickly cut off by his own groan as the head of his heavy cock finally begins to stretch her, and Halia’s warmth welcomes him wholly.

They whimper together as he finally pushes inside, and she watches as his eyes close in pleasure, her body working to take him while he slowly presses into her. He pulls away once, twice, and then slides home, burying himself to the hilt - both of them gasping in unison at the feeling.  

Lewd, soaked sounds filled the tent with each thrust of his cock within her warm walls, hands roughly guiding her hips and core along his cock. He rips the rag from between her teeth, replacing it with a deep, bruising kiss before taking her tongue in his mouth and sucking on it.

“Fuck, Halia, it’s like you were made to take me,” Astarion says, pulling away from her lips but reaching forward to take one nipple between his fingers and twisting enough to make her clench around him, earning her a satisfied huff. 

“Please,” she whines, closer to oblivion with every passing moment that he spends inside her,  “please, more, more -”

His hips roll harder, each slam driving deeper into her and she sees stars, unsure if she’ll be able to walk again after he’s done with her. She knows she isn’t technically his, but if he asked her in that moment, she’d give him everything - entirely undone by the pleasure he’s offered her.

“So greedy for me,” he repeats with a moan, still trying to play the rake though so close to the edge himself. “My good girl, my sweet Halia, my -”

He spills inside her with a grunt before he can finish his last thought, and the abrupt warmth of him filling her is enough to send her shuddering into one final, blissful climax - milking the last few seconds of his spend deeper within her.

She pants for a moment and he nearly collapses on her, shifting to one side before reaching for the rag. He doesn’t look as he wipes at what remains of their joining on his skin, and ruby eyes meet hers in a contended gaze she’s only seen a handful of times. If her heart weren’t already racing, it would be the moment he looked at her that way. 

Dawn is on the horizon by the time Halia makes her way from the soaked bedroll and the perfect lover within, and she desperately works to calm her still thundering heart. Her knees wobble and she’s going to be sore all day, but by the Gods does she feel alive. 

She’s going to fall for him if she’s not careful - throw herself headlong into something she knows he won’t want. Even still, she can’t bring herself to regret what they’d done. She’s going to fall into the trap that is Astarion and it’s going to tear her apart and then he’s going to have her begging for more, just because he can. 

And then footsteps sound behind her and he’s there, kissing her cheek softly. 

“Come on, we should clean up before anyone wakes up,” Astarion says quietly, and she spots his blanket under his arm. 

“That was…nice,” Halia says simply, smiling at him. “Fun.”

“It’s hard not to have fun with you,” he says in return, and there’s no performance in his words. Just honesty. 

It’s the first time Halia ends her watch feeling so content. 

In fact, it might be one of the best mornings she can remember.

[mermaidgirl30]

My Heart I Surrender

This was a writing challenge by @iamasaddie and it was soooo much fun to partake in! I got a really angsty moodboard, so I apologize for the tears you might spill 😭 I LOVED doing this and hope to do more very soon! I just jotted all this out this afternoon, so I hope you enjoy 🥰 This is also in Joel’s POV!

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word count: 2.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Angst, feelings, angsty Joel, smut, confessing feelings, more angst

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The rustic, spinning clock ticks over the soft patters of rain against the fogged up living room window. It’s like a competition, the vibrating sounds colliding together in a deafening noise that reverberates around your mind. Tick, tick, patter, patter. It’s too much, too loud for you to handle.

You hold your head in between your hands and cover your ears, trying to drown out the suffocating noise in your mind. You close your eyes tightly and try to forget. Forget the sounds of her walking out of the room, forget the way she slammed the door and ran out. But you can’t forget. It’s too fresh, too paralyzing.

Tick, tick. You gnash your teeth together and crush your head between your knees, desperate to escape the haunted ticks that keep coming. Louder, louder. It’s enough to drive a mad man crazy.

Tick, tick. That’s it. The final straw to make you lose control again. You push yourself out of the leather recliner and throw the empty whiskey glass at the clock. It immediately crashes to the floor, glass and broken pieces go everywhere against the dark wooden floors. The ticking abruptly stops and so does your pounding headache.

You run a rough hand through your messy curls, slicking it back into place. You sigh haggardly and slowly turn in the direction of the worn out couch, freezing at the mere sight of it. Your jaw clenches up as soon as you see it. Right in the center of the rose colored couch is the imprint of her. You run your calloused fingers slowly over the velvety material, feeling exactly where she laid. It’s almost like she’s still here. Almost. It’s still damp, still dripping with her arousal. You can smell her. The aroma of vanilla and cinnamon lingering in the air, just like the memory of her.

You pull your hand back and bite your tongue as you feel blood run straight down your throat. It’s the taste of loss, the taste of resentment. You did this to yourself. You. You throw yourself over the cushiony material, splaying your hands all over the damp material. Come back, come back. But she’s gone. She’s gone.

You remember her sitting in this spot not even an hour ago, with your head in between her creamy thighs. The way her breathy moans sounded as you tasted her. Your wet tongue sliding up her folds as you circled her clit nice and slow, sucking her into your mouth as she moaned your name and tangled her fingers through your mess of wild hair. She tasted so good. Just like a fresh sip of lemonade on a warm summer day that quenched your thirst. And God, the taste of her slick as she came in your mouth again and again. That warm salty and sweet taste mixing together that formed like hot cider on your taste buds. It was addicting. You couldn’t get enough, could never get enough.

You dig your fingers into the soaked material, trying to claw your way back to her. Come back, come back. You rest the edge of your face right where she sat, feeling your rugged scruff blend in with the smell of her. Too much, this is too much.

You remember how it felt being inside her as you thrusted yourself into her again and again, can still hear her ragged moans against your ear as she wrapped her legs around you and dug her nails into your back, slowly scraping red lines against your skin. She clung to you, ripping into your plaid shirt as she squeezed you tight, not ready to let go. And you fucked her like it was the last night you’d ever have with her. You made it passionate, slow, rough, exotic. And you made her cum three different times, but it wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough.

But it was the last night. Just like she told you when you saw her at Tipsy Bison earlier. One more time, she said. This is the last time. It was a love letter that ended with you. No more, this was the last straw. She was saying goodbye. It was a goodbye. But goddamn it, you didn’t want it to be. You never wanted it to be. This can’t be over. It won’t be over. Not if you can help it.

You pick yourself off the floor, crawl your way to the door as you grab a single cigarette that sits in the pocket of your denim jeans. You stopped smoking, she killed your bad habit as she always grabbed them out of your hand and threw them in the trash. You don’t need them. They’re bad for you, she’d say. She was always good about that, killing your bad habits. But she wasn’t here to tell you no. And God, you needed something to numb the pain. Anything.

As you stand up and walk to the white wooden door, you caress your fingers on the brass knob and close your eyes, remembering exactly how she left. You could still feel her hot skin, feel the echoes of loss and torture swirl around the room as you remember the way she left. Her eyes were filled with tears. Those sparkling, gorgeous eyes that took your breath away every time you set your sights on her. But this time she was broken, a torn fragment of your imagination now. She was so sad, so distraught in the worst way. And the way she looked at you before she walked out… God, it nearly kills you to think about.

Please, don’t go, you called after her. Desperate to keep her here with you, to stay one more night. If it meant you got to hold her one more time. One final time.

I can’t stay. Please, don’t make this harder than it has to be.

I….. You almost told her you loved her, almost broke down when you saw her opening the door. But almost wasn’t enough, it was never enough.

I have to go, she said. And then she walked out that door, leaving you hollow and broken inside, just like your now empty, vacant house.

You ran after her, calling her name, yelling her name. Please, please. Don’t go, you pleaded. Your voice a scratchy, hurling mess.

She turned so slowly, bloodshot with red eyes and tears spilling down her crimson cheeks. She shook her head no, digging her hands inside her violet jacket. She was right on the verge of collapsing, so close to barreling over in agony. And she said the words, those frozen, utterly dreadful words. I can’t… And then she fled, running back to her house, away from you. For good.

You stood there watching her, fisting your unruly curls with your fists and trying not to break down. But you had already broken down the moment she walked through your door, the moment she walked out into the rain and left you standing there, broken and beaten. A bottled up case of whiskey blues.

You punch the door, your knuckles hitting like jagged scars across the wood. Your knuckles turn red and start bleeding, just like your black heart. You step out on the vacant porch, the wood squeaking beneath you as the pounding rain hits against the edge of the wooden porch. You light up the cigarette, sticking it in your mouth and inhaling a puff of nicotine, desperate for some kind of relief. Any relief. It shoots through your lungs, numbing the pain just a tad as it takes the edge off. You blow out the smoke as it curls around the drizzle, mixing in with the whispers of the howling wind. She’s gone.

You inhale the smoke like it’s oxygen to your lungs, fighting every feeling in you to numb that empty space in your heart. The space where she’s missing. Your petal made from roses. Your sweet, intoxicating rosebud. But she’s not yours anymore. She’s not yours.

You finish the cigarette and stomp it out with your leather, worn boot, pushing it to the side so you don’t have to be reminded of the bad habits you said you’d stop. You did stop, but she’s gone so why does it matter anymore?

As you look out at the foggy, rainy night, you can almost see her. See the ghost of what once was an hour ago. Can see the way her long hair clung to her shoulders as the rain dripped off onto her back. Can see the look on her eyes before she ran off. She was torn, eaten up with hurt as she walked away. Her figure was only a mere memory now.

God, you couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand the mere thought of losing her. Not after you held her in your arms night after night. Not after you entwined yourself in her and lost yourself in her body over and over again. Not after her lips had marked yours, singeing her scent all over you as the cinnamon flavor swirled through your mouth. She was what brought you peace. Her. But you fucked it up. Fucked it up with every pointless fight you started because you were so fucking angry with the world, and you didn’t know how to control yourself. But she helped to calm you, helped to part the seas of your chaotic crashing hurricane. She was like a gentle spring day, a bed full of soft roses where you could lay your head when it got too much. But now it was just cloudy thunderstorm days without her. It was pure torture, no more spring days to mask your pain.

A wave of nausea pulls at your insides as you stumble forward, anxiety coursing through you like a hard metal bullet. You feel like you can’t breathe, your chest so tight that it hollows in on itself and leaves you bleeding inside. It’s like a sharp knife slicing you in two, tearing open your insides as you bleed to death. You hold your chest as you step into the rain, trying to calm your racing thoughts as you claw at the wooden railing on the edge of the porch.

The rain comes down hard on you, covering you in a sea of regret and longing. It dawns on you now that you can’t lose her. You can’t say goodbye. You won’t say goodbye. So without thinking, you run as fast as you can, dodging mud puddles and holes in the ground as you run like lightning. You have to stop her, you have to apologize. You have to get her back. You can’t lose her too. No, you just can’t.

You’re wheezing, coughing your lungs out as you run faster and faster, getting closer to her house. God, you wish you wouldn’t have smoked that cigarette, but it was too late. And now all you care about is finding her before it’s too late.

You make it to her front porch and pound on the rusty door, desperately clawing your way back into her life. You have to try, you have to try. After two more sharp pounds to the door, she opens it swiftly as shock registers on her face.

“Joel, what are you…”

You cut her off, too desperate to wait any longer. You come back crawling to her like a starving dog that’s lost its owner, pleading for her to take you back. You say her name anguished, your eyes tearing up and filling with puddles as you feel a teardrop trickle down your cheek like the soft droplets of rain that encase your cold body.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. For always starting fights, for blowing up in your face from things that weren’t your fault. For breaking your heart over and over. I just… I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, please. Because if you don’t then I can never forgive myself for ruining what we have because it’s the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. I need you, baby. I need you,” you desperately plead as more tears fall down your face, blurring your vision from the beauty that stands in front of you.

“Hey, stop. It’s okay. I’m right here. See?” She asks as she grazes her warm hand over your scruff, catching a falling tear with the tip of her thumb as her eyes glaze over yours, regret filling her face. “Joel, why did you come?” she asks as she looks into your eyes eagerly, looking for an answer in your blurring eyes.

“To apologize. To tell you I can’t live without you. I…I…” you struggle with the words, getting caught in your throat as you choke them out. But you say it, you have to say it. “I love you…” you whisper as your voice fills the void, your heart bleeding out on the dirt that you stand on, screaming her name as you try to claw your way from the hollow ground.

“You love me…?” She asks with softness flowing off her voice.

“Yes. So much. Please, baby. I love you so goddamn much it hurts.”

Her hand brushes your jawline, narrowly tracing your beard as her eyes start to water. You slowly graze your fingers against her cheek as you catch a falling teardrop and wipe it away shakily.

“I…I love you too. I always have. I always will,” she chokes out.

You close your arms around her and bring her into your chest, crushing her against the wet plaid material as more tears spill down your face, landing in her damp hair as you run your fingers through it, feeling that velvety touch that you missed so goddamn much. “I’m not letting you go again, baby. Never ever,” you breathe out, clinging to her like your life depends on it.

“I’m sorry for walking out. I didn’t want to, I really didn’t. I just…I…”

You tilt her head up and crush your lips to hers, feeling that soft, velvety skin that you longed to taste again. She folds into you, wrapping her hands around your shirt and pulling at the buttons, desperate to get near you again. You slide your tongue in her mouth and encase her flavor all over your tongue, basking in her warmth as you melt into her. She pulls you into the house and slams the door closed, still connected by her touch.

She pulls apart from you and stares up at you with longing eyes. Loving eyes. “Don’t go back tonight, Joel. Stay with me,” she says in a desperate, needy tone.

You draw a line with your thumb down her jawline, memorizing every perfect feature on her face. “I’ll stay. For however long you want me to,” you promise, your words filling up your chest with warmth as another tear slips down your face.

“Forever?” she asks with hope filling her eyes.

“Forever.”

You spend the rest of the night just holding her, both of you in wet tears as you lay all your emotions on the table. It’s exactly what you should’ve done all along. This is what you needed. You needed to feel your feelings, not bottle them up. But this felt good, it felt…natural. And so you stay like that the rest of the night, wrapped up in each other and losing yourself in one another. But this is where you belong, where you need to be. You’re home. With her, with your love. Your glowing, beautiful rose petal. Your forever and always.

Tags: @iamasaddie

[raina-at]

Apology/Imperfection

How do you apologise for something unforgivable? 

How do you look the person you love most in the world in the eyes and apologise for two years of lying and deceit, for turning them into a perpetual victim of the game you played because you were bored?

The thing is, even at his best, Sherlock doesn’t do apologies. 

