#18 months of my brain being slow and thick and never getting my point across

[nexttothelamp]

<3

[avintagekiss24]

—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

[bullshxtvixen]

Pairing: Ushijima x Reader

Request: OKAY, so what about ushijima going absolutely fuckin feral in bed while also whispering soft praises to his s/o.

Word count: 1k+

Song: I See Red by Everybody loves an outlaw (if you know, you know.)

Warnings: Smut,18+, praise kink??, ushi has a donkey dick, rough sex, slight yandere vibes at the end???

a/n: This was wrote while i was half asleep last night lmaoooo. Once again shoutout to my beautiful @nyxdelanuit​ for beta reading this and helping my chaotic ass with edits, you’re an angel <3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

“Toshiiii, ~oh fuck.”

Your voice dripped with pleasure as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, lewd moans leaving your mouth while searing lips dragged against the tender skin of your throat as the thick muscle moving inside you stretched your velvet walls so deliciously.

The pair of you had been dating for just over a month but you hadn’t slept together because he’d been so busy training for the game today that he’d seemed so uninterested in fucking you due to being so focused with volleyball, that when he’d invited you back to his room after winning the match, you hadn’t been sure what to expect. You’d heard the rumours about his cock, but when he’d come out of the shower wearing nothing save for the towel around his neck, your mouth had formed the perfect O as you took in his semi hard cock hanging between his muscled thighs. Your legs had immediately clenched together as you thought about taking the entire length of it.

That same girthy cock now kissed your cervix, sending waves of pleasure thundering through your body as your hips came up off the bed in an attempt to meet his hips as they rolled into you with ruthless force. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room along with your ragged moans as the coil in the pit of your stomach tightened.

“You feel so good, wrapping around me like that, but I know you can take it all for me, princess.” his pace never slowed as he pulled back and removed your legs from his waist, instead throwing one over each of his shoulders so that his head was caged between them before locking his arms tightly around them, hugging them to his chest.

If you’d thought he was rough before, you were underestimating him. The new pace that he set had your toes curling and your fists tangling in the bed sheets as he unleashed his full power on your sopping cunt; your arousal coating his cock, making it easier for him to repeatedly bottom out inside your wet heat.

Your walls were being stretched to new limits as his entire length was repeatedly sheathed inside you and the power behind every snap of his hips sent stars bursting across your vision as you chanted his name like a mantra, begging for him to give you everything he had.

He was hesitant at first, but he couldn’t hold back as your lips called out his name. You looked so beautiful as you writhed beneath him while he filled you with his cock that he couldn’t bring himself to care, he would give you everything if that’s what you wanted.

The power behind his thrusts increased further, each one jolting your body as he slammed his hips into yours. Groans fell from his mouth as he looked down and watched his cock sink into your needy cunt over and over again, the sight made his balls tighten and his breathing become ragged as his own orgasm neared.

“That’s it, take all of me, beautiful. Fuck. You’re such a good girl.” his words set your body on fire, your pleasure nearing its tipping point as your pussy began to twitch around his length, shameless moans falling from your parted lips as you lost yourself in the feel of him moving inside you.

“Please, please let me cum, Toshi, I want to cum all over your cock.” you begged -pleaded even- so desperate for release as he continued to reach sinfully deep inside you.

He was near himself, his cock throbbing as your walls clamped down around him, choking him as he pounded your tight little hole. He already knew he wasn’t going to be able to get enough of you, the way you wrapped around him was too addictive, he wanted to lose himself in you for days.

Hell, he might actually do just that if you'd let him. He could tell from the way you cried his name as he moved a hand so he could press a thumb against your clit that you’d allow him to lock you away with him and let him pump you full of his cum if he asked, he was sure of it.

He smiled to himself at the thought as he felt his thrusts begin to get sloppy as his release crept up on him, he only had a couple more thrusts left before he came inside your greedy pussy.

“You want to cum? Then cum all over my cock like a good girl, y/n.” 

His thumb pressed harder against your clit as his words found their way to your ears. In that same moment, he felt your walls begin to spasm around his cock as your back arched from the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as your orgasm spread through your body.

“OHGODOHFUCKFEELSSOFUCKINGGOODYESYESFUCKYES.” you cried out, your lust drowned brain unable to form anything close to a proper sentence.

The feel of your cunt tightening to an almost vice-like grip sent him over the edge, ropes of thick white cum coating your insides and leaking out onto the bed as he fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it as much as he could.

“Milking my cock so good, y/n, so fucking good.”

He collapsed next to you, chests heaving as you both struggled to catch your breath.

His hand reached out for yours as he lay on his stomach, his face turned to you as his eyes watched the flush slowly disappear from your face and your breathing slowed to a steady rate.

“Jesus, fuck, Toshi, that was...” your mind struggled to come up with an accurate description but you were saved from having to reply as his lips covered yours. You couldn’t help but sigh as you melted into the kiss. It was so soft, a complete contrast to the person he’d been just minutes ago.

Muscular arms wrapped around your waist, dragging your body to his as he turned to lay on his back, bringing you with him so that you lay on his chest, his warm lips never leaving yours as his arms tightened around you.

He knew he couldn’t keep you like this forever, but there was no harm in trying. 

You were his afterall.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧

Ushi going all yandere on you gives me so many feelings....

[cherryblossomtease]

Chapter 15

18+ only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

Because sometimes all you need is a simple reminder of who started this mess in the first damn place 💜

Warnings : as always 18+ only please- dom Zemo, sub Bucky, sub reader, punishment, m/m, m/m/f, light bondage

Authors Notes: Really didn't think I would be posting this weekend but it's a holiday in the states so why not! Still working on the rest by you know, neglecting everything that matters to create this fictional world. Anyhow, I can honestly say this is by far the most graphic story I've written so I'm a little nervous but it's already done, can't change it now, and I honestly don't want to! That said I hope you enjoy reading as much as I did writing!

~

Nothing lasts forever, especially when it’s this good. And this fabricated reality is about as good as it gets. Still, you know this boat will dock soon and goodbyes will be said. There’s really no way around it, try as you might to come up with a plan to talk Bucky into staying. Even now as you fight to stay asleep, your brain is working hard to create a solution while you refuse to give into your worries so early in the day.

You turn onto your stomach ignoring the dark thoughts, choosing instead to enjoy the feel of a strong arm across your back and a leg, hairy and heavy over both of yours.

Settling again with a content sigh, sleep starts to pull you back under. Thank the stars. You really aren’t in the mood— even if your dreams apparently are.

And what had you been dreaming about anyway?

A little house on a wide cliff overlooking water, and something else? The harder you try to remember the more you feel yourself slipping back into that dream space.

There was a small animal. What was it? A rabbit? Its fluffy body too close to the edge of the cliff. But in the dream you’d stayed standing in the doorway of the little house too indifferent to go and save it….

You feel bodies moving lazily, a stream of breath along your back that tickles; arms and legs and the men they belong to not fully awake and starting to stir like you, even as you quickly slip back into sleep until you’re standing in the doorway of that house again with the warm winds on your face and a view of the French sea below. The drop is dangerous. Deadly even.

Why haven’t you started talking Bucky into staying yet? Because you don’t like thinking about it too much. That's why. You start walking towards the edge of the cliff and you’re fully aware of your worlds crossing over —real thoughts present in your dream.

It’s probably bad luck to resent good deeds, after all that’s what he’s leaving you for. He wants to go off and live the life of the hero he never got to be. That and to keep Zemo’s location safe; but that’s besides the point. Hmm… Look at me, selfish even in my dreams. You smile when you shouldn’t.

Staring over the edge of the cliff it’s suddenly clear how unstable the ground is here and you gasp as it crumbles beneath your feet without warning.

Your eyes open with a start.

Well, that was a bit on the nose. Your subconscious does like to lay it on a thick sometimes, especially when you continue to ignore the things bothering you for too long and you've been setting these feelings aside since the text came through.

But just as quickly as you’re left to shake the shadow of the eerie dream, your frown fades replaced by a slow smile.

There is a very familiar poking at your ass that can sometimes be annoying-- this morning it’s welcome. You reach back and feel for the body that the greeting belongs too, comforted by the warmth and solid muscle of Bucky’s thigh under his tight boxers.

Mmmmm, the source of my distress and my desire, you think and grin into the pillows with a soft moan when his hand, hot and strong takes hold of your hip, massaging as he presses his erection into you.

You’ll talk to him about your dreams later.

Feeling a draft where there should be warmth, you open an eye to find breaks of sunlight in the space between Helmut’s arm and torso. When you turn your head you’re met with the sight of his bare chest, broad and covered in the softest dark hair. His necklace hangs off center, and you, as always, are helpless to it.

Your hand leaves Bucky’s thigh and your fingers slide over the delicate links in the chain and down into the soft chest hair as you turn your head to find he and Bucky locked in one hell of a kiss for so early in the day. It must have been their movement or the sound of their lips that woke you and pulled you from the doom of your fatal fall.

Dreams are so strange…

Your heart flutters when Helmut lays his hand over yours pressing it tight to his chest. “Good morning love birds.” You snicker and watch Bucky pull away from Zemo looking a little embarrassed. He does pause to kiss your cheek however before getting out of bed with a long stretch.

“So where the hell are we anyway?” He asks going to the balcony door, looking out at the passing waves. “Feels like nowhere.”

Zemo is looking down at you, stroking your profile, kissing your nose. “We should be well within the middle of it actually.” He answers, eyes still fixed on you.

“Perfect” You say softly letting him pull you so close that he blocks out the light as your lips meet.

“Breakfast is ready sir,” Oeznik calls from outside the bedroom door.

Zemo grumbles at the interruption but you’re starving. “What? I’m not going anywhere” You huff turning away, trying to escape. “You just said so yourself. I've got no place to go.”

“All by design” He smiles and lets you get up, giving your ass a smack as you go. Bucky is watching from the doorway and laughs at your yelp-hop-rub combination.

Swearing under your breath you go over to the closet, grab your silk robe and pull it on over your shorts and tank top, yawning as you drag your feet over to Bucky. You pat his stomach, kissing him quickly. “Hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Lets go up.” You say tugging at him as Zemo gets up and puts on his own robe across the room. It’s not the thick one you liked from before the raft, but silk like yours— Tom Ford if memory serves— god his influence is strong. How the hell do you remember this stuff?

You watch him scratch at the back of his messy nest of hair like he always does in the mornings, somehow looking both sexy and adorable, alternating between the two with the ease of flicking a light switch. You can only smile at the enigma that is Helmut Zemo and pull Bucky away from the doors.

The three of you leave the room shuffling along, making your way down the hall to the den. Zemo trails you and Bucky accepting a small espresso from Oeznik as he watches the way you and your Sergeant interact. Neither you nor Bucky are necessarily morning people and though it’s nearly ten, you’re both somewhat irritable now that you’re actually moving around and slightly hungover from yesterdays sangrias as you make your way up to the top deck where breakfast will be served.

The sun is so bright you huff about not being able to find your sunglasses and Bucky accuses you of being a diva. The only appropriate reaction is to give him a shove.

Zemo snorts a laugh at your near sibling like banter which you’d established after so many months together, but once you find your glasses on the bar counter and get a fresh cup of coffee and a bloody Mary chaser in your body you’re feeling like a new woman ready to conquer the day… a day spent doing nothing really.

It’s all so casually decadent that it’s nearly sinful. Whats the one? The sin that doesn’t sound as good as lust but feels better after all that fornicating you’ve been doing— Sloth? Yes, you think reaching for what’s left of your blood Mary from the lounge chair, the ultimate of all the sins. Thou shalt not be a lazy ass sloth all day on your yacht.

Cheers.

You read on the deck for a while, play a few rounds of shuffle board with Bucky by the pool and attempt to best Zemo at chess in the den.

Lunch is wonderful, and you think you will need to meet this mystery chef at some point before the trip is over followed by a nap on the bedroom balcony.

When you wake up in the very late afternoon you venture down the hall with your book and unexpectedly find the men in your life moaning on the floor of the den in a tangle of beautifully tanned arms and legs. So you very quietly slip past, feeling a flush rise up your neck to your cheeks highlighting your wide but tight lipped smile.

You stay above decks giving them privacy feeling only the slightest twinge of jealousy. Not because you think you’ve been excluded but because you could use another session like last night.

A shiver runs deep in your belly thinking of the way Helmut brought you to climax, but you’re still more than happy to give them time alone. After all, you’ve had the Baron to yourself for far longer than Bucky.

You sink down onto the upper deck sofa, the image of them entwined, the sounds of their heavy breathing and Bucky’s near innocent moans enough to make you consider touching yourself but you wait, letting the urge build, one of them if not both will take care of you later.

So when Bucky comes up and finds you with a funny look on his face you’re completely confused. “Whats wrong?” You ask putting your book down.

He’s poured a drink and sits down beside you on the couch.

“I don’t know if I can do it.” He says shaking his head tossing back the bourbon.

“Do what?” You have an idea but you thought for sure he’d be eager to try, at least it looked like they were well on their way to his first time.

“Letting him control me, I’ve never had someone tell me no. Not like this.”

“Oh” You smile. It’s the no sex. The lack of it is a cruel form of control but the end results are glorious, if he could just be patient enough. “He won’t let you come?” You ask a little more patronizing than you’d intended.

“No!” Bucky whines taking his cue from you and you stifle your laughter. He’s so cute, even in the throws of his sexual agony. “And it’s making me crazy. I mean I’m already crazy but this is different.” He looks around and leans closer to you. “If you were to so much as look at my cock right now, I’d be done.” He says under his breath.

You let go and laugh rolling your eyes. Dramatics seem to come as naturally as submission to him. “That’s against the rules.” You warn eyeing him sidelong and attempting to go back to your book.

“I can’t take it. Fuck the rules.” He says again pulling the paperback from your hand.

You wave your finger in his face. “James. You’re not allowed.” You say playfully.

“Please.” He begs running his finger down your cheek, brushing your neck and gliding along your clavicle where he knows you’re sensitive.

“I can’t!” You lean away a little surprised by his attempt.

“He won’t know!”

You shake your head “I know but…” You try not to smile.

“I can’t take it.” He insists leaning in to kiss you. “I promise; it won’t take long.”

You give in and laugh sensing his desperation as you kiss. He does feel tense. The muscles of his arm and shoulder are wound tight as a chord. You smile against his lips letting him ease you down onto the couch, your book dropping to the floor as he moans, sliding his hand down your thigh, pushing your knee up and his own hips forward letting you feel what you’re fairly certain is the most rock solid hard on you’ve ever had pressed to your body. You whisper his name as his lips find their way to your neck and his hand slides between you to free himself from those amazing shorts.

“Shame, I had every intention of making your patience worth the effort. But you do love to prolong your torment, don’t you soldat.”

You gasp and Bucky hangs his head as Zemo comes sauntering over. Your laughter is a mix of nerves and feeling like you’ve been caught sneaking around with a boy like a damn teenager. It’s been years since you’ve felt a rush like this. Leave it to the Baron to stir that old excitement again.

“Don’t move” Zemo orders, pointing a finger in your face. You freeze, legs open where Bucky was, your arms tight at your sides. “Sit” He growls at Bucky who obeys begrudgingly as he slides back onto the couch.

Very quickly Zemo shoves your legs closed and grabs you by the arm pulling you up to standing. You lean away as he shakes his head keeping you close, his hold so tight you wince “I thought you knew better by now” He scolds you sounding disappointed.

“I told him not too?” You try looking as innocent as possible. You truly had no intentions of fucking him, but maybe a quick hand job?

There is a flicker of excitement in Zemo’s eyes. It's been so long since you’ve given him a reason to really go for it and you hold in your smile because you’re meant to be sad and hang your head. “I’m sorry Baron.”

He ignores your attempts to apologize and pulls you over so that you’re standing in front of Bucky. He looks you both over for a moment thinking and then smiles. You don’t know if you love or hate to see him looking so pleased. Nothing “good” ever comes of that smile.

“Look James.” He says, waiting until Bucky raises his head. “I want you to see what listening to your eager cock and not my rules get gets you— and her.” He tells Bucky before giving you his undivided attention.

Zemo turns your back to Bucky and you feel his hand between your shoulder blades pushing just a little. You bend at the waist, not all the way, just enough to make sure Bucky knows where his attention should be.

This flouncy little designer sun dress you’ve changed into after your nap only helps direct his gaze as Zemo drags the fabric up slowly so that the reveal of your ass is yet another way to torment him all on its own and you give yourself over to the Baron and wonder how bad this will be.

“Pull them down.” He tells you, his hand smoothing over your simple lace panties. His voice is not so angry as it was when he found the two of you, but every bit as firm, and you glance up at him as you hook your thumbs into the waist band. He nods and you quickly obey, pulling your underwear over the curve of your hips and ass and swear you hear Bucky groan when you bend to pull them from your ankles letting him see the diamond shape of your pussy from behind for just a second, your smile hidden from view.

When you stand again, Zemo offers his forearm. You rest your stomach against him, your hand gripping his shirt, the other you will have to try very hard not to cover your backside with because you know that the breeze will be the last nice thing that you feel.

He tosses your dress back up holding you, adjusting the way he stands just a little so that you are safe but immobile.

“Count them off; to five.” He says leaning just a bit closer. The tone in his voice is confident. Zemo knows that you’re well aware of what this means.

“Yes Baron.” You say exhaling, trying to prepare, but five? Fuck. He does not intend on holding back. If he was being playful he would give you ten or more, but five? He knows you won’t be able to take more that that.

You dig your fingers into his forearm and hold your breath.

The first strike makes you cry out.

The way Zemo can raise his hand and bring it down on your ass is unrivaled. He doesn’t mess around. There is no teasing, no playing, no cute little taps to warm you up. Just instant punishment.

“One.”

Your voice shakes and the rousing heat of adrenaline spreads through your arms and legs.

Again he lifts his hand and brings it down quickly with a stinging force that sends shock waves through your body. Your cry is weaker this time, trailing longer.

“Two.”

You pull his shirt tighter into your fist, your cheeks are on fire already when you feel the air stir as his hand rises again. You wonder if Bucky is watching, you wonder if he see’s how your thighs flex and your flesh shakes when the Baron strikes you.

You close your eyes and draw in your bottom lip trying not to moan, but you arch your back and your hips begin to circle ever so slightly with the anticipation of the next smack. You’re practically whimpering as you offer up your backside for more.

Zemo can feel the light vibration of pleasure sounding in your chest and his laughter is a low, very amused rumble as he raises his hand just a little higher this time.

The next smack lands and you toss your head back with a gasp. You would have gone to your knees if he wasn’t strong enough to hold you up. “Three” You whisper but you don’t move. The air brushes your pussy, wet in spite of your reddening skin.

“Don’t look away.” Zemo says.

There is the answer to your previous question. Bucky likes it, but it’s not always easy for him to watch.

“James!” Zemo snaps and waits. Bucky must be looking again because you feel the Baron move.

The fourth strike comes and you steady yourself knowing you can take it, wanting it, loving it as much as your feel your legs shaking. “Four”

You’re breathing hard, as you anticipate the final blow, desperate for it to be over but sorry for it to end. You rest against him for just a second feeling both safe in his hold and powerless to his dominance.

When the last of your punishment lands you hang your head, rounding your spine unable to offer yourself anymore. You can not pretend and this is why he’s given you so few.

Letting your hips drop as your body shudders and a single tear falls, you whisper, “Five” And only Helmut hears you say it.

Very gently he pulls your dress down, the soft cotton is cool over your burning skin and he turns you around to face him.

He brushes the tear from your cheek, holding you in such a way that you can go limp in his arms. “It wasn’t that bad, you’re just out of practice.” He says smiling at you knowing it wasn’t kind either.

You’d love for him to know just once. Maybe let Bucky give him a slap across the ass to make it fair. But when you look at him the thought is all wrong if not hilarious and you just shrug a little and hang your head again, resting on his chest.

“No breaking rules.” He scolds affectionately, “Even if you’re only trying to help. Understood?”

“Yes Baron.” Your voice is very small.

He gives a nod, kisses your forehead and looks over his shoulder at James. “So, is this what you wanted?”

“No.”

“No… no I don’t think it is.” He agrees. “But I understand. She’s damn near impossible to resist still you must learn to control yourself. Apparently I’ve not made that clear. Perhaps a more direct approach.”

You both look at him wide eyed. What’s more direct than this you think not even close to recovered from your spanking.

“Both of you, go down to our bedroom.” He says as though nothing has ever been more obvious “Take off your clothes. Wait for me on the bed.”

You look at Bucky. He looks at you.

“You fucked up,” You mouth to him.

Bucky just gets up and pushes past you both.

*

“I suppose you could say I’ve had to get creative with my plans for you. I know that pain is something you can’t respond to in ways that she can.” Zemo says, smiling as he glances down at Bucky and then over his shoulder at you on your knees behind him. “Have you finished?”

You look up from what you’re doing, hoping it’s right. “Yes, I think so?”

He comes around to look at the rope binding Bucky’s wrists. It’s just for show to heighten the experience. Of course Bucky could break free if he wanted to— his strength is no match for a few rough fibers— but this is a training of the mind as well as the body. “You see, pleasure can be just as awful.” Zemo says, his voice making you shiver as he checks your work, tugging and tightening the rope a little more.

Leaning in close, he strokes Bucky’s jaw, his finger reaching to trace the spine of his ear and you smile when the hairs on Bucky’s right arm raise and Zemo loses the air of control for a second simply becoming the man who cares for the other deeply. “The irony of tying you to a chair to satisfy you is not lost on me, based on what I know of your past. But if you can endure it, I promise it will be nothing like the pain you’ve known. I could never hurt you in that way. Still, if at any time this is too much, if it triggers memories that change it from what it’s meant to be, please— James— say the word, your word and it stops.”

Bucky nods. “I will” He says softly.

“Nothing now?” Zemo asks genuinely wanting to know. Bucky shakes his head. “No, nothing.”

Zemo gives a confident nod and kisses the back of Bucky’s head patting his cheek a little harder than he needs too. “I only want to make you feel good— eventually.” He teases and Bucky rolls his eyes with a small laugh.

Pleased, Zemo pushes up and goes to sit in the soft chair across the room, notably more comfortable than the one Bucky has been placed in. Although the more obvious differences being, Zemo is not bound, Zemo is not naked, and Zemo has not been so gently stroked and toyed with that he’s been left with a perfectly vulnerable erection like Bucky has.

You’d had a hard time focusing on the ropes as the Baron made it happen. The way he’d taken Bucky in hand, winding down the length of his sex was in a word, mesmerizing. And when Bucky made that sound, that soft, pleading sound and Zemo stopped — his brow raised with such smug confidence— you wondered who would break first, you or Bucky. He’d quickly brought his hand up with one last tease, his fingers swirling around the curving head of Bucky’s member only to let go as though he’d lost interest.

Bucky’s groan was deep. He was beyond frustrated, but instead of breaking out of his restrains and fucking one of the two of you, he sat there just waiting to be punished for breaking rules in the first place.

He watches as you come and kneel before him, naked yourself as you’ve been told to be. He actually looks slightly scared but mostly curious. His erection is as always flawlessly pretty, arching up and back, smooth while perfectly veined and so inciting.

You only know what it is you’re meant to do to him because you’ve had it done to you before. You figure it’s very similar, only the mechanics are different because his is a man. If Zemo doesn’t approve, he’ll tell you.

The Baron in charge picks up his drink, the ice rattling as he takes a sip and lets the scene settle in his sights for a moment. He likes to see the two of you together, his two helpless things— his to play with and his to love.

“Begin.”

Bucky inhales, but you smile at him to show that it won’t hurt— it’ll just drive him mad.

First you take the little bottle of body oil from the floor and put some in your hands rubbing them together.

He raises his brow watching you and starts to relax thinking he might understand now. You take him in hand and start to stroke, you are after all very good at this. Over and over again, up and down his long, thick shaft, curving your hand over the head of his cock until he moans and rolls his eyes shut. When he opens them he does seem a bit confused by this sudden attention and he flashes a smile because it feels so good. If this is all that’s been planned, he could get used to this sort of punishment.

The room is quiet, there’s nothing but the soft hum of the ship, his breathing and the wonderfully obscene sound of the oil you’re using against his skin as you work faster…

It’s not long before you feel him stiffen and his breath grows quicker, his thighs flex, his hips raise an inch and he starts to moan softly, a staccato sound of pleasure that makes even your heart beat faster. He’s been waiting and suffering through so much you can feel the joy of release seeping into every inch of his body.

“You feel it happening?” Zemo asks softly. “The start, the pressure mounting? You see, she is very good. And she will get you there James, every time— right to the edge”

You yank your hand away and he jerks forward mouth open cock twitching with the start of an orgasm he will not have.

“To the edge” Zemo chuckles. “A cruel punishment for a greedy man who must learn to wait.”

Bucky quickly lifts his head, the realization flashing in his eyes as his chest rises and falls. He looks down at you.

You smile and reach for him again.

*

“Please” He begs breathless.

“Not yet” Zemo says leaning forward a bit in his seat, the drink in his hand all but forgotten. You notice the ice has long since melted as you wait for permission, watching over your shoulder.

He gives you a nod and you turn back to Bucky.

Wrapping your hand around him again, you feel him so solid he’s like stone. His thighs are flexed, his hips raise up in the chair as you begin to jerk your hand up and down and the light reflecting off the oil makes you both shine like gold.

He moans and you watch the muscles of his abs flex as he feels the orgasm coming on, helpless to it and your skilled hand.

“I’m going to come.” He groans sounding sorry for and drops his hips.

“No, you won’t. I did not say that you can” Zemo says like the villain behind you.