If he regrets a course of action, which has happened in the past, he makes amends otherwise. He and Mycroft communicate regret through gifts of expensive alcohol. Lestrade gets a text with hints about his current case, however mundane it might be. Molly gets coffee, Mrs Hudson gets the sherry truffles she likes a bit too much.

John… back in the day, he’d apologise to John by buying milk. Doing laundry. Making tea. 

He suspects that won’t quite cut it this time. 

He tries to write an apology, on the way to the Landmark. But everything he jots down on a British Airways napkin he still had in his pocket seems… trite. Empty. Imperfect.

John deserves a perfect apology. Sherlock is incapable of delivering one that’s even marginally acceptable.

So he skips it altogether.

It turns out that might not have been the best course of action.

At the end of the night, he crumples up the napkin and throws it out of his bedroom window, watching as it floats down onto Mr Chatterjee’s bins. 

It's a fitting end for a thoroughly shit evening.

*-*

During the following months, Sherlock tries to compensate for his lack of appropriate words by doing everything he can to help John. He plans the wedding, he broods over seating charts, he teaches John how to walz—pure torture, that one, and not only because John is a lousy dancer—, picks out his suit, arranges a stag night. He studiously ignores all the parts of him that want to curl up into a corner and die, ignores the pain in his heart and the regrets welling up in his throat like bile every time he opens his mouth and lies by omission. He never says what he’s thinking anymore, because what he thinks is always a litany of all the things he did wrong, all the moments he wasted, all the regrets he will take to his early grave at this rate. 

John said he forgives Sherlock. But he still feels like there’s something missing. Something absolutely essential has been extracted out of the very marrow of their relationship, leaving them hollowed out, brittle and fragile, easy to shatter.

And yet he still feels the magnetic pull between them, still feels the sizzle and pop, the connection between them, more addictive than any drug and possibly more destructive now that the guardrails of mutual trust and understanding are gone.

John is wary of him. Sherlock can’t blame him.

Maybe, just maybe, an imperfect apology would have been better than none at all.

*-*

It’s stuffy in the vestry. The sun shines in through a small window, and Sherlock watches the dust motes. John fidgets with his cufflinks. 

Sherlock feels like he’s been standing on ever-shifting sand during the last few months, as the time he had left with John slowly ran out. Now he’s on the last kernels, and he can already feel the glass beneath his feet, slippery and dragging him down the rabbit hole of self-destruction.

He reaches into his pocket to check the time on his phone when his fingers find something else entirely.

He takes it out. It’s the napkin he scrawled all of his imperfect, stuttering words onto, words he couldn’t say, words that still stick in his throat like a bone he was never able to swallow.

It shouldn’t be here. He remembers throwing it out.  How did it get into the inner pocket of his wedding suit? 

“What’s that?” John asks. He’s leaning against the vicar’s desk, not at all the picture of the happy bridegroom, uncomfortable in his suit, nervous, ill at ease in this church he didn’t pick.

Sherlock looks down at the napkin. He swallows. “Nothing,” he says, quietly, addressing his hands. Too little, too late. No use opening up old wounds now.

John gives him a long look that clearly states he doesn’t believe a word out of Sherlock’s mouth. Then he shrugs, looks away, obviously disappointed. “Fine. Fine,” he mutters, apparently more to himself than to Sherlock. He checks his watch, a nervous, impatient gesture. “Ten minutes to showtime. Better check on the guests.”

He walks to the door, and Sherlock catches a glimpse of the expression on his face in the mirror over the desk. Disappointment, pain. Regret.

And he suddenly realises that reopening old wounds assumes that they’ve healed. And that there is no such thing as too little when the alternative is nothing, and that he’s actually, really, truly, on the cusp of too late.

“John.”

John turns, looks at him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“There’s something I should say,” Sherlock begins, hating the way his voice sounds, unsure, unsteady, like he’s chewing on broken glass.

John makes a ‘go on then’ gesture with his hand, leaning against the wall next to the door. Visibly bracing himself.

“I- it occurs to me,” Sherlock says, hesitant, feeling a bit like he’s fighting against his better judgement with every word out of his mouth, “that I never- I never apologised. For. You know.”

“Making me watch you die and lying to me for two years?” John fills in the blanks. He gives Sherlock a small, humourless smile, and there’s a world of bitterness in his voice, a poison they never lanced out of that wound. “No. You didn’t, did you? You said please forgive me, but that’s not actually an apology, is it.”

“No.”

Silence falls, and Sherlock can’t. He can’t. He feels like flaying himself open and trusting John not to destroy him by telling him whatever Sherlock has to offer isn’t good enough, isn’t, quite simply, enough, is as beyond him as it was that night at the Landmark.

John huffs a laugh that’s more annoyance than humour. “Well. Glad we had that conversation,” he mutters, pressing his lips together, clearly trying to hold some powerful emotion in.

You’re hurting him again, Sherlock thinks. If you stop now, you bloody fucking coward, how will you ever look at yourself in the mirror again? 

He looks down at the napkin, at the words he never said. The words that needed saying. Well, as they say, there’s no time like now.  “I- I should start by saying that I did what I thought was necessary when I jumped. And that you weren’t supposed to be there. I planned for this contingency, and I should have told you, but at the time, I thought it was necessary for your survival to deceive you. But you being there was neither part of the plan nor what I would have wanted to happen.” He looks up, meets John’s eyes, who’s watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. “So. Number one. I’m sorry I made you watch.”

John is silent, but his eyes are fixed on Sherlock’s face, and he’s clearly paying close attention to every word that comes out of Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock takes a deep breath and continues,“I went after Moriarty’s network because I felt it was my responsibility to clean up my own mess, and nobody else’s. It seemed selfish of me to risk your life for my hubris. I nearly reached out to you so many times, and I didn’t because if you had known I was alive, you would have wanted to join me, and I wouldn’t have had the strength of character to turn you down. If you’d died, it would have killed me. So. Two. I’m sorry I wasn’t willing to endure what I put you through.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“Go away!” John yells, without turning. 

“But-”

John makes a frustrated noise, takes the two steps to the door and turns the key in the lock. “I said,” he growls at the vicar at the other side of the door,  “Go. The fuck. Away!” 

Then John turns around and makes an inviting gesture in Sherlock’s direction. “Continue.”

Sherlock gestures to the door. “Are you sure you-”

John huffs a frustrated sigh. “Yes, thank you for pointing out that I’m getting married in five minutes, you utter prat, and congrats for choosing the worst possible time for this, but fucking hell, Sherlock, don’t you think we’ve waited for this long enough?”

Sherlock acknowledges the point with a tilt of his head. “Best get on with it, then.” He takes a deep breath, because this is the difficult one. He holds up the napkin. “I wrote this when I came back. On my way to the Landmark. You deserved to hear it then. But I was too much of a coward to face the consequences of my actious. So. Number three. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

“Why now?” John asks, softly, his face still unreadable, his eyes riveted to Sherlock’s face. “Why tell me this now?”

“Because there’s a number four,” Sherlock says, quietly, holding John’s eyes. He gets up, slowly, approaches John, giving him plenty of time to back away, to stop him, to leave.

But John stays. John holds his eyes, holds his ground. Waits.

Sherlock moves closer, invades his space, traces his fingers along the lapels of John’s beautiful suit. 

“Number four,” Sherlock murmurs, inching closer to John with every word, “I’m sorry I made you feel like I don’t care about you. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I never said thank you, for your trust, for your companionship, for the very best of times. I’m sorry it took me this long to say I love you, and I’m sorry I never asked you to come back. And I’m sorry for this,” he says, as he leans in and presses his lips to John’s.

John’s breath hitches as he pulls Sherlock closer and kisses back, fierce and courageous and like he’s been waiting for this just as long as Sherlock has. 

There’s loud voices and pounding on the door, and both their phones are vibrating with missed calls and texts, and neither of them notices as they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. John’s arms have snaked around Sherlock and he’s holding on like he never intends to let go, and Sherlock feels the knot in his stomach and the dread in his heart dissolve under the onslaught of John’s passion, and his kisses, and his love.

They finally break apart, and Sherlock knows he’ll remember the exact curve of John’s smile and the exact shade of his eyes in that moment for the rest of his life. “I forgive you,” John whispers, and it sounds like a vow. “I forgive you.”

And this time, Sherlock believes him. 

---

If anyone wants to venture a heacanon how a certain item found its way into a certain pocket, I won't stop you. I personally have my suspicions ;-)

If there are any embarrassing mistakes in there, please forgive me. It's Friday evening, and it's been a WEEK.

Also, if you want to read a similar scenario a bit less seriously, might I recommend my fic Speak Now, where Sherlock gives new meaning to the phrase 'last minute'.

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged.

Thank you all for a wonderful fandom time, all the writers and all the commenters and re-bloggers, and especially @calaisreno for keeping us going. Love you all.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[storiesofsvu]

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Amanda Rolins x reader (brief mentions of Amanda x Nick) Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, it's hurt/comfort but mainly fluff, if that makes sense? LOL. This has been sitting in the drafts for a very long time and I think was a tipsy idea while watching old svu ideas that got jotted down and then added to bit by bit. I'm not sure if I'm totally happy with it, but I was determined to finish it and this is what we're left with. Basically Amanda deserves all the proper love and affection. The end.

You’d had a thing for Amanda for a while, it started out as a physical attraction that morphed into friendship, someone you enjoyed spending time with, someone you didn’t mind getting trapped in a car on stakeouts with. You shared interests, had similar coffee tastes, were both dog people, preferred take out to cooking and could spend hours watching trashy reality television. All it took was one night at a bar with a few too many beers and a few of your favourite songs on the dance floor to lead to a hot and heavy make out session that ended tangled in the sheets of Amanda’s bed.

When it happened a second time she felt a little bad, letting you know that while she was being safe, you weren’t the only person she was sleeping with. In return you let out a small laugh, telling her that it was clear as day her and Nick had something going on and you had no concern if she was hooking up with him too. With that conversation out of the way you were free to continue on with your random casual nights together. Some nights you’d end up with Amanda, others you’d go home alone and sometimes you’d find your own fun elsewhere, there were no hard feelings or sense of jealousy between either of you.

You slowly watched as Amanada started to slip under Amaro’s charm spell, ever the girl who wanted to be the fixer, the problem solver, do it on her own big sister. As his parenting relationship with Maria got worse her desire to be the one to help him through it grew, wanting to be there when he needed someone, no matter what the context was. Some nights he wanted to drink, to vent, talk things through with someone who could stay somewhat neutral and not argue with everything he said. Some nights he wanted to just forget and those were the ones he always went to Amanda for. The deeper he sank, the more entangled she became and he pulled her right down with him.

When it came to your relationship with Amanda, you truly never cared, even if she was leaving your living room because he called. The night he showed up at Amanda’s when you were there you were the first one to pour him a drink and toss him a smoke, reminding him how much relationships can suck. You continued to be Amanda’s friend, trying to support her through the entire ordeal while she was giving Nick her all and letting herself derail in the process.

“Thanks for meeting me.” She huffed, sliding into the bar stool beside you and you could tell she was pissed.

“Don’t worry about it. What’s up?” You asked, sliding her a shot that she threw back faster than you’d expected.

“Fucking Nick.” She grumbled, signalling the bartender for another round, “I get that he’s going through it but isn’t he supposed to be arguing with Maria?”

“’Manda…” you cautiously warned, “is he taking this shit out on you now?”

“He’s not doing it on purpose.” She defended, “he’s just so fucking irritable now. Everything’s an argument, he either wants to drink in silence or fuck.”

“I think it might be time for you to step back, let him cope on his own.”

“No, it’s fine. He needs someone to talk to and I know I can get through to him, I just need a little bit longer, really get under his skin.”

“Then maybe try to do it without pushing all his buttons?” You offered and she rolled her eyes, only half offended.

“It’s the easiest way to get him actually talking, I thought maybe a different emotion would come through this time.”

“Just be careful okay. I don’t want you getting too deeply wrapped up in all this and then end up being the one licking her own wounds afterwards.”

“I’m a tough kid,” she shot you a grin, “I can handle it.” Her phone buzzed on the bar top and she let out a sigh, throwing back another shot of whiskey before scooping up the device, “duty calls.”

You watched her pick up the phone as she disappeared out of the bar and let out your own sigh, wondering if you were going to be down a friend by the time all of this sorted itself out.

Two months later and you didn’t have much left to wonder about as Nick was gone, leaving the squad to relocate across the country in LA with his new family. You’d watched Amanda when he made the announcement to the team but she didn’t even flinch, a soft smile on her face knowing that he would be happier out West. His last few weeks it was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, the stress evaporating as he finally found where he truly belonged.

Amanda felt lighter too, that sense of having to consistently check in and make sure someone was okay floating away with the summer breeze. She was able to relax, get up early enough to spend her mornings running through the park with Frannie and finally catch up on all the reality tv she’d missed. And this time the evenings on your couch were free from any and all interruptions. She wasn’t sad, she knew that everything happened for a reason and that her situationship with Nick had an end date all along, but there was a part of her that missed her friend, her work partner and that was what you could feel floating off of her.

She hadn’t been mopey about it at all, but there was still a sense of melancholy in the air as the commercial break played. Your arm was strewn across the back of the couch, Amanda tucked into your side, letting out a little sigh as she relaxed deeper into the embrace. You instinctively pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head,

“You wanna talk?”

“No.” She mumbled back, “I’m fine, swear. Just been kinda moody recently, dunno why.”

“You’re allowed.” You replied, your arm squeezing her softly before your finger curled under her chin, tilting her face up to yours, “you want me to help you forget?”

“Yeah?” Her brow raised in your direction, a gleam in her eyes as her lips curved up into a grin, “what’ve you got in mind?”

“Well…” you leant down, pressing your lips to hers, your teeth nipping at her lower lip, smirking at the way her breath caught in her throat, “I was thinking for starters that I could fuck you so good you wouldn’t even remember he existed.”

Amanda laughed softly, catching your lips in another kiss, “I certainly like the sound of that.” It only took a moment before your tongue slipped into her mouth as you caged her into the couch, a hand already creeping under her shirt and the television (among other things) were long forgotten.

And just like that your sexual affair with Amanda was sparked right back up again, your relationship skyrocketing from barely seeing each other to spending practically every night tangled in each others bedsheets. Though there was something different this time, nothing was holding either of you back, there were no other outside players, you spent nearly all of your time together now. Partnered up at work meant your days were spent together, the pure carnal desire for sex meant nights were shared, and what was left was evenings to devour takeout on the couch while the tv played and coffee in the park with Frannie on weekend mornings. Amanda would often catch herself with a dopey smile on her cheeks while she watched just how comfortable you were in her home. How you treated it like your own, you never had to ask questions, you just new exactly where everything was. A warmth would bloom in her chest every time your hand found hers, glancing up to catch the soft smile on your cheeks before you’d make a kissy face in her direction.

Not only was she finally starting to feel whole again, she knew that the reason was you, that you were the one who had been making her whole all along. She wasn’t quite sure what real love felt like, but she was certain it had to feel something like this, you were always there for her, you supported her in whatever dreams she wanted to explore, you helped ground her when she needed to be brought back to earth. You made her inescapably happy and she was noticeably more relaxed and joyful whenever you were around. She couldn’t be totally sure without asking you, but she was pretty confident that you shared similar feelings by the way you’d let out a small laugh and you cheeks would tinge whenever she caught you staring at her.

Amanda wanted you, that was for certain, and she wanted a future with you, to face life together as a team, grow old with you and spend the rest of her life happier than she ever had expected. But she suddenly had a piece of baggage that was a very big deal breaker and that’s why her heart was pounding out of her chest when she finally summoned the courage to knock on your apartment door.

“Hey.” You greeted as you pulled the door open, “didn’t expect to see you tonight, it’s late.” You stepped back to let her into the apartment and Amanda felt frozen on her feet, completely unable to move as she let out a shuddering breath and you noticed the tears in her eyes. “Whoa, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Amanda shrugged, flailing her hands as she did her best to keep her emotions inside, her lip quivering as it attempted to all spill out.

“C’mere.” Your voice was impeccably soft as you wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the apartment and over to the couch. “You wanna drink? I’ve got an open bottle of pinot.”

She shook her head and you dropped down onto the couch beside her, your hand finding hers, linking your fingers as your thumb stroked across her knuckles. She took a minute, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself down and once she was sure she wasn’t about to burst into tears she finally looked up at you.

“I fucked up.” She admitted, a tear escaping to glide over her cheek. You were quick to reach out, wiping it away as you cupped her cheek, your thumb stroking soothingly. The tenderness made her heart swell even more and she let out a shaky sigh, “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and instead of having the balls to say it I screw it all up like I screw everything up.”

“Amanda…” you started softly, a warmth beaming from your eyes toward her as you squeezed at her hands, “you didn’t have to say it, and I doubt you’ve screwed anything up, just talk to me.”

“I want to be with you, this is so much more than just sex to me and that alone is scary enough.”

“It doesn’t have to be, because it’s always been more than just sex, we were both too nervous to admit it.”

Amanda sniffled, wiping away another tear, “fuck.”

“What’s going on Amanda? I adore you; I want to be with you too, I see a future with you, a future of us, I even referred to you as my girlfriend earlier this week so I don’t see what the problem is. We practically live together already and—”

“I’m pregnant.”

She had to get it out before you listed another ten reasons that you were perfect for her, that you would be perfect together, she couldn’t bear to hear all of that only to have you walk away in the end. She risked a glance up, her teary eyes meeting yours as your head tilted slightly.

“Oh. Okay,” your voice somehow got even softer, “have you thought about what you want to do?” You asked, your thumb continuing to soothingly brush over her knuckles.

Amanda took a breath, ducking her gaze, “I can’t just get rid of it, no matter how hard I try to think about it, that’s just not me and once it’s born I don’t think I’d be able to give a baby away.”

“Have you been to the doctor yet? My sister’s OB was fantastic, we could set up an appointment next week.” It was Amanda’s turn to look up at you with a quizzical expression on her face, watching as you glanced around your apartment, lower lip tugged into your mouth, “your place is bigger, extra bedroom and all, I’ll talk to my landlord about getting out of my lease.”

“Wait, what?” She asked and you looked back towards her.

“A newborn’s a lot of work, I’d want to be around as much as possible and like I said we practically live together already, why bother renting two places?”

“I’m confused…” she admitted with a small laugh, “I thought you were going to break up with me, not suggest moving in together.”

“Why would I break up with you?”

“You said you didn’t want kids…” She shrugged and it was your turn to let out a little laugh.

“So did you.” You squeezed at her hand, “but surprises happen and this can be a little happy one for us. I wasn’t adamant on not having kids, they just weren’t a big priority for me.”

Amanda chewed on her lip, her hands fidgeting in her lap as she tried to make sense of everything flying through her head at the moment, “but why change your mind for me?”

“I didn’t change my mind per say, life just presented me with an opportunity and I’m choosing to take it, because I want to, and I want to be with you, because I’m in love with you.”

“Really?” Her eyes were wide when she looked up at you and you giggled, the warm smile remaining on your cheeks.

“Of course I do, you doof. C’mere,” you tugged on her hand, effectively pulling her into your lap and she let out a little surprised squeal as her knees settled on either side of your legs. One of your arms wrapped around her, the other cupping her cheek, “you’ve always been my best friend, and I’ve always loved you like that. I’ll admit I was a little scared of falling in love with you another way and losing what we had, but it looks like that was the perfect thing to let myself do because I love what we have now, what we will have in the future.”

“I love you too.” She finally uttered the words and felt a weight lifted off her chest, a small smile breaking onto her cheeks and you leant up, kissing her softly. Amanda melted into you, her hands looping around your shoulders as your lips moved with grace together. You barely pulled away from the kiss, her forehead resting on yours as you kissed the tip of her nose and she let out a happy hum. “You make me so fucking happy, happier than I ever thought I could be, and I never thought I was gonna find something like that.” This time the tears blurring her eyes were ones of joy and they matched the ones forming in your eyes.

“And now you’ve got even more than that,” you smiled, “because we’re having a baby.”

“We’re having a baby.” She replied in a whisper, a smile etched permanently across her feature and she laughed softly as you stole another kiss. “Are you still gonna love me when I look like a beached whale?”

“Of course, I’ll even rub your feet and hand feed you grapes.”

“Promise?” She asked with a grin and you laughed, kissing her once more.

“Cross my heart.”

The warmth Amanda felt blooming through her was like nothing she’d ever felt before and she knew that in that moment she was exactly who she was meant to be, and exactly where she was meant to be. She knew she was safe, cared for, she had someone who had her back and always would, someone who loved her and truly meant it when they said it. She felt at peace, and most importantly, at home.

Because being anywhere with you meant she was home. You were her home, and that was all she needed.

____________________

@mickey-gomez @hbkpop @bisexualcrowley @red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @lesbianspacecowboy @wannabe-fic-reader @gaylorrds @beccabarba @mysticfalls01 @alexbllake @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @wandas-wife @emskisworld @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @sia2raw @dxtery @anlin2058 @itisdoctortoyousir @alexxavicry @daddy-heather-dunbar @evilregal2002 @7thavenger @m00nkn1ghts @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @desperate-gay @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @noahrex @temp0rary-bliss @wittygutsy

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 3)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2

Katniss and Peeta have it out during dinner. Bickering over who has a better chance of winning. Asking to be trained separately after that. It is an odd thing to get heated about and Haymitch is intrigued.

“We’ll explore that later,” he decides as the kids leave the table.

Effie tries her hand at small talk. “Tomorrow the tributes will be assessed. How are you feeling about that? I, for one, am hopeful that we might see a victor!”

“I feel like I need a refill.” Haymitch grunts, leaning up from his seat to reach the bottle, “and I feel like you,” he looks to his wife, “need a little bit of the good stuff to take the edge off.” He dumps the contents of her glass onto the floor, replacing it with the malt liquor of his choice.

“I’m going to bed.” Y/N pushes away from the table.

“Don’t be like that, angel.” Haymitch reaches out, catching her around the waist and pulling her against his side.

Y/N smooths a hand over his hair. “It’s been a long day, I’m tired.”

Haymitch begrudgingly releases his hold. “Go.”

“Night, Effie.” The woman waves in parting.

Effie clears her throat, “goodnight.” These people are awfully temperamental.

Y/N returns to her room, making for the tablet on the nightstand. Clicking open her files for Katniss and Peeta in turn. Adding archery and strength to their lists of abilities, then moving onto weaknesses, scribbling in at the top ‘uncontrolled rage and each other?’

Y/N opens that file last; the one where she jots down kind words for the tribute’s families. How they touched her life, how they made a difference in this world and will continue to do so. With the promise that they will live on in their hearts and hers, forever.

When she was reaped, a lifetime ago, Haymitch hadn’t been warm and fuzzy. Though he’d gone to the quarter quell with her maternal aunt. Allied with her to get to the top five, even held her hand as she died, Haymitch can’t bring himself to do much more than drink himself into a stupor.

“What exactly do you want me to do, girl?”

“I want you to help us!”

He’d left Y/N and her district partner, high and dry.

“Help you?” Haymitch laughs, “I can’t help you.” He couldn’t save Maysilee then, he can’t save Y/N now. He wonders if this is still part of his punishment for the force field, cruel and unusual in it’s crafting.

Even after she wins, set up in the house beside his in victor’s village, Haymitch still won’t speak more than a few words to her. That is until the next reaping rolls around.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” Y/N asks.

Back to the Capitol, back to hell.

“Think I’m gonna sit this one out. You’re due to take one for the team, right? I was a shit mentor anyhow. Not you though, you’ll be good.”

She isn’t good. All of sixteen marching a couple of thirteen year olds to their final resting place. Y/N is inconsolable upon her return, mailing letters to the families of the fallen tributes from twelve and shutting out the world.

Her mother, who’s struggled with a morphling addiction most of Y/N’s life, is worse now. Her father, the mayor, makes his best efforts to shield his daughters from it. They do what they can to support Y/N through her victory and the transition to her new life, all to no avail.

In the end there is only one person Y/N wants to comfort her, the only one who understands. She has a new respect for Haymitch after that. There is no pain in the world like this.

It takes three years, three years before she marches up to his door on reaping day and pounds against it, hard. “You’re coming with me.” Gone is the child she was, a woman standing in her place.

“And why would I do that?” Haymitch smirks, leaning heavily against the door frame.

“Because I need you.”

Slowly, they became friends. Haymitch was happy to be whatever, whatever she needed him to be.

She folds the tablet back in it’s case, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. Crying is useless, she learned that sometime ago. Not a single outcome changed or a life saved with tears. Only knowledge and fact driven perseverance can do that. Yet she is more man than machine and sometimes sadness wins.

The door of their suite hums to life. Y/N tries, in vain, to hide the evidence; her moment of weakness.

“You know, you,” Haymitch stumbles in, pointing a finger at her, “have become highly predictable.” Going to bed with him or after him is the norm. Means she’s fine, maybe not great, but she’ll tough it out. Going to bed before him is nothing short of a cry for help. She’s reached her limit. Haymitch knew she was getting there, that’s why he offered the drink.

Y/N heaves in a breath, “don’t say I told you so.”

“Fine, but I did tell you so,” he frowns. For all his flaws, Haymitch does love her and hates that she’s in pain.

She opens her hand to accept the little blue pill in his palm, it’ll put her out for a few hours of much needed sleep. Y/N swallows it dry, forcing it down her throat.

“Lie down,” Haymitch jerks his chin toward the pillows. Pulling back the covers to tuck her in, his wife’s eyelids already heavy.

She babbles out a bit of nonsense, her tongue like lead. Not heeding her command.

“We can argue all day tomorrow.” He promises, soothing her to sleep with her hand in his. Peppering kisses to her knuckles as she loosens her grip. “Sweet dreams.”

————————————————————————

“So besides the bow, what else can you do?” Y/N asks Katniss, prepared to take notes.

“Might help if you look at me.”

“Hmm?” The woman snaps her head up.

“If you’re analyzing me for the next kids, it might help to look up every now and again.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were.” Katniss cuts her off, with finality. “We’re all numbers to you anyway.”

Y/N offers a smile as she sets the tablet down. “You want my attention, you have it.”

“Don’t talk to me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like I’m a child,” Katniss furrows her brow.

“You are a child,” Y/N retorts. “I know you don’t want to be here and all that anger has to go somewhere.” She pushes off the training room bench and onto the mats. “Show me what you can do.”

The brunette charges her mentor, prepared to tackle her to the ground; only Y/N moves at the last second. Leaving Katniss face down on the ground. This only fuels her fire, she grabs Y/N’s ankle, tugging her off balance.

They carry on like this for a long while, ending with the pair covered in sweat, sprawled out on the mats.

“How can you do this?” Send kids off every year to fight and die. “You’re a mother.”

“I do this because I’m a mother,” Y/N whispers. “You’re not numbers to me, Katniss. You’re people. Who deserve to be treated with love and compassion, given access to every shred of useful information I have. That’s why I document everything. So I never forget.”

Katniss sees her then, as if for the first time.

Peeta finds them. “It’s time to switch,” he says.

Haymitch is waiting to help Katniss prep for the interviews and Peeta will now be…doing whatever this is.

Katniss musters the strength to drag herself away, glancing back at Y/N from the door. “Put that in my notes. Tell my sister I fought.”

————————————————————————

“As you know, the tributes are rated on a scale of one to twelve, after three days of careful evaluation.” Caesar narrates from the television.

Effie, Portia, Cinna, Peeta and Katniss have all joined the victors on the pristine white settee. Y/N slides forward to the edge, while Haymitch sinks back into the cushions. Feeling the familiar squeeze and release of her fingers against his knee as the results are displayed.

District twelve is last, the anticipation rises like bile in Y/N’s throat. The careers score nines and tens, the others a mix of fives through eights. Thresh, of district eleven pulled a nine, his partner Rue follows with a seven. Best of luck, sweet girl.

“From district twelve, Peeta Mellark; with a score of…eight.”

Portia gasps in delight, “Peeta!”

“Excellent.”

“An eight.” Y/N bumps his shoulder.

“We can work with that.”

“Bravo.”

Peeta smiles, relaxing marginally at the news.

“And finally, from district twelve, Katniss Everdeen; with a score of…eleven.”

“Eleven?!”

“I thought they hated me.” After she shot at their pig and all.

“They must have liked your guts.”

Cinna raises a toast. “To Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire!”

Part 4

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @officialjellydoughnut @whoreforfictionalpeople @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k

[georgeclarkewifey]

Inconvenience | g.clarke

Chapter 4: Tough Day

Summary: The boys try and help Noa with a new project

Word Count: 1.2k+

Warnings: swearing, George being a dick (again)

Roughly a week or so had passed since Noa moved into her new apartment, and her hopes that George would warm up to her hadn’t been achieved yet.