“I can’t it hold back” Bucky pants, his voice is thin he sounds like he very well might lose control and you feel him pulse in your palm. You twist your hand around sliding it down to the base thinking it might help hold him off if your focus is less near the collection of nerve endings.

Zemo stands and comes to you, tapping your shoulder. You let him go with a quick up and down and Bucky’s disappointment is the saddest thing you’ve ever heard.

When Zemo looks down at the wonderfully pitiful sight, Bucky shuts his eyes. “Yellow.” He whispers. “Please, yellow.”

“All right.” Zemo says kindly and gives his head a rub. “Rest”

“Thank you.” Bucky manages.

You stand not caring what Zemo says and kiss Bucky’s cheek.

“You okay?” You ask, your hand on his shoulder, lifting his chin to look at his face.

“Please… don’t, don’t touch me for a minute?” He asks and you give an embarrassed laugh understanding his request. You’re not exactly innocent in his torment.

“Of course I’m sorry I…” Your sentence is cut off.

Zemo has you by the back of your arms and pulls you tight against him. “You, not her.”

Bucky sighs dropping his head.

“I’m still confused. Is, this what you wanted?” He asks feigning ignorance though with you naked its clear what Zemo means.

Bucky won’t look.

“Answer me.”

“No, I mean— yes Baron.” He concedes.

You feel Zemo’s laugh along your neck. “You wouldn’t have been fast enough to finish before I found you. Well, maybe you, but not her. Tell me, how quickly can you make her come?”

“What?”

“How quickly?”

You shut your eyes as soon as you realize where this is going.

“I don’t know. I mean she always got there.” Bucky says sounding slightly self conscious.

Zemo smiles. “Two minutes. I can finish her off in just two.”

“Ha!” Bucky doesn’t believe him, who would.

Oh Bucky…

“Tell him it’s true.” Zemo leans towards you.

You nod glancing at them both. “He does this… thing.” You tell Bucky. “He works my spot and my clit at the same time and I come. Fast.” You say simply and totally helpless to it.

“It’s not always the most fun, rarely my first choice; but great when we’re in a hurry.” He shrugs and takes a knee before you even realize that he has. “Open your legs.” He says looking up at you.

Your eyes go wide, surprised to see him down and waiting with Bucky watching. Still, you part your thighs and wisely lay your hands on his shoulders knowing you won’t be able to stay upright without the support.

“This? Right James? This warm, tight, safe place? This is what you wanted?” Zemo asks, teasing Bucky with the way he slides his fingers between your velvet soft folds. You feel him turn his hand and his finger circles your entrance. He sighs and takes hold of your hip to keep you in place.

Two fingers slip inside and you hiss against the stretch, biting your lip as your head lolls to the side. You try to hold in the loudest of your noise but it’s hopeless.

The Baron starts to do his thing and you wonder if you might be able to deny him the pleasure of making you come in front of Bucky again, but just like always you end up gripping his shoulders to keep from falling as he does a perfect come hither with his two fingers as his thumb rubs with the perfect amount of pressure on your throbbing clitoris. He can’t resist and licks your peak for good measure until you hold your breath as he sucks sloppily and until you come on his hand and just as quickly as always. Your wild moaning is nearly feral but you could not care less. It makes you smile to hear him laugh softly so pleased with himself and you and your eyes shut as you pant, catching your breath.

Lowering your head, your eyes only half open, you both look over at Bucky who is glaring at the Baron.

“James.”

“Yes.”

“Stop breaking the rules.”

“Yes Baron.” He says giving in completely.

Zemo smiles and slowly pulls his fingers free from you, raising his hand just enough to show them so wet and sticky and glistening. He kisses your belly and looks up at you. “Go lie down.” He says rubbing your stomach, smoothing his hand over your soft tuft of hair. You’re still floating as you do, happy to go and rest and leave them to it.

“Would you like to come now?” You hear Zemo ask Bucky as he gets up and goes around the chair.

“Please.” Bucky whispers watching you sink down onto the bed on your side.

“I can finish you off just as quickly as I did her.”

“Yes. Please.” He begs through clenched teeth rising up again as if presenting himself to be relieved, the steady rush of blood to his lower half turning his cock a darker shade of desperate as it rises up like a tower ready to fall. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” He pants “I’m sorry I tried to fuck her. I’m sorry for breaking your rules. And I will do anything, please just… fuck. Please!”

Helmut leans down hushing him, pressing his face close to Bucky’s, grabbing him around the chest as his left hand comes reaching over his stomach promising an end to the day’s long torment.

He grips the soldiers gorgeous, endlessly taunted dick; your natural lubricant replacing the oil to help glide his fingers along.

When Zemo starts to work Bucky you can see through the look on his face that this is all he’s wanted to do for so long and you are reminded that this is as much the Baron’s discipline as it is yours— as it is Bucky’s.

Bucky makes a deep sound that gets your attention. His body flexes and you think he looks like a bomb ready to blow. A sexy, finely muscled, lightly tanned bomb with a look of pained excitement as his legs open and his jaw flexes.

“Are you mine James?” Zemo asks, his lips brushing his ear,

“Yes” He says pitifully raising his hips, thrusting once into the Baron’s hand just as Zemo lets go. A deep frown fixes between Bucky’s brows as he waits until Zemo grabs again and starts to perfectly stroke him.

Bucky’s mouth opens, his eyes fix on the incredibly hypnotic rhythm of Zemo’s hand.

“You’ve always been mine haven’t you?”

“Yes!” Bucky nearly shouts, his brows turned down with the exquisite anguish of the nearing release.

“Say it again,” Zemo demands, his right arm tight around Bucky, his eyes shut relishing in the control and the love, you listen to the wet rhythm as it gets faster.

“Yes.”

“Say it!”

“I’ve always been yours” Bucky moans loudly and glances over at you unable to keep your hand away from your pussy selfishly wanting to come again.

“Once more.” Helmut says opening his eyes. The muscle of his arm is flexed beautifully as he pounds.

Bucky moans so similarly to you that Helmut just smiles. He knows, he understands the hold he has over you both.

“I’m yours” Bucky manages and the Baron focuses his movement as if pulling the orgasm from Bucky’s body willing it to come forward. He jerks his hand up and away…but this time he’s finished the job.

He holds Bucky as the man cries out, his hips rising high this time, his cock pulsing with a tight up and down as he finally —god, finally— gives a high pitched groan with that first explosive release of come that shoots past his stomach and onto his own chest followed by equally satisfying spasms that send milky droplets flying free into the air and across his stomach onto Zemo’s arms; Bucky’s groaning and gasping near tears with the absolute exhaustion and relief of his well deserved climax, his moans and gasps of surprise so raw and unaffected.

By the time he lowers back down to the chair unable to do much more than sit there, limp and panting with his eyes closed, Helmut is holding him, caring nothing for the mess. He seems to love the sight of the pearlescent results of Bucky’s incredible orgasm as much as you do.

Smiling as he strokes Bucky’s hair, kissing his temple, he says with a tone only Helmut Zemo could manage at a moment like this, “You see. When you listen to me, I make it worth every second, every moment of torment. Yes?”

Bucky nods but it’s weak.

Zemo chuckles softly, kisses him again and reaches down easily undoing the ropes.

“Look at you both.” He says trying to sound angry, as if it’s not all his fault. “You can’t come to dinner like this. I’ll run a bath.”

He leaves Bucky and comes to the bed bending over you, his hand so sticky from the combination is heavy on your belly as he kisses your lips. “Hows your ass?” He asks.

“Still on fire.” You say and he winks as he rises.

“Good."

*

“You’re pretty quiet over there.” Bucky says splashing you from across the large tub. You’ve both been in for a while now after Zemo took a quick shower and left you alone letting you know he’d be up waiting at the dinner table.

Roused from your daydream but still not sure you want to talk about why you’re so quiet, you glance over and shrug.

“Whats wrong? You’re not mad about what happened are you?” Bucky asks sliding a little closer. The tub is surprisingly big in an already large bathroom and yet again you wonder how you’ll return to real life when this all ends.

“What happened?” You ask him.

“Getting you in trouble? He really put a shine on your backside.” Bucky says, a smile breaking through any attempt at being serious.

You sit up surprised to hear that’s what he thinks it could be. “Ha! No. Not at all. That was amazing… god” You tip your head back, the image of Bucky, naked and tired to a chair with Zemo holding him and whispering in his ear will be seared into your mind for life. “I didn’t know you could come that much.” You say, slowly looking back down at him,trying not to giggle.

“Neither did I.” He says practically blushing before he grins. “Same goes for you.” He tosses right back.

You laugh and roll your eyes. “Okay well we both know he’s capable of turning us into sex crazed idiots apparently.” You say with a cheeky grin and Bucky laughs shaking his head with a sigh.

“What is it? Some Sokovian spell or something, magic from the old world?” Bucky says with a thick accent wiggling his wet soapy fingers in the air.

Laughing you scrunch your nose. “Nah, that’s all him. Just wait until you’ve been around him long enough to get to the good stuff.”

“The good stuff!” He looks shocked “Well what the hell is all this!”

“This is amazing, but it not… well it’s not him. Theres so much more than sex. Watching tv. Eating dinner in bed. Naps— once he read to me.” You say with a sigh and the room goes silent as you both slip into a day dream laced with Helmuts beautiful voice surrounding you as he reads the classics on a warm summer night…

“You think he sits around daydreaming about us like this?” Bucky asks with a frown. “I worry sometimes.”

“Really?” You ask looking into his big blue eyes. Hundred years old and still so sweet. “Of course he does. Bucky, he wouldn’t have done any of this if he didn’t spend as much time thinking of us as we do him. Don’t be so naive”

He nods looking out the window and you know he’s just out of practice. He probably had a swarm of girls around him back when his life was normal. Maybe even a secret guy. But how long ago had that been. And since he’d been released from the words, his only real time spent with anyone has been with the two of you. For a moment you wonder if that’s fair. He should go out on dates or something, but then again you did try to get him on some apps. He hated them all. Women swiped right like it was their job of course, but he thought it was strange and wanted to meet them the old fashioned way but when he did he could only focus on what he didn’t like and just compared them to you— and Zemo.

“Hey.” You get his attention again. “I mean it, I’m really not upset about anything that happened earlier. Thanks for being such a rule breaker.” You say with a wink.

“No problem” He laughs as if that was his intention. Bucky’s expression softens as he sits back, the water rocking under the bubbles.

Bubbles. Talk about a diva, is anyone is on this big ass boat it’s him. Two adults having a bath drawn from them; why not throw in the bubbles. You roll your eyes ignoring the way your chest gets tight with the feel of being so adored and loving every second of his over the top ways and focus on Bucky who looks stunning in the bath— your heart sinking just a little.

“So what is it?” He asks unaware of your many distractions.

You look back to the window staring up at the sky for a while. “I’m just… sad.” You say giving in to the truth “I mean, I’m thrilled being here. But I’ve had this idea that I could talk you into staying with us. I keep imagining this life with you and Helmut and I know it can’t happen for so many reasons but I’m stubborn and spoiled. I truly hate not getting my way. So I keep thinking, maybe.”

He goes quiet now understanding, and then you feel his hand on your knee under the water. “I know. I’ve thought about it too. Maybe a little too much. Definitely enough that I’ve almost convinced myself it could work, but no. It just wouldn’t.”

You press your lips hesitant to say in case you might offend him but decide to just go for it. “And you’re sure it’s not just that you miss it? Saving the world and everything? I mean, I can see how it would be appealing— from controlled killer to stoic hero.” You tease gently, wiggling your brows up and down until he laughs a little, probably more annoyed than you’d like, and whatever facade you’d put on crumbles. The look of heartbreak turns your brows down, twisting your face with the agony of losing him. He looks surprised to see you so broken about it and finds your hand through the water.

“Hey hey hey.” He pulls but you’re not in the mood to be comforted. Bucky hates when you don’t let him coddle you, but he knows better than to fight it so he simply answers your question. “Yes.Well. No I mean, it’s nice. But honestly, if you really want to know, I could get used to being domesticated.” He shrugs letting go of your hand as he looks towards the shower where Zemo was and you swallow the tears that have been overpowered by your intrigue.

Managing a laugh at his expense you poke his arm on the rim of the tub. “Really? By me or Helmut?” You ask and swear you see him blush.

“You’ve already proven you can turn me into a homebody, and happy to be there, so —Maybe both?” He shrugs and there is such a tone of possibility in his statement that you’re instantly transported into a world in which the three of you are living happily. Maybe in this Mediterranean paradise, you’ve just come home from the market with ingredients for a dinner that Bucky has asked you to pick up and you help him cook while music blasts in your small but bright kitchen and you dance around until the house smells delicious and you set the table, flirting and toying with one another until everything looks beautiful before rushing to sit just as your Baron comes through the door…

Even here and now sitting in the tub with you, Bucky looks like the sweetest house husband glowing a soft gold in the light of the sun. What you wouldn’t give to be his forever. His his and hers, you think and your chin quivers with the threat of happy miserable tears.

Bucky isn’t oblivious to your hurting but he’s trying to keep strong, he can’t give in to you, not this time. “We’ll never know if I stick around.” He says and your little vision fades “I think I’ve got one visit, maybe two in me before someone notices an avenger hanging around their town and his cover is blown. You don’t want that. I don’t want that. I’d never forgive myself."

“I know.” You say and only realize that your head is down when his hand, which is covered in white bubbles reaches to lift your chin.

“Hey, come one. None of that. We’ve only got a little bit of time. I just want to make the most of it. Give me enough good memories to finally forget about whats left of the bad.”

You smile and nod, blowing the bubbles away before they go up your nose. “Fine.” You sigh and look back out the window hugging your knees. “Buck, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He says only cringing a little when you call him Buck.

“Do you think you might ever love him?”

Bucky freezes. He looks— odd. Uncomfortable. Exposed? You realize very quickly that he already does, even if he’s not aware of it and decide not to push him

“It’s okay. I was just curious.” You say and try to calm him with your smile “We come from very different worlds. Letting myself love a man like Helmut Zemo took little to no effort for me, for you— I know why it might come as a shock. But I think you’ll find, when you do admit it to yourself and to him, he might just surprise you with how quickly he says it back.”

[dignityneeded]

all fucked out

summary: will likes to see you all fucked out. 

pairing: william ‘ironhead’ miller x reader

word count: 1.8k

rating: 18+ 18+ 18+ minors turn back now.

warnings: smut, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, a few swear words, and william miller being the bringer of orgasms

@phoenixhalliwell​

(gif is NOT MINE!!)

     You weren’t sure why you were awake. Maybe it had something to do with the intense glow of the moonlight peering through your windows, or the cool floor against the fingertips of the hand that somehow fell off the bed during the night. The probable culprit was probably the throbbing soreness between your legs, a predictable side effect of the night you just had. You turned your head, convincing yourself that you were trying to get more comfortable, but your gaze immediately fell on your boyfriend, Will Miller. His hair sparkled underneath the pale light, and all the muscles in his gorgeous face had relaxed. One of his arms was draped over your back, the other under his pillow.

     A satisfied smile crept onto your face as you remembered the time you had spent together only a few hours prior. You were under him, then he was under you. The way he groaned when he bottomed out inside you for the first time in a couple days, how his cock felt at the back of your throat, you remembered it all. Still, the memory of orgasm after orgasm ripping through you made your insides throb more than they already did. Even just the thought of him pounding into you relentlessly further amplified the ache between your legs. Knowing Will, he added every single time to you came to his mental count of your orgasms.

     Shoving those thoughts to the corner of your mind, you carefully peeled his chiseled arm from your lower back, and slid out from your place in bed. One of Will’s flannels and your frantically discarded underwear were the only pieces of clothing you could reach. You managed to grip the fabric, button it up, and slide the panties up your fairly quietly, save for a few soft groans. For the first few steps towards the exit, you were considerably wobbly. A small swear fell from your lips as you gripped the doorframe to keep you standing. You took no mind, it was usual for your legs to give out a couple of times after spending an evening at home with Will. 

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, flinching at the sudden transition from carpet to kitchen tile. You silently hoped that you weren’t waking Will up with your near-silent swears and trips over objects that happened to be on the floor. 

     The hinges on the fridge squeaked as you tugged open the door. You leaned over to start looking through the brand-new groceries, and the entire bottom-half of your body begged you to stand upright again. Your throat burned as you swallowed, silently pleading with you to just get a glass of water from the tap. After a couple minutes passed, you finally gave into your own wishes. You stood up, but the fridge closed without your help. It didn’t slam, per se, but it was definitely hard enough to rule out the wind. Large arms wrapped around your hips and waist, softly pressing you against the cool door of your refrigerator.  

“Just me, darling,” your boyfriend’s voice greeted you, allowing your tense muscles to relax. You didn’t even realize that he had been peppering soft kisses to your neck until he rested his head on your shoulder. One of your arms stayed resting on his, while the other snaked up to gently scratch the top of his head. It was a sweet moment, something that had been rare in the last few months. Will had been traveling so often to give speeches that you hadn’t had the time to just enjoy each other’s company. 

     His flannel shifted on your body slightly as his arm went farther down your body. You tried desperately to suppress the groan that came out of your mouth when Will’s beefy fingertips danced on your thighs. Immediately, he pulled his hand away from your burning skin, eliciting a whine from you.

“None of that,” he breathed into your ear. “I wanna hear you.”

     You nodded as frantically as you could with his head next to yours. Will placed a small kiss onto your shoulder before continuing his methodical tapping pattern. 

“Open,” he muttered. Of course, you obliged. His large hand dragged across your skin, finally settling against your clothed heat. You squirmed under his still touch, trying to get some much-needed friction, but his other arm kept you pressed between his bare chest and the cool fridge. Will once again began to place soft kisses everywhere he could reach while his hand started to move painfully slow. 

     After a seemingly endless amount of time spent whining and making feeble attempts to buck your hips against his hand, you felt his presence leave your body completely, only leaving his hands behind. His hands spun you around, gently forcing your back against the fridge. You whimpered as his hands relocated to your fingers, sweetly lacing them together as if you weren’t worked up and sexually frustrated. Will leaned forward to connect your lips, using your interlocked fingers to keep your body from grinding onto his own. His kisses were always soft, gentle, and loving, and this one was no different. Any doubt you’ve ever had about his love for you was completely washed away from your body.

     Your back arched as his mouth traveled down your body. His hands followed, pinning your hips onto the fridge. You choked out a moan when you opened your eyes to find him kneeling down on the floor below you. Will’s mouth grazed one of your legs, habitually placing kisses onto your inner thigh. He readjusted his grip on your hips, allowing one of his hands to draw soft circles around your pussy. 

“Please, please, please!” you called out breathlessly, feeling your legs start to betray you. “Will, please!”

     For a split second, you thought he was going to continue using his finger to skim your panties forever. Every one of those thoughts and all the others like it deserted your head when he looped two of his fingers through the side of your panties, and slid them down your legs, tossing them to the side. Will had succeeded in making your knees go weak, and he knew it. For the first time, he looked up at you with a cheeky grin as he placed one of your legs on his broad shoulder. By now, the earliest rays of daylight had snuck into the kitchen window, only illuminating one half of his face. That was all he truly needed. With just a few rays, what was left of his irises seemed to glow, and his disheveled hair cast a small shadow on his forehead. 

     Will’s face inched closer to your throbbing pussy, stopping so close that you could feel his breath on your clit. Again, he pulled back, never breaking eye contact with you. This time, you have had enough of his little games.

“William fucking Miller. You have exactly 2.5 seconds to touch me in some way before I go dig up my vibrator,” you attempted to threaten

     He chuckled at your outburst, causing you to put your head back and groan at the harsh air moving between your legs.

“I’m getting there, darling. I promise.”

     Slowly, his fingers danced up your leg and towards your core. In a way that can only be described as meticulous, Will dragged his pointer finger back and forth against your clit. At this point, you were dripping wet, sensitive as hell, and begging your boyfriend to do something. Finally, he pushed a single, thick finger into your pussy. Your body jerked in response, letting out a loud moan when he curled it inside you. He pushed his finger in and out a few times before he added another. You would be lying if you said that you didn’t welcome the small stretch he gave you. As he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you, he gave your clit small licks, sending shivers down your spine. When he fully attached his mouth onto you, your other leg gave out. Will didn’t even skip a beat as he used his other hand to put your leg onto his other shoulder. You cried out strings of curses that would offend a sailor as his fingers and mouth kept working on you. His fingertips gripped your hip, making sure to avoid the already-forming bruises that were already there. As you got closer and closer to your release, you began grinding onto his lips, trying to generate even more friction. Your brain was no longer able to form coherent thoughts or words, leaving you to verbalize your pleasure through moans, whines, and whimpers. 

     Will continued to move his fingers at an unforgiving pace, causing powerful rushes to crash through your body. You were so close. Your hands darted everywhere–your breasts, Will’s hair, your head–before landing on the top of the fridge. With one well-placed thrust of Will’s fingers, your body began to shake and twitch violently. Dots crowded your vision, and you became extremely lightheaded. You were in pure bliss. Will’s movements slowed, guiding you through your orgasm. Whimpers fell from your lips as your hips tried to buck and twist your sensitive pussy away from his mouth.

     Finally, your breathing slowed, giving Will an opportunity to gently slide his fingers out of you. He placed one final kiss to your clit before standing up. Your body involuntarily slumped against his, completely and utterly pleased. A small smile of adoration wiped across his lips as you mumbled incoherently at him. He placed a kiss to your forehead before he picked you up and wrapped your legs around his hips. Your arms wrapped around his neck, returning his forehead kiss with your own, sloppy one behind his ear. Gently, he placed you down into bed, sliding in next to you soon after.

“An entire night wasn’t enough for you?” you managed to form much, much later. He turned his head to look at you, lifting his arm so you could curl into him. Will smiled down at you.

“I’m making up for lost time,” he tells you, placing yet another kiss to your forehead. “It doesn’t hurt that I like seeing you all fucked out, either.”

“So what’s the official count, then?”

“Go to sleep before I decide to add another one, darling.”

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Ruin Me

Summary: How do you get your Captain’s attention? Act up..like the little brat that you are. Pairing: Steve x Female Reader Warning(s): 100% pure, grade A smut with minimal plot, 18+, mild degradation, dom!Steve, butt stuff ;) Word Count: 2,259 Beta Reader: My darling honey bun, @supersoldiersruined-me Notes: This is my entry to @moonbeambucky’s 5K writing challenge. My prompt was “ruin me” and it’s bolded. Thank you so much for hosting this, Tara!

The two of you had danced around these emotions and lust filled looks long enough to annoy nearly everyone on the team. Now that you’re a whining needy mess, taken apart underneeth the heft of his body, you could kill yourself for waiting so long. Who would have thought it was an offhand comment and a spilled bit of water that broke the camel's back?

Steve had flung you over his shoulder in near rage and stalked away from the party. He hadn’t gone down to the residential floors in the tower, instead choosing the small pool shed. It was only a handful of paces away, but by far the most private thing on the rooftop deck. You’d begged him to reconsider. You knew damn well the walls were thin and everyone could hear. All worries flew out the window sometime after the second pulsing orgasm Steve pulled from your core; his lips buried deep in your dampness.

He flips you over, back arched against his unyielding chest. The warmth of his skin against your back adds to the heated fire dancing across your skin. Your chest is pressed against the door of the shed. If you crane your neck, you can see the rest of your teammates gathered around the pool.

Steve presses and kneads the flesh of your ass with each grind of his hips. You’re livid he’s got you soaked and doe-legged and he hasn’t taken off a scrap of clothing. You’re well past coherent sentences. You attempt to turn to undo his swim shorts but he presses you roughly back against the door, caging you in with his arms around you. The slap he delivers to the exposed skin stings. You’re certain the mark will last well into tomorrow.

“You have been such a goddamn brat for weeks now,” he huffed before spanking the other cheek so they both burn equally.

You truly had.

Sitting in Steve's lap during movie nights while squirming just the right amount until you felt his cock twitch and grow below you; then you went off to your room chipper as can be. The last mission you’d been on, you had squeezed yourself into the same broom closet as your Captain. Your hand wandered south, tracing the lines of his stealth suit while he tried to do his reconnaissance. Two days ago in the gym, you’d accidentally gotten cleaned up in the men's locker room. Steve walked out of the shower to you slathering yourself in lotion with your legs spread obscenely wide.

He’d tried to hold out; knowing full well he, as your Captain and you the subordinate, shouldn’t consider a tenth of the filth which was a constant scroll line in his head. You couldn’t find it in you to give a fuck. Worst case scenario you got to see Steve blushing and flustered. Best case- he’d crack and show you the side he’d only shown glimpses of.

You knew he was rough and dominant in bed. A couple drinking games with Asgardian mead had Natasha and you pressing him for answers. That night he let slip he’s not interested in anyone from the team for professional reasons. But he was struggling to find someone who could handle his unorthodox needs in bed.

“Being dominant is fun when you know all you’ll leave is bruises instead of broken arms”. he’d said.

With your arms pinned in an uncomfortable angle behind your back you now understood why. If it wasn’t for your similarly reinforced anatomy and superstrength, Steve would have already split you in half. It was thrilling to know he probably still could despite your enhanced abilities.

Tonight had gone similar to so many other team get togethers. Joking, teasing, food and drinks. Things had taken a turn when Sam had mentioned he had seen on the news there was an Avengers themed wet t-shirt contest to be held this weekend.

“Yeah, legal asked me if I had any interest in shutting it down. But I figured it’s a public service...in its own way.” Tony chimed in, pairing his words with his signature eyebrow waggle.