Even though she spent most evenings with the boys, he would still only talk to her if the others were there, and whenever he could he avoided her at all costs.

It was beginning to bother Noa. She couldn’t understand why he was acting this way towards her, and after thorough discussions with his other roommates, they confirmed that she hadn’t done or said anything to cause this behaviour.

Luckily, Arthur Hill and her got on like a house on fire, and being one of the better housemates at DIY, he aided in building most of her new furniture whenever he wasn’t recording a video or working on his new song.

“So when’s it coming out? I feel as if I can only listen to the same sound bite before I go crazy.” Noa said, glancing up from her laptop to look at Arthur, who was sitting on her kitchen counter.

“Should be done in a couple of weeks, just trying to iron out the wrinkles and sort the bridge out.” He replied, taking a long swig of tea out of the mug that she had leant him. “What are you working on? I feel as I can hear your brain whirring.”

Noa grumbled and massaged her temples. It was moments like these that she wished she had an influencer job, with complete creative freedom and a flexible schedule, instead of her gruelling 9-6. “Trying to find as many different types of ancient column design as possible. Well, not too ancient because the clients want their building to look modern enough.”

Arthur gave her a sympathetic look. “You really are bottom of the food chain in your firm aren’t you?”

“Yep. That’s what you get when you’re the new kid, all the tasks that no one else wants.”

“But at least you’re not having to make coffee and do paperwork right?” He asked hopefully.

Noa raised her eyebrows at him. “Why do you think I’m having to do this at home, and not in the office.”

“Ah.”

“Ah indeed.” She muttered, scrolling through another page of Grecian inspired pillars. “Honestly, sometimes rich people have too much money to spend. I mean, who needs a foyer with the three types of alternating pillars, that match the fountains? Do you know how expensive that is Arthur?”

He winced. “I’m guessing a lot.”

“Correct.”

“Noa!” Chris yelled, swinging the door open. “You, me, George and the two Arthurs and the club. Yes?”

“Chris, it’s a Thursday night.”

“Exactly! Thursday night, do you have anything better to do?”

Noa blinked at him. “Be up in the morning with ample amount of sleep ready for work?”

“God I forget you have a boring actual job.”

“Someone has to remind you guys there’s an actual world out there.” She muttered, typing quickly on her computer, eyes widening as her stomach let out a low growl.

Chris and Arthur slowly turned their heads to look at her. “Okay, new plan. Order takeout and watch a movie?”

“I could be up for that.” She said quietly, absentmindedly chewing on the end of her pen, before going to jot down some notes. “Just need to finish working.”

Chris’ eyebrows raised. “And when will that be?”

“Before the end of time.” Noa said. “Or at least I hope so. I’ve gotta figure out the best combination of these pillars and then I’ll be done.”

“And how many combinations are there?”

“Well there’s eight main types, but then there’s different patterns within those. I might have actually lost count.”

Chris moved so that he could peer over Noa’s shoulder, and winced at the number of tabs open she had on her computer, as well as the scribbles that adorned her notebook.

“Gonna be honest. I’ve got no clue at what looks good. But I believe in you Noa, if anyone could figure it out it’s you.” He said reassuringly, patting her head. “Right, Hill let’s order food, at this point in time Noa will probably eat whatever we put in front of her, so what are we feeling up for?”

arthurhill

liked by arthurtv, maxbalegde and 28,039 others

arthurhill everyone drop your favourite pillars and columns to help with Noa’s latest design

Comments open

fan1 everyone knows the correct answer is doric

⮑ fan2 booo temple of winds supremacy

maxbalegde scared and confused at this comment section

⮑ noamurphy they’re all just architecture nerds like me

arthurtv correct answer is ionic

⮑ noamurphy no it isn’t I promise

⮑ arthurtv one day you’ll see

⮑ noamurphy sure. also we’re getting take out if you wanna join

⮑ arthurtv I am running to the elevator

fan3 noa in the ikea vlog is everything 😫🤌🤌🤌

⮑ fan4 she is a divine queen

⮑ fan3 her and George in the bed 🤌🤌

⮑ fan4 nooo that was the most forced and uncomfortable thing I couldn’t with it-

gkbarry_ we stan a hardworking queen

⮑ noamurphy love you boo

⮑ gkbarry_ okay now girlie take a break

“Okay Noa, maybe take Grace’s advice and stop? Surely it would be better to rest up and then be able to finish it when you’re not exhausted?” Chris asked gently, reaching to slide the laptop away from her grip.

Noa glared at him and swatted his hands away. “No Christopher. No.”

Chris gave her a stern look, only looking away when the door slammed open again, revealing Arthur Television in his pyjama trousers and hoodie. “Food, when?”

“The one with the law degree decides to speak like a caveman.” Chris muttered, shaking his head, as a much calmer George walked through the door.

Walking into her apartment, George was hit with the realisation that he’d never been in Noa’s apartment before - she’d always been at theirs, or if Chris and Arthur where heading down he’d give the excuse that he was busy planning videos.

He was pleasantly surprised. Well, he didn’t exactly know what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t a light and airy apartment. Maybe he thought there would be neon lights everywhere, like the ones that adorned Chris’ room or stacks of books like Arthur.

The living room was cosy, and he recognised the two sofas that they had picked out in Ikea, as well as a plush rug, with a coffee table that matched the dining table and chairs. A couple of pictures adorned the walls, a simple beach watercolour as well as some cinematic shots of her playing football with Arthur and Chris.

His brow furrowed. Neither of them mentioned that she played, and since she’d arrived they had filmed a football video for Chris’ channel, but she didn’t take part. Surely if Noa was good enough to warrant her to have photos of her playing, then surely Chris would want that talent in his videos?

George cast his eyes to Noa, who was hunched over her laptop, still trying to finish the designs. Arthur TV sat next to her, and the pair were discussing which column designs worked the best together.

“Maybe that person was onto something bringing temple of winds into the conversation…what if you put them with some Doric pillars, then…” Arthur trailed off, stumped.

“You see? Finding two designs that go together is easy, but a third? A fucking third?” Noa sighed, resting her head on the keyboard.

“How rich are the clients, ie, what’s the budget?”

“Yeah, are they Ronaldo rich, or so rich that you’ve probably never heard of them?” Arthur Hill asked.

“The second one.” She muttered. “Which is why it has to be perfect, because they are paying us a lot.”

Noa sighed and pulled up the designs of the fountains that had been chosen. She studied them meticulously, trying to find a hint that could help her. Even though it was strenuous work, this was one of the reasons that loved designing buildings, once you found all the right pieces, it perfectly fell into place like a puzzle. It was incredibly satisfying, and seeing the final projects always made her heart swell with pride.

But this was really trying her patience. Why couldn’t she figure it out? It didn’t also help that she had a live audience watching her stress over it. “Do you know when the food’s getting here?”

“Should be about five minutes.”

“Thank god.”

“Oh never mind, the guys here.” Chris said, slipping his shoes on, that had been previously abandoned by the door. “Arthur can you help carry it?”

“Sure.” Both of them replied, following Chris out of the door, leaving George alone with Noa.

She was silently cursing the three that had just left, physically wishing all the curses and ailments upon them for leaving her with George. Who, was silently leaning against her kitchen counter.

George didn’t know what to do. Ever since the trip to Ikea he hadn’t been close to Noa again, not that he wanted to, but he wasn’t sure if he should mention it. Why should he? If she hadn’t mentioned it then surely she was fine, right?

Not that he even wanted to talk to her.

George couldn’t fully see into Noa’s room, most is it being blocked by the angle at which he was looking in, and from what he could tell, it was just like the rest of the apartment, except with more decorations. He wasn’t sure why, but he was curious about what was inside, how Noa had organised her bookcase, what perfumes she used, how she kept her jewellery, the way her plans laid out on her sketching desk.

And he didn’t know why.

As far as he was concerned he actively disliked Noa, and so he couldn’t fathom why a part of him was so interested in her, why he wanted to know the little details of her life.

Noa closed her eyes. She was genuinely considering giving up, but she knew she couldn’t. This had to be finished that evening so that it could be sent to her supervisor ready for the next morning. Pushing her chair back, she stood up and paced into her bedroom, unknown to her that George’s eyes followed her every step, hoping that one of her books would provide her with some inspiration.

But it wasn’t any of her architecture books that caught her eye. It was the battered copy of the third Percy Jackson book - it was her favourite of the series, and would read it religiously as a child. Partially, as a child it was her dream to become a Hunter of Artemis, and so she could read the book over and over again without tiring of it.

Somehow, this was the prompt she needed to let the puzzle pieces fall into place. “OH MY GOD!” She exclaimed, sprinting out of her room and skidding on the wooden floor to the table. Noa grinned whilst nearly destroying her keyboard at how quickly she was typing.

“FOOOOD!” Chris called, carrying the plastic bags and setting them down in front of Noa.

“Dude give me two minutes I’ve figured it out.”

“Really?” Arthur TV asked excitedly, pulling the chair next to her out, so he could see what she was working on. “Caryatids? Noa that’s genius! They match the f-“

“Fountains yeah, because they’ve got marble women carved into them, and so they’d match perfectly.”

“Have we ever said you’re a genius?” Chris asked, smiling proudly at her.

“Only when I do genius shit.”

[magewritesstories]

[ ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛꜱᴜ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇɴ ] ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ'ꜱ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʜᴏʟᴅ

summary; they already knew they were in love with you, but in this exact moment, they know they're absolute goners tw; none just fluff (one teeny tiny dig at geto bc i am me) note; just some fluffy blurbs word count; 813 (they're short blurbs) jujutsu kaisen masterlist // main masterlist

SATORU GOJO knows he's a goner when he walks into his apartment and finds you lazing on the couch in fluffy wool stockings and his ugly Christmas sweater.

Your legs hanging from the side of the couch's armrest, swinging them back and forth as you flip through the pages of last month's Vogue edition.

You look ethereal, and you look like you were made to be there.

There in his apartment, in his clothes.

Gojo unties the blindfold across his eyes and practically falls down on top of you. His chin digs slightly into your chest as he looks up at you. "Hi."

You let out a breathless giggle as you go through the magazine onto the coffee table, weaving your hands through his snowy white locks instead. "Hi."

You indulge him, let him stay there for a while before trying to wriggle out of his grip. Gojo just lets out a loud whine, tightening his grasp on your waist.

"C'mon, babe, I've been waiting all day for you to get back so that we could decorate the tree together." You gesture at the carton box filled with ornaments sitting next to the huge Christmas tree in the corner of your living room (Gojo insisted you guys get the biggest one.)

You manage to get out of his grip and walk over to the tree, grabbing the first ornament—a sparkly plastic candy cane.

"Well?" You turn to your boyfriend, "Are you gonna help or not?"

Gojo moves off of the couch, snapping out of his reverie.

It's such a mundane thing—decorating the Christmas tree in preparation for December 25th—still, Gojo feels like his heart is on wings when he watches you get on your tip-toes to place the red ornament in your hand on a higher branch.

He's loving every second of it, standing there next to you as you whine about the fact that you want to be the one to place the tree topper on top of the Christmas tree (even though he's taller and it would be much easier for him to do it) he thinks he could do this for the rest of his life.

The mundane things, that is.

Yeah, Gojo thinks as he watches you, he's definitely a goner.

SUGURU GETO thought that the word tired was an understatement of how he was feeling. He could still feel the ache in his bones as he begrudgingly got out of bed.

He'd gotten home late from the mission last night (around 1 AM) and to be very honest, he was still tired.

But the sound of Nanako and Mimiko's giggling, accompanied by your soft laughter was enough motivation to drag him out of bed.

A small chill runs over his spine as he slips on a sweater that was strewn on the designated clothes chair in the corner of your room, and he makes his way into the kitchen.

Nanako and Mimiko are sitting at the breakfast counter, legs dangling off the stools, with open (blank) notebooks in front of them.

You're standing behind the breakfast counter, bowl of pancake batter resting on your hip as you point to something in Mimiko's textbook.

"No, you have to multiply first, even if the addition is written first," You instruct, grabbing an extra pencil as you quickly jot something down in Mimiko's notebook, "Like this."

The girl nods and does (presumably) a different exercise before turning the notebook to you with a proud smile. You ruffle her hair as you praise her for doing the exercise correctly.

"What's going on here?" Geto questions, making his presence known as he rounds the breakfast counter to place a quick kiss on your temple.

"Nothing much—I think our daughter might be the next Einstein," You reply, softly pinching Mimiko's cheek.

Geto lets out a loud laugh, "Yeah? What about you Nanako?"

The blonde girl huffs as she puts down her pencil in frustration. "I don't need to be Einstein," The girl replies haughtily, "I'm gonna be an actress."

You and Geto share a look at the proclamation. "Are you?" You ask teasingly, "Well, don't forget us when you're all famous, okay?"

"I would never!" Nanako replies, making both of you laugh.

"Well, we can achieve those dreams later," Geto comments, "How about we have breakfast first?"

You poke his cheek slightly. "You're the only one that still needs to have breakfast, we ate hours ago."

"Mom's right, Dad," Mimiko comments, and Nanako quickly adds, "You're lazy—we've been up for hours."

The words warm Geto's heart a little. "Is that so?" He asks, only get a hum of confirmation in reply.

He takes a seat next to Mimiko and watches as you dance around the kitchen making breakfast. The sight makes him want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

You're so perfect, Geto thinks to himself, what would he do without you?

(*cough* turn into a genocidal maniac *cough*)

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 3/34 - soft blue sweater

[Read on AO3]

That weekend, it is with giddy excitement that Mulder and Scully spend the day at her apartment up to their eyeballs in paperwork, brochures, and Chinese food.

“Next question: where would we live? Together or separate?”

“Together,” she answers, before thinking she should probably soften that affirmative answer with an indifferent, “if that works for you.”

“It more than works for me,” he says with certainty. “I can ask Frohike for the number of the real estate agent who hooked him up with the lair. Or we could live here, either way.”

This is crazy. They’re moving so fast. What they’re thinking of doing doesn’t even make sense. Everyone will think they’ve well and truly lost their minds, and maybe they have!

“This is giving me a headache,” she admits, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.

“I’ll flag that as one to revisit later,” he says, jotting something down in a notebook. “This communicating thing is a lot of work, huh, Scully? No wonder we don’t do it more often.” He grins at her, more freely than he has in a long time.

She rubs a hand over her tired eyes. “No, it’s good. It’s good. I’m glad we’re doing this, Mulder.”

“Me too.”

He just looks so happy, she can’t help but smile back at him. The knot of uncertainty she’s been harboring as a result of her overthinking dissolves instantly in the radiance of his boyish enthusiasm. He’s all soft edges today, for once out of his G-man uniform. Instead, he wears that soft knit blue sweater she likes so much, and jeans that hug him in all the right places.

His socked feet rest on her coffee table while he flips through various documents, assembling them into binders with an attention to detail that she’s only ever seen him apply to their files. She’s mesmerized.

This might be her life. If they go through with this… He just said he’d live with her. Weekends spent together flash before her eyes, not having to say goodbye after one of their movie nights, just ‘goodnight.’ Takeout containers morph into home-cooked dinners at the table in her kitchen. Him making coffee in the morning. Driving to and from work together…

As much as the thought appeals to her, there’s one tiny detail missing that could put an end to this entire operation before it even begins.

“Mulder?” she asks, inadvertently cutting off whatever rambling he’s been doing while she wasn’t paying attention.

He glances up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose to keep them from sliding off. The sight almost makes her forget what she was going to ask, as important as it was, but in this case, her concern far outweighs anything else.

“Do you think they’ll buy the co-parenting thing? I mean, I’m not really seeing a precedent for it in any of the literature I’ve looked at. Would they even accept our application?”

He’s quiet for a second. That second stretches into two.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

She swears the entire block goes silent, not even the sound of a car on the street outside or the hum of heat pumping through her apartment. It makes his words feel heavy. Meaningful. Like she’s just dipped into unfamiliar and dangerous territory without knowing it.

“And...?”

He rubs the back of his neck, obviously struggling to verbalize whatever is going on in that beautiful mind of his.

And then he just outright says it.

“We could get married.”

Her eyes go wide. 

Married.  

“Mulder…”

He puts his hands up, halting her speech. “No, I’m serious. You just said we’d be living together. What’s the difference if we also happen to have a piece of paper that makes it official?” 

There’s that look in his eye, the one he gets when he sits her down for one of his slide presentations. Never could she have imagined he’d have the same look when trying to convince her of marriage. It’s overwhelming.

“Unless,” he pauses, “you think you might meet someone sometime in the future, which is a completely valid concern…”

She has to stop him there. “That’s not it at all. I just– What if this doesn’t work out and we don’t get a baby? You’d be stuck with me and have nothing to show for it.” 

Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, the saying goes. If this fails, she could lose… everything. Is that a risk worth taking? Would he grow to resent her? Would they have to jump through legal hoops to undo all of this if things don’t go their way?

“And you could meet someone too,” she reminds him, “someone that could give you a real family. What then?”

He ducks his head, shaking it in a poor attempt to hide a wry smile. “What’s a real family, anyway?” he counters with a shrug, then grabs her hand. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with than you, Scully.”

Her eyes find his, searching them for something to clue her in to his thought process. Is he serious? Has he lost his mind? She finds nothing but bare honesty in his emerald depths. Bare honesty, and that hope she’s been seeing there since this whole idea came up. It’s a different look for him, but oh how she loves it. She wants to do everything in her power to keep it there.

“Would you believe me if I told you I’ve thought of asking you before?” he asks.

Her brows furrow, and though part of her wants to bolt, to declare this whole evening an error in judgment, she stays, looking at him warily. His thumb runs over her knuckles, soothing, as if he had known her inclination was to flee from this conversation. Stay , his touch says. Stay with me.

She shakes her head, lips quivering in an almost-smile, and says what he always loves to hear her say. “You’re crazy.”

“No, I’m not!” he counters, equally amused and defensive. “When you had cancer, and I had to fight tooth and nail to get to see you in the hospital…”

She swallows at the memory of waking to find him collapsed by the side of her bed, his hand clasping hers like a lifeline.

“Really?”

“Really,” he answers, his smile softening into fondness. “Though I’m pretty sure Bill would have killed me.”

That brings out a laugh, which Scully shyly hides behind her hand as she wipes it across her nose. When had she started tearing up?

“We’ll buy you a helmet and some shoulder pads, then,” she concedes teasingly.

His mouth quirks up in a smile, knowing precisely what is implied by that response.

“Is that a yes?”

She pauses for a moment, eyes locking with his. Is it? Is she about to agree to marry her best friend?

It should be more of a question, but it isn’t. For some reason, this feels like the most logical thing to do.

She nods.

He shifts on the couch, suppressing a smile and squeezing her hand before letting go. “Well alright then…” he says, crossing his arms in front of him for lack of anything better to do with them. “We can go to the courthouse whenever you’re ready. Or, if you want an actual wedding—”

“No,” she says, a little too quickly. “No, the courthouse will be fine.”

“As long as your mom doesn’t pool her money with Bill to order a hit on me,” he jokes.

“She wouldn’t do that,” she says, rolling her eyes. He does bring up an interesting point though, one that fills her with trepidation. “God, we’ll have to tell her, won’t we? And your mom. And Skinner .”

The dread increases with each name listed.

“We’ll figure that out as we go,” he assures her, placing a calming hand on her knee. “For now, this is just between us. Until you decide otherwise.”

“Just between us,” she agrees, letting his words melt her worries away.

 -.-.-

He had lingered for a while in her doorway when the time came for him to go back to his apartment. It was awkward, but not in a way that might cause alarm in light of what they’d just agreed to do. 

No, as crazy as it might sound, this was one decision neither of them could imagine regretting. The gravity of the situation, though, was what led to the uncharacteristic silence and shyness as she bade him farewell with an impulsive, last-minute hug. He had smiled, and walked backwards out the door, maintaining eye contact until she slowly shut the door between them.

She lies awake in her bed hours later, unable to sleep.

This morning, she was a perpetually single federal agent with a pipe dream of being a mother. Now, she’s engaged to her partner, and there’s partially filled out adoption paperwork with both his and her names on them burning a hole through her top desk drawer.

The Dana from seven years ago would tell her she’s lost her mind.

But then, that Dana also wouldn’t know how important her crackpot new partner would end up being in her life. Skeptical as she was, she’d hardly believe it anyway.

Engaged . She’s always thought about this day, how it would feel to have a man ask for her hand in marriage. She can say without a doubt that this is not how she expected it to go, but the disappointment one might expect in her situation is absent. They may not be going about this in the traditional way, but it is nothing less than what she’d expect with Mulder. 

He had long since rewritten her thoughts on what a normal life was supposed to look like. Her eyes had been opened, the possibilities now seemingly endless instead of linear and predictable. Despite the heartache she has endured over the years, it’s worth it to live with a more complete view of the world. Sometimes, it feels like she and Mulder are the only ones who can see it.

Sighing, she rolls over, her gaze settling on her nightstand.

She shouldn’t. He could be sleeping.

All the same, the corded device beckons her. It’s a temptation she’s familiar with, although tonight it is particularly strong and irresistible.

Don’t, Dana. It’s not real. He’s not really your– Give him space.

She picks up the phone anyway.

Before she can even change her mind, she hears the line connect, and she greets him in the way he’s come to expect.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

She can almost hear him smile on the other end of the call, and all thoughts of this being a bad idea fly from her mind. 

“Well if it isn’t the soon-to-be Mrs. Spooky Mulder,” he says jovially, sounding much too awake for her to have interrupted his sleep.

She rolls her eyes, but can’t help the flutter in her chest at his words. At the timbre of his voice, lazy and drawn out at this late hour. He can be endearing when he wants to be. A real sap at times.

“Hey, Scully. We’re engaged.”

“I know,” she speaks into the phone, curling in toward it and holding it with both hands up against her ear. Her pillow welcomes her into its embrace, and she sinks into it, grinning into the covers.

“We’re gonna give poor Skinner a heart attack,” he says with a laugh.

Their poor boss. He must have had no idea what he was getting into when he was assigned to oversee the X-Files. 

“He’ll get over it,” she says dismissively.

She hears Mulder chuckle a little, the breathy sound tickling her ear. She can tell he’s tipping back in his rickety desk chair in his apartment by the rhythmic creak that sounds, and she pictures him with his feet up on the desk, maybe spinning his basketball around idly in his hands.

“I don’t know, this might break his heart, Scully,” he teases.

Scully rolls her eyes. “Oh, would you stop that? He does not have a thing for me.”

“He absolutely does, and so does every guy in the building.”

She almost asks, ‘Every guy?’ but thankfully catches herself before uttering those words. Sometimes she wonders, but then everything with Diana had shaken what she thought she knew about him. They are still working on getting back to where they were before. It’s far too fresh for her to make any suppositions about where they stand now.

They fall into a brief silence, each waiting for the other to speak first.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he finally asks, when it becomes clear she won’t tell him why she called unless prompted.

She sighs. “I can’t sleep.”

He hums softly in amusement, the sound rattling over the phone. “I don’t know if I’m really the expert you want to be talking to on that particular subject, Scully. Just what exactly do you want me to do about it?” he teases.

“Just talk to me,” she says softly, as if speaking quietly will somehow lessen the embarrassment she feels.

“Ah, so you want me to bore you to sleep. Got it,” he says, taking it in stride. “Which cryptid would you like to hear about tonight, Miss Scully?”

She closes her eyes, her lips tightening into a tired smile. “No monsters, Mulder. You know I find those way too fascinating.”

“Ha ha, Scully,” he says, laughing at her obvious joke. “Okay. How about this? There was this kid at my school growing up. Mark. One of twelve siblings in the same family.”

“Twelve?” she asks incredulously.

“Mm-hmm. All of them adopted.”

Her smile widens, and she burrows further into her pillow, tucking her comforter over her shoulders. She loves these little glimpses she gets into his old life, rare as they are. She doesn’t have to ask why he chose to tell her this one tonight of all nights. His motives are as clear as can be.

“They’d go to Disneyland every summer, all twelve of them plus their parents,” he continues. “Sam and I were so jealous. One of the girls was in the same grade as her, so we all hung out a lot. Well, not all of us. With that many siblings, there were bound to be some you just didn’t get along with. We had fun, though.”

“How’d they afford Disneyland with twelve children?” she asks sleepily.

“It was Martha’s Vineyard, Scully,” he answers simply. “They were filthy rich.”

She hums, feeling herself begin to relax at the soothing monotone of his voice. The line falls silent, but she knows he’s still there. She can hear the gentle sound of his breathing. She allows it to lull her into a state of restfulness.

“After Sam disappeared, it didn’t seem fair. He had so many siblings, while I lost the only one I’d ever have. I stayed away from him for a while after that. He was one of the only people at school that didn’t treat me like some criminal or freak after she was abducted, but I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him or his little sister anymore. It was too big a reminder of what I was missing.”

Scully’s heart aches as she listens. This bedtime story doesn’t have a happy ending, she knows. Though her eyes are closed, she feels a tear leak onto her pillow, hurting for the lonely little boy her partner had once been. She wishes, like she has so many times before, that she could have been there for him then like she is now.

His voice returns, crackling over the line. “Eventually I started going over there again,” he continues, “before they moved away. They were kind to me. Treated me like one of their own. It didn’t make up for Sam being gone, of course, but at least I wasn’t completely alone. And it taught me an important lesson, one I think I’m only just beginning to understand.”

“What’s that, Mulder?” Scully slurs, barely keeping awake but wanting to know the answer—this epiphany he’s had. She has to know how he can tell this story without breaking down into tears as she would if it were her own.

“You can choose your family,” he answers finally, as if it were the obvious conclusion to this story. “They might not have been connected by blood, but Mark’s family was connected by something stronger. Love .”  

He breathes, perhaps lost in the memory of his childhood friend. Perhaps he’s contemplating the great mysteries and joys of the universe. Either could be possible for this deeply philosophical man.

“It seemed to work out pretty good for them.”

Scully’s heart blooms with emotion, her eyes filling with tears.

“It’s time I choose my family, Scully,” he says softly, his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “I hope one day I’ll find out what happened to my sister. I– I still need to have some closure, I think. But it feels good to hope for something else too, for a change. Something more than piecing together a family that was never together in the first place. So, thank you. You’re the one who showed me it was possible. I think I owe you more than everything, at this point.”

She smiles softly into her pillow, reminded of the feel of his breath on her lips that day in his hallway. It’s a thought she has come back to innumerable times since it happened, and though there have been some shake ups since then, it still brings her comfort.

She allows the memory to wash over her, covering her with a blanket of warmth and security.

And finally, she succumbs to the pull of sleep. 

-.-.-

It’s quiet. He listens, recognizing the subtle change in her breathing, and he knows she’s fallen asleep. He could hang up, call it a night, but he selfishly isn’t ready to.

There’s still one more thing he wants to say.