“You’re disgusting.” Natasha joked.

“Thoughts, Cap?” Sam prompted. “The girl who’s wearing your t-shirt looks like she could easily take home the prize. If you know what I mean.”

“What’s a wet t-shirt contest?”

Sam and Tony quickly explained the concept. Steve had still looked moderately perplexed. “I still don't get the objective.”

“Here Stevie. It’s like this” You grabbed a pitcher of ice water from the picnic table. “Pretend I’m a contestant.”

You dump the ice cold water across your white shirt in slow, chilling rivulets. You can feel your nipples pebbling from how brazen you were being. The lack of a bra certainly didn’t help the matter. The entire pitcher of water had reduced your top to a thin, transparent, gauze-like  imitation of the garment. Each swell and curve of your skin below was on display to your Captain and teammates.

“Would you vote for me?” You brave a glance up to his face, eyelids fluttering. His eyes are hard and cold. His jaw is set and ticks with each passing second. You lay on another thick layer of sweetness. “Does this turn you on enough for me to win?”

Someone in the background whistles low. Steve’s chest heaves with a calculated deep breath.

“Maybe I’ll ask Sam and Bucky what they think.”

Before you can act, Steve had thrown you over his shoulder. He set you down on the floor of the pool shed roughly.

“What the hell was that?”

You contemplate the truth but decide to keep up the game. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain. Just a bit of fun.”

The sound that erupts from his chest would be closer to an animalistic growl than any human sound. He backs you up against the small sink in the shed. His large hand cups you between your legs.

“Just a bit of fun?” He mocks. “So if I check right now, you wouldn’t be wet?”

It’s as much of an exciting promise as it is him asking for your consent.

“Why don’t you get down there and see for yourself.”

He’d pulled the first orgasm from you with his thick fingers and the other two with his mouth latched onto your core. Had anyone walked in, they would have seen your legs spread wide and Steve’s golden locks nestled in the middle, lapping you up like a man possessed.

You’d thought that would be the end of it. Steve had clearly proven his point. You’d been a teasing brat and he’d thoroughly punished you with each shuttering release gushing against his mouth. But he was far from done with you. Pressed against the door, your muscles strain. If he hadn’t been holding you up and bracing your arms you’re certain you’d fall to the floor.

“Have you learned your lesson, little one?

Words fail you. All you can manage are pathetic whimpers while he ghosts his lips along your neck. He nudges your legs apart roughly with a kick from his feet.

“Or should I help the message sink in? That is, if you can handle it?”

Something jogs in your brain. His question was one to which an answer was mandatory if this is to proceed further. Even when he’s taking you apart in such a rough, sensual way he finds a way to be a gentleman and check in with you.

“Ruin me, Captain.”

You’re surprised at the clarity in your words but it's nevertheless exactly what Steve needed to hear. He rips his bottoms off and runs his length against your wetness. Your bodies are nestled like spoons; curves meeting curves while he slides and ruts against your sensitive slick.

The buildup of months of teasing and foreplay has you drenched. You hear the sounds of your wet skin against his. It should be embarrassing. What little dignity you had has been thrown out the window. You never wanted this feeling to stop.

Steve’s drenched his cock in your wetness and stops. A pathetic whimper bubbles up from your throat but is choked off by a press of his cockhead against your opening. It’s not where you expect it to be. He stills.

“You thought your wet tits were what pushed me over the edge, huh? Little did you know, your Captain has always been more of an ass man.”

Your core clenches at the thought. It feels left out knowing what he’s asking. Instead answering him directly, you push your hips back against his ever so slightly. The soft head of his cock slips into your tight ring.

“You stretch me so good, Captain.” You attempt to push back further but his strong hands prevent you.

“You like feeling my cock in your tight asshole; knowing our friends are just outside this door?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I thought so. You seem to be enjoying this a bit too much for someone who was being a little brat.” You mentally slap yourself. “I’m not so sure you deserve this.”

Without warning, his fingers are on your core again. He draws slow lazy circles around your clit never touching you exactly where you need. The overstimulation from his previous actions have you ringing like a tuning fork. Every so often, the circles stop and he swipes up the center of your lips; giving your your clit the friction it needs. Your core flutters and clenches and his cock slips a tiny bit further into you.

That’s how he tortures you. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since your wet t-shirt ploy. Minutes or hours. It doesn’t matter. The only thing you can think about is the pulsing need coming from your cunt and the dizzyingly slow stretch of Steve’s cock in your ass.

Bit by bit he enters your. His level of control is impressive and infuriating. One hand plays in your wetness with expertise and the other doing it’s job of locking your hips into place. You’re his. Completely.

“Steve,” you pant. It’s the only word that’s broken through the chorus of curses and pleads. “Steve!”

The second one has more urgency. He’s edged you so painfully close to your release only to move his hands off your sensitive clit and back to your surrounding wetness. This time though, his fingers press heavier pressure against the nub.

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes Steve!”

You gulp air but the moaning has your throat parched.

“I’m sorry! I need to cum.”

“Sorry for what?”

He growls the words into the shell of your ear. If it wasn’t shameful enough that you’re putty in his hands simply with his fingers and his stiff cock only halfway in your ass, the fact he’s forcing you to speak now was too much.

“You know why.” The pads of his fingers press harder against you.

“Say it.”

You’ve never heard his voice this low. A fresh gush of wetness floods his fingers.

“Say it now. Or I’ll walk out of here; leaving you gaping and needy.”

“I’m sorry for being a tease.”

“You must have forgotten who you’re talking to, little one,” he tutts.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips. You can feel the smirk of his lips against your skin.

He’s pushing your resolve further than you thought possible.

“I’m sorry for being a tease, Captain.”

“There you go, little one.” With a kiss far to gentle for the mood, he praises you. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

You whimper and twitch as his hand still works it’s unyielding rhythm against you. His cock stands in stark contrast as it’s never made a full thrust inside you.

“Let’s get you to cum, little one.”

He kisses your neck once and presses two of his thick digits into your cunt. The hand on your hips pulls you flush to him and seats the full length of him inside you. The jump from being teased to long to being fully filled nearly has your legs give out.

“How does it feel to be so full, little one? You like my cock inside you?”

They’re questions he can’t possibly expect you to answer unless it’s with moans. His fingers massage steady pressure against the spot you need him most inside you. He’s still unmoving inside your ass. His voice is strained and his breathing seems to quicken. Both of your holes flutter and clench around him.

“Cum, sweetheart. I wanna feel you.”

A damn breaks inside you and tingles erupt across your skin. Warmth radiates from your core outwards as your orgams rocks through you with an intensity you couldn’t have expected. When the first wave calms, you feel Steve’s warmth flood you from behind. The aftershocks of your release have you twitch and clench around him. He’s filled you so deeply there’s nowhere for it to go. It drips like honey down your thighs.

It’s a long while before either of you move. When you’re disentangled, he turns you to face him. You’re ready for him to brush this away. After all, you know he’s your superior officer. He places a palm on each side of your face. The gentle press of his lips on your forehead first, then your nose, and finally your lips has you surprised.

“For the record, I love it when you’re a brat.” You smile and meet his lips once more, savoring the taste of him.

“Maybe I’ll act up again sometime.”

“I’d like that, sweetheart.”

[gukyi]

the snow globe effect | knj

summary: when a freak blizzard hits and leaves you and kim namjoon trapped in the library together on the eve of new year’s eve, you realize that when life hands you lemons, you make lemon snow cones. 

{librarian!au}

pairing: namjoon x female reader word count: 10k genre: fluff warnings: ill-advised usage of book shelving carts. please don’t do this i can’t be held liable. it feels like slow burn except it’s snowing, so it’s slow freeze. a/n: happy new year, everyone!!!! here’s my gift to you to round out 2018. quite frankly, i think that this is some of the best writing i’ve done all year. i had so much fun writing this fic, so i hope you guys enjoy!! promise we’ll get back to gukyi’s regularly scheduled programming (aka i’ll start writing the things i say i’ll write) soon!

fic playlist: promise by jimin, crystal snow by bts, and moonchild by rm.

“Happy New Year’s,” your coworker, an elderly woman named Gretchen who shows you pictures of her daughter with her wife and their five dogs when you’re on break, says as she gathers her belongings from her desk, leaving just you and Namjoon to man the rest of the library. Not that it’s busy in the slightest—nobody wants to go to the library two days before New Year’s Eve when they have all of their last-minute party shopping to do—but still, it’s a decently large library.

“Bye, Gretch,” you say casually, scanning in a couple of books, the familiar beeping sound ringing out from the ten-year-old computer in front of you. “Tell your daughter I said hello.”

“Will do,” she chuckles. “Hope you guys will be alright. They’re saying it’s supposed to blizzard tonight.”

You shrug. Nobody really believes the weather forecasters anymore, not after the freak incident a couple of months ago when they said a surprise October snowstorm would hit the area and then it was sunny and warm. “I’m sure we’ll be okay. It hasn’t even started snowing yet.” You look up at the big glass windows across the library just to double check that it is as overcast and chilly as it was fifteen minutes ago.

“Alright, but stay warm,” she orders with a smile before waving goodbye to you and Namjoon, who’s standing in the back with a complimentary employee scone in his mouth. You don’t think you’ll have any problem with that—you’re wearing your thickest sweater and the library always has its heat on high—but you do pull up the weather on your phone just to see for yourself what the meteorologists are saying about the supposed incoming snowstorm.

WINTER STORM WARNING IN EFFECT FROM 4PM TO 12AM. 18 INCHES OF SNOW EXPECTED. TRAVEL DELAYS MAY OCCUR. STAY INSIDE.

“Psh, yeah, right,” you mutter to yourself, this feeling too much like a boy who cried wolf kind of situation. Not that you think the weather is a fluke, but you can’t say you have too much faith in the predictions. The day before New Year’s Eve and a freak snowstorm? As if. It’s your last day of work for the year—no library with its metaphorical head screwed on straight would be open on New Year’s Eve—and you only have two more hours before you’re free for the next few days. And all you really want to do is stuff your face with the obligatory New Year’s Eve party hors d'oeuvres.

“You know,” a voice says from behind you, deep and husky and warm. You can feel Namjoon’s body heat on your back, the thick cardigan wrapped around his body doing nothing but increasing the local temperature. “They might actually be right this time.” You whip around in the spinny chair to face Namjoon directly, scaring the apparent bejeezus out of him as he jumps up with all of his might, like a cat introduced to a self-moving mouse toy. “They as in the, uh, the meteorologists. Those are the they. I mean—”

“I know what you mean, Namjoon,” you say, calming him. His eyes are wide behind his thick-rimmed black glasses. He looks like he’s about to shrink into the beige cardigan that’s already on the verge of swallowing him whole.

“It’s because there’s a low pressure front over us right now,” Namjoon says, doing that thing you’ve noticed he does whenever he gets nervous, which is becoming wordy. He doesn’t talk much normally—too busy checking items in or shelving books or making jokes with the old ladies who are library regulars—and it’s not like when he does open his mouth he becomes a stuttering, bumbling disaster, but any time you strike up a meaningless conversation with him it turns into a word train. “So this low pressure area, which is called an extratropical cyclone, pushes warm, moist air up and if it’s over a mass of cold land then the cold air will cause the moisture to turn into snow. And apparently there’s a lot of water vapor in the air right now and it’s been below freezing for about a week, so they’re saying snow.” He seems to want to talk more, mouth opening again, but he shuts it immediately.

“Didn’t know I’d be getting a Weather Channel lesson today,” you comment snidely, smiling to yourself. Namjoon looks frozen solid, the only body movement his blinking eyes. “I’m kidding. Thanks, Namjoon. Maybe you should drop this job and go become a meteorologist. You’d certainly be much better than the geezers on TV.”

“No, I couldn’t, I don’t look good on camera.” A lie. Namjoon doesn’t know you think this, but he always looks good. Lived in. Cozy. Like he dressed for himself and not for anyone or anywhere else. “Besides, I’m having enough trouble paying for college as it is. Another degree is not in the cards.”

“What do you major in, again?”

“I’m doing a double in political science and philosophy,” Namjoon says like he’s talking about the cereal he had for breakfast this morning.

“Maybe it’s just because we’re on break right now, but those words just broke my brain,” you tell him intellectually. You’re pretty sure Namjoon could toss you into next year if you were to ever challenge him to a friendly game of Employee Jeopardy!. “So do you just… study meteorology on the side? A hobby, perhaps?”

Namjoon chuckles. “No, I just thought it was interesting. Especially because of that freak not-snowstorm a couple of months ago. No one can really be sure about anything anymore.”

“If that is not the mood,” you hum in solidarity. “But it’s not snowing right now.”

Namjoon looks up at the gigantic windows that your back is turned to, expression unsure. “I don’t know, those white globs outside look like snow to me.”

Shocked, you whip your chair around to find it, lo and behold, already beginning to flurry outside, the sky raining down gently, not like it’s crying but like it’s just bitten into a powdered sugar munchkin from Dunkin’. What? It wasn’t even precipitating in the slightest five minutes ago. Gretchen said goodbye to the both of you, the last two suckers left watching over this barren wasteland of a library, and you swore you could make out some sky behind those clouds.

Now it’s dark, snowing, and you’re stuck here for the next two hours.

“Already? Jeez, that was fast,” you say, flabbergasted. You just made yourself look like a total fool in front of your supernaturally intelligent coworker, and now he’s watching as you eat your words like they’re a three-course meal.

“The weather likes to creep up on you like that,” Namjoon says sagely. “Like you don’t realize it’s coming until it’s already arrived.”

You huff. You hate admitting when things are right and even worse, when they’re true.

“I still doubt it’s going to snow eighteen inches though, right?” You say, trying to retain at least a small semblance of your dignity. Though at this point, you may as well just chuck it out of the library window and let it float away with the rest of the snowflakes. “That seems like an awful lot.”

“You never know,” Namjoon says. “But right now, looks like a bit fat zero on the ground to me.”

“Pretty sure that that’s just because it started snowing like, two minutes ago.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Namjoon says, forcing out a chuckle that sounds more like a horse whinny.

You don’t respond, too busy mentally cursing the meteorologists for being right about the snow. Or cursing the snow for letting the meteorologists be right. Regardless, Namjoon takes your silence as cue to go back to doing the rest of his own work, scanning in recently-dropped-off books before placing them on a cart, ready to be shelved. You, on the other hand, twist back and forth in the office chair with your feet unprofessionally resting on one of the stools you use to get to the high shelves as you organize the online requests from other libraries in the area.

Most days, working goes like this. You and Namjoon are in your own little worlds, doing your own little things, occasionally breaking out of your personal bubbles to crack a bad joke to another coworker. You do your duties as a library employee and mind your own goddamn business. You and Namjoon aren’t close. Just friendly. Enough so that it warrants a mutual smile when you two pass each other on campus once in a blue moon, but nothing more than that. Nothing more than the press of tight lips together as you acknowledge each other’s existence, both during work and outside of it. Most days, this is how it is.

“See you,” another one of the regulars, a girl who’s working on her graduate degree at your university, says as she’s walking towards the exit of the library, coat zipped up tight around her body.

“Leaving already?” You ask. “You’re typically one of the ones we have to kick out at closing.”

She smiles guiltily. She’s told you before how much she prefers working in the quiet of the library rather than her own apartment. “Yeah, since it’s snowing. I’m worried that they’re gonna shut down the buses.”

“It hasn’t gotten that bad just yet, has it?” You ask, taking another quick glance at the window. The gentle flurries have turned into something much more menacing, big clumps of snow that land on the ground with thuds instead of light pitter-patters.

“No, but I hear it’s going to. Better to leave now than to be trapped,” she says. “But I’ll see you guys in the New Year, right?”

If only you had the luxury of leaving the library. “Yeah, see you. Hope you get home safely.”

“Thanks,” she says with a grin, way too warm for this time of year when everything is just variations of cold. “I hope they’ve salted the roads enough, at least for the time being. Wish me luck. Bye, Namjoon.” She waves to him as she passes by the adult circulation desk where the two of you are camped out, the automatic door hissing as it opens for her.

When she’s gone, Namjoon places the book he was sneakily reading under the desk—Being and Nothingness by Jean-Paul Sarte—on the table, the chair creaking as he stands up. “I’m gonna do a lap and see if anybody else is here.”

You nod as proof that you heard him, but say nothing. Namjoon walks out in front of the desk before making a right, heading to check all of the usual places where the usual suspects will hide amongst the bookshelves, hoping not to be found. You severely doubt anybody’s left in this building, the snow making for a major turn-off for library attendance. The girl that left is frequently the last patron in the library on normal nights. You’ll be genuinely shocked if Namjoon finds anybody else.

Sure enough, Namjoon returns empty-handed. Not that that automatically means nobody else is here—he’s not allowed to kick people out until official closing time—but you can tell from the resigned look on his face that he and you are the last two poor, unfortunate souls left to rot in the library for the next two hours.

In a way, it’s sort of comforting, knowing that you’re the last two people in here. Sure, someone could waltz right in through the automatic doors without batting an eye, settling in until closing time, but you don’t think anyone will want to make a purposeful trip out to the library on a night like this, in weather like this. It’s dark and snowy and cold and leaving the comfort of your own private residence is probably the last thing the general public wants to do.

You have the library to yourselves for the rest of the day. Then, the moment the clock strikes six, you’re out in an instant.

“Nobody?” You ask him. He shakes his head, settling back into his chair and picking up his book. “Damn. Don’t think I’ve ever been alone in the library before.”

“You’re not alone,” Namjoon says without looking up. He licks his pointer finger before turning the page. “I’m here.”

The clock striking five o’clock means that you only have one more hour of sitting in silence as you finish up the last of your work responsibilities before being free. The clock striking five o’clock also means that for roughly the past hour it’s been snowing, the flakes getting thicker and thicker as time slowly ticks onwards. And it also means that because of all of those weather conditions Namjoon was mentioning earlier, there’s already a hearty layer of snow on the ground, blanketing the Earth in white around you. It seems to have even bested the salt they’ve put on the roads, a thinner but still formidable layer of white covering the asphalt.

This does not bode well.

“How deep does it look now,” you deadpan to the boy across from you. He’s gotten half of the way through the book within the past hour. It looks to be about an inch-and-a-half thick.

Namjoon pauses his reading, peers out the window, and tilts his head to the side slightly, thinking. “Looks like three or four inches.”

“Ugh,” you say. It’s the only conversation you have for the next forty minutes.

Namjoon is nice and easygoing, but also incredibly inoffensive. On more than one occasion you’ve walked into work and totally overlooked his presence. Not because he’s quiet as a mouse or always disappearing, but because he’s almost never doing anything that appears on your radar. He’ll be shelving books while you’re at the checkout desk, then he’ll walk behind where you’re seated and start doing work of his own, and then you get the fright of your life when he drops a book and it clatters to the floor. But inoffensiveness isn’t something you have the right to complain about, especially not in a library work environment where 90% of your day is spent sitting behind a desk watching as the seconds go by. Namjoon’s not a coworker you’re allowed to complain about.

The snow is piling up outside. Namjoon’s getting deeper and deeper into the enormous book in his hands. Your phone battery is slowly decreasing as you play Piano Tiles over and over.

This is how your days normally go.

It’s actually a real fucking shame that you and Namjoon know each other only and exclusively through work. It’s a shame because Namjoon is a genuinely decent human being who you’re almost positive you’d be friends with if you interacted outside of a work environment. And it’s a shame because you know that, if given the chance, the right time and the right place, you’d get to know him for who he is and not who he appears to be.

In your hands, rudely interrupting what is likely your thirty-fourth round of Piano Tiles of the hour, your phone vibrates with a text message.

Nayoung (5:46PM): hey will u be alright?? i know ur still at work but Nayoung (5:46PM): they’ve shut down public transport bc of the blizzard Nayoung (5:47PM): idk how you’ll get home

What.

“How deep is the snow now?” You ask loudly, breaking the peaceful silence of the giant clock ticking away and the heavy yet soft plunks of snow on the window across from you.

Namjoon looks up from his book, less than a quarter left to read, and squints to look at the snow outside. Not that there’s much to look at other than a blanket of white and a navy blue sky, areas closer to the library illuminated in an ugly haze of orange ground lights. “Looks like it’s half a foot.”

“Fuck,” you say, collapsing back in your spinny chair. You’re sitting in the one with the funky back, so with the force of your figure pressing against it, it dislodges itself, making your breath hitch in fright as you momentarily feel like you’re falling.

“Whoa, you alright?” Namjoon asks, eyes wide. He looks too scared to come over to see if he can help you, like he thinks he’ll only make it worse if he does.

You topple off of the chair, landing on the carpet below you with a thud. It’s rough under your fingertips, and tickles the exposed skin between your socks and your cuffed jeans. With a great big push, you pop the backing of the chair back into its place and dust yourself off. You find that the floor of the library is actually quite comfortable, as floors go.

Tired, inconvenienced, and in despair, you huff to yourself, camped out on the floor as Namjoon watches you from above, where he’s seated in an actual chair and not on the carpet like a toddler, with concern and fear lacing his features. “I hate the snow. Why couldn’t there just be less water vapor in the air? Why couldn’t the extratropical cyclone be over a land mass that isn’t balls cold?”

Namjoon’s blinking at you like you’ve sprouted three heads and a handlebar moustache.

“What?” You ask, almost challenging him. You feel bad for being so aggressive—you’re usually much more laid back when you’re working, but desperate times (snow) call for desperate measures (unbridled rage).

He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. His expression is soft. “I didn’t know you actually listened to me.”

The surprise in his voice makes you, for some reason, sad. Like he didn’t expect you to actually be paying attention to him when he was telling you something, having a conversation with you. Like it’s normal for him to assume that the other person isn’t listening to what he’s saying when he speaks.

“Of course I was listening,” you say quietly, much quieter than the rest of your unusually boisterous disposition. “I always listen to you.”

It’s not much, not when the only times you regularly interact are when you’re asking him a question about a book that a patron checked out or complaining about how many overdue items you’ve had to track down, but it makes him smile to himself, warm and dimpled.

“The truth is,” you say, getting up off of the ground so you can speak to him without having to crane your neck, and also so it feels less like a kindergarten classroom and more like, perhaps, a library, “I’m mad because I underestimated how bad the snow would actually be, and now they’ve shut down the buses because of the snow and I have no way of getting home. So.” You follow up with a couple of finger guns for added effect.

“Wait, they shut down the buses?” Namjoon asks, eyes going wide, made even wider by the distortion of his prescription glasses. He sighs, but you can barely see his chest move under his cardigan. “Looks like I’m in the same boat as you.”

You pause. “I didn’t know you took the bus.” You’ve had the same shifts more than once. You think you’d remember seeing him getting on the bus at the same time as you.

“I don’t,” Namjoon says with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “My friend Yoongi normally picks me up since he works at the music store nearby. We try to coordinate our shifts, but he stayed home today to produce, so I had to take the bus. Or, I did, until this happened.”

“So, we’re stuck here,” you deadpan. Namjoon nods.

Saying it out loud makes it real, which is your least favorite part about this. Saying it out loud solidifies the fate you already knew you were destined for but were foolishly hoping would be wrong. Now that you’ve declared it, now that Namjoon agrees, you know you’re doomed. There’s nothing else you can do—not when the blanket of snow outside is only getting higher and the weather doesn’t look like it’s getting any lighter.

At least the library’s heating still works.

“Great,” you say sarcastically, making the intelligent and executive decision not to lean back in your chair for fear of falling off of it again. You lean forward onto the desk, elbows resting against the surface as your hands cup your chin.

Namjoon looks like he has no idea what to do. So he gets up and gets a drink from the water dispenser, flipping the tap so cold water pours into the insulated water bottle he always brings to work with him. He returns to his seat, having almost finished his book, when—

“Your friend produces?” You ask him, and there is really nothing quite like the way Namjoon’s face lights up like the fireworks on New Year’s Eve when you mention his friend. Like all he wants to do is talk about the people close to him.

“Yeah! He does,” Namjoon says enthusiastically, with a head nod so violent it causes his glasses to slide down the bridge of his nose, resting on the button tip. “He’s really into music production, always has been. He learned the piano when he was little and now he works on songs for smaller artists from the area. One time he skipped on buying milk for us for a whole month—he’s in charge of the groceries—because he wanted to save money for a new synth, but I wasn’t able to eat my cereal so I just bought one for him instead. Actually, he—”

“You guys live together?” You interrupt, although you don’t really want to, not with the way Namjoon’s expression has lightened, animated itself.

“What? Oh, yeah, we’ve been living together for two years now.” Namjoon nods. “Sometimes I’ll come home to him blasting some new piece he’s working on, or hear him rapping into the kind of crappy microphone he’s got attached to his desk in his room. He makes his own music, too, and I think that he’s great and that he should send out demos, but he says he doesn’t want to get involved with the mainstream music industry. Says it’s too cutthroat. Which, I agree, but I think he would be such a refresher, you know? Because he’s so down-to-earth and just a generally wonderful person. I have some tracks of his on my phone, do you wanna listen?”

You don’t really have a choice—not that you were going to say no—because Namjoon’s already fumbling for his headphones, fingers digging through his pockets to pull out the white cords, knotted together in a tangle. Namjoon doesn’t need headphones—the library is empty save for the two of you, and it’s closing time now—but his fingers quickly work to untangle them. As he’s doing so, he rolls over to you, closing the gap between your chairs and your bodies as he finally pulls the last knot loose.

Namjoon hands over the earpiece for you to have, the shortness of the wires bringing you closer than your chairs can manage on their own. Next to him, you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, thick and warm from his knit cardigan. Maybe from the way his eyes are all lit up, too.