“I choose you, Scully,” he whispers into the phone, too cowardly to say it when she might hear him. “You’re my family. And I can’t wait to see how it grows from here.”

~~~

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[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Just Let Me Adore You Pt. 12

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: okay soooo many. Violence, quite a bit of it actually, and then later it gets so nasty; oral (m & f receiving), double v penetration, mad dirty talk, praise kink goin craaaazy, double creampie, dumbification kind of- I think that's all of them but idk they fuck and it's filthy basically

Genre: maybe a little angst i think, lots of smut, even more fluff

Summary: You’ve been dating your boyfriend, Bruce, for 3 absolutely blissful years. He’s a scientist and professor who is as smart as he is kind and if anyone asked, you were sure you’d spend the rest of your life with him. That is until two mysteriously charming men that Bruce swears are dangerous take an interest in you that threatens to turn your entire life upside down. I mean… what exactly are you supposed to do with two gorgeous men telling you something that suggests that basically everything you think you know is a lie? And why does part of you have enough doubt to wonder if they might be telling the truth?

Series Masterlist

***

"Did you find her?" Steve asks.

"Fucking hell." She breathes out.

"What? What does that mean?" Steve frowns.

"How quickly can your people get ready to move because we need to go now."

"They're ready. Been on standby for your go ahead all night." Steve says.

"Good. This is the go ahead. I know where she is." Wanda says.

~*~*~

A glance at the clock tells you it's after nine. The clock is analog and there are no windows on this floor so while you're pretty sure it's morning, there's a chance it's been a whole day and it's night again. You sit cross legged on the bed, facing the clear wall, trying to come up with a plan of action. Your eyes narrow when you notice two shadows on the floor. People are walking this way. You gasp when you realize who one of them is and walk over to the glass wall.

"Bruce!" You yell banging on the plexiglass to make sure you get his attention. He jumps and turns to you, eyes the size of saucers when he sees you.

"Y/n? Oh my God." Bruce walks right up to the glass.

"What did you do?!" You ask.z

"Me? I- I had nothing to do with this I swear. I didn't know you were here! I swear." He shakes his head frantically.

"There were six people that knew what I was Bruce SIX and you were the first to find out. You kept a file on me like I was one of your little projects! How much do you wanna bet that stupid file is how I got here in the first place?"

"All I ever did was run a blood test and jot down some observations." He says defensively.

"All you ever did was run a blood test? On your girlfriend. Without her permission! Do you realize how not okay that is?!"

"I'm sorry! Look, I never wanted anything to happen to you. I will- find out who's responsible for this and get you out of here I swear."

"If you plan to help you'd better do it quickly because I can guarantee hell will be on your doorstep soon." You say.

"What's your tag?" Bruce asks you.

"Excuse me?"

"The uh- identification they gave you. Instead of your name. He would've given you an identification number, we use them for, ya know." Bruce's words trail off.

"Say it Bruce. Don't be shy. This is your work. I'm an experiment here."

"Look did he tell you your tag or not?"

"89273. I think." You say.

"You think? You need to be sure."

"I heard it once Bruce. Excuse me if I haven't committed to fucking memory yet." You roll your eyes.

"Y/n." He sighs.

"That's it. I'm sure." You nod.

"I need the letters."

"What?"

"The letters at the beginning. That's the part that makes it unique.  Everyone here uses a different letter combination to keep our work organized. It'll help me figure it out."

"AZM." You say. Bruce mutters something that you can't exactly hear through the glass, but his face gives him away anyhow. "What is it? Why did you just get all pale?" You ask him.

"Nothing! Just- hang tight. I will- figure this out and get you out of here."

"Not like I can go anywhere in the meantime." You mutter. "Bruce!" You call before he can get far. He runs back over to your cell.

"Yes?"

"If I find out you're more involved in this than you are letting on, I will rip you to shreds in every sense of the word." You say. Bruce nods and dashes off. A few minutes later the camera in the back corner pops out from the wall and the whirring of its mechanics makes you turn around to face it.

"Good morning subject AZM89273." The same voice from before rings through the room. So, it is morning, just like you thought.

"You know, that arbitrary combination of letters and numbers is so many more syllables than just saying my name. I'm sure this is supposed to be some sort of display of your power in this situation but it really just seems like you're giving yourself more work." You say.

"That's funny I don't recall asking for your opinion on the matter."

"Yes well if we all stuck to doing explicitly what was asked of us I wouldn't be here so, we can't always have it our way now can we?" You roll your eyes.

"We will begin round two of testing in one hour and fifteen minutes."

"I'll be waiting! Not like I can go anywhere on my own." You say with a lazy shrug. The camera disappears back behind its panel in the wall and you're once again left with your own thoughts and plans.

~*~*~

"Wanda where exactly are we?" Bucky asks when the trio pulls up to the address she gave. She'd rushed them into action when she located you, giving an address to the driver with a group of their, Wanda calls them minions, following in other vehicles.

"Bruce's lab." She says walking towards the door quickly.

"Bruce as in y/n's ex Bruce?" Steve places a hand on her shoulder.

"Wanda hang on we don't have a plan." Bucky says.

"Yes as in y/n's ex. And the plan is to get in there, get her out, and maybe break a neck or two in the process." Wanda says.

"You didn't want to mention in advance that y/n's ex was responsible for this?" Steve asks.

"It makes sense." Bucky scoffs.

"I didn't say he was responsible because I don't know if he is. As far as I know he's not the only person that works here. It could be someone else that uses the space." Wanda says.

"Wilson." Steve looks over his shoulder to call towards the group that's waiting for instructions. Sam walks over to the three of them quickly.

"What's the plan?" He asks.

"Surround the building and find every entrance. I want the whole place covered. The primary goal is extraction. If you find y/n, she is your top priority other than that nobody gets in or out of this lab until she's safe and the bastards who did this are in front of me and Bucky is that understood?" Steve says.

"Crystal clear." Sam nods.

"No, wait. I will prioritize finding y/n. Your guys should focus on locking the place down so the culprit doesn't make a run for it." Wanda says. Bucky and Steve exchange a look and a slight nod.

"Fine. Focus on keeping everyone inside. If you find y/n in the process she still takes precedents but in the meanwhile don't let anyone get out of there until we've got who we need." Bucky says.

"On it." Sam returns to the group and starts giving out directions while Wanda stays with Steve and Bucky to discuss their own strategy.

~*~*~

Fifteen minutes to go before they move you again. Time drags so slowly in this room of blank white walls. Assuming they sedate you again, you'll have to wait until they're wheeling you back to this room to make a break for it. If you're lucky like last time, you'll wake up before they make it here and you should have no problem getting by a couple of scientists.

CODE BLACK; INTRUDER ALERT; INITIATING LOCKDOWN

The blaring alarm and sudden flashing red lights coax you quickly to your feet. Perhaps you should be alarmed by the sudden alert and angry red flashes considering you're trapped in a room, but you'd bet money the security breach in question is here for you and you're the only person whose safety is guaranteed.

"Uh- Don't know if anyone is listening to me or not but in case you are, I'm pretty sure that warning code of yours, means your time is up and you should start running. Or don't, it'll make everyone's life easier. You can't really escape this." You say loud enough that you should be heard even over the repetitive warning.

"Y/n!" You spin around at the sudden call of your name. Wanda's magicked a hole in the plexiglass wall of your cell.

"Wanda? Wait a second did you bring the calvary here?" You ask stepping through the hole into the hall with her.

"You sent me an SOS did you expect me to do nothing with it? Of course I did, you have the mob basically at your disposal." She says hugging you tightly.

"I know, I just didn't think you'd be here with them." You say with a small chuckle.

"Oh please they're just the muscle on this mission. I'm the one that found you." She scoffs. "Come on, your boyfriends went looking for the culprit. I'm sure they're waiting for you." She says draping her arm across your shoulders. The two of you head further into the facility, every so often passing frantic scientists being corralled by Steve and Bucky's men.

"I don't think all of these people were involved in this ya know." You say to Wanda.

"I'm sure they weren't but Steve and Bucky said no one's allowed out until they find the right people. Better safe than sorry." She shrugs.

"Yeah I guess so. There were three guys that kidnapped me, I didn't hear them all talk so assuming none of them are the guy orchestrating this there could be anywhere from 4 to 7 people involved, based on who I've seen or interacted with. There could be others of course. There have been some periods of unconsciousness on my end so-" You rattle off.

"Don't worry. I'm sure between your boyfriends and their minions they'll find out the exact number and their identities in no time." Wanda says. Eventually, you find Bucky and Steve, their backs are to you and Bucky's got someone pushed up against the wall. You rush up to them when you realize it's Bruce they're shaking down.

"Bruce." You say. Steve and Bucky turn to you and Steve has you in his arms not a second later. He's mumbling about you being okay and blaming himself and Bucky for this all happening (somehow), between kisses atop your head.

"Thank God you found her Wanda." Bucky says. As much as he wants to hug you he's not about to let Bruce go.

"Steve I'm alright. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, you can let me go." You mumble into his chest. It takes a few seconds before he unwinds his arms.

"Are you hurt? Do you need anything? I am so sorry princess. This should never have happened. I-"

"I'm okay Stevie. As far as I know all my parts and pieces are exactly where they're meant to be. You can stop doting and blaming yourself. That doesn't even make any sense." You say.

"We're just- so relieved to see you." Steve sighs.

"Right back at you." You say turning your attention to Bruce. "Are you going to tell me who's responsible for this Bruce, because I think you've known since you saw me a few hours ago and I couldn't push it then but now, your life is in- technically in his hands but whatever you tell me will determine if I let him kill you or not so choose your next words very carefully." You say.

"Wait a second it's not Bruce that locked you up?" Bucky glares at him.

"Not directly, I don't think so but I have a strong feeling he knows who did." You say.

"Y/n, please." Bruce chokes out.

"I need a name, Bruce. A name." You say.

"Dr. Gekko. Colin Gekko." Bruce relents.

"Describe him." You say.

"Brown hair, green eyes, tall and pale. He's got a birthmark on his neck." Bruce rushes the description out breathlessly.

"Drop him Bucky." You say. Bucky lets Bruce go and Bruce hunches over struggling to catch his breath. Steve is already on the phone before you can say anything.

"Clint, we need to find a Colin Gekko. Brown hair, birthmark on his neck, tall and pale with green eyes. If you can find a photo- yes, make sure everyone knows. He is the target." Steve says into his cell phone.

"We should start looking too." Wanda tells you. You nod in agreement.

"Y/n, wait." Bruce says before you've even started to walk away. He holds out a flash drive to you that you look at with confusion. "It's everything we have, on you. What Colin was doing, my- initial file. I've wiped them all from our servers but... I thought you'd wanna have the information." He explains. You take the thumb drive from him.

"Thanks." You mutter.

"I was so looking forward to finally having a reason to break his bones." Bucky rolls his eyes.

"You can break Colin's bones when we find him." You say. "I bet he's still in whatever observation room he was using to watch me."

"End of the hall." Bruce yells after you all. Following his suggestion, the four of you head down the hall towards the observation room. Bucky kicks the door in before you even try to open it. Chances are this Colin guy tried to barricade himself in there anyway. Sure enough, when the door flies off its hinges one scrawny looking green eyed man, birthmark on his neck and all, turns to look at you all with fear on his face. Steve grabs him before he can make a move, holding his arms behind his back.

"So you're the one behind all of this." You cross your arms.

"I should rip your head off your shoulders." Bucky glares. You hold up a hand to stop him from moving towards the cowering scientist.

"I want an explanation." You say.

"You want an explanation? You broke his heart and one of the greatest scientists I've ever known couldn't do his work." Colin grits out.

"So- Bruce, put you up to this?" Wanda frowns.

"No." He scoffs.

"Sorry, let me see if I can piece this together. My boyfriend, lies to me for months, so I break up with him, well within my rights and you kidnap me to run experiments in hopes that you'll- what? Fix him? Get brownie points? Maybe a promotion?" You ask.

"I've been here for years, always flying under the radar, I thought for sure you, the bitch who ruined him-" he stops to groan when Steve tightens his hold on him in response to his vulgarity towards you.

"Watch your mouth." Steve warns shoving Colin to his knees.

"I deserve to be a head scientist here." Colin says.

"Aw, well now you'll be a dead scientist. Broke the code of ethics and all, only to wind up with nothing." You shrug. "Not even a pat on the back from your 'so-called' idol who, by the way, totally gave you away for us to find you."

"Wait I- I don't wanna die." He shakes his head.

"Oh. Maybe you should've thought about that before you kidnapped me. Word of advice, don't target someone with mob ties if you like living."

"You know, if you keep him alive you could teach him a lesson he won't forget." Bucky mutters quietly. You look over your shoulder at him and consider his suggestion.

"Do you have a knife?" You ask.

"Yes." Bucky pulls out a blade and hands it to you immediately.

"Wait a second what do you need a knife for?" Steve asks. You squat in front of Colin and grab his wrist, placing his hand flat on the ground between you. With the knife in hand, you start to sing as you jab the knife between the gaps in his fingers.

"You have all your fingers. The knife goes chop chop chop, and since you were not careful, I'm gonna take some off." You slam the knife down severing the two middle fingers on his right hand and the scream he lets out his piercing. Steve's eyes look like they're about to fall out of their sockets and Bucky's currently trying hard not to let it show how much he enjoyed watching you do that.

"Y/n!" Wanda gasps.

"What?! He kidnapped me! I coulda killed him, taking two fingers is letting him off very easy!" You say.

"Honestly the little song was a cute touch. Clever." She nods.

"Right?! Thought it'd make it a little more fun." You link your arm through hers turning to leave Colin wailing on the floor.

"Hang on." Bucky says. He walks over to Colin and grabs him by the top of his head, pulling him up onto his knees. Bucky shoves his thumb into one of Colin's eyes, sending him into another screaming fit. "Leave town. Because if we ever see you again. I'll take the other eye." Bucky says menacingly, letting go of his hair. Colin crumples to the ground again as Bucky cleans his finger with a handkerchief from his pocket. "Let's go." Bucky says, a hand on your back guiding you out of the room and subsequently Wanda, while Steve walks behind you, discussing something with Sam.

"So what happens now?" Wanda asks.

"We take you home." Steve says.

"I meant with Colin." She frowns.

"He'll probably get out of town thanks to Bucky's threat."

"How did you guys find me anyway?"

"Wanda came to us." Bucky says.

"She interrupted a meeting and nearly got shot in the process." Steve says.

"I mean, I didn't know they were in a meeting until I got there. Besides, I was too busy being angry about you getting kidnapped despite their insistence on security watching you." Wanda says.

"Well I'm safe now." You shrug.

"We want you to see our medic." Bucky says.

"What?"

"We don't know what that sick bastard could have done to you and we think it would be best to have you looked over just in case." Steve explains.

"Alright. Fine, but you stay the whole time." You say.

"Deal." He nods. "Wanda we'll drop you at your apartment first and bring y/n back later, okay?" Steve says.

"Sure whatever." She shrugs. The rest of the drive to Wanda's apartment is quiet, Wanda hugs you tightly before getting out once you arrive. After dropping her off, the three of you head to Bucky and Steve's penthouse apartment where the medic is already waiting for you apparently. She's quick, but thorough in her examination, checking superficial things like your reflexes and vision asking several questions, taking samples of your blood, and whatnot. When she leaves, you let out a deep breath finally feeling comfortable.

"How're you doing princess?" Steve asks sitting beside you to rub his hand in circles on your back. Bucky sits on your other side with a hand on your knee comfortingly.

"I'm... alright- it's just been, a day- or a couple of days. I don't really know how long it's been actually." You frown.

"It was only one night. Wanda was up til morning trying to find you and we headed out as soon as she got you." Steve explains.

"Oh- well that explains why it's only after 1 pm." You mutter.

"This- may not be the best time to say this but I'd like it to be known that the little knife game you played with that guy, was very... impressive." Bucky says.

"Thank you, although I think it's fine to say that now because it like just happened." You chuckle.

"Seriously Buck?!" Steve rolls his eyes.

"What?!" Bucky says.

"Am I missing something?" You look between the two of them.

"Don't 'what' me!" Steve scoffs.

"Oh come on, there's nothing wrong with what I said you're the one being weird about it!" Bucky says.

"Okay, definitely missing something." You nod.

"I'm being weird about it?! Because I know what you meant by that! Don't play dumb."

"Hello!" You shout and they both look at you immediately.

"Yes princess?" Steve says at the same time Bucky says,

"Yes sunshine?"

"Hi, can you let me in on this weird psychic conversation you're having?" You ask.

"If Bucky was 'impressed' with your little knife trick it was not because of this head up here." Steve says tapping his fingers on his temple.

"What-?" You frown.

"He thinks it was hot." He rolls his eyes.

"Ohhh! You could've just said that. Either of you." You laugh.

"You were just kidnapped, now is not the time to be thinking with our- lower appendage." Steve frowns.

"Come on pal you're telling me it didn't stir something in you seeing her do that?" Bucky asks, grabbing your hand.

"I'm fine Stevie, I- being turned on is a much more positive reaction to me chopping someone's fingers off than I would've expected." You shrug.

"Wait you're- you're okay with it?" Steve asks.

"Well, it's better than you being freaked out by it." You say.

"Definitely not freaked out." Bucky mutters kissing up your shoulder. You relax against his ministrations, enjoying the way his lips feel on your skin.

"That's a relief." You chuckle breathily.

"Buck-" Steve starts to roll his eyes but you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him towards you, kissing him to stop whatever scolding he was about to give Bucky.

"Alright pal now that she's given you the green light, fess up. I know you better than anyone else, don't pretend you weren't thinking about bending her over when she took that loser's fingers like that." Bucky says, he's stopped littering your throat with kisses to taunt Steve, but his thumb is stroking the back of your neck as he speaks. Steve pulls away from your kiss to answer him.

"I was thinking about what an absolutely perfect queen she'll make." Steve says.

"Won't she?" Bucky smirks.

"Oh flattery like that will get you everywhere." You say with a small giggle.

"Right now I'm hoping it'll get us inside of you." Bucky says.

"Now that's a wish I'm only too happy to grant." You hum.

"Yeah?" He smirks.

"Absolutely." You match his cheeky smile with one of your own.

"Come here, pretty girl." Bucky hoists you off of the couch into a bridal carry. Steve kisses you once more before Bucky carries you up to their bedroom with Steve behind you. When Bucky tosses you onto the bed, Steve immediately pulls you into another kiss.

"Are you sure you wanna do this now princess? You know you can always tell us to stop if-"

"Steve stop talking!" You huff out, cutting him off. He blinks at you with a frown on his face.

"Y/n." Bucky's eyebrows knit together at your sharpness.

"I've had a very shitty 15 hours and I don't want to think about it anymore. Please. I am going to be okay just- distract me." You explain with a sigh.

"Happy to sunshine but, don't forget we love you. Sometimes we'll worry." Bucky says softly.

"I know. You can worry all you want- later. But right now I need my mind on something else." You say. Bucky nods and tugs your pants and underwear off in one go. His lips trail kisses starting at one knee and working up but he skips the place you need him most to repeat the trail up the other leg. The moment Bucky's tongue swipes through your slick folds, Steve drowns your moans with a kiss so fierce you can't breathe. Bucky wraps his lips around your clit, licking and sucking at the bundle of nerves. Your hips thrust up against his ministrations and one of his arms comes up to lay heavy across your waist, holding you down.

"Steady doll. Gotta stay still for me." He grumbles between your legs. When two of his thick fingers slide into your entrance and curl upwards you're forced to break away from Steve's kiss, your head thrown back at the feeling of his digits working you open. Steve uses the moment to take your shirt off and unhook your bra, turning his attention to your newly exposed skin. He litters your chest with blooms of red while his fingers toy with your hardened nipples. Between the two sets of hands and lips, your head is spinning with pleasure and you can feel your release building quickly.

"G-guys I'm- fuck, oh my god. I'm gonna-" you struggle to pant out a full thought with their overwhelming touch.

"You gonna cum for us princess? Go ahead baby, you know how much we love it when you fall apart." Steve coaxes, taking your earlobe between his teeth. Your back arches as your orgasm hits, as if his words were the key to a door that wouldn't open on its own. "Good girl." Steve hums when you take in a shuddering breath.

"You taste so fucking good sunshine." Bucky mutters kissing up your abdomen.

"You tell me every time." You chuckle.

"You disagreeing with me?" He quirks an eyebrow at you making you laugh harder. "Steve? Second opinion?" Bucky turns to Steve.

"I think I need a fresh taste test before I weigh in." Steve nods, effectively ending your giggle fit as he and Bucky shift accordingly, Steve kneeling between your legs and Bucky moving onto the bed beside you.

"Wait, Bucky stand up. I wanna blow you." You tell him. He lets out a groan.

"You don't have to tell me twice." He says standing up and shoving his pants down his legs quickly. Steve huffs out a laugh before diving into your heat. Your mouth drops open with a moan as his tongue laps at your pussy. When it comes to most things, Bucky and Steve have very different styles of approach, between your legs though, both men devour you like their final meal- you sometimes wonder if they discuss what they do to you to determine what works best, but you only allow yourself a second to relish in Steve's tongue as Bucky is standing at attention beside you. You take Bucky into your mouth, bobbing your head along his length eagerly. Bucky's head falls back with a groan as you work him.

"Fuck, feels so good doll." He mutters. Just then, Steve wraps his lips around your clit and sucks harshly making you moan around Bucky. Your hips jerk when Steve slides two fingers into you and you struggle to keep sucking Bucky's dick as Steve pulls you towards another orgasm.

"Let go for me baby." Steve mutters against you, tongue lapping at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You have to pull off of Bucky entirely when your release hits this time around, your body spasming uncontrollably.

"That's it doll, so pretty." Bucky hums, stroking your hair soothingly as he sits on the edge of the bed beside you.

"Gotta say, tastes better every time." Steve nods and you let out a breathless chuckle.

"You two, are ridiculous." You shake your head.

"How ya feeling sunshine?" Bucky asks.

"Good. Ready for y'all to fuck me." You say.

"Someone's insatiable." He laughs positioning himself against the headboard and lifting you onto his lap.

"Yeah and whose fault is that?" You wink. Bucky rolls his eyes but there's a smile on his face that keeps yours in place. At least until Bucky shifts you again, positioning himself at your entrance and pulling you down on him. You let out a shuddering moan as you adjust to the sudden intrusion, Bucky groaning at the way your walls pulse around him.

"Are you implying that we're responsible for this?" Steve laughs kissing your shoulder.

"Absolutely. You spoil me. I have expectations now." You say.

"Expectations, huh?" Bucky smirks, settling his hands on your hips.

"Obviously." You nod.

"Obviously." Steve scoffs. "Well Buck, let's keep those expectations high, aye."

"Was thinking the same thing." Bucky winks over your shoulder. He shifts below you, before lifting you up to bring you back down against him as he thrusts up. You cry out as Bucky takes you like that, fucking up into you and forcing you down on him. He keeps it up for several minutes before stopping, at which point you're reeling from pleasure. "Alright sunshine, we're gonna try something. Stop us if it gets too much." Bucky tells you. You should probably ask what the thing is but you're too busy trying to catch your breath so you just nod as Bucky pulls you forward to lie against his chest. Steve shifts behind you, his hands grabbing your hips firmly. You gasp and jolt slightly when you feel the head of Steve's dick poking at your already stuffed pussy.

"Wait a second there's no way you'll both fit." You say.

"Yeah we will, just relax for us baby." Bucky kisses your temple.

"Stop us if you need to princess but I think you can take it. You are perfect for us after all." Steve says rocking forward slowly, working himself in beside Bucky. You focus hard on breathing through the definitely too intense stretch of them both. When Steve eventually bottoms out, the two of them hold incredibly still, kissing reachable parts of your skin as they allow you to adjust. After a few moments, you start to squirm against them.

"Move. Please." You breathe out. They take a second to get leverage and then both of them are thrusting into you harshly. They sort out their rhythm almost immediately and all you can do is moan as Bucky and Steve fuck you together.

"Knew you could take us both. Such a good girl for us." Steve huffs out between thrusts, his breath hot in your ear. You whimper out an incoherent response.

"Aw Steve I think she's gone a bit cockdrunk on us." Bucky taunts, taking in the way your eyes are glazing over.

"Think so? Good. She wanted not to think anymore after all." Steve says. You can hear them, but their conversation falls to your ears muted, so overwhelmed that you're struggling to process anything other than the drag of their dicks along your walls.

"F-fuck I, I'm gonna- oh god." Your whiny pant isn't even a complete thought, but it's the best you're able to get out so blissed out from the way Steve and Bucky fuck you.

"Gonna cum for us sweetheart? Gonna soak our fucking dicks like a good girl?" Bucky coos at you mockingly.

"Please. Please. Please. please please please please." Your broken pleas are the only response you can offer teetering so close to the edge you can practically taste it.

"Go ahead princess, cum on our dicks, show us how good we fuck you baby." Steve says, kissing your neck. Their words along with their pace send you over the edge with a cry of their names into an orgasm so strong it's blinding. You're shaking so hard they have to tighten their hold on you as they chase their own ends. It doesn't take long for them to spill into you either, Bucky first with an expletive on his lips and Steve right after with a long moan that sends shivers down your spine. Between the two of them it's too much and you can feel their release leaking out of you. For a few moments nobody moves, it's still and silent aside from heavy breathing. Steve pulls out first and you whine when he does. "We gotta get you cleaned up princess." Steve says in response to your protesting grumble while Bucky soothes you with kisses all over your face. You watch as he walks into the bathroom and you can faintly hear the tub running. After some time, how long? Who knows, Steve returns.

"Alright sunshine. We're gonna get in the bath now." Bucky tells you. You don't have the energy to argue but you do whine again when he, with Steve's help, lifts you off of him to carry you to the bathroom. The plus side of this is when Bucky does place you in their too big jacuzzi bathtub the water is so warm you practically melt into it. Steve and Bucky take their time washing you up, gentle hands and a soft washcloth glide over your skin like it's the only thing that matters to them as they whisper promises of love and adoration and you swear you've never felt safer than in this moment.

It's incredible how what started as an anonymous gift at the mall/two overly complimentary strangers ended with you here. You're not sure loved is a strong enough word to describe how they make you feel.

***

Part 12/12

Tagged Users: @cjand10 @vicmc624 @mandijo17 @marvel-fandom23 @kattreffic

[nanowrimo]

Journaling Practices to Help With Writing Funks

Feeling stuck in your writing? Journaling might be your answer to getting unstuck! NaNo Participant Ashley has some tips on using journaling as a guide to get you writing again. We all know writing is no easy feat, and it can be especially difficult when we find ourselves in a funk. Sometimes it’s best to take a break, reset, and turn our energy elsewhere and inward to help us get re-focused on the goal ahead. So, whether you’re struggling to start a new work or find yourself stumped on writing that next chapter, try these tips to help you get over the hump.

1. Brain dump

A brain dump is exactly what it sounds like. Grab a journal and write down everything on your mind. It can be specific to what you’re currently working on, or just anything that’s taking up space in your head. Set a timer for 5 minutes and let the thoughts flow. If you find this difficult to do, maybe start with one of these prompts:

What are five things I accomplished today?

How can I prioritize myself and my everyday tasks better?

Are there any goals I’d like to accomplish this week/month/year?

Pro tip: Using the voice note app on your phone works just as well! Go for a walk or hop in your car for a drive and talk all your thoughts out until there’s nothing left to say.

2. Use a guided journal

I’m a big fan of guided journals when I can’t seem to find the inspiration to write. Something about a journal prompt and the space to write freely about a variety of topics really helps me to get out of my head. There are a ton of guided journals out there, but these are a few of my favorites:

Cleo Wade’s Heart Talk

Rupi Kaur’s Healing Through Words

Michelle Obama’s Becoming

3. Keep a gratitude log

One of the best ways to get grounded and re-centered is by simply paying attention and being present to the world around us. Start your day or end your night making a list of 5-10 things you're grateful for. You can even take it a step further by choosing 1 or 2 things from your list and going into more detail about why you’re grateful for it. Give yourself a few minutes every day for this practice, and by the end of the week you’ll have a long list to look back on and come back to when you’re feeling stuck.

4. Get into nature

A change of scenery is another great way to switch up your writing routine. Find a new or familiar park, take a walk, and observe the nature around you. Take notes in your phone or in your journal of everything that comes to mind using your five senses (sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch). Get creative with what you jot down and write a poem from your observations, or perhaps a short story.

Ashley is a content marketer by day and aspiring nonfiction writer by night. She’s built a career of brand storytelling and now hopes to share stories from her own life on healing and self-care as she begins working on her first book. Follow her journey on Substack or Medium. Photo by Charlotte May from Pexels

[raayllum]

In the two years since gaining his arcanum, Callum likes to think he’s gotten the hang of it.

He has his spell-book with plenty of runes and incantations, carefully jotted down by hand next to pictures of the runes; he knows how to elongate his breath and stamina; he’s better at hedging his weight and sticking a landing, winged or not. He knows the way rainy days made his mood pick up, blood thrumming in his veins, the way his body takes deeper breaths when it’s windy, the fact he can never sleep (or really need to) when it storms at night time. 

He’s not nervous when the storm broils over the pirate’s boat. If anything, this’ll help them escape unscathed their belongings intact. He’ll be at the peak of his power in the centre of a storm. What could go wrong?

Callum knows the answer as soon as the rain hits his face, feet skidding over the slippery deck, and a fork of lightning strikes the a wave so close to him some of the resulting spray sloshes over the ship hull. It’s too much, out here, the rain pounding in his temple like the worst headache he’s ever had, the lightning shuddering in his vision, taking too long to fade for him to see properly. 

It’s nothing for a dragon or an archdragon, but for a human - or an elf, unused to the sensation - he feels like he’s going to keel over and retch, too much air in his lungs to be healthy. 

But there are at least twenty pirates, and Soren is off defending Ezran in the corner, Rayla slashing somewhere in the middle, and Nyx is picking off the crew with throwing knives up in the ropes, and well...

Callum hurtles out there, staff in hand, and does his best to block out the noise. 