He fiddles around on his phone briefly before pressing play, and it’s quiet for a second before you can hear the rough, gravelly voice of who you assume to be Yoongi echoing throughout the headphones. There’s an anger to his voice, but not so much a furious kind of anger as much as it is a determined kind of anger. A resilience, like he’s rapping this to prove someone else wrong. It’s good. It’s brand new, but refreshing. The song cuts to some instrumentals, the intensity of them matching that of his voice, which then fades out as the second verse begins.

But this voice is different. It’s thicker in a way, less raw and jagged, smooth around the edges. Warm, but with that same determination in the tone. Then, you realize—

“Oh my God, is this you?” You ask in shock, wondering why you didn’t recognize the owner of the voice the moment you heard it. Now that you know who it is it seems obvious, like it had been staring you in the face all of this time.

Namjoon blushes, cheeks turning red when he notices that you’ve recognized him. He sounds different in this song than he does at work, loud like he wants to be heard, mad like he has something to be said, but still the same. Still the same honeyed tone, like sugar dissolving into tea.

The song ends, and you hand the earphone back to Namjoon, letting the pads of your fingertips rest in his palm.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says shyly, curling into himself. “I—I don’t rap, often. Not as much as I’d like, but Yoongi insisted I write this verse myself. I’m not as good as he is—”

“Are you kidding?” You say, shocked but pleasantly so, like you’ve just gotten a wonderful surprise. “It was amazing! Namjoon, it was so good. I’m serious.”

“It was all him, really—”

“No, you were on that track too. You sounded great, Namjoon. Like a rapper. A real one, too. Maybe it doesn’t have the music industry flair but that was real music, Namjoon. I loved it,” you say, insistent that Namjoon get it through his thick skull that his contribution was worthy. “You and your friend both have a future in music-making. It was beautiful, Namjoon.” Then, “Your voice is beautiful.”

Namjoon blushes again, like he can hardly handle such massive compliments. You think he deserves more than the measly flatterings you can give him, like perhaps a star on Hollywood Boulevard, or at least a Grammy or three, but for right now, this is all you have to offer.

“Thank you,” he says softly, smiling to himself.

“If you ever make more music, Namjoon,” you tell him honestly, truthfully, meaningfully, “I’d be happy to listen to it.”

Namjoon grins.

If you thought time passed slowly while you were at work, it somehow passes even slower now that you’re not. You think that, at this point in the night, you’d give anything to just have more library-provided tasks to keep your mind active and your hands busy, because you’ve played so many rounds of Piano Tiles that when you close your eyes you can still see the flashing squares of white and black. Curse your responsible nature and your desire to always finish 100% of the things assigned to you before the day is done. Now, you have nothing left to do. Next to you, Namjoon’s placed his feet up on the desk, bright yellow argyle socks peeking out from under his clean-cut slacks. He finished the book ten minutes ago and looks equally as bored as you do, resorting to fooling around on his phone because nothing else in his immediate vicinity looks interesting enough to read. You think you see a Nicholas Sparks novel in the corner over there, untouched.

It would be different if you were alone. If you were the only worker left in the library as the snow settled down outside, trapping you inside like frosting cementing a gingerbread house to its platform, then it would feel futile. Feel like an exercise in solitary confinement, though you’d probably end up resigning yourself to reading the plenty of books at your disposal.

But you’re not alone. You’re with Namjoon. Namjoon, who you don’t really know outside of the library, have been given glimpses of who he really is through things like his fashion, his word choice, his music. Namjoon may not be the life of the party but he’s not someone to forget, either. You’ve always said that if you were given the opportunity to get to know him for who he is, you’d take it. Now, the opportunity is staring you in the face. You’d be a fool not to listen to it.

Feeling like a kid dragged out to a party with his parents that forgot his DS at home, you decide to take matters into your own hands, refusing to suffer in this non-awkward awkward silence any longer.

“Come on,” you declare, standing up from your seat, putting your phone facedown on the desk as you do. Namjoon looks up from his spot in the chair opposite yours, and his phone is low enough for you to be able to see what he’s doing. He’s on a color-by-numbers adult coloring book app. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” Namjoon asks, but he doesn’t say it snarkily, like he’s not expecting a very intelligent response in return. He asks it genuinely, out of pure confusion.

“Around. The library’s big and we have nothing to do.” This is starting to feel like a red-eye flight. “We should stretch our legs, get in our daily steps.”

“I don’t exercise much,” Namjoon says to himself, but he obliges, getting up alongside you. He places his phone right next to yours.

It’s not like you have a lot of ground to cover. Despite your library’s size, you’re still restricted to it. You can’t leave it because you’d end up locked out if you did, so it’s assumed its position as Your Entire World until further notice. Maybe the snow will let up eventually.

“What do you want to do while we go on our walk?” Namjoon asks by your side. You’re already turning the corner into the children’s department.

You think for a second. More silence would be peaceful and comforting, but you’ve been sitting in relative total quietness for God knows how long already, and your mind needs stimulating again. It feels like it’s been dormant for 84 years.

“Let’s talk,” you say, keeping your eyes trained on anywhere except him. It’s weird, being this close to him. He’s not a stranger but you can hardly call him an acquaintance, either. And the label coworker feels too formal, too professional, too restricted. You’re college students who just so happen to be employed at the same library. You’re not office workers who see each other on a nine to five basis without ever saying hello. It’s different. “Tell me anything.”

Namjoon seems to ponder this for a moment, trying to think of something to say that isn’t the standard ice breaker. You’re not here to listen to him say, “Hi, I’m Namjoon and I like eating pizza.” You’re here for something real.

“Did you know that crabs can swim sideways?” He asks, turning to face you. It is the strangest and most wonderful answer to the prompt you could ever think of. He’s grinning. He must love this.

“No, I didn’t,” you say. “Now that I think about it, actually, it makes sense. If they can walk sideways, there’s no reason why they can’t swim sideways.”

“Yeah!” Namjoon says enthusiastically, bouncing on his feet. “It’s cool, isn’t it? Crabs are a lot cooler than we give them credit for.”

This is the nicest conversation about crustaceans you think you’ve ever had. “That’s really interesting. Do you have any more facts about crabs I should know?”

“They communicate through sound,” Namjoon continues. He must have an entire bank of crab facts up in his brain. “Drumming, mostly. And this weird flapping sort of sound. But a lot of crab species are solitary, so they don’t get to talk much. It makes me sad.”

“Don’t be sad,” you say, reaching out to hold his arm. Not his hand. Specifically not his hand, despite your original trajectory being closer to his hand than his arm. “It’s kind of like us, right? We don’t talk much.”

“We’re talking now,” Namjoon says. “And we should talk more.”

“Well,” you say, passing by the play area, where wooden rocking horses and big Lego blocks sit idly, waiting for the next kid to entertain for the duration of their brief attention span. “We’ll just have to work on that, don’t you think?”

“Tell me something about you,” Namjoon insists. Not that the crab fact had any sort of relation to him, but you learned something anyway. You learned that crabs can swim sideways, and you learned that Namjoon is delicate. Soft. Selfless enough to tell you about something he loves rather than something he is when asked a question. “I think you’ve heard enough of me talking about crabs.”

“What?” You say, feigning offense. “I would never. I love your crab facts, thank you very much.”

He grins and it makes you wonder how many times he’s whipped out the crab facts to an unsuspecting crowd. Makes you wonder if everyone loves listening to him as much as he loves talking about them. He gives you a nudge, prompting you to answer him.

“There’s not really much to tell,” you admit. You’re not the most interesting person. Certainly not when you’re next to Namjoon, who seems to know a little bit about everything. “I don’t have a bank of random but welcome factoids like you do.”

“Well, you must have something to tell me,” Namjoon declares. “Everyone has a story.”

“Okay, but some stories are like children’s books and some stories are like Tolstoy’s War and Peace,” you reason.

Namjoon frowns at your comparison. “Both equally as fulfilling,” he protests. “It just depends on who’s listening in.” So wise, so philosophical. Anything that even borders on self-deprecation Namjoon turns into a life lesson. He’s like a college professor. Or a grandfather. “We’re surrounded by books. You must have one of your own.”

“So insistent,” you muse fondly. Normally you would find such encouragement to be pressuring and awkward, but it’s not that way with Namjoon. It’s less feeling like you have to talk about yourself out of obligation, and more like you’re going to talk about yourself because you want to.

“I just want to get to know you,” Namjoon admits guiltily, like it’s a crime for him to have such a desire.

“Did you know I changed my major three times?” You prompt, making him raise an eyebrow. It’s no secret you’re an indecisive piece of trash but it’s a better conversation-starter than “My favorite animal is a dog” or “I like to sleep.” And it makes Namjoon raise an eyebrow in intrigue.

“Really?” He asks, all lit up. “What did you want to be originally?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I was an English major, then a history major, and now I’m in linguistics. Not necessarily the most employable of fields.”

Namjoon makes the kind of sound a balloon makes when it’s losing air. “Are you kidding, those are super employable fields! Anything can turn into a job if you try hard enough. I mean, I’m literally majoring in philosophy, but since it’s something I enjoy I’ll find a way to make a career out of it. Maybe not something super lucrative, but something that will make me happy. That’s important.”

“Doesn’t music make you happy?” You ask, wondering why he didn’t major in that instead. He seems to know an awful lot about the subject—more than you do, for sure—but it’s as though he doesn’t see a future where he and music can be joined together.

This question renders Namjoon relatively silent. You’ve rounded the children’s department, weaving through the back bookshelves lined with nonfiction, Dewey decimal markers decorating the tops of the shelves so that patrons know where to find the book they’re looking for. Namjoon’s eyes are tracing the outline of each book you pass, scanning the titles that peek out on the covers, the spines.

“It does,” he admits, perhaps more to himself than to you. It’s not as though you couldn’t figure that out for yourself—no matter if he’s talking about himself or his friend, his face lights up like nothing else when music is the topic of conversation. “But it’s not really something that’s a trustworthy career path. I wouldn’t want to go into music performance or anything. I just—”

“Who says it needs to be a trustworthy career path?” You interrupt. You feel bad for doing it so often, but Namjoon needs to hear something about this that isn’t coming from himself. “You don’t need to rearrange your whole life around music. You can still major in political science and philosophy and make music. You can make a name for yourself through the songs you and your friend produce without having to change your major three times like I did.”

Namjoon looks like he doesn’t really know what to say to that.

“Maybe it’s just me, but you have a future in music-making. There’s a whole world out there for you and your friend to explore. You shouldn’t hole yourself up in your apartment together spitting fire that nobody will ever hear.” In an attempt to get his full attention you stop in your tracks, turning to face him so he’s forced to face you, as well. His eyes are bright, dark brown, deep and endless but laden with flashes of worry, of doubt. “You’re good at so many things, Namjoon. It’d be a fucking crime if you didn’t do as much of them as you could.”

Namjoon smiles.

You keep walking.

There are only so many times you can walk the perimeter of the library before getting immensely bored. By the third lap, you begin to figure that there are better ways to spend your time until the snow subsides and the local transportation system starts back up. Next to you, Namjoon’s also getting restless, fiddling with his cardigan and his glasses and fingers. Every now and then you will point something only remotely funny to him, like the title of a book or trees outside, and the two of you will chuckle halfheartedly to yourselves before settling back into silence. It’s not that awkward, or at the very least, the two of you are trying your hardest not to make it awkward, but there comes a point when you need to stop before the Dewey decimal signs are ingrained in your mind.

You could, you know, read, but no matter how much you love being surrounded by books and cultivating a love for them in others, reading seems remarkably boring right now. Maybe it’s just the fact that if you wanted to read you could while on the job. Being here, being trapped, and most importantly, being unsupervised has created this sort of incessant desire to disobey the laws of the library. The feeling of freedom makes you want to see how free you can be.

After all, there’s no one else here to stop you.

“How much do you work out?” You ask. Perhaps it’s a random question, but you’ve got a purpose to it.

Namjoon looks caught off guard. He looks down at his body, at the cardigan wrapped around his torso making him look much buffer than what’s underneath, and smiles sheepishly. “Not much. Not at all, really. Most of the time I burn my calories by slipping in the shower.”

That is the most endearing thing he could have responded with.

“Well,” you say, coming to a halt in front of one of the empty adult circulation carts. Typically, the pages will fill these with books to place back on shelves, but now there’s an empty one right in front of you, and a whole entire library to explore. “Think you can push me around on one of them?”

Namjoon looks awfully frightened the entire time, even as he’s steadying the metal contraption so that you can settle on top of it. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? I don’t think these carts were built to hold this much weight, Y/N—”

“Psh, it’ll be fine. I’ve shelved books the thickness of your head on these carts and everything’s been fine,” you say, hoping to God that you don’t come crashing through it because breaking it means paying for a new one. Unless you and Namjoon can come up with an incredibly believable lie, but you’ll burn that bridge when you come to it.

“I don’t know about this, Y/N,” Namjoon says, but he doesn’t seem to be making an attempts at stopping you. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of some dumbass cart.”

“If I do, will you kiss it better?” You ask, sort of joking (but also sort of not). Namjoon freezes up for a moment, tensing his body as he grips tightly onto the handles of the cart. “Come on,” you say to break the ice forming amongst his bones. “You’re the truck driver and I’m the cargo. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“This is nuts,” he mutters to himself, but instead of worry lacing his features there’s a smile in its place. He pulls you away from the wall where the cart was parked and begins to push you, slowly and slowly as he gains momentum. You nearly topple off the damn thing in the beginning, but you keep your ground by quickly grabbing onto the handles, where Namjoon’s hands rest. The touch is fleeting, warm and soft but only for the moment it takes for you to regain your balance, but you swear you can feel little sparks where your skin touched his.

After a couple longer passages between bookshelves, Namjoon’s developed something of a rhythm, like he’s pushing a million watermelons in a shopping cart in front of him.

“Are you still okay?” Namjoon asks loudly, over the sounds of your giggles at the rush of adrenaline through your body, the feeling of your bloodstream, electrified.

“Yes, I am, keep going, keep going!” You encourage, smiling and smiling and smiling because it’s like you’ve created your own little rollercoaster, right inside of this library on a cold, snowy night. God, if your manager saw the two of you doing this, she’d probably fire you instantly. Unfortunately for her, she’s safely tucked inside her warm house. Sucks.

At this point even Namjoon’s broken out into a beautiful grin, mouth open wide like there isn’t a care in the world that’s crossing his mind. He’s awfully strong, much stronger than he gives himself credit for, and so despite the fact that you’re sitting on top of a rickety metal book cart with nothing else to keep you padded and safe, it feels like you’re in control.

Famous last words, really.

Amongst all your giggles and laughter and bubbles, Namjoon turns a corner too roughly, too quickly, and suddenly you find the cart colliding with one of the newer displays, a smaller bookshelf with all of the latest releases lining the wood. It’s not so much a head-on collision as it is Namjoon t-boning the damn thing, the side of the cart smashing together with the front of the display.

You feel a jolt run through but you’re still safe and sound, albeit your breath is a bit quicker. The cart didn’t take much of the damage, but what has is the bookshelf, books clattering to the floor at your feet as Namjoon curls back into his cardigan like a pillbug.

For a second, you’re silent.

And then, you laugh. You burst into giggles, letting the wave of hysteria wash over you at how fun this is, no matter the damage you’ve caused. Things can be fixed. They can be replaced. This is a library—people have treated the books more horribly than you have. There are much worse things to do to the books then cause them to clatter to the ground from a bookshelf that’s as high as your waist.

With Namjoon still steadying the cart, you hop off of it, moving it out of the way so that you and Namjoon can clean up the mess you’ve made. This is by far the most fun you’ve ever had on the days right before New Year’s Eve, when you’re usually struggling to complete some last-minute resolutions from the closing year or out shopping for the subpar party you’ve been invited to attend.

Together, you and Namjoon kneel down to redo the book display, flattening out any bent pages and smoothing over any dents in the covers. Instinctively, the both of you start arranging them by alphabetical order according to author, Namjoon handing you the right book without even needing to be prompted as you slowly begin to put them back on the shelf.

“That was fun,” you tell him. You don’t think you’d take back a second of it.

“Yeah, it was,” he agrees. “Oh, look, we’ve dented the shelf.”

Sure enough, right where the handle of the cart met the wood of the shelf there’s an indent, a little dip in the otherwise pristine design. From afar, it’s hardly noticeable, but once you move a little closer you can see the shadow where it rests.

“You think they caught this on the security cameras?” You ask, looking around the ceiling. Even though you’ve never actively sought out any sort of video-recording device while working, you have a sneaking suspicion that they’re here.

“Even if they did, I’ve asked Gretchen and she says that they haven’t checked them for years. There’s never been a need to,” Namjoon says. Normally, you’d peg him for someone who would worry about something like that, fearing that, if found out, it would cost him his job. But now, he seems much more carefree.

There’s a final book on the floor, one written by someone with a last name that begins with Y, so the two of you reach for it at the same time, intending to place it in the last empty spot on the shelf. As you do, your fingertips touch, the book not big enough to separate both of your hands as they hold it together. It’s so high school, so Hallmark movie, but it makes your heart beat faster all the same.

When you’re finished, the two of you get back up and dust yourselves off, taking the cart back to its rightful position along the wall before heading back to the adult circulation desks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun in this place, and I hide in the shelves and read Harry Potter when I’m bored,” Namjoon admits as the two of you settle back down.

The moment you hit the back of the chair, the power cuts out.

For a couple of seconds, you and Namjoon wait in silence, hoping that there’s a generator that will kick on and bring back the central heating and lighting that you don’t necessarily need, but would vastly prefer over cold darkness. But when thirty seconds have passed and it doesn’t look as though there’s anything coming on any time soon, you sigh. Even outside the lights have shut off, the snow that was once decorated in an orange glow now blanketed in darkness. If you squint, you can see it still piling up. Eighteen inches, they said.

“I’m surprised it took this long for the snow to cause a power outage,” Namjoon says like he’s impressed at how long the library’s power source held out. “It must be at least a foot out there by now.”

“At least this didn’t happen while we were cart surfing,” you reason. You suppose the damage would be much more catastrophic if the power had gone out while you were mid-adventure. You lean back into your chair a bit too far again, but even in the darkness Namjoon reaches his arms out to catch you before you fall to the floor.

“I think we should migrate to the chairs over there,” Namjoon suggests with his hands held tightly around your wrists, keeping you stable. He nods his head towards the big, comfy ones meant for reading, a little oasis in the sea of bookshelves.

“Good call,” you say, quickly getting off of the chair and dusting off your legs. Not as if they need any more dusting. You just need something for your hands to do that isn’t holding onto him.

You settle into the two enormous grandfather chairs, decked out in a floral pattern that looks like it may or may not be one hundred years old. Namjoon seems to relish in the comfort, pulling his legs up and wrapping the cardigan around his body impossibly tighter. It’s like he thrives in the darkness, feeling much more at home when the lights are low and the moon is high, hidden behind the clouds that have trapped you inside.

“I don’t get to do this much,” Namjoon says aloud. Not like he’s speaking to you directly. Like he’s just letting the world know.

“Yeah, this is the first time I’ve been snowed in at my place of employment too,” you joke.

“That’s not what I meant,” Namjoon says with a smile. “I mean, I don’t get to just sit and relax very often. I’m always busy.”

“All work and no play makes Joon a dull boy,” you say sagely. You think that Namjoon’s on the verge of chucking one of the paperbacks at your head, if the roll of his eyes is anything to go by.

“No,” Namjoon says, somewhat exasperated. Not necessarily at you, but at life. “It’s just—I love what I do, and even though it’s technically considered work I enjoy studying and being in university and working towards a degree or two, and I like being here, as well. Staying occupied is good for me, because if I’m left in silence for too long I start thinking about things that worry me.”

“Like what?”

“The future,” Namjoon says. “I know that everyone’s scared of the future, but I don’t like thinking about it just as much as the next guy.”

“You don’t need to invalidate your fears, Namjoon,” you tell him. “Your worries are as valid as everyone else’s. Just because someone else fears the same thing doesn’t make yours less important.”

Namjoon’s silent, but even in the darkness of the library, cold and isolated, you can see him smile to himself. Like your words are all the reminder he needs. The new year’s almost here. If he wants to start anew, rebuild himself piece by piece, there’s no reason he can’t start now.

“I’m just worried that—”

“You don’t need to explain why if you don’t want to,” you continue. “We’re almost through with this year, and anything you have yet to accomplish can be dealt with next year. I’m scared of the future too. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with my degree, and thinking about grad school gives me a headache. But the future is almost here, it’s almost the next year, and we can blossom then if we haven’t already.”

Namjoon hums softly to himself. “You’re so wise, Y/N. Maybe you should be the philosophy major instead of me.”

“Oh my God, no, I think my brain would explode if I was a philosophy major,” you say quickly. “No offense.”

“Bold of you to assume my brain isn’t already totally fried,” Namjoon jokes. “Where’d you learn to be all deep, though? I don’t know if linguistics is as philosophically stimulating as it could be.”

“Pfft, all we do is talk about dumb English is as a language,” you tell him. “But I don’t really think I’m that deep, or wise. I think I just picked up a couple things from the best.” You give Namjoon a nudge, your elbow pressing against the thick sleeve of his cardigan. He grins softly, eyes closed like he can hardly bear such compliments being paid to him. He deserves so much more than the ones you can give him, though.

In the dark of the night, the silence of an empty library, it only takes a couple of questions to get to know Namjoon. For who he is, and not who he seems to be. There’s so much swirling around in his brain, as he furrows his eyebrows and twiddles his thumbs, anything and everything from meteorology to crab facts to his doubts. Namjoon is the kind of person that makes you wonder why you didn’t speak up before, why you didn’t try earlier, because now he feels like someone that would leave a hole in your life if he left. There’s so much more to him than meets the eye, as cheesy and cliche as it sounds. There’s a kind of aged innocence to him, youthful and wise all at once. Like he knows what he’s destined for but excited for the journey to get there.

He’d make a fantastic musician.

“Have you composed anything by yourself?” You ask. Namjoon nods. “Will you play me one?”

He’s allowed to say no and you wonder, for the brief second of silence that follows, if you’ve overstepped a boundary. He was already resigned about his music to begin with, but he’s beginning to open up like a lotus flower in the spring, slowly but surely showing you what’s inside. He pulls out his phone and his headphones, this time much less tangled, and offers one to you.

“It’s called Moonchild,” Namjoon tells you softly before pressing play.

It sounds much different from the song he showed you earlier. Raw, the same kind of raw, same kind of exposed feeling, but less angry. Less of an anger and more of a wistfulness, nostalgia seeping out of the lyrics and the instrumentals and bleeding into your bones, your bloodstream. Namjoon’s expressionless as the two of you listen in, feel the heavy but certain beat of the drums echoing throughout the headphones. It’s the kind of song that makes you wish it wasn’t snowing or cloudy, so you could peer out the window and see the moon waiting amongst the stars, keeping watch over the world until the sun will come to take its place.

When it’s over, the first thing you say is, “Is that what you think of yourself? A moonchild?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says like it’s a weight being lifted off of his shoulder. “I mean, it’s hard to explain but I just feel connected to the moon more than the sun. Maybe because she’s so lonely.”

“She’s not lonely,” you tell him, interrupting him. “Just because she’s bigger and brighter than everything else in the night sky doesn’t mean she’s alone. There are all of those stars to keep her company.”

It’s your way of reminding Namjoon that no matter what, he’s not alone. He has Yoongi, and he has you, too.

The darkness, no matter the time, always makes you tired. You begin to stop fighting the way your eyelids are starting to droop closed, the only reason you’re still awake being the chill that’s settled into your bones, the heating having been long shut off.

“I’m getting tired, aren’t you?” You ask with a yawn. Never pegged yourself as someone who would sleep in the library, but it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.

“It’s getting somewhat late,” Namjoon agrees.

With another yawn, you curl into yourself, pulling your knees up to your chest to conserve as much body heat as you can. The chair you’ve practically dug yourself into is comfortable, but does very little for your overall temperature. You’re so tired, you barely notice the way Namjoon gets up, peels the cardigan from his body to place over your frame, until you feel the thick fabric laying on top of you. At the sensation you dart back up to see Namjoon settling back into the chair, significantly less warm.

“What? Namjoon, take this back,” you insist, holding the cardigan out for him to grab.

“No, you looked cold. I’ll be fine, I swear,” Namjoon insists with a shake of his head.

“No, I refuse. This isn’t some Titanic-type bullshit. Your cardigan is big enough for the both of us,” you say. If Namjoon won’t take his sweater back, you’ll just take matters into your own hands. Cold but insistent, you get up from the grandfather chair to sit on the couch opposite it, a kind of ugly forest green that’s hidden by the darkness. You make yourself comfortable, body digging into the couch cushions, as Namjoon watches you. “What are you doing? Get over here.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen at the prospect of having to be buried under the cardigan next to you. It’s a large article of clothing, that’s for sure, but not big enough for your bodies to be under it without touching each other. Not that you mind.

“Come on,” you insist, holding out the cardigan so there’s room for him to join you under it. Namjoon’s steps are slow, hesitant, but he does as you say and slides in next to you. You arrange the cardigan neatly over your bodies, the extra body heat not just from the blanket but also from him already making you sleepy. You even make the daring decision of resting your head on his shoulder, less padded from lack of fabric but comfortable and warm all the same.

“Feels like we’ve gotten closer because of this snowstorm,” Namjoon says.

“We’re literally cuddled up under your behemoth cardigan,” you point out.

“Not just that, I mean in general.”

You hum your agreement.