He clears a path to Ezran first, fulminis sizzling through his veins, and it takes little to no energy to channel the storm to his will. The rain bends. The lightning goes where he wants it to. He doesn’t even need his staff, even as it pulses with heat in his hand. The pirates are swept away into the seas, or too charred with his lightning to get up. The lightning flashes bright in his eyes, too reminiscent of Aaravos’ control to be comfortable, too encompassing for him to see clearly, and—

Something hits him hard in the back and he crashes, spluttering, hands splayed on the desk. He twists over onto his back, rain pouring down, and the captain leers over him, grinning while water runs down from the curve of her hat, her sword levied at his throat. Another wave rises up. The thunder echoes in his ears. It’s too much.

His control falters. His world narrows, and Callum knows this is it. The rain is so cold, leaving him numb like he’s already dead. He wonders if he’ll even have the option to make a sound, as the Tidebound elf draws back her razor sharp sword and—

Then she drops her sword, a dark stain forming over the centre of her pale blue blouse, and the elf keels over sideways, hands scrabbling at her chest. A foot pushes her out of the way so she topples next to him instead of on him, and then Rayla—hair soaked, ragged, beautiful—lowers her own bloody blade and holds out her hand.

Callum manages to find the mind to grasp it. She hoists him to his feet, supporting his weight when he leans on her more than he meant to. He thinks she’s shaking too.

“Are you okay?” she says hoarsely, eyes scanning his face. The storm quiets, his breath anchored to hers. She’s warm, their sides pressed up against each other.

His gaze tears away from her face to the dead pirate captain at their feet, a pool of blood growing as her crew cries out angrily around them as Nyx and Soren step up and into the fray, Rayla’s sword arm braced along his back.

She’d killed for him.

He wants to ask if she’s okay, but knows this isn’t the time—that this might not have even been her first, given her time away, but there’s a glassy look in her eye that tells him it is—even if his heart pounds in his chest. Her bottom lip never trembles even if her hand shakes from where it’s keeping his arm slung over her shoulders.

“Fine,” he says, his head clearing. He pushes himself up a bit more. Some of the pirates are starting to surrender. It’ll be over soon. He takes her sword hand as he straightens up, splattered with a bit of blood, and kisses her knuckles. “Let’s just get out of here.”

[beatricebidelaire]

A plumber might hop, for instance, if she finally fixed a particularly difficult leak in someone’s shower. A sculptor would hop if his sculpture of four basset hounds playing cards was finally finished. And I would hop like nobody has ever hopped before, if I could somehow go back to that terrible Thursday, and stop Beatrice from attending that afternoon tea where she met Esmé Squalor for the first time.

-- thh

This is not a tale of Lemony Snicket. It is useless to tell the Snicket story, because it happened so very long ago, and because there is nothing anybody can do about the way it has turned out, so the only reason I could possibly have for jotting it down in the margins of these pages would be to make this book even more unpleasant, unnerving, and unbelievable than it already is. This is a story about Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire, and how they discovered something in the Library of Records of Heimlich Hospital that changed their lives forever and still gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever I am alone at night STOP. But if this were a book about me, instead of about the three children who would soon run into someone they had hoped never to see again, I might pause for a moment and tell you about something I did many years ago that still troubles me. It was a necessary thing to do, but it was not a nice thing, and even now, I get a small quiver of shame in my stomach whenever I remember it. I might be doing something I enjoy—walking along the promenade deck of a ship, or looking through a telescope at the aurora borealis, or wandering into a bookstore and placing my books on the highest place in the shelf, so that no one will be tempted to buy and read them—when I will suddenly remember this thing I did, and think to myself, Was it really necessary? Was it absolutely necessary to steal that sugar bowl from Esmé Squalor?

-- thh

[invisibleraven]

“Can I sleep here with you?” Rose & Carlos

"You sure you have everything packed?" Rose asked as she watched Ray put the last of the shirts he had set aside into his duffel.

"Think so, and if not, it's too late now, I've got to get going to catch my plane," Ray hummed. "It's only for the weekend anyways."

"I'll still miss you," Rose said, looping her arms around his neck, stepping up onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his mouth.

"Mmm, I'll miss you too mi amour," Ray replied, swaying them back and forth. "But the sooner I go, the sooner I get back."

Rose sighed and let him go, but gave him a playful swat to his butt as he passed. "Well get on then, I'll be here when you get back."

Ray smirked and blew her a kiss as he left, and Rose watched the car pull out. The house seemed so empty without Ray-even if it was only going to be a few days. More so with Julie at sleep away camp and Carlos at baseball camp every day.

She wandered through the house, humming to herself, an idle melody that would probably never turn into anything, but she still jotted down bits and pieces of it as she found scraps of paper around. The Petal Pushers were due for another show soon anyways, something new might be just what they needed to get them to be more regular about performing.

Victoria brought Carlos home before supper, but declined to stay, she had a Pilates class that night, but promised to meet up the next day for a morning of yard sales while Carlos had a play date with little Alfie Peters.

"Is papi gone?" Carlos asked as they ate grilled cheese sandwiches in front of the television-Rose wasn't a stickler about eating at the table when it was just her and the kids.

"He is, but he'll be back Sunday night, probably after you are gone to bed. But I'll make him come kiss you goodnight if you'd like," Rose replied.

Carlos hummed, nodding, but his attention was more so on the cartoons on screen than her. Rose got it-she would be more entertained by transforming robots at that age than her own mother. It was a quiet night, cartoons until bathtime, then a story and bed. Rose smiled as she kissed Carlos' forehead, wishing him goodnight.

Then she was left to her own devices-not really sure what to do with herself. She puttered around, finding little things to do, but eventually she found she couldn't stick to any one thing, and decided on an early night. Even if she knew she wouldn't sleep well in that big bed all alone-she never slept well when Ray was on an away shoot.

She had barely drifted off when she heard the door open, and a small voice called out "Mami?"

"What's going on mijo?" Rose asked, sitting up, seeing Carlos by the light of the moon through her curtains and the small glow of the nightlight in the hall.

"Can I sleep here with you? I had a bad dream."

"Of course you can," she said, pulling back her quilt, and patting the mattress next to her. Carlos raced over and snuggled into her arms. "Do you want to tell me about the dream?" Carlos shook his head against her chest, and she patted his hair soothingly. "Well then, let me know if it comes back, and I'll chase it away."

Carlos nodded, and was soon snoring in her arms. Rose smiled as she rubbed his back, watching him sleep. Soon enough he'd be too big for this, seeking her comfort after a bad dream, too big to climb into bed with her. Until then she'd relish these moments, even if she didn't wish nightmares on her children.

She found her eyes growing heavy as she listened to Carlos' breathing, feeling him warm and soft in her arms. And even if it wasn't the same as having Ray in the bed with her, she didn't find it nearly as hard to fall asleep that night-not with her son next to her.

And neither of them had anything but the sweetest of dreams for the rest of the night.

[maygirlsposts]

4,14,24,37,39 and 40 for Piper and Leo!

@scarareg Thank you so much for your ask!

leo x piper is kinda my self-indulgent secret ship heh, it's nice to talk about it sometimes hgjfkl;

4. Their favorite show to watch together?

I think they would love watching stupid movies (romcoms or unnecessarily sentimental and cheesy) together not bc they like them but so that they could make fun of the lines/scenes together like best friends do (bc ofc they are best friends first, lovers later). leo mimicking them in his stupid way, and piper giggling and rofling about like a buffalo the way she can't before others. they are the kinda couple who would enjoy everything they watch together.

but their ultimate fav, repeat to 10000x movie list till they have memorized every line is HTTYD, cuz yeah, leo-hiccup, toothless-festus, and ig piper is a lot like astrid? AND DRAgons!!! so yeah their go-to, top-of-head movie when they are lazy to try something new

(the only thing they never watch is tristan mclean movies lmao)

14. Who falls asleep during a movie?

Neither, but on hectic days when they are super tired, both of them catch the sleep bug and fall asleep.

if Leo is first to wake up to find the movie is over, he'd pick up piper and carry her to their bed, taking care she doesn't wake up (watching her sleep is secretly his fav thing, yk cuz of piper's cute way of sleeping: "inhaling through the nose, exhaling with a little puff through the mouth" and "her hair looked like it had become a nest for a friendly hamster")

on the other hand, if piper is first to wake, she'd prob simply arrange some pillows for their necks and go back to sleep, snuggling into him bc no chance she is getting cold lol

which brings me to the next choice!

24. Sleeping/cuddling positions? (Big spoon, little spoon, etc.)?

ggfhjk i love this question specifically for this ship cuz Piper is 100% the little spoon!

iirc (forgive me my knowledge of HoO is getting rusty! seriously, it's time for a full reread T_T) both piper and leo are the same height, right? maybe as adults, leo gets a late growth spurt of a couple of inches over her (which is annoying cuz leo is finally taller but secretly she likes it, cuz perfect for a side snuggle)

even otherwise, piper is always, subconsciously snuggling into his side cuz he is so hot warm. even if he hasn't used his fire, there is always some residual warmth in him all the time, which she has got used to searching out for. say, if leo gets up in the middle of the night to drink some water/got a brand new design idea in his head he just has to jot down NOW,,, by the time he returns to bed, piper is completely rolled up in his side of the bed, searching for him in her sleep (he loves this habit of hers! it also probs makes him feel better about his fire too)

iirc, his mom's warehouse caught fire in the middle of winter, right?? ig he'd slowly come to like winters better, bc of piper snuggling more into him during winters agfhjk

and iirc, he likes to sleep with a hug pillow, right? his old hug pillow has been replaced by piper!

39. Do they get along with the other's family? If not, how do they deal with the other's family?

on leo's side, hephaestus will be very suspicious of the daughter of aphrodite (cuz of his own experience with her) but talking to piper, he will be slightly mollified abt her… yet, his advice for Leo always will be to trust his machines more than the human specimen of his girlfriend (ofc leo won't take it seriously)

//toa spoilers/// now josephine and hemithea are his foster mothers i am sure piper would get along with them super well as well <3

on piper's side, leo has already met Tristan in Lost Hero and knows him as piper's friend, so he'd be pretty much chill with what pipes does and who she dates,, he might try to give Leo The Talk as his duty as her father, but Piper would kick her dad out before that ever happens (Leo just being the awkward bean like during the whole helicopter ride in TLH lol)

oth, leo would be mildly (understated) scared of Aphrodite. if they ever meet her (by chance) he'd keep fidgeting and tapping 'i love you' on his jeans till piper clasps his hand and taps back 'it's okay' but i think aphrodite won't be as scary as leo imagines in his head; she'd probs find him amusing and intrigued that her daughter actually prefers leo over jason.

40. Who is the skilled shopper for holidays? Who always waits 'til the last minute to get all of their gifts? (Which one gets stressed out easily)?

piper! she won't--but she would use her charmspeak to bargain for the best prices in those overly expensive, money grabbing malls, something that leo always finds terrifyingly awesome lmao,, piper gets excited for holiday shopping and stuff whereas leo tags along obediently (and use his magic toolbelt to stove away the shopping bags lol)

leo always forgets all of the important days because of his adhd (extreme even by demigod standards) and piper, having known him for long, understands this and never gets mad or anything but he'd always feel guilty about this and makes up for it in a completely random surprise gift he handdesigns for her. Of course, piper loves his stupid (affectionately) and most times, completely non-functional (cuz Leo himself doesn't know what they do loool but they are always weirdly complicated) gifts so much! like say a music box that goes moo! but bake out fresh cookies lmao

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Teacher's pet pt.2

Pairings | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers (platonic), Bucky Barnes x reader, Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings | 18+, fingering, oral (f!receiving), mmf!threesome (kinda)

Word count | 716

Summary | teaching Stevie how to pleasure a woman

Masterlist | part one

"Okay." Steve nodded, and jotted something down.

"Okay." Steve nodded, and jotted something down.

"Buck? I'm home!" Your voice rang through the small apartment, your kitten heels clicking softly against the wood floor as you strode towards Bucky and Steve. "What'cha doing?" You hummed, dropping down next to Bucky. 

Steve went scarlet, the whole way down beneath his shirt and Bucky held back a chuckle. 

"What? What's goin' on?" You asked, looking between the two friends. 

"I'm teaching Stevie how to pleasure a woman." Bucky said, a proud smirk plastered over his lips. 

"Is that so?" You raised a brow at Steve, who nodded sheepishly. 

"Sure is." Bucky chirped. 

"Why don't you show me how you'd do it?" You ask, leaning in to press a short kiss to his jugular. 

"Of course, doll. You get yourself nice and comfortable and I'll be with you in a minute." 

"Should I leave?" Steve asked timidly, and you and Bucky shared an amused look. 

"No silly, he's gonna show both of us how to do it." You grinned, and Steve gulped. You leant into him more, "I might even let you have a play if you're good." 

You had to hold back a laugh at Steve's shocked face, your breath hot on his skin as you'd winked at him before pulling away. 

"Don't be too long." You simpered, pushing yourself up and strolling into the bedroom. 

You wouldn't be surprised if Steve had heard you and Bucky going at it before, as there was only one bedroom in the boys' small apartment. 

He'd never mentioned hearing it before though, so you could understand Steve's nervous and flustered state. 

You sighed, draping yourself over Bucky's twin bed before letting your hands trail over your stomach, over your breasts. 

"Start in' without us, pretty girl?" Bucky smirked, arms folded over his chest as he leant in the doorway. 

You grinned at him as a very red Steve stumbled into the room. 

"G'wan, have a go." Bucky encouraged, patting Steve on the shoulder. Steve gulped before walking over to you and dropping to his knees at the foot of your bed. 

Bucky sat himself down on Steve's bed, which ran parallel to his own to make it easy to push the two tighter together if the nights got too cold and they needed to share body heat.

You gave Steve a reassuring nod as he leant towards you, and he returned a small smile before diving forwards. 

"Shit, Steve! You sure you haven't done this before?" You breathed as he lapped over your clit. 

He hummed against you, and before long you felt a slim finger push into your entrance. You shuddered, back arching as he curled upwards.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You exclaimed as Steve nipped at your clit, his finger finding that one spot that always made you see stars.

You had stopped paying attention to anything but Steve's mouth and fingers, so barely noticed Bucky stand up and crouch down next to the bed you were spread across. 

With one arm braced on the mattress, Bucky reached over and cupped your cheek in his hand. His thumb traced your lips before slipping between them. 

"Such a dirty mouth, doll." He chuckled, and your eyes rolled back into your skull. 

Your legs flayed, and one of your heels dug into Steve's back as you neared your climax. Steve groaned into your folds and Bucky grinned. 

"She's nearly there, pal. Keep goin'." Bucky mumbled, pressing down on your tongue with his thumb as you keened. 

"Oh my god! Steve you feel so good!" You dried out as you came, thighs shaking around Steve's head as he brought you your release. 

"Good girl." Bucky hummed, pulling away at the same time as Steve. 

Breathing hard, you looked down to see Steve eyeing you with dark eyes, a satisfied grin on his lips. You chuckled, running a hand through his hair. 

"You are trouble." You mumbled, and Bucky laughed along with you.