“I’m glad,” Namjoon says, and even though you aren’t facing him you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” you say. Under the sweater, you feel your hands interlock with his. This time it’s no accident, but he doesn’t shy away like he would have before. Instead he holds your hand tighter, pulls you closer (you tell yourself it’s because he’s cold), and lets his body relax, tense after years and years of wear and tear. “Me too.”

The next morning is particularly bright, from the sun reflecting on the bright white snow piled up outside. It feels like you’re straining your eyes, blinking and blinking to get them to adjust to the change in light, like someone on Photoshop has switched the saturation bar from black to white. On the table in front of you your phone is buzzing and buzzing and buzzing, left for so long without any sort of contact that it’s going through withdrawal.

Nayoung (8:37AM): Y/N WHERE ARE YOU Nayoung (8:40AM): DID YOU STAY AT THE LIBRARY Nayoung (8:45AM): ANSWER ME !!! Nayoung (8:45AM): ARE YOU SAFE Nayoung (8:45AM): I’M ABOUT TO CALL THE POLICE Y/N WHERE ARE YOU

You (8:51AM): I’m fine Nayoung! Stayed overnight at the library!

Nayoung (8:52AM): oh thank god alright!! well, the buses are back up and running so please come home :(

Next to you, Namjoon’s soft, continuous snores are slowly subsiding as he stirs awake, a couple grunts leaving his lips before his eyes finally open. You turn to meet him when they do, and at the sight of you, first thing he sees in the morning, he grins lazily to himself.

“What time is it?” He asks as he slowly sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His cardigan sits in a pile on the floor in front of you—you must have kicked it off in the night.

“It’s nearly nine,” you tell him. “The buses are back up.”

“That’s alright,” Namjoon says, voice thick with tiredness. He sounds even more attractive like this, though can hardly believe that’s possible. “I’ll probably just call Yoongi to come and pick me up.”

“Oh, well, I don’t want to miss the next bus, so I should just—” Before you can get up off of the couch, Namjoon’s reaching out for you, pulling you back into him, tucking you into the curves of his body. A small gasp leaves your lips as you fall into him, but the noise morphs into a pleasant hum as his arm wraps around you.

“No,” he grumbles into your shoulder. “Stay here. You were warm last night, right?”

“The warmest,” you tell him. Despite everything, it was one of the best sleeps you’d had in a long while.

“Then there’s no reason to go,” Namjoon says. “It’s not like anyone else is going to come in. It’s just you and me.”

Eventually, you do manage to escape his grasp, pulling him up with you as you stretch out your limbs and get ready to go. His friend is parked outside, the snowplow having already come to shovel away the snow in the parking lot outside. Namjoon pouts at the lack of warmth but you just hand him back his cardigan. That’s enough warmth for now.

“We should do this again sometime,” you say jokingly as you’re walking out of the library, Namjoon making sure to lock it up on your way out. “It was fun.”

“I don’t think we need an impending snowstorm to enjoy each other’s company,” Namjoon says.

“It was certainly cozy.”

You don’t know where you’ll go from here. You’ve exchanged numbers but you never see him on campus as it is, your paths only ever crossing when you have the same shifts at the library. But it’s different now—you can feel it in the air around you. Maybe you’ll start making time for each other, make efforts to align your shifts and cross your paths. There’s more to life than what’s already given to you, you realize. Some things you need to take into your own hands.

“I hope the next time I see you won’t be at work,” Namjoon admits, a light red flush decorating his soft cheeks.

“How about we go out for coffee sometime? I mean, we’ve already slept together, so I think a date would be in order,” you suggest.

“A date?” He asks cheekily, though you know he’ll say yes.

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

A whistle. The two of you turn to look at Namjoon’s friend, who’s rolled down the window just to shout at the two of you. “Hey, lovebirds, hurry it up! My car’s heating isn’t working and I want to get the fuck home!”

“I’ll text you, okay?” Namjoon says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You feel the sparks again, where his lips met your skin. Next time, you’ll see what electricity you’ll feel if you press your lips on his. “See you soon.”

Namjoon scurries off to get into the passenger seat of the car, leaning forward to wave out the window. A gust of wind blows by as they drive off, and white falls off the empty branches of the trees that surround you, like it’s snowing all over again. Though it’s cold, though there’s eighteen inches of snow by your shins, there’s something in the air that feels different than before.

Namjoon (9:12AM): I miss you ♡

You smile.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[fiction-queen-blog]

(Naruto) Hogwarts AU

Genre:Magical, supernatural, comedy, action Main-pairing: Narusasu Read previous chapters on: Fanfiction.net or AO3  Note:  There will be less/slower (if none at all) updates in January due to exams

Chapter 18 Jiraiya

It was the middle of the night when Sasuke Uchiha crawled out of his bed and checked if everybody inside the dormitory was still fast asleep. He was already fully dressed and only had to put his boots and black cloak on. He grabbed his rucksack and lastly picked up his wand from the nightstand. He took one last look around the room before putting his hoody on and sneaky outside of the dormitory, outside of the common room and outside of the castle. He hid in the shadows, making sure the Hogwarts' care-taker wouldn't spot him. So he had snugged inside an open classroom on the second floor and climb on a thick tree branch before climbing slowly down. From there it was easier to just stay in the dark until he made it outside of Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade. Most of the shops, if not all, were closed. Naturally nothing was open at this time of the night. Sasuke walked past Honeydukes and peeked inside through the window. They have redecorated since the day of the attack.

"Sometimes, things seem so long ago and yet are so fresh in our memory."

Sasuke jumped up from the familiar voice behind him. He turned himself around and saw Hashirama Senju, standing behind him.

"Headmaster Hashirama" Sasuke tried to hide the wand in his hand, but of course the headmaster of Hogwarts had already noticed him holding it. "I…Uhm…This is not what it looks like…"

"You are not traumatized and scared and trying to leave everything behind and walk away from your fears?" Hashirama asked, he didn't even try to sugar coat it.

"I am not scared and I am not walking away from any fears" Sasuke said determined.

"Then what are you walking away from?" Hashirama asked. He was direct, but perhaps that was what Sasuke needed right now, although he didn't appreciate it much right now.

"Nothing…Hogwarts is not for me, that's all."

"Because we teach magic, we are not forming a child army." Hashirama confirmed in a strict yet friendly voice, "Sasuke, take a walk with me."

He wrapped his arm around the Uchiha's shoulder as he guided him to the streets.

"I heard what happened during your lessons, and nobody is blaming you…" He began, "what you have been through is not some childish matter and dismissing like one is not the way to go about it. Your friends, that have fought besides you, took weeks to even be able to talk about what happened. You might have noticed Mr Hyuuga is still not quite present yet." Hashirama squeezed Sasuke's shoulder slightly.

"Headmaster…What are you getting at?" Sasuke asked. The vague way Hashirama talked was annoying him.

"Right now, things seem dark and unreasonable. Only time will allow you to accept what happened and you will be able to face-"

"For Merlin's sake!" Sasuke pulled away from Hashirama. "Every adult keeps telling me this. The darkness this, time that, healing blah blah blah!" Sasuke said annoyed, and stopped walking.

"I have seen what Itachi is capable of doing and I won't get on his level if I spend my time learning how to turn my hawk into a mug! I need to learn more powerful magic, I have to get stronger now! I can't wait to be a hundred years old before I get to be as powerful as you!" Sasuke folded his arms and stared at the ground. He felt a sudden wave of guilt for losing his temper at the headmaster. He seemed to be the only person who was trying to understand him and yet…It felt like he didn't.

"I can't whip my wand out and randomly stop a Sea Serpent without breaking a sweat. I am not like you…I actually need to work hard." Sasuke added in a whisper.

"You think I was born holding my wand and a book of powerful spells?" Hashirama asked. He didn't sound angry, but certainly the image the Uchiha had of him was disturbing to Hashirama. Sasuke didn't answer him. He felt rather mocked by the comment.

"Shall I tell you a secret? Between us?" Hashirama whispered, Sasuke gave him a rather strange look, but nodded.

"When I was your age, I was terrible at every subject but one….Herbology." Hashirama said. "Now, I didn't fight The Wizarding War with a Mandrake in my hands. It took me years to master the basics of magic before I was capable of creating my own spells and finding out the kind of wizard I wanted to be."

Sasuke looked up by the piece of new information. He couldn't imagine Hashirama, the most powerful wizard of his time, ever being bad at anything. Yet, he didn't seem like the person to lie, something must have triggered him to become stronger.

"What motivated you? To stop slacking off," Sasuke asked, looking rather interested at the headmaster.

"The only reason I even past any of my classes was because of my best friend…Who was an Uchiha." He smiled down at Sasuke," He helped me out in everything. He wouldn't let me sleep until I managed to do a summoning charm. And…When that friend was lost…I tried to get him back, and that's what made me stronger."

"Did you?" Sasuke asked after letting Hashirama's story sink in, "Did you find your friend?"

Hashirama's didn't break eye-contact when he looked at Sasuke with a sad but peaceful expression. He didn't give an answer, not right away at least.

"No…" He sighed deeply, "I wasn't strong enough."

"You ,the hero of a Wizarding War, weren't strong enough? Not even now?" Sasuke asked. "I don't know what you are getting at, but this story made me a whole lot more depressed." Sasuke sat down at a wooden bench and looked down at his feet.

"It means strength isn't everything. There is more to a powerful sorcerer than his or her spells. You, for example, outsmarted your brother by redirecting his flames. You managed to escape to Honeydukes by outsmarting him." Hashirama sat down next to Sasuke.

"So… I have to get smarter?" Sasuke questioned, looking at Hashirama. "I have to…Learn the basics before I can do more advanced spells…Before I can learn complex spells and actually get the upper hand of him. That will take forever."

"Why the rush?"

"I don't know, he killed Haku about four months ago. Who is next Naruto? Karin? Or Suigetsu?" Sasuke sighed and thought about the day he duelled his brother.

"But…I did manage to survive…Barley…with just three years of magical schooling…Itachi was about my age when he became rogue. Maybe…Maybe continuing school gives me an advantage over him. I did learn a lot in three years, nothing I ever imagined…" Sasuke voiced his thoughts.

"It is not like he would come near me again. The ministry is all over the place and Hogwarts is about the safest place there is…Because you are there." Sasuke looked at Hashirama. The headmaster gave him a fascinated look. It seemed hearing Sasuke think out loud was quite amusing to him.

"But who am I kidding? I am far behind in everything. I'll never catch up." At this Hashirama seemed surprised.

"Hasn't my brother contacted you in making certain arrangements?" He asked. "That's his department."

"No…Yes…No he did.." Sasuke said recalling Tobirama walking past the Slytherin table.

"I thought…I could do it without his help. I didn't think he wanted to see me after I flipped the cauldron in his class." Sasuke scratched his cheek, breaking eye contact with the headmaster.

"I'm sure if you apologise, he understands," Hashirama said.

"I always have the feeling that he hates me." Sasuke sighed, hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knee.

"If he had, he would have let you died, wouldn't he?" Hashirama chuckled, "My brother has just never been very affectionate. I'm his closest family and he has only hugged me about a hand full of times in our lives."

Sasuke frowned.

"Wait…Go back." Sasuke asked, "what do you mean he could have let me die?"

Hashirama's eyes widened and he realised his mistake. He shouldn't have overshared. However, it didn't seem like a big deal now that I was out there.

"Well Sasuke, you were in critical conditions. If it weren't for Tobirama you would have been dead. I would say you were legally dead for about ten seconds before he stabbed you back to life with a injection of a self-made potion. He made it on the spot. I always admired my younger brother for his brains."

Sasuke frowned, putting his hand on his chest, he remembered the stabbing sensation. He had no clue it was professor Senju who had saved him from death. That did change his perspective of his potion teachers….A little.

"Maybe…Karin is right." Sasuke said, "I should focus on my recovery if I ever want to get stronger."

"That is a wise choice."

Sasuke could feel Hashirama pat his head. "Look at that. The sun is about to rise. Isn't it beautiful? I guess time does fly when you are having a good conversation." He got up.

"I suggest you spend some time surrounding yourself with the people you love. Talk about what happened. Don't allow it to take over your life." Hashirama said.

"That is a good idea…" Sasuke looked at the sky, watching the sun rise. It was indeed beauty.

Sasuke walked back inside the dormitory and was immediately met with both Karin and Suigetsu jumping on him and hugging him tightly. Sasuke looked surprised at the both of them and they finally pulled away after a few minutes.

"We thought you walked away!" Suigetsu said, "we were about to write the aurors!"

"Never scare us like that again!" Karin said, wiping away some escaped tears from her face.

"I didn't…" Sasuke took his cloak off and threw it on his bed before sitting down. "Well, it was my original plan, but I came across Hashirama and we had a long talk. So, I am not walking away."

Karin and Suigetsu seemed both relieved at this.

"But I am going home…For a while at least. Karin, you were right. I need to take it slow and focus on my recovery. I talked to Tobirama this morning. He will arrange that I can do some home-schooling until I feel fit to come back. He said I could return at any point before the last day of the semester, but he told me not to force it and that it was alright to come back next school-year."

"How?" Karin asked, "You can't use magic in the muggle world."

"You can't use magic outside of Hogwarts." Suigetsu corrected her.

"I know, but I don't have to take all the subjects. Tobirama arranged that I wouldn't have to do D.A.D.A since I am ahead of it anyway and showed great promise during the battle of Hogsmeade. Same for Transfiguration and Charms. He suggested to drop my Arithmancy, Divination and Ancient Runes and just catch up on that during my summer breaks. No tests needed since they are extra subjects and I can drop them in the fourth year if it turns out they are too hard. Herbology, Astronomy, History of Magic and Potions are the subjects I will be taking home. Tobirama arranged for me to get some extra tutoring next school-year in the more practical matters of those subjects."

"How…How long will you be gone then?" Karin asked.

"Until I feel like a 80% again. I guess…I am not sure, I will have to talk to Obito about this. I sometimes feel he knows me better than I do myself…" Sasuke sighed and laid down on his bed.

"At least…I can get some rest.." Sasuke closed his eyes.

"When are you going to leave?" Suigetsu asked.

"Today…I have my stuff packed anyway." Sasuke said, "I am just waiting for the Headmaster. He is obligated to inform the minister of education. When that is done I can travel through the flew network."

There was a silence in the dormitory and neither one of the three said anything. Suigetsu awkwardly looking around the room while Sasuke was just lying down and Karin was just standing between their beds.

"You will write us, right?" Karin asked in a soft, doubtful voice. Sasuke sat up to look at his friend's sad expression.

"I'll try."

"We will write you every day!" Karin shouted wrapping her arms around her friend and hugging him tightly. "I am going to miss you so much!" She started crying.

"You still have Suigetsu," Sasuke tried to cheer her up but she cried harder now. It took about ten minutes to calm Karin down enough for her to wash her face in the girl's bathroom and go to her fist class. Suigetsu, who didn't have any classes the first period, stayed behind in the dormitory.

"Shouldn't you be saying goodbye to everyone?" Suigetsu asked, sitting on the edge of Sasuke's bed.

"Who is everyone?" Sasuke said, "There is only you and Karin."

"Naruto to begin with?" Suigetsu looked confused.

"Yeah…Nah…" Sasuke sighed, running a hand down his hair before looking at the sheets. "We broke-up. It was just not meant to be."

"That sucks…Do you need a hug?" Suigetsu asked. His responds caused Sasuke to throw a pillow at him. "We were together for two weeks before my crazy brother started hunting him down."

Suigetsu put the pillow away and sat back down, a tense silence filled the air.

"I asked him to run away with me…" Sasuke broke the silence, "He didn't want to. So…that was that."

"Maybe it is for the better," Suigetsu tried to cheer Sasuke up, but it wasn't really working.

"I should tell him…That I am going home, shouldn't I?" The Uchiha sighed confused.

"Do you really owe him a goodbye?"

"I don't know…Does two weeks of making out behind the potion section mean I owe him a goodbye?" Sasuke asked, "You think there is a book with laws written in them that determine what is good manners and what is looking desperate?"

"You could write one? Maybe confessing your feeling in a tunnel while facing three Akatsuki members counts as good manners?" Suigetsu nodded. Sasuke's hawk flew through the window with a little note tied to her. Sasuke quickly opened it and saw the confirming words of Hashirama. That was his cue to leave.

"I hate you, Suigetsu. I really do." Sasuke got up and grabbed his rucksack. "I will miss you, bro." He gave Suigetsu a fist bump.

"Take care, alright!" Suigetsu called after him. Sasuke stuck his thumb in the air before walking outside of the Slytherin dungeons and into the hall. He was on his way to Hashirama's office. He was staring at the ground when he could hear footsteps quickly approaching him. Sasuke looked up, but he was too late. Naruto, who was running down the halls while looking over his shoulder bumped right into him.

The Uchiha hissed in pain feeling Naruto's weight push the air out of his lungs.

"Sasuke!" Naruto quickly got back on his feet. His voice sounded surprised and somehow…He seemed to be panicking.

"We gotta run. We gotta run!" He grabbed Sasuke's arm and pulled him up with one hand.

"Naruto!" Sasuke couldn't process what was happening, Naruto was dragging him along while he was running in the opposite direction of where Sasuke was heading. A thousand thoughts went through his head. Did the Akatsuki manage to get in the castle? Was Itachi down the hall?

Sasuke looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened seeing a huge spider that was covering the entire hallway running on his eight legs right at towards.

"Naruto Uzumaki, what did you do?!" Sasuke shouted, pulling his arm back as he ran right next to him. "What is that monster! What have you done!?"

"Not a monster!" Naruto panted, pulling Sasuke inside the girl's bathroom on the second floor. They hid behind the door and both of them tried to catch their breaths. Sasuke grabbed his chest, it started to hurt again. He could feel a stabbing sensation going through it.

"We need to kill it…Or knock it out!"

Naruto covered Sasuke's mouth with his hand, pushing him slightly harder against the door. He sushed him. Sasuke slapped Naruto's hand away and gave him an angry look.

"What did you do?" He asked for the third time.

"That's a student," Naruto said, he had a little apologetic smile on his face. It seemed he found this entire situation funny. "Do you know Dokan?"

"Dokan, the sixth year?" Sasuke whispered.

"Yes, that's him now."

"Why is he a giant spider!" Sasuke hissed.

"There is a logical explanation here…" Naruto looked a bit scared. Sasuke grabbed Naruto by his collar and gave him by far the most angriest look Naruto had yet seen on Sasuke's face.

"You better say it now."

"So, it was breakfast and when Sakura and Ino passed the Slytherin table he stuck his leg out so Sakura would trip and then they he started laughing and called a mudblood."

"So you justified it by turning him into a spider?" Sasuke didn't seem pleased. "A Godzilla of a spider!"

"Well…Not entirely. I…I knew he had potions so I covered the potion door with scotch tape and when he walked in he freaked and he bumped against the a cupboard full of bottles and few fell on him and he turned into a giant spider."

Sasuke looked cluelessly at Naruto. He had no idea how to respond now. He ended up shaking his head.

"Stand back." Sasuke said, his hand reaching for the door.

"Wait, what are you going to do?" Naruto grabbed Sasuke by his arm to prevent him from walking away.

"I am cleaning up your mess." Sasuke pulled his arm back from Naruto.

"I don't think you understand; He is a giant poisonous spider." There was strangely enough a smile on Naruto's face. It felt like he thought of this as one big joke.

"And right now you turned a teenager with anger management problems into a death trap! One person has to give him a funny look and they are gone and he is in prison and you are suspended."

The smile in Naruto's face faded as it seemed the reality hit him.

"This is what you do, Naruto. You are impulsive and you don't think twice about the consequences of your actions. This. " Sasuke pointed at the door, indicating what was looking for them behind it, "is what I was talking about."

"I don't need you to clean up my messes. I can do it myself." Naruto defended himself.

"You were running away! Your solution was running away!" Sasuke raised his voice.

"Which is part one of my master plan, dattebayo!" Naruto argued back.

"Why don't you tell me step two?" Sasuke folded his arms.

"Hide in girl's bathroom." Naruto walked backwards, indicating around him.

"And what was step three?" Sasuke asked he still had a pissed off expression on his face. He let go of the door and walked towards Naruto who kept walking backwards away from the door. At this point Sasuke noted he was trying to make a lot of distance between them.

"Hide." Naruto softly said. "And wait for the problem to solve itself and hoping nobody knows it was me."

Sasuke opened his mouth to say something. To scold him, to scream at him to lecture him. However, he closed his mouth and turned away from the Uzumaki. Somehow this responds felt worse to Naruto than an hour long scolding for his actions. It felt like that on that particular moment, Sasuke Uchiha gave up on him.

"Wait!" Naruto could see the Uchiha look over his shoulder at him. His eyes were empty, trying to hide his emotions, but Naruto could tell he was disappointed. He felt his throat get numb and his conscious was shouting a hundred things to him, things he was suppose to say. However, none felt good enough, none of the words were actually coming out of his mouth.

The door of the girl's bathroom got kicked open. Sasuke had to bend down as the door flew right over his head on to the ground. The palps of the giant spider made their ways in the small door trying hard to grab on to somebody. Sasuke could feel the palps grab him and pull him right outside of the bathroom. He was dangling Sasuke upside down in front of his mouth. His eight eyes staring at him. His chelicera were moving and there was a screeching sound coming from his mouth. Sasuke's eyes widened by the sight of the fangs and he felt adrenaline pump through his veins. His eyes turned into the Sharingan as he looked right at the spider's eyes. There was a moment where the spider didn't move; as if he was petrified, but then he started running and screaming. He was jumping up and down, walking up and down on walls and dangling Sasuke around like he was a dog-toy. Sasuke tried to grab his wand, but due to the worst rollercoaster ride he was experiencing, his wand slipped right through his fingers and on to the ground.

Somehow, it felt better to have died in a tunnel than by a giant spider who used to be a student. The spider got attacked from behind and he jumped, turning around at the fourth-year Gryffindor who had his wand pulled out.

"LET HIM GO, DOKAN!" Naruto bellowed through the hallway. He swung his wand around and transfigured the spider's fangs into marshmallows. The spider ran towards him.

"Run, idiot!" Sasuke shouted, he felt his breakfast coming up by all the dangling he did. He covered his mouth with both his hands. It seemed the Space-Mountain Ride in Disneyland was a whole lot better than being held hostage by a student transformed into a spider.

Naruto didn't run, he just stood there, waiting. As the spider was close enough he swung his wand and shouted: "Petrificus totalus!" A big orange beam sprung out of Naruto's wand and powerful enough to cover the entire spider.

The eight legs sprang together and he froze on the floor. his palps instantly let go of Sasuke, throwing him in the air. Naruto ran backwards and held his arms out. Sasuke fell right in them; he looked up, trying to process everything that had happened. He turned his head to Naruto, their eyes met and Naruto smiled at him. The Uchiha's face looked pale.

"I got you," Naruto said. Sasuke suddenly turned his head away and barfed right on Naruto's shoes. Naruto looked ahead of him, not wanting to see the gruesome sight of his shoes being vomited under.

"I'm so sorry…" He could hear Sasuke softly whisper.

"I deserve it, don't worry about it." Naruto said, however he felt a little disgusted. He put Sasuke down on the floor and swung his wand, causing water to appear and wash the barf off his shoes. He turned to Sasuke who was leaning against the wall, he seemed very nauseous.

"Are you alright?" Naruto asked, approaching him.

"I haven't felt this sick since the day I ate too much fried food before riding the Pendulum." Sasuke sank through is knees to sit down on the floor.

"What is a Pendulum?" Naruto asked curiously, but he didn't get an answer. They looked at the spider that turned smaller and back into the student it once was.

"How did you do that?" Sasuke asked looking impressed at Naruto who was slowly shaking his head.

"That isn't me…" Naruto said, looking at the Slytherin Sixth year on the floor. He seemed to be able to move again. His eyes were shut and he rolled to his back. He seemed to be in a deep sleep.

Sasuke got up, standing next to Naruto while looking at Dokan. Maybe the combination of potions had worn off?

"It was I…"

Both Naruto and Sasuke turned around by the unfamiliar voice. Naruto pointed his wand at the strange man; he was tall and well-built with fair skin. He had a wart on the left side of his nose and waist-length, spiky white hair that was ties back into a pony tail while two shoulder-length bangs framed his face. There were red lines under his eyes which extended down his face. He was wearing a green short shirt kimono with matching pants and a red haori with two yellow circles on each side. He finished his outfit with a black belt and wooden sandals.

Naruto looked at Sasuke. The Uchiha shook his head slightly, indicating for Naruto to not let his guard down around the strange man that appeared out of nowhere.

"Who the heck are you…Or..What the heck are you?" Naruto looked suspiciously at the man.

"They know me as the Mountain Toad!" the man said with a big grin on his face. He whipped his hair back and stood in a pose he probably considered to be cool, "a spirit sage who acquires immortality, also commonly called the Toad Mountain Sage!" He struck a more dynamic pose now, showing his teeth in his smile.

Once again Naruto and Sasuke shared a look before looking at the weird man.

"And what…Exactly...Are you?" Naruto scratched his hair, narrowing his eyes. He didn't understand anything the man had just said.

"I am an author!" The man said, reaching in his pocket and grabbing a small travel sized book going by the name: "Make Out Paradise"

"'ve been there, dattebayo-" Naruto suddenly hissed in pain when Sasuke pushed his elbow in his guts. He quickly tried to compose himself.

"That's the book Professor Hatake keeps reading. The perverted one" Naruto recognised it before getting a better look at the cover," You're a pervert if you wrote that." Naruto commented, lowering his wand slightly.

The Mountain Toad Sage swung his fist around walking up to Naruto with an angry expression on his face.

"You fool! I'm not just a pervert!" He shouted, but stopped mid-way when he looked at the Uchiha's eyes. They were activated in the Sharingan. He lowered his fist, trying to compose himself.

"You are no Mountain Toad Sage… You are more a Pevert Sage." Naruto lowered his wand.

"Naruto, don't let your guard down." Sasuke told him.

"He is just some pervert. I don't think there is much special about him. Probably just passing by." Naruto whispered, covering his mouth from sight with his hand.

"I am one of the three legendary sanins! The defeater of Hanzo and the most legendary author in the world!" The man struck another pose again. Sasuke frowned by this. Somehow that description sounded semi-familiar

"Wait a second…" Naruto now put his wand away, causing Sasuke to give him an angry look.

"I know you! You are Jiraiya! I read about you on one of the chocolate frog cards!" Naruto pointed an accusing finger at him, "You didn't defeated Hanzo! You are just one out of three to have survived him in a duel."

"Well…" Jiraiya stood back straight, "You hadn't heard of him after we duelled him. So in a way…We defeated him."

"So you are an auror?" Sasuke asked.

"One of the best!" The man said, pointing his thumb at himself.

"Then you must know my dad Mi-" Sasuke covered Naruto's mouth before he could say anything.

"You are a perfect image of your father. If he is telling the truth he would know your father's name." Sasuke said looking back at Jiraiya.

"You are Fugaku's son, aren't you?" Jiraiya had a small smile on his face. Sasuke didn't answer. He only glared at the man. "Naruto, your father's name is Minato Namikaze. I actually trained him."

Naruto's eyes widened and he grabbed Sasuke's arm, squeezing it tightly. The Uchiha deactivated his Sharingan.

"Holy shit, you are master Jiraiya!" Naruto seemed to suddenly recall the man. "The master Jiraiya! My dad has me told all about you when I was a kid!"

"Oh," Jiraiya didn't even try to be humble, he had a proud look on his face, "Oh did the old man forget about his old teacher."

"No, I just stopped paying attention." At those words Jiraiya pride was hurt and it was clearly visible in his face. "Everybody thought you were dead. Nobody has heard of you in fourteen years! Dattebayo!" Naruto's eyes turned into mini-stars, shining brighter than the night sky as he looked at the men. He approached him and was talking so fast, Sasuke couldn't blame the men for wanting to shut him up. However, it seemed he liked getting the attention.

"What are you doing here?" Sasuke interrupted Naruto, causing a silence to fill the hall. "You did come out of nowhere."

"Sasuke.." Naruto indicated for him to stop interrogating the former Auror. Jiraiya didn't seem to mind.

"Kakashi Hataka left his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I have been asked by the headmaster to fill his position until he can find a replacement for the role." He had a serious tone in his voice.

"I was just heading to the headmaster." Sasuke said, seeing Jiraiya maintain a straight face. It seemed he wasn't lying.

"Don't forget this," Jiraiya held Sasuke's wand in his hand. "I found it down the hall, near the girl's bathroom. Not that you will be using it much, but I did learn over the years that it is saver to keep your wand close at all times."

Sasuke approached the man and took his wand back.

"Why wouldn't you be using it?" Naruto asked, turning his head around to Sasuke.

"Well," Sasuke felt a bit nervous. He was supposed to go to Hashirama's Office and used to flew network to go home. He hadn't told Naruto…He didn't even want to say goodbye to him. It all felt so awkward and uncomfortable and he wished he could just vanish from the spot.

"I'm going home for a while," Sasuke said.

Naruto frowned slightly.

"Wait…You were on your way?" He asked, "You didn't even come to tell me you were leaving." He had a sad expression on his face.

"And I was right not to. It wasn't even my intention to bump into you and yet I ended up almost being spider-food!" Sasuke snapped.

"I'm sorry, but it wasn't my fault he suddenly went mad! At first it seemed he was pretty conscious of what he was doing and the next second he wasn't."

Both boys glared at each other.

"Have you recently acquired your eye power?" Jiraiya asked curiously. Sasuke ignored the man, but Naruto answered: "during the battle of Hogsmeade, about four months ago...which would be one month for Sasuke because he was in a coma for like three."

"So you are not so familiar with the abilities of the Sharingan? I suspect you unconsciously put your opponent in an horrible illusion and he was reacting to it. That's why he went mental." Jiraiya explained. It seemed he wasn't so dumb as Sasuke thought he was. The man was thinking deeply, tapping his index finger on his chin.

"Could you put me in an illusion where I am on the beach surrounded by beautiful busty woman-"

"No!" Sasuke snapped, "and I don't need you teaching me about my own abilities! You're not my professor! I bet Hashirama has told you I won't be attending your classes very soon!" with these words Sasuke stormed off. He grabbed his rucksack and trunk which he had dropped on the way and finally arrived at Hashirama's office.

Note: There will be less/slower (if none at all) updates in January due to exams

[betweensceneswriter]

Jimjeran-Chapter 2 Miss Peach-ay

Jimjeran (Shim-sher͂on) : Marshallese – a lifelong companion Claire is a nurse in the Peace Corps, spending 18 months in the Marshall Islands. Down the road, three Peace Corps volunteers–Jamie, Angus, and Rupert–are running the local elementary school. 

Click Here to Hop to the Table of Contents

Click here for Audio Version--I am no Davina Porter. Still working on my Jamie, Angus & Rupert. But as for the Marshallese words, you can imagine them, or you can hear me butcher them like Claire would.

     “What the hell was I thinking?”

    “Did you say something, Claire?” Laura yelled over the roar of the airplane engines.

    “No,” I responded, shaking my head and staring down at the little green and white loop of shoe-string flung in the middle of the indigo Pacific Ocean, my home for at least the next 18 months.

   I thought our pilot was trying to land us in the water as the plane began to slow and descend.  I couldn’t see anything beneath us, in front of us, or to either side.

    “What’s he doing?” I finally yelled to Laura, terrified.  “There aren’t pontoons on this plane!”

“Don’t worry.  He’s landing on the airstrip,” she yelled back.  Airstrip?  It wasn’t until we were merely hundreds of feet off the ground and the tall green coconut palm trees came into sight that I realized she wasn’t kidding.  We were landing on an airstrip, indeed—an airstrip that took up the entire width of the island.  As the plane taxied bumpily on the grass runway, I looked in amazement at my surroundings.  Water to my left, water to my right.

    “You knew it was an atoll, didn’t you?” Laura asked, grinning at the shell-shocked look of terror in my eyes.

    “I knew what atoll meant, but I didn’t realize it referred to an island that is only like, five feet wide,” I said, extricating myself out of the cramped seat once the plane had stopped and the engines had sputtered until the propellers were still.

    “Don’t exaggerate,” Laura laughed.  “At its narrowest point, it’s still at least 30 feet wide.”

   I’d stared at the little island of Arno on Google Earth, zooming in as close as I could when I’d first accepted the assignment, curious about this place I’d never been.   I could see the wide treed portion where the clinic was in the village of Ine, and I’d followed the narrow strip with a single road down the center around to see where the main island ended but the shallower water continued along the edge of the lagoon, soon to become another little island in the circular chain.

   I had always dreamed of being in the Peace Corps, volunteering in some remote community for a year or two after college. But Frank Randall and I had met when I was just a freshman, and twitter-pated by the handsome, mature, intelligent history major’s interest in me I had simply forgotten who I had wanted to be one day. Frank graduated that year, continued toward his masters’ degree, and then taught in the history department my final year in the nursing program.  When I graduated, he proposed.

   Five years after graduating, Frank and I were still engaged and living together, just had never set a date.  So on my 27th birthday I had announced to him that I was joining the Peace Corps.

    “You’re kidding, right, Claire?” he said, taken aback by my cavalier announcement.

    “No,” I said, shaking my head.  “We’re not married yet, we don’t have kids yet, and you’re doing research for your doctoral thesis.  You can use the focused time to write, and I won’t have regrets once I’m too old or too entangled to volunteer anymore.”

    “Eighteen months, though, Claire?” Frank looked at me in concern.  “You know fertility decreases with age, don’t you?”

    “And you know we haven’t been using birth control for the last five years, don’t you?” I responded.  “If it was going to happen naturally, it would have happened by now.”  I’d stopped taking the pill when I finished my last day of nursing school, figuring if we got pregnant at least that might light a fire under laconic Frank’s ass.  I’d dropped enough hints about marriage, and I was getting tired of my mom scolding me, saying, “They say a man won’t buy a cow when the milk is free.”

   Thinking about Frank’s disappointed confusion had me feeling emotional, but I blinked the tears away and whipped my hair up into a sloppy bun.  It was humid, and not only did my naturally curly hair get ten times curlier, my neck and face were almost instantly glistening with sweat, and I could feel a single droplet traveling down between my breasts.

   A pickup truck had rattled up to the plane, and Laura and I took turns handing heavy boxes down from the cargo hold of the plane and then putting them in the back of the truck, practically filling the truck bed with boxes.  When everything was loaded, Laura went to the pilot.  Holding up two fingers, she said, “Ruo awa.” Two hours.  I almost had a panic attack at the thought.

   Laura came smilingly back to the pickup, where it seemed as if the driver was asking Laura if we wanted to ride or walk.  After the cramped half hour on the plane, I thought walking might be nice, but I was only wearing sandals and it sounded like the clinic was two miles away.  I needed as much useful time with Laura as possible.  With the idea of seeing the clinic and apartment as another motivator, I hopped up into the bed, found a sturdy box and sat down, tucking the skirt of my sundress around my legs so it wouldn’t fly up in the breeze.  

   Laura smiled at my wide-eyed fascination as we rode along, attempting to point out different landmarks.  I didn’t need a travelogue, though; my brain felt full enough as it was.  It seemed like I’d been transported back in time.  The airstrip had been in a completely clear grassy area with no trees, but we quickly reached the coconut palm tree “forest,” if that’s what you could call it, coconut trees scattered across the sandy landscape, interspersed with bushes, some places overrun with green jungle plants.  The road was white gravel.  At times it was level and looked like any other dirt or gravel road I’d seen, but at other times it was two narrow channels of tire tracks with a grassy stripe down the middle.

   After a few minutes, we began to see signs of life.  Two little kids walked along the road barefoot, the little girl in a skirt and tee shirt, the toddler in just a tee with a pair of bare brown buns below.  They moved to the side of the road and waved and smiled at us, white teeth beautifully splitting their tan faces.

    “They’ll steal your hearts,” Laura said.  “Gosh, I’m going to miss them.”

    “Well, thanks for sticking around to give me an initiation,” I said.  “There’s no way I would have known how to shop for six months at a time, and I can’t imagine finding my way out here with my limited language knowledge.”

   I had tried, honestly I had.  But between having the stomach flu for three days during the immersive training in Hawaii and my chronic thick-headedness when it came to learning foreign languages, I had escaped from my language orientation knowing only “Where are you going?” “Kwej etal n͂an ia?*” and  “Ejjab melele**,” which meant, helpfully, “I don’t understand.”

   Thankfully, I was going to have a translator for a few hours each morning during my basic clinic time, so I could learn about people’s symptoms and better treat and teach them.

   Laura had been the nurse on Arno for the previous 18 months.  With her service time coming to an end, the Corps had sought a replacement for her, and I was the one chosen.  An island with an area of a mere 5 square miles with only 2000 inhabitants spread throughout the 133 little islands surrounding the large central and two smaller lagoons didn’t warrant a huge hospital, but having a nurse practitioner at the clinic brought about an instant improvement to the quality of life for the locals.  I would be responsible for basic health and sanitation education, family planning advice and medications, and general emergency care.  For more serious injuries or trauma, the hospital on Majuro, 20 miles away, was able to send a helicopter to the airfield to pick up patients.

    “That’s the Iroij’s*** house,” Laura shouted over the rattle of the truck, gesturing at a utilitarian cement block structure a ways back from the road on a slight rise.  It was surrounded by a few other small houses, outbuildings, and shacks, and had a neatly kept yard covered with white gravel.  “Mr. Timisen is the local governor.  He speaks pretty decent English, and he has one of the two satellite phones on the island, if you need to get word to headquarters in Majuro before your short wave radio appointment.”

   Where we were currently driving I couldn’t see the ocean, but every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of the turquoise water of the lagoon.  It was surreal, beautiful, and humid.  I scratched my leg; I think so far I’d counted sixteen mosquito bites.  I was grateful for the multiple cans of bug spray I had packed in one of the boxes.

   As we went farther, there were more and more houses—gray brick buildings with low windows, shacks cobbled together of corrugated aluminum, plywood, and plastic sheeting, some with grass or palm branch roofs, and yards of the same white rocks.

   Adults and children stared at us curiously.  Laura seemed to get the lion’s share of the greetings and smiles.  “Miss Leenchah!”  they called out excitedly.  “Miss Leenchah, iiọkwe eok!”

    “Leenchah?” I asked, confused.  “Isn’t your last name Lynch?”

    “Yeah,” she said.  “Putting “uh” or “ay” at the end of your name is a Marshall term of endearment.  You’ll have to write and tell me what nickname they give you!”

   Write. Now that was a new one. Write with pen and paper, envelopes, and stamps. Arno didn’t have electricity, much less cell service or WiFi.  I was already panicking without my cell phone to look at for the time, the weather, the news, texts from friends.  I’d bought an actual wristwatch, but not really wanting a watch tan, I’d found a cute watch necklace, which hung upside down. I could easily grab the watch and check the time, without the claustrophobic sweaty feel of a wristwatch.

   And with that, the pickup pulled off to the side of the road, the tires making a crunching sound in the thick gravel.

   There it was, my clinic!  A nondescript building, boxy and white, it had an angled roof with solar panels on it, and louvered windows with screens.  Laura hopped out and offered me a hand down from the truck.  Looking around, I saw that a small crowd had gathered.  Laura spoke to the group in what sure sounded like fluent Marshallese, but of course I wouldn’t know. Finally she gestured to me and said “Your new nurse, Miss Beauchamp.”  I could see them mentally processing the name.  Finally a small voice piped up, “Welcome, Miss Peach-ay!”

   Laura smiled.  “Guess I don’t have to wait to find out, Miss ‘Peach-ay’!”

   The crowd of men, women, and children gathered around the truck.  With much greater speed than we’d loaded, the boxes were whisked out of the truck and into the apartment or the clinic as Laura directed them.

    “House first, or clinic?” Laura asked.  She had just been surrounded by a crowd of kids, and I realized she had been handing out chewing gum to her eager fans.  “Bribery never hurts,” she grinned.  “I bought you some gum to share.”

    “Clinic, I think,” I responded.  “Seems more important.”

   Laura ushered me through the door into the clinic.  Only about 20 by 20 feet, it held one small hospital bed at the back of the room and an examination table, both with curtains that could be pulled around them.  There was a sink that had a pump handled faucet next to what looked like a kerosene stove.  A long counter with cupboards above and below was along one wall, and there was an old-school scale as well as an infant scale on a table next to it.  One locked cupboard stood on the far wall.  I assumed that contained most of the medicine, though we had brought a supply of new medications and bandages in three of the boxes we’d brought from Majuro.

    “So, no running water, and no hot water?” I double-checked, still a little amazed that there were places without running water in this day and age.  “Just the pump?”

    “And a big tea kettle and kerosene stove,” she said.  “I always try to keep some water hot or warm for washing boils or cuts, but it’s pretty quick to heat if you forget. They sell kerosene at Mr. Ogawa’s store.  Don’t forget to keep yourself stocked.  You’ve got solar powered lights, but they don’t last forever, so you’ve got kerosene lanterns for another source of light.”

   Looking around the room for anything else she’d forgotten, Laura showed me the calendar and schedule on the wall.  “First Monday of the month is Depo day.  Depo Provera shots for any women who are doing family planning.  Infant mortality is really high if they don’t wait long enough between pregnancies.  Second Monday is well child check-ups.  Third Monday is health day.  You’ll teach some sort of lesson on cleanliness, sanitation, or nutrition.  And the fourth Monday afternoon is teen time.  You can answer questions about safer sex, good dental health, things like that.”

    “How busy will I be?” I asked, feeling overwhelmed at the barrage of information.  It wasn’t like nursing was new to me, and I’d oriented on tons of different floors in hospitals.  With finishing the Nurse Practitioner program, I was more independent and comfortable assessing and treating a whole variety of illnesses.  It was just the combination of the heat, the humidity, the new environment, and the underlying sense that time was passing quickly, and that Laura would inevitably be leaving me. Alone.

    “Totally depends,” she said.  “Mondays are the busiest, of course.  And you’re “on” all the time, so be sure to leave a note on the door to let them know where to find you, but definitely make sure you relax.  Go snorkeling, learn to spearfish, visit families.  That’s probably where you’ll do the best community health.  Observe people in their environments and figure out which habits are causing poor health. And then, as they get to know and trust you, help them learn how best to improve their lives.”

   She passed the clinic keys off to me on a stretchy hot-pink curlicue cord to put around my wrist—a key for the medicine cabinet, and two keys for the door.  We locked the clinic door, and headed around the corner to the attached apartment.

   As I stepped in the door of my new residence, I was stunned.  This wasn’t a house or an apartment; this was a cabin.  A stark kitchen with open lower cabinets was to the right of the entrance.  A set of shelves to my left held a can of spinach and a tin of something.  Beyond the pantry, a little closet area consisted of a stark bar with some hangers on it and a mirror over a chest of drawers.  One twin bed and a bunkbed flanked the big window at the far end of the room floored with dark unvarnished wood.  Stunned as I was by how plain it was, I found myself drawn across the house to the window.  I turned the dusty louvers to get a better view, and as I stood there, I took a deep breath.  It was poster-worthy perfect.  White sand melted into aqua water that deepened into teal at the center of the lagoon.  Ghostly green bumps along the horizon showed where the other islands in the chain were across the lagoon.  And the sky was a heartbreaking blue beyond blue, filled with white clouds.

   “You will never find another place this beautiful,” Laura said quietly as she came to stand by me.  My nose was prickling and my eyes were watering.  “You’re going to be okay,” she said.  I turned to her and crumpled into a hug as she patted my back.

   Laura helped me unpack the cans and plastic bins of food into the pantry, helped me hang up my sundresses and make my bed with clean sheets.  She showed me the well and demonstrated the best method for getting the tin bucket to fill with water; took me to see the little shower stall attached behind the apartment, open to the sky.  She took me to the outhouse, helping me use the bucket of water to flush the “real” toilet.  She showed me the short wave radio and wrote down the instructions for how to use it.  As we finished each task, I could feel the passage of time, and a sense of terror rising in my chest.  Finally, it could be avoided no longer.  A honk announced that Laura’s ride back to the airport had arrived.

    “Tomorrow will be awesome,” she said.  “You’ll see all the little kids for well-child checkups, and the mamas will be sweet to you, even if they don’t speak a word of English.  Sharbella is supposed to show up at about 9…but realistically, she’ll be here at 10.  Island time, you know.”

   I walked Laura out to the truck and gave her a final hug.

    “If you’re dying for conversation in English, there are a few young guys teaching at the local school down the road that way,” Laura said, gesturing indistinctly down the road.  “They’re also in the Peace Corps, but they are…” she wrinkled her forehead, shook her head, and smiled.  “Well, I’ll let you decide how you feel about them.”

   She climbed into the passenger side, and the truck pulled away from the cabin, tires crunching in the gravel.  I waved goodbye to Laura, standing on the doorstep of the clinic.  And I spoke the words to myself again.

   What the hell was I thinking?

*Kway´ zhuh tell´ n͂an yah´<br /> **etch´-up (like ketchup, with no k) muh lah´ lay<br /> ***ee roych´<br /> ****yock´ way yook´--I love you!

On to Chapter 3 : Pain in the Arse Claire's lonely, so she takes some dinner to the boys, meets some island kids on the way, and loses a battle of wills with Jamie.

[chocolatequeennk]

Forever and Never Apart, 23/42

Summary: After taking a year to recover from the Master, the Doctor and Rose are ready to travel again. But Time keeps pushing them forward, and instead of going back to their old life, they slowly realise that they’re stepping into a new life. Friends new and old are meeting on the TARDIS, and when the stars start going out, the Doctor and Rose face the biggest change of all: the return of Bad Wolf.

Series 4 with Rose, part 7 of Being to Timelessness; sequel to Taking Time (AO3 | FF.NET | TSP)

Betaed by @lastbluetardis, @rudennotgingr, @jabber-who-key, and @pellaaearien. Thank you so much!

We are finally to the Library, which gets a major rewrite.

AO3 | FF.NET | TSP

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14 | Ch 15 | Ch 16 | Ch 17 | Ch 18 | Ch 19 | Ch 20 | Ch 21 | Ch 22

Chapter Twenty-three: An Unusual Summons

Rose hummed a tune to herself as she used a large brush to cover her canvas in seashell pink. The Doctor had declared a day in that morning at breakfast, and she hadn’t wasted any time getting her paints set up in her studio.

After travelling together for three months, their unique little group of four really felt like a family. Donna was exactly what she’d always wanted in an older sister—someone just a little bolder than she was, who could egg her on. She teased the Doctor like he was her little brother, never letting an opportunity to poke fun at him slide by.

And Jenny. Jenny soaked it all up, thriving under Donna’s affectionate attention and the Doctor’s doting. Like any young adult, she chafed when he tried too hard to keep her safe, and Rose had kept her promise to be the cool step-mum, listening when she needed to vent.

She sighed and tapped the handle of her brush against her cheek as she considered her next colour. After a moment, she dipped it in gold metallic paint and started painting a spiral of colour in the middle of the pale pink canvas.

A sharp telepathic prod caught her attention and nearly sent her paintbrush jerking across the canvas, ruining her painting. She gasped and put the brush back in the jar of water, then rubbed circles over her temple, trying to ease the lingering discomfort.

That wasn’t the Doctor, or the TARDIS, she realised. For a second, she thought it had come from Jenny, but she dismissed the thought almost immediately. It hadn’t felt anything like the connection she shared with her step-daughter.

And if it wasn’t from the Doctor, Jenny, or the TARDIS…

She already had her paints put away and was wiping off her hands when the Doctor knocked on the door and pushed it open without invitation. That alone told her how serious this was; the Doctor only entered her studio uninvited in the case of an emergency.

“Do you have your psychic paper?” he asked without preamble, slapping his own against the palm of his hand.

Rose shook her head. “It’s in our room.” They left the studio and she shut the door firmly behind her. “Why? What’s wrong, Doctor?”

He handed her his psychic paper as they walked the short distance to their room. Rose flipped it open and read the message, written in an unfamiliar hand.

I need your help at the Library. Please come as soon as you can.

Love you both.

In lieu of a signature, the message concluded with a complicated series of numbers and letters Rose immediately recognised as space-time coordinates.

The Doctor picked her psychic paper up off her vanity and read the message out loud. Rose looked at the paper in her hand, then at the Doctor.

“Is that what I felt in my head then?” she asked. “Someone sending us a message via psychic paper?”

The Doctor nodded. Rose handed him his paper back, then stripped out of her paint spattered clothes while he paced the length of the room. Then she slipped into the en-suite and listened to his explanation as she scrubbed paint off her face with a flannel.

“It’s like psychic texting in a way,” he said, and she could picture the way he punctuated the words with gestures to go with his rapid-fire delivery. “You can send a message from one piece of psychic paper to another, though it takes some training.”

Rose pulled her hair up in a sleek ponytail, then went back into their room. He was on the other side of the room when she selected a pair of comfortable jeans and a pink top out of the wardrobe, and she was zipping up her jeans when he turned around and noticed she’d changed.

“What are you doing?” the Doctor said, finally noticing that she’d changed.

Rose rolled her eyes at him as she selected a pair of hot pink Chucks. “Getting ready to go?” she said, like it was obvious.

The Doctor tugged on his ear. “Ah. Of course.”

Rose stopped lacing up her shoes to look at him incredulously. “I thought you’d be chomping at the bit, after a message like that.”

The furrow between his brows tightened. “The coordinates are already set,” he admitted. “But the last time we followed a message left on the psychic paper, you were possessed by Lady Cassandra.”

Rose finished tying her shoes, then leaned back on the edge of the bed. She had mixed feelings about their first visit to New Earth. On one hand, it was their first trip after his regeneration, and she would always have fond memories of lying in the apple grass with him. On the other… Cassandra’s invasion had left her with migraines that hadn’t faded for a week.

On the other hand… “But the last time we followed a message on the psychic paper, it was from Jack,” Rose pointed out. “Someone who knew us and was counting on us to help them out.”

The Doctor pursed his lips, and Rose could feel the strength of his uncertainty. She stepped forward and adjusted the knot of his navy and maroon floral tie, making sure it lay just right over his burgundy shirt. It was a way of giving them both time—him time to think about what she’d said, and her time to find the right words to win him over.

Finally, she ran her hands down his chest and rested them on his waist. “We’ve got to go, Doctor. Someone who trusts us and is counting on us sent that message.”

The Doctor ran his hand through his hair. Rose was right, but there was something about the whole situation that just felt… slightly off. Not like a trap, but…

A moment later, he felt Rose’s soothing touch on the bond, calming him as much as possible. The Doctor relaxed into her touch, then took her hand and walked with her out of their room. “Come on. I told Jenny to get Donna; they should be waiting for us in the console room.”

Jenny was sitting on the jump seat when they entered the room, her legs swinging and her fingers tapping on the leather seat. The Doctor tugged gently on her ponytail, then laughed when she jumped to her feet. As much as she looked like his fifth incarnation, she had all the manic energy he possessed in this body.

“All right, Dad, are you going to tell us where we’re going?” She peered down at the coordinates he’d set before getting Rose. “It looks like the fifty-first century. Am I right?”

“What I want to know,” Donna asked, “is what happened to the relaxing day we were supposed to be having. I was just getting ready to do my nails when Jenny pounded on my door and insisted that you had someplace to take us.”

The Doctor looked at her, leaning against the ramp with her arms crossed over her chest and her eyebrows raised. He never could pull one over on Donna.

“I got an inkling that something might be going on here today instead,” he explained as he threw the dematerialisation lever. “And I thought… there are plenty of days to rest, but this might be our only chance to go here.”

“And where exactly is here?” she challenged.

The TARDIS’ wheezing slowed as she landed, and despite his concerns over what might be waiting for them in the Library, the Doctor grinned at Donna. “Books,” he said enthusiastically as he jogged around the console and grabbed his coat from where it was draped over a strut. “People never really stop loving books.”

Rose opened the door, and they filed out of the TARDIS into a long gallery. Sunlight streamed into the room through clerestory windows, high in the walls. A few wooden book carts were near the ship, filled with books either on display, or waiting to be shelved.

The Doctor picked one up and thumbed through it quickly, then put it back on the cart and started walking across the room. “So, like Jenny said, this is the fifty-first century. By now you’ve got holovids, direct-to-brain downloads, fiction mist, but you need the smell. The smell of books, ladies. Deep breath.”

Donna looked over at Rose and rolled her eyes, but the Doctor pushed open a thick wooden door before any of them could comment on his raptures over the smell of old paper. They stepped out of the dimly lit room they’d landed in and into an outdoor atrium at the top of a marble staircase.

“The Library. So big it doesn’t need a name. Just a great big ‘The.’”

“It’s like a city,” Donna marvelled as they walked past huge columns.

“It’s a world,” the Doctor corrected. “Literally, a world. The whole core of the planet is the index computer. Biggest hard drive ever.”

“They installed a hard drive in a planet core?” Rose asked as they walked slowly down the flight of stairs, further into the sunlight.

“Yep!” The Doctor popped the p the way he did when he was excited about something. “It still amazes computer programmers—they don’t know how it was done.” He nodded out at the urban landscape when they reached a balcony. “And up here, every book ever written. Whole continents of Jeffrey Archer, Bridget Jones, Monty Python’s Big Red Book. Brand new editions, specially printed.”

They were quiet for a moment, taking in the sheer size of a library that occupied an entire planet. Clusters of skyscrapers were grouped together, connected by sky bridges. Running between the groups of buildings were rails that Rose assumed belonged to a train of some kind that would take you from one part of the planet to another.

On the side of the nearest building there was a huge electronic billboard, announcing it held books on xeno biology and art. A shiver of excitement coursed through her as she thought about all the incredible books on art she might find in the largest library in the universe.

Jenny broke the silence first. “It’s beautiful.”

The Doctor hummed. “Isn’t it? We’re near the equator, so”—He licked his finger and stuck it in the air—“this must be biographies!” he crowed. “I love biographies.”

“I love reading about real people who actually lived,” Jenny said excitedly.

The Doctor turned to his daughter, and Donna absently picked up a book that was resting on the balustrade. She flipped through the pages quickly and realised she could actually see the letters change shape as the TARDIS’ translation circuit tried to keep up with how fast the pages were moving.

She stopped on a page two-thirds of the way through, but before she could read more than a line, the Doctor plucked the book from her fingers. “Oi! Spoilers.”

“What?”

He snapped it shut and waved it at her. “These books are from your future. You don’t want to read ahead. Spoil all the surprises. Like peeking at the end.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Dad, we’re currently three thousand years in the future from Donna’s time. Keeping her from spoilers is like…”

A frown wrinkled her forehead, and Donna waited eagerly for the turn of phrase she’d come up with.

Jenny’s expression cleared, and there was a hint of mischief in her smile. “Like closing the barn door after the horse has gotten out!” she stated victoriously.

Everyone laughed but the Doctor, and Rose took the book from the Doctor and handed it back to Donna. “I’m afraid she’s got you there, Doctor.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head when he pouted. “It’s the biography of an actor from the thirty-third century,” she said, cutting off his sputtering. “It’s not going to spoil anything if Donna reads it, aside from the fact that the notion of spoilers is ridiculous.”  

“I try to keep her away from major plot developments,” the Doctor protested, though he tugged on his ear in a way Donna knew meant he was aware he’d been caught. “Which, to be honest, I seem to be very bad at,” he added as he looked around at the empty staircase. “Because you know what? This is the biggest library in the universe. So where is everyone? It’s silent.”

“I thought libraries were supposed to be quiet,” Rose pointed out as the Doctor jogged over to a nearby terminal and used the sonic screwdriver to delve through layers of information.

The Doctor looked up at her briefly as the computer ran the scan he’d started. “That’s hardly even true in your time, love,” he said absently before looking back at the computer. “No, near the end of the twentieth century, humans figured out that the most important thing was that people used the library, and that didn’t happen if they enforced an unnatural silence.”  

“Maybe it’s a Sunday,” Donna suggested.

The Doctor was shaking his head before she finished the sentence. “No, I never land on Sundays. Sundays are boring.”

“Maybe everyone is just being really quiet?” Jenny offered.

Rose was watching over his shoulder as the computer did the scan he’d requested, and she leaned forward to frown at the screen when the results popped up. According to the computer, they were the only ones on the whole planet.

“Except even if people were being quiet, you’d expect them to show up on a scan,” she said, finally admitting that the Doctor’s earlier unease might not have been unwarranted.

The Doctor did something with his sonic, and Rose could see the computer code spinning again in the background. A moment later, the terminal beeped with what sounded like an error message.

“Now that’s interesting,” he muttered.

“What?” Jenny and Donna asked in unison.

“Scanning for life forms. Limiting to basic humanoids—the target audience of the Library—apart from us, I get nothing. Zippo, nada. See?”

He pointed at the message on the screen that read, Filtered Humanoid Lifeforms Scan Complete: 4.

“Nobody home.” He tapped repeatedly at a button on the keyboard. “But if I widen the parameters to any kind of life…”

The number changed to 1,000,000,000,000, with an error message.

“A million million,” the Doctor read. “Gives up after that. A million million.”

A shiver ran up Rose’s back and she looked around at the seemingly empty planet. “So… there’s something here we can’t see,” she said.

“That’s the only logical answer,” the Doctor agreed. His jaw twitched. “And not a sound. A million million life forms, and silence in the Library.”

“But… where could they all be?” Jenny asked practically.

Donna nodded. “Yeah, where could a million million people hide? There’s not… I mean, there’s just books.” She looked at the book in her hand, her eyes wide. “They can’t be hiding in the books, can they? Or maybe they are they books. But books can’t be alive.”

She reached for the cover and opened it slowly.

“Welcome.”

Donna jumped and dropped the book, then turned around. “That came from here,” she said, pointing back up the stairs.

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah.”

Normally, the whole sequence would have had a comic effect, but today, with the eerie feeling in the atmosphere as the question of a million million lifeforms lingered, no one laughed.

They retreated back to the room they’d parked in, and the Doctor led the way straight over to a large, round circulation desk. The top piece of a sculpture turned around to reveal a vaguely humanoid figure. Rose blinked as she looked at the very human face atop the stylised body.

“I am Courtesy Node seven one zero slash aqua. Please enjoy the Library and respect the personal access codes of all your fellow readers, regardless of species or hygiene taboo.”

Donna took another step towards the Courtesy Node. “That face, it looks real.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” the Doctor said dismissively.

Rose looked up at him, instantly recognising the evasive look on his face. It is real, isn’t it?

“Is it a hologram, Dad?” Jenny asked.

The Doctor nodded slightly at Rose, then looked back at Jenny and Donna. “No, but really, it’s fine.”

The Courtesy Node spoke again. “Additional. There follows a brief message from the Head Librarian for your urgent attention. It has been edited for tone and content by a Felman Lux Automated Decency Filter. Message follows: ‘Run. For God’s sake, run.’”

The words were chilling, spoken by a statue with absolutely no emotional affect in its voice.

“‘Nowhere is safe. The Library has sealed itself, we can’t—Oh, they’re here.’” Several sounds that Rose easily recognised as grunts of pain followed, and then the Courtesy Node said, “Message ends. Please switch off your mobile comm. units for the comfort of other readers.”

“So that’s why we’re here,” the Doctor muttered. “Any other messages, same date stamp?” he asked the Courtesy Node.

“One additional message. This message carries a Felman Lux coherency warning of five zero eleven—”

The Doctor waved off the disclaimer. “Yeah, yeah, fine, fine, fine. Just play it.”

“Message follows: ‘Count the shadows. For God’s sake, remember, if you want to live, count the shadows. Message ends.’”

That made less than no sense to Rose, and she would have brushed it off if genuine fear hadn’t swelled up in the Doctor. He reached for her hand and pulled her close, while looking around the room that was half-shadow.

Jenny looked at them, her features pinched with fear and confusion. “Dad?”

The Doctor took a deep breath and nodded once. “Right, everyone,” he said, his calm voice telling them more about how serious the situation was than any amount of shouting would have done. “Stay out of the shadows.”

Then he spun around and strode out of there room, Rose’s hand was still clasped tightly in his. Despite the fear in his voice, he didn’t hesitate as they walked past the TARDIS. She could feel his curiosity—he still wanted to know who had sent them the message on the psychic paper and why.

Still, he was walking so fast she almost had to jog to keep up. He meant to wrap up that mystery as quickly as possible and get them off the planet. She kept quiet as they went through a door into a room that looked like what Rose expected of a library, with row after row of bookshelves.

Donna and Jenny caught up with them only a few metres into the room, and Donna planted herself directly in front of them. “All right you two, what’s going on here? We had a perfectly relaxing day planned, and then suddenly we’re taking a trip. And don’t think I didn’t hear you a moment ago, Doctor—‘So, that’s why we’re here,’ you said. So, out with it.”

Jenny nodded. “And you’re really…” She hesitated and glanced from the Doctor to Donna and back again. “…worried, Dad,” she added, settling on a less concerning word than “terrified.”

The Doctor sighed, but handed Donna his psychic paper, and she flipped it open to read the message still visible there. “Someone asked for our help.”

“I love you both?” Donna raised her eyebrows when she passed the paper back.

Rose bit her lip. From the moment she’d read the message, it had tugged at her. Someone was counting on them.

“I wish I could figure out who sent it,” she mumbled. “Jack and Martha both have my mobile number, so they could just text. It’s got to be…”

Her voice trailed off when she realised the Doctor was staring over her shoulder at the aisle behind her. Rose turned around, and her eyes widened when she realised the lights were going out, one row at a time.

The Doctor had had his suspicions when they listened to the last message, warning them to count the shadows. But it was only now, as he watched the lights go out plunging the Library deeper into darkness—creating more shadows—that he knew for sure what they’d stumbled upon. A planet that was seemingly empty, yet claimed to be teeming with life? A warning to count the shadows? And a message from a mysterious person, asking for help at the Library?

Vashta Nerada.

“What’s happening?” Donna asked.

The Doctor pushed her and Jenny towards the light, then grabbed Rose’s hand again. “Run!”

Ahead of them, Jenny’s boots hit the floor with rhythmic thuds while Donna’s ponytail trailed behind her. The Doctor felt his coat start to wrap around his legs and he used his free hand to tug it loose, so he wouldn’t trip.

We need to find someplace safe, Rose said.

The Doctor grit his teeth together and nodded. He strained his eyes for some kind of exit. They turned a corner and finally, at the end of an aisle, there was a set of intricately carved wooden doors only twenty feet away from them. Everyone skidded to a halt right in front of the doors, but when the Doctor try to push them open, they wouldn’t budge.

“Come on,” he grunted, throwing his weight against the doors.

“What, is it locked?” Donna demanded, her voice shrill.

He shook his head and pushed harder on the stuck door. “Jammed. The wood’s warped.” The electrical fizz of lights going out got louder as the darkness and the shadows came closer, and despite his best efforts to stay calm, panic welled up inside him.

Jenny wrapped her arms around herself and looked back over her shoulders at the encroaching darkness. “Use your screwdriver, Dad!”

“I can’t,” he growled, rattling the doorknob. “It’s wood.”

“What, it doesn’t do wood?” Donna snarled.

An idea struck the Doctor, and he pulled the sonic out of his pocket. “Hang on, hang on,” he said as he pointed it at the crack between the doors. “I can vibrate the molecules, fry the bindings. I can shatterline the interface.”

“Oh, get out of the way.” Donna shoved him aside and kicked the door open.

All four of them piled into the room and slammed the doors shut behind them, then the Doctor grabbed a book off a nearby table and slid it into the handles as a rudimentary bar lock.

Once the immediate danger was over, he turned to get a look at their surroundings. The circular room with a rotunda was obviously a reading room, but he didn’t have a chance to admire the tables lining the outer walls.

A security camera hovered in the middle of the rotunda, its lens pointed directly at them. The Doctor stuck his hands into his pockets and tried to smile like he hadn’t been caught breaking down a door.

“Oh. Hello. Sorry to burst on you like this. Okay if we stop here for a bit?”

Rose blinked when the camera dropped to the floor like a rock. She and Jenny walked over to it, and Jenny nudged it with her foot.

“What is it?” she asked.

Rose bent over to pick it up. “It’s a security camera,” she explained as she turned it over in her hands. “But I think it switched itself off.”  

The Doctor held out his hand, and she tossed the camera to him. “Nice door skills, Donna,” he said as he pointed the sonic screwdriver at the camera.

“Yeah, well, you know, boyfriends. Sometimes you need the element of surprise.”

Rose recoiled. “What kind of men have you been dating?” she said before she could stop herself. “Sorry,” she added a second later. “Not my business, but… Sorry.”

Donna shrugged. “Nah, you’re right.”  

Jenny looked like she wanted to ask questions, but Rose shook her head quickly. She could come up with half a dozen reasons why a woman would learn to kick down doors because of the men she dated, and none of them were good. If Donna wanted to elaborate more, she would—but they wouldn’t harass her about it.

After a brief, awkward silence, Donna looked down at the Doctor, who was still messing with the security camera. “So,” she said briskly. “Did we just run away from a power cut?”

Rose could sense the Doctor’s immediate and unqualified negative, but he didn’t dismiss the idea out loud. “Possibly,” he allowed.

“Is it safe here?” Jenny asked, looking around the reading room uneasily.

“Of course we’re safe,” the Doctor said insouciantly. “There’s a little shop.”

All three women turned to look at the wall he’d tilted his head towards. There was a shop, and a sign pointing towards the entrance.

“Gotcha!” the Doctor crowed triumphantly, pulling their attention back to him.

“Ooo, I’m sorry,” he said a moment later. He carefully set the security camera back down on the floor. “I really am. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He looked up at Rose, Donna, and Jenny. “It’s alive.”

“You said it was a security camera,” Donna protested.

He pushed himself back to his feet and twirled his sonic screwdriver once before sliding it into his coat pocket. “It is. It’s an alive one.”

Messages kept scrolling across the screen, this time warning that others were coming.

“Others?” Jenny said. “What’s it mean, others?”

Donna waited for the Doctor or Rose to answer, but they were silent. Well, I’ve had enough silence in the Library. She looked around and spotted another one of those Courtesy Nodes.

“Excuse me,” she said as she strode towards it. “What does it mean, others?”

The Doctor snorted. “That’s barely more than a Speak Your Weight machine; it can’t help you.”

Donna looked back at him and raised her eyebrows. “So why’s it got a face?” she challenged.

She didn’t expect the answer she received.  

“This flesh aspect was donated by Mark Chambers on the occasion of his death,” the Courtesy Node said calmly.

Donna looked back at the Doctor, who was rubbing at the back of his neck like he’d been hoping she wouldn’t figure that out. “It’s a real face?”

The Courtesy Node decided to answer that question, too. “It has been actualised individually for you from the many facial aspects saved to our extensive flesh banks. Please enjoy.”

“It chose me a dead face it thought I’d like?” Donna screeched. She looked back at the Doctor and Rose, who had walked over to her and both wore slightly sheepish expressions. “That statue’s got a real dead person’s face on it.”

“It’s the fifty-first century,” the Doctor explained. “That’s basically like donating a park bench.”

“It’s donating a face!” Donna shot back, pointing to her own face and backing away from the creepy statue.

A small hand grabbed her wrist and yanked Donna a few feet back and to the left. Donna glared at Jenny. “I can move on my own, thanks.”

The Doctor shook his head and pointed to where Donna had been standing. “The shadow. Look.”

Donna looked at it, then back at the Doctor. “What about it?”

Rose looked around the reading room. “Count the shadows.”

“One,” Donna snarked. “There, counted it. One shadow.”

“No, Donna,” Jenny said quietly. “What’s casting it?”

Donna looked down at the triangular shadow on the floor, then slowly raised her eyes to the ceiling, hoping to see something that would explain the presence of the shadow.

There was nothing.

The Doctor shuddered at how close they’d come to losing Donna.

An electrical hum distracted him, the same sound they’d heard earlier. He turned his head slowly to look down the corridor that led to the reading room. The lights were flickering and going out, just like they had in the stacks.

“The power must be going,” Donna said, though he could tell in her voice that she didn’t really believe that.

The Doctor shook his head. “This place runs on fission cells. They’ll out burn the sun.” The Vashta Nerada were turning off the lights because living shadows could hide more easily in the dark.

“All right then, love, why is it dark?” Rose asked calmly.

He took her hand, then pulled Jenny closer and motioned for Donna to circle in as well. “It’s not dark,” he said, his voice hoarse with anger and fear.

Donna tapped on his arm, and he looked over at her. She pointed to the floor, where the triangular shadow had been just a few moments ago. “That shadow. It’s gone.”

The Doctor’s throat went dry. Rose shuddered in his arms, and he tried to get his fear under control instead of projecting the full force of it to her. “We need to get back to the TARDIS,” he said, surprised by how even his voice sounded.

The drive to get home to safety thrummed inside him, in time with his heart beats. Whoever had called for them would just have to manage on their own. They were already running out of time to make it out of the Library alive.

“Why?” asked Jenny.

“Because that shadow hasn’t gone.” The Doctor swallowed. “It’s moved.”

The Courtesy Node went crazy then, repeating the same message over and over. “Reminder. The Library has been breached. Others are coming. Reminder. The Library has been breached. Others are coming. Reminder. The Library has been breached.”

Rose stared at the Courtesy Node and rubbed the Doctor’s back, trying to calm him down. He hadn’t been this frightened since they’d run into the Weeping Angels with Martha, and his panic was interfering with his ability to communicate.

Calm down, love, she urged. Just talk to us and tell us what’s going on.

The Doctor took a deep breath, but before he could get another word out, an explosion blew open the double doors on the opposite side of the room. Six people in spacesuits stepped into the room. The glass on the suits was tinted black, hiding their faces, but then the leader reached up and adjusted the filter.

Rose stared at the woman’s heart-shaped face. Wide hazel eyes looked back at her beneath furrowed brows, and Rose suddenly knew—this was the person who’d called them. The fact that she’d never met the woman before in her life added a sudden complexity to the day that she hadn’t counted on.

Time travel. She sighed and rubbed her temple.

The tall stranger looked at her, then at the Doctor, Donna, and Jenny. She seemed to take a deep breath before turning back to her crew.

“Pop your helmets, everyone.” She took her own helmet off and shook out her long, brown ponytail. “We’ve got breathers.”

“How do you know they’re not androids?” one of her team challenged, though everyone did as she ordered and took their helmets off.

The woman held Rose’s gaze steadily. “Because. I know them.”

The Doctor seemed not to hear that announcement. He stepped away from Rose, his hands clenched into fists. “Get out,” he ordered, his voice tense.

A smile played on the corners of the woman’s mouth, and Rose wondered if she really knew them. Because if she did, wouldn’t she recognise that he was about thirty seconds from an outburst?

Unless she’s never seen him in a dangerous situation like this. Suddenly wanting to shield the young woman from what was to come, Rose reached out and put her hand on the Doctor’s arm. “Doctor.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, but the tension in his back didn’t ease and his jaw was still twitching. “We’re leaving, and you should too. Get back in your rocket and fly away.”

“Who is this?” A man stepped forward and glared at the woman. “You said we were the only expedition. I paid for exclusives.”

Her smirk deepened and she looked down at the shorter man, meeting his gaze steadily. “They’re part of my team.”  

Rose felt the ripple of shock that washed through the Doctor when he heard those words, and she realised he hadn’t seen the recognition on the woman’s face and put the pieces together.

The man sighed, but he nodded. “It would have been nice if you’d informed me more people would be meeting us here. And I really would love to know how they got through the protections around the planet. But…” He gestured to a pretty young woman standing off to the side. “Miss Evangelista, I want to see the contracts.”

The Doctor watched the party with growing incredulity. Had he not been clear enough in his recommendation that they all leave? Why were they standing here talking?

The stranger looked up at him, her helmet tucked under her arm.“You came through the north door, yeah? How was that, much damage?”

He put his hands on his hips and looked down at this person who was delaying everyone’s escape. “Please, just leave. I’m asking you seriously and properly, just l—”

The man’s words sank in suddenly, and the Doctor broke off in mid-thought to look back at him, then at the rest of the group—all young, likely graduate students working as interns. He looked at the woman who claimed to know them, and judged her to be just a few years older. Their advisor.

He sighed and rocked back on his heels. “Hang on. Did you say expedition?”

The balding man nodded. “My expedition. I funded it.”

The Doctor groaned and looked back at the woman. “Oh, you’re not, are you? Tell me you’re not archaeologists.”

She pressed her lips together, finally making an effort to hide her smirk. “Got a problem with archaeologists?”

He snorted. “I’m a time traveller. I point and laugh at archaeologists.”

“Ah. Doctor Melody Pond, archaeologist.” She wasn’t even bothering to hide her smirk now.  

Rose stepped forward and shook the other woman’s hand. “I think it’s time for introductions,” she said. “You might know us, but we don’t know your team.” She smiled at the black woman standing behind Doctor Pond—she was the one who’d asked if they were androids. “I’m Rose, this is the Doctor, our daughter Jenny, and our friend Donna. What’s your name?”

The woman blinked. “Anita.”

“Right,” the Doctor interrupted. “We could do introductions, or we could leave. I vote for leaving.” He leaned forward, resting his weight on the balls of his feet as he looked into Doctor Pond’s eyes. “And as you leave, you need to set up a quarantine beacon. Code wall the planet, the whole planet. Nobody comes here, not ever again. Not one living thing, not here, not ever.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jenny grab Anita’s arm as she wandered past, towards the shadowy edge of the room. “Stay out of the shadows, Anita,” she warned.

The Doctor nodded. “That’s right. Not a foot, not a finger in the shadows till you’re safely back in your ship. Goes for all of you. Stay in the light.”

Melody Pond blinked up at him, and something in the indulgent expression on her face irritated the Doctor even more. Does she think I’m joking?

“Find a nice, bright spot and just stand,” he ordered. “If you understand me, look very, very scared.” The archaeology team looked more befuddled than scared, and he shook his head. “No, bit more scared than that.” Frowns deepened, and they shifted their weight from one foot to the other. The Doctor shrugged. “Okay, do for now.”

For the first time, Doctor Pond hesitated, licking her lips and looking at Rose. “Rose?”

Rose nodded. “He’s serious, Doctor Pond. He still hasn’t told us exactly what’s on this planet, but it’s swarming with something, and whatever it is, it’s bad. We need to get out of here.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” The man paying for the expedition put his helmet under his arm and scowled at them. “My family has waited one hundred years to come back and check on the Library.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. His family owned the Library? Which made him something-something Lux, as in the Felman Lux coherency warning.

The Doctor ground his teeth together, then looked away from the arrogant Mr. Lux to a younger black man standing uncertainly on the edge of the group. “You. Who are you?”

“Um, Dave.”

He grabbed Dave by the shoulder and pushed him, none-too-gently, back to the door the group had entered through. “Okay, Dave.”

“Oh, well, Other Dave,” Dave added before the Doctor could finish his sentence. He stopped and pointed back at the last person needing to be introduced. “Because that’s Proper Dave, the pilot. He was the first Dave, so when we—”

“Other Dave,” the Doctor interrupted, then pulled him the last few feet to the door. He pointed down the corridor. “The way you came, does it look the same as before?”

“Yeah,” Other Dave said, then he looked properly and shook his head. “Oh, it’s a bit darker.”

“How much darker?” the Doctor prodded.

The kinks of Other Dave’s tightly curled hair cast shadows on the door behind him as he pointed towards the darkened stacks. “Oh, like I could see where we came through just like a moment ago. I can’t now.”

The Doctor fought back his panic. The shadows were closing in on them, and before too much longer, every escape route would be closed off. He backed away from the door and stared purposely at Other Dave.

“Seal up this door. We’ll find another way out.”

“We’re not looking for a way out,” the snappish older man insisted. “Miss Evangelista?”

The pretty young woman stepped forward with a stack of papers in her hands. “I’m Mr. Lux’s personal everything.” She handed the papers to the Doctor, Rose, Jenny, and Donna. “You need to sign these contracts agreeing that your individual experiences inside the library are the intellectual property of the Felman Lux Corporation.”

“Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it?” Rose winked up at him, and the Doctor felt the tiniest bit of his tension ease.

Jenny and Donna both made similar sounds of assent, all of them looking at the Doctor. On his nod, the four of them tore the contracts in two and tossed the ripped paper onto the floor.

Mr. Lux pointed at them. “My family built this library. I have rights.”

“I’m not interested in your rights,” the Doctor snarled. “Something came to this library and killed everything in it. Killed a whole world.” He sucked in a breath through his nose. “The only thing I’m interested in is getting my family home safely. I suggest you do the same.”

Melody Pond bit her lip. “Surely whatever killed those people is long-dead.”

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his hands over his face. “Rose told you there was a swarm. What if they’re not dead? What if, whatever they are, they’ve been living and breeding on this planet for one hundred years?”

Mr. Lux’s annoyed voice interrupted his rapid questions. “What are you doing?”

The Doctor looked across the room to where Mr. Lux was confronting Other Dave, waving a torch like a club.

Other Dave had a caulk gun pressed to the door jamb, and he looked from Mr. Lux to the Doctor. “He said seal the door.”

“You’re taking orders from him?” Mr. Lux demanded.

The Doctor smiled darkly and snuck up behind Mr. Lux “Spooky, isn’t it?” he murmured as he snagged the torch out of Mr. Lux’s hand and shone it into the dark corners of the room.

Rose watched him as he inspected the room. His back was rigid, though that was partially concealed by the heavy coat draped over his shoulders. But it was the fear she could almost taste that made her want to grab her family and run straight back to the TARDIS. The Doctor knew what was here, and they were all in terrible danger.  

“You want to know what’s here?” he asked, then answered his rhetorical question. “I’ll tell you. Almost every species in the universe has an irrational fear of the dark. But they’re wrong, because it’s not irrational. It’s Vashta Nerada.”

Vashta Nerada.

Even without knowing what they were, the name sent a shiver down Rose’s back. As she watched the Doctor as he stood on the edge of the light, shining the torch into the darkness, she paid attention to his thoughts, and the shiver became a shudder.

Carnivorous shadows. Shadows that eat.

Jenny crossed the room to stand with her father, peering into the darkness with him, but Donna stood alone beneath the centre of the rotunda. “What’s Vashta Nerada?” she asked.

“It’s what’s in the dark,” the Doctor said, his quiet, tense voice matching the ominous words. “It’s what’s always in the dark.”

Rose spun around, looking at the archaeology team who were all staring at the Doctor. “Lights!” she demanded. “The shadows are dangerous, so let’s fill this room with light.”

The Doctor nodded and tossed the torch to Mr. Lux as he strode back to the centre of the light. “Exactly right, Rose,” he said as he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the circulation desk. “Form a circle. Safe area. Big as you can, lights pointing out.”

Melody nodded at her team. “Oi. Do as he says.”

“You’re not listening to this man?” Mr. Lux demanded.

Rose clenched her fists and took a few deep breaths; less than ten minutes in the presence of Mr. Lux, and already her patience was at its limit.

Melody rolled her eyes. “Obviously,” she said, with just a hint of an accent Rose couldn’t quite make out. She rattled off directions to the rest of her team quickly, delegating with the air of experience. “Anita, unpack the lights. Donna and Jenny can help. Other Dave, make sure the door’s secure, then help them if they aren’t done. Mr. Lux, put your helmet back on—block the visor. Proper Dave, find an active terminal. I want you to access the library database. See what you can find about what happened here a hundred years ago.”

She took a breath and looked at the Doctor and Rose before ducking behind the circulation desk. “And if I could talk to the two of you, over here?”

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a look before nodding and following Melody. Rose couldn’t help noticing that they were conveniently out of earshot of the rest of the group, as long as they kept their voices down.

“Doctor Pond, why am I the only one wearing my helmet?” Mr. Lux asked wearily.  

“I don’t fancy you,” she said blithely.

Rose swallowed a laugh at the impish expression on the mysterious young woman’s face. It had nothing to do with who she fancied—Doctor Pond was just tired of seeing Mr. Lux’s condescending expression every time she looked up. Rose didn’t blame her, but sadly, once he realised it wasn’t necessary, Mr. Lux removed his helmet.

The Doctor paused just before stepping behind the desk. “Don’t let your shadows cross,” he ordered. “Seriously, don’t even let them touch. Any of them could be infected.”

“How can a shadow be infected?” Other Dave asked.

You still haven’t really explained that part, Doctor, Rose pointed out.

He ran a hand through his hair. Let’s see what Doctor Pond has to say, then I’ll finish explaining the Vashta Nerada.

Donna watched the Doctor and Rose step off to the side with this strange woman while she and Jenny carried the lights Anita was unpacking to the middle of the room, setting them up in a circle. Doctor Pond’s opening assertion that she knew them had seemed a little far-fetched, but there was something familiar in the way she interacted with her crew, and after paying attention, Donna had figured it out—she sounded like the Doctor, the way he stepped into a situation and automatically took charge.

Plus, there was the way she’d turned to Rose for verification of the Doctor’s claim that they were in danger. That said a lot about how well she knew the couple.

“I know,” Jenny murmured, keeping her voice low. “It’s weird, isn’t it—meeting someone supposedly from your future?”

“Excuse me, can I help?” Miss Evangelista asked before Donna could reply to Jenny.

Other Dave had just joined them, and the smirk that passed between him and Anita really got under Donna’s skin.  

“No, we’re fine,” Anita said.  

The young personal assistant didn’t give up. “I could just you know, hold things.”

“No, really, we’re okay,” Other Dave insisted.

Miss Evangelista’s shoulders slumped and she walked off, joining her boss who was doing something with a handheld device. Donna watched for a moment as she tried to get Mr. Lux to give her something to do, but he just held up his hand—dismissing her just like the others had.

Donna scowled and stood up so she could confront Other Dave and Anita.  “Couldn’t she help?” she said sharply.

Jenny looked up from the nearly-finished circle of light, a faint smile on her face, and the approval emboldened Donna. She’d had enough experience in her life of being treated like she was useless. But at least she’d never been treated like that by her co-workers, unlike Miss Evangelista.

Other Dave shook his head. “Trust me. I just spent four days on a ship with that woman. She’s… er…”  

Anita sighed and cut in. “Couldn’t tell the difference between the escape pod and the bathroom. We had to go back for her.” She and Other Dave exchanged another grin. “Twice.”

Donna glared at the two, and they quickly looked away from her and went back to work getting the lights set up. Convinced she’d made it clear what she thought of their attitude, she looked for Miss Evangelista, hoping she could at least be of use making the other woman feel better, but Mr. Lux was talking to her.

Mr. Lux’s personal everything, she thought cynically. If the young woman was really as useless as Anita and Other Dave claimed, then she must be there to be eye candy. Donna gritted her teeth together. Three thousand years in the future, and nothing had changed.

oOoOoOoOo

The Doctor shoved his hands into his coat pockets and glared at Doctor Melody Pond. “Is there a point to this little meeting?” he bit out. “Because there are ten people, including the three of us, whose lives depend on me figuring out a way to get us out of here. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the exits are being cut off one by one.”

Rose nudged him with an elbow to the ribs, but he didn’t apologise. Standing in the dimly lit reading room on a planet that had been overrun by Vashta Nerada was frankly terrifying, and the fact that no one but Rose really seemed to be taking his concerns seriously only made it worse.

Melody Pond didn’t flinch in the face of his anger. She just smiled, a little sadly, and held up a wallet the Doctor immediately knew held a piece of psychic paper. “I just wanted to thank you for coming when I called.”  

“Oh, that was you?” the Doctor asked, even though he’d figured that out.

“Yes, that was me. Psychic paper is more reliable than super-charged mobile phones in certain parts of the universe.” Melody pursed her lips and looked at them. “I suspected, when you made that crack about archaeologists, that I might have gotten you even earlier than I realised. You don’t know who I am, do you?”

The Doctor and Rose exchanged a look. “Should we, Doctor Pond?” Rose asked.

Melody flinched at the title. “First of all, please call me Melody. Hearing you call me Doctor Pond is…” She shook her head. “It’s just weird.”  

“All right, Melody,” Rose agreed.

She was surprised when several of the tense lines around Melody’s eyes and mouth disappeared. Melody slid her psychic paper back into her bag. “And yes. You’ll know me, one day,” she assured them. “And I know anyone could say that, especially since you mentioned upfront that you’re time travellers—really, Doctor, you usually play that card a little closer to the vest.”

“She’s right, Doctor.”

“Oi!” The Doctor felt his lower lip protrude slightly, but he didn’t care if he was pouting. Rose was supposed to be on his side.

Melody winked at Rose. “You might be decades younger than when I know you, but I see not much has changed between now and then.”

The Doctor blinked at the casual implication that Melody knew they didn’t age, then shook his head quickly. “Yes, back to you knowing us in our future,” he cut in. “How can we believe you, since, as you pointed out, anyone could say that?”

Melody sighed. “You gave us all a code word, said it was something you’d only ever tell your closest friends and family, so we could use it if we met you this far out of order. I never thought I’d have to use it.” She clasped her hands in front of her, a picture that looked odd with the heavy gloves of her suit. “We’ve met a year or two out of order before, but never before you knew me…”

“What’s the code word?” Rose asked.

Melody took a deep breath and lowered her voice before speaking the words with solemnity. “Bad Wolf.”

[imhereforbvcky]

I’ll Be Good - Part 19

Masterlist -  Series Masterlist  -  Part 18  -  Part 20

Summary: Series - You’re an old colleague of Natasha’s who finds herself face to face with the Winter Soldier on the wrong end of an Avengers’ op. Chapter – You make a decision, refuse to follow anyone’s rules, and learn whether it’s a gamble that will pay off.

Warnings: swearing, violence - I don’t know what’s wrong with me… honestly I worry about my own brain writing parts like this., angsty angst aaagnst

Word Count: 1986 - ok! Back in the 1000 range! Only just… and you might hate me for it.

Author’s Note: Oh gosh you guys. This one’s rough. I feel awful leaving you here before my little hiatus! Oh boy. Don’t hate me. I love you, ok? I do!

Standing at the register, you wiped the sleep from your eyes. This was simple and habitual for you: exit the plane, purchase a new hoodie and hat at the gift shop, catch the train to Dresden in 10. Clockwork. It was all so natural, such a habit that you didn’t think twice about sleeping most of the flight.

You stopped short, though, when your eye caught on the books near the register. Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

Without another thought, you dropped it onto the pile of items for purchase and tucked it under your arm before ducking into a bathroom to disappear. You couldn’t be followed through Berlin, not to Dresden, not north of Dresden, not to the Commander’s hold.

After changing into the sweater and pinning your hair beneath the hat, you stood with the book in your hands, looking the role of the tourist. Staring at the cover for what felt like ages, you finally made the decision, quickly seeking through the pages and tearing one out. Just one.

The wind snapped at your coat, pulling the hem taught as you stood in front of the post box, gripping tightly to the envelope you’d prepared just a few hours ago. The envelope you’d agonized over, the envelope you weren’t sure you should send.

The city hummed around you, people brushed past, pieces of your hair whipped across your face, tugged loose by the wind. But you remained perfectly still, clutching the envelope you’d prepared on the train, the envelope you’d turned over in your hands again and again on your way here, to Dresden, your last stop. Finally, here you stood, immobile with indecision.

If you tucked the envelope in your pocket, shredded it, discarded it in the nearest trash bin, Bucky would be safe, and you’d face your fate alone, like you should do. He would assume you’d left after the debriefing, unwilling to work through the complex team dynamics in the wake of your failed mission in Kiev.

He would assume he wasn’t enough to keep you in New York... to keep you with him. That was an unbearably painful thought when he meant so much, was worth so much, was more than enough. It was that very thought that had led you here. Just a few miles from the greatest risk you’d ever take, holding an envelope that could undo everything you were taking that risk for. But you just couldn’t let go of it.

It would be so selfish to send it, because if he knew why you left, there was a chance he’d come for you, and this would all be for naught. Your peace of mind or his life; that’s what was in the balance here, but somehow the difficulty of that decision weighed heavier even than the decision to come here in the first place.

He deserved an explanation, but any you offered only put him at risk.

It’s harder now to turn it off. Why is it harder? you thought. The back of your hand swept over your cheek, taking tears and grime away with it. I’m a trained and hardened assassin. Did it all really come undone in just a few months with them?

Your hand returned to the heel of the gun, steadying your grip.

“I'm sorry,” you whispered to the anonymous form bound and kneeling before you. “They'll kill you either way.”

“Does that make you feel better about being the one to do it?”

Remember Bucky. You’re doing this for him. A sharp roll of your head and a readjustment of your aim were followed by a deep, shaking breath and the loud snap of the gun firing in your hands. Bucky deserves his freedom more than anyone, far more than me.

“It doesn't,” you whispered back to the corpse, lowering the firearm to the table beside you and raising your hands beside your head, as was the necessary routine.

The guards swarmed to either side of you, jerking your arms down and back. Your stiff joints screamed at the hash kick to the back of your knees as you fell to the ground. The skin deeply bruised, blue and purple and yellow, never permitted to fully heal before the next harsh blow. You stared down at the palette of discoloured flesh, at the deep red liquid from the man a few feet away, seeping beneath you through the pattern of the tile floor, easily recognizing it as the narrative of your life.

Silence was your only defense now as your body was once again jerked upward by strong, merciless hands.

When you’d first arrived at the stronghold you weren’t at all surprised to be immediately apprehended, dropped to your knees, patted down for weapons, and restrained. It was standard precaution. You had just spent the last few months betraying this man and his work, selling his secrets, killing his men.

You still weren’t fazed when you were made to wait in a holding cell. It wasn’t until the Commander came to you there in the cell, instead of negotiating with you in his office or a conference room, that the weight of the situation sank in: worst case scenario.

The second the door groaned shut behind him, the tension in the room grew like a heavy shadow. You shifted to lift your chin, defiant and proud, watching him closely for leverage, an opportunity. There wasn’t much point in eyeing him for weapons, you knew he was armed, but he made a show of sliding the long slender knife onto the table in front of you. It screeched across the steel surface.

You remained silent as always; waiting him out. Both of you knew that an interrogation was a careful dance, and whoever took the first step, took the lead, gave away the most information.

“You’ve come alone.”

“You said I owe you, so I’m here,” you fired back, voice strong and defiant.

“Those weren’t the terms!” His fist slammed onto the table making the knife jump, but you remained even, unmoved.

“The terms have changed,” you answered coolly, leaning forward as much as the restraints would allow. You knew you needed to present with absolute confidence. Anything less would be met with a swift power-play and this would be over in moments. It was clear that this was going to hurt… but you might still get what you wanted.

“You can’t get him without me, and I won’t give him to you. So you can accept my offer of a contract with me...” He scoffed at your proposal before you even finished the sentence, “...or have done, and kill me already.”

“Does your soldier like those pretty big eyes of yours?”

That threw you. You managed to keep silent, not spilling your confusion with words, but it was clear in the way your head jerked back, how your eyes narrowed for a split second.

He rounded the table, gripping your face roughly in his hand, his thumb and forefinger digging into the hollows of your cheeks. “Those big pretty eyes that only see what they want to see? Hmm?”

You tore your face away as he reached for the knife. He hummed softly, tapping the tip of the blade gently on your cheekbone. “You want to believe you’re stronger, that you hold all the cards, but you’re weak and inoperative.”

You bit your lip, trying to withhold the eruption of pain as he dipped the blade into your skin. “You’re useless to me on your own, Y/N. You’re not the shadow you were. You’re protecting him.” You forced yourself to focus on the warm tickle of the blood dripping down your neck instead of the slow stroke he was making across your cheek. “And when you have priorities of your own, I can’t trust you to focus on mine and carry out a mission.”

He pulled the blade away and sat on the table in front of you, watching the thick trickle of blood on its stream over your cheek and neck. “When the asset comes – and he will come for you – I’ll activate him.” He tapped your shoulder with the point of the blade. 

“See, you’ll remember him, how he protected you, came to save you, how you made this sacrifice for him. But he won’t remember you at all. He’ll have a directive to keep you in line. And you won’t have the heart to do what it takes to get out… to hurt him.” He ran his thumb over the edge of the blade, testing its edge. “You’ll stay for him and together you’ll be the most effective team of operatives we’ve ever had.” His gaze snapped to you again, locking on you with hard narrowed eyes, “Without him you’re just… collateral.”

“You’re wrong.” You were seething now, reeling. How had you miscalculated so badly? Surely you were more valuable as an agent than a pawn for ransom… But Bucky was their asset. “He won’t come. The others… they won’t let him. Not for me.”

His laugh was sharp in your ears, “If that video from Kiev is any indication, nothing will stop him from running into my hands the moment he sees your sweet face, bleeding and bruised.”

Before you could think to anticipate the pain, the knife flashed in his hand and sank deep into your side. The cry that ripped out of your throat was almost inhuman. Your jaw dropped in shock and pain, gasping for breath as he pulled the blade expertly from between your ribs, coated to the hilt in bright red stain.

“But I suppose you might as well earn your keep while you’re here.”

Dropping your head back, you could hardly focus on his words, concentrating on just breathing. Your gulping, gasping, insufficient breathing. The pain radiated through your chest and shoulder with every breath as your lung threatened to collapse.

He stood, wiping his knife clean before looking to you again. “I’ve done some research, you know, for how to instruct your new handler when he finally gets here and we…. reprogram him. But maybe we can get some of that shadow back in you before he gets here hmm?”

You didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, could hardly breathe. “I had one of your old handlers before you killed him. I’m told blind executions are effective in quelling your more sentimental outbursts. Shall we start there?”

“Go to hell.” You spat at him, a pool of blood landing at his feet. Definitely a punctured lung, then.

That did it. He was nothing if not clean and efficient. He pressed the tip of the knife to the juncture of your throat and clavicle. You stared at him, hard and unmoving, clenching your jaw, daring him to sink the point in, to end this now, to free you and hopefully, ultimately, Bucky.

“Y/N, you’re smarter than this,” he sighed, “I will kill you. Slowly.” He wasn’t bluffing, he never did. “For every execution you refuse to carry out, I will gouge you with another gaping wound until you drown in your own blood. I will send your body to your Winter Soldier and he will come to me anyway, and it will be so easy to take him, when he’s blind and reckless with rage.”

The shudder that rippled through your body was insurmountable, your ragged wheezing did nothing for your negotiating stance. “And I promise you, every last one of the people you refused to execute, will have died anyway.”

With a sinking, agonizing dread, you realized he was right. You’d fucked this up in the worst possible way and now your best chance at keeping Bucky away from here, at saving him from this, from everything he had already escaped once in his lifetime was to do this. To do this and pray to whatever monstrous gods were out there that he never received that damn envelope and that he never came for you.

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[tagnoob]

After we moved into the old house… our first real, single family detached dwelling in the mold of the suburban American dream… and had settled in a bit, it became time to get a cat.  We had a cat at our old condo, a charmer named Woody, but he had passed and we decided not to think about another cat until we had settled down in a new home.  Getting there took a while, but once we had ourselves established in the autumn of 2000, we went looking for a cat.

Two cats actually.  The thought was that a pair would be happier.  And so one weekend we picked Felix from a rescue shelter.  He was an adult can of unknown age who had been living in the parking lot of the IBM facility on Cottle Rd. in San Jose.  When that was closed, the woman who had been feeding him collected him up and brought him in to find him a real home.  He was happy and friendly and liked people and warmed right up to me, so he came home with us the day we met him.

The next weekend we went searching for a companion.  Since I had chosen Felix… or maybe he chose me… my wife was looking for a cat for herself.  After some searching we came across a black kitten with a white tummy, white paws, and a little diamond shaped white spot on his forehead.  He wasn’t a tiny kitten, but about five months old.  My wife thought he was adorable and so we brought him home.

Earliest known picture of Oscar, hiding under our bed

He came with the name Dylan, but we changed that to Oscar, to match Felix as the “Odd Couple” of cats, and it turned out to be quite the fitting name.

When we brought him home we followed what we had been told and set Oscar up in the guest room with the door shut to keep the two cats apart until they grew used to each other.  That lasted for about 30 minutes.  They were almost immediately on either side of the door sniffing and meowing and obviously anxious to see who was on the other side.  There were no hostile signs, so we said, “What the hell” and opened the door and the two became immediate buddies.

Felix sharing his catnip pillow with Oscar

But while the two of them were pals for life, they had very different personalities.  Felix had to be around whoever was over to visit, greeting every guest, and was always happy to sit in anybody’s lap.  He was the good cat, gregarious and happy and always in the thick of things.

Oscar, on the other hand, was quite reserved.  He loved Felix and my wife, but held himself aloof from the rest of the world.  I joked that it took him five years to get used to me, but it was about the truth.  He wouldn’t go out of his way to find me, but would seek out my wife day and night to be close to her, preferably in her lap.

Felix would be in the thick of thing and Oscar would be peeking around the corner or sneaking around the periphery of any event, keen to know what was going on but not willing to go out there with all those strangers.  He was also always getting into everything.  While Felix was content with things as they were, Felix had to know what was under, behind, over, and around anything in the house.  He could be quite the wiener, and his nickname quickly became Oscar Meyer.

And then my daughter showed up and there was a whole new world of adventure for Oscar Meyer.  There was some combination of new stuff and a little human that was constantly around my wife and who, no doubt smelled a bit of her, that made my daughter and all of her stuff of immediate interest to him.  I don’t think my daughter had been home for more than 10 minutes before he appeared at her bassinet to see what we had brought home.

What do we have here?

Of course, he immediately tried to get into the bassinet with her and curl up.  She was nice and warm and that was a trait he loved in people.  We had to keep a close eye on him and even had to get a mesh “kitty tent” to go over my daughter’s crib to keep him out once she started sleeping there.  But her stuff was his stuff as far as he was concerned and looking back at the pictures he was around her and my wife a lot.

In the bassinet

Watching her get measured

In her bouncy chair plaing with the toys

Rolling around her

In her stroller

In her donut

What is that lump under the play center?

It is Oscar under there

In her car seat

Trying to get into the crib

Life with Oscar and Felix was good.  They were pals and Felix, who would welcome anybody in our house, took up the slack with visitors as Oscar remained wary of strangers and really only liked my wife and daughter for years.  I remained under suspicion.

Of course, when it came time to go to the vet, I was the one who had to stuff the kitties in their boxes.  Felix would go easy, but Oscar… who could somehow sense I was coming for him even if left no evidence about… would run and hide under the bed the moment I glanced his way.  I recall once having to take the mattress and box spring off the bed to get at him.  Still, once in a while he would show up and hang out with me.

Hey, is that Age of Kings you’re playing?

Felix, older and having lived a harder life in his youth, passed away just about eight years ago.  Oscar though, he was in his prime at that time.  He was king of the house and soon had to rule over two new kittens.  The coming of Fred and Trixie worked out well, and the three of them became pals, with the two younger cats cuddling up with Oscar.

Black and white fur at rest

With three cats, everybody in the house had one.  Oscar remained ever my wife’s cat, while Fred would sleep with our daughter, and Trixie would hang out with me… though she would cuddle up on my wife in bed.  She knew where the warmth was.

Fred and Trixie were not with us long however.  They both suffered from a congenital issue that cut both of their lives short, feline aortic thromboembolism.  Fred went a year before Trixie, and in the interim she had to have a new cat to call her own, so Rigby joined us as a kitten.

Not being black and white, the new tabby kitten wasn’t welcomed very warmly.  It took a while for Trixie and Oscar to accept Rigby, but eventually they did.

Trixie, Rigby, and Oscar together on the tower

By this point Oscar was slowing down.  He was still king of the house, and held court on the couch where he would welcome any guest and sit in their lap… so long as it was warm… but he was more interested in sunny spots and treats than running around and playing.  Then Trixie passed and it was just Oscar and Rigby.

Those two were not pals.  When Rigby was young he wanted to play when Oscar wanted to sleep.  Later when Rigby came into his adult size, he stated testing Oscar over who was really the boss.  There were the occasional fights, but mostly it was the kitty equivalent of “I’m not touching you, I’m not touching you!”

Oscar trying to pretend Rigby isn’t there

They could be cuddly at times, but their rivalry was never far from the surface.

  And Oscar was getting older and slowing down even more so.  The vet told me a couple of times that 12 to 15 years is a good life span for a healthy cat.  Oscar hit 16 last year and was closing in on 17 this year, but time was telling on him.  His hips were bothering him, so we got him a heating pad to sleep on during the day.  He had gone deaf at some point, which meant that an already vocal cat had no real way to gauge his volume. He then got a bad ear infection about 18 months back that took a long stretch to go away with antibiotics, a respiratory infection late last year that sapped his strength before it was over, and then this past January an episode that looked like another ear infection (head tilt, problem with balance) but which the vet thought was an issue with his brain; not a stroke but some sort of episode.  His blood pressure was very high and in addition to his other symptoms he was blind in one eye.

I started writing this post after that day at the vet because he looked to be done, even crawling under our bed to be some place dark, something past cats I have owned have done that indicates their time has come.

Then he bounced back a bit.  The “maybe this will help” medicine the vet gave us seemed to actually help.  He got up on the bed with us the next day.  His balance improved, he could get around the house on his own, and he started eating again.  He wasn’t eating much though and he was far from his old self.  We made him as comfortable as we could and offered up food he really liked just to get him to eat more.  Even Rigby (mostly) stopped being a pain to Oscar and would groom him.

But it was borrowed time.  Oscar was eating less and less and was losing weight.  Even for an older cat who slept a lot already, a lot of his time was spent asleep.  And then when I got home from work Wednesday I found him in the middle of the floor of office.  My wife said he had used the litter box, but then just stopped in the carpet there and wouldn’t move.  She had food and water close to him, but he was just sitting there.  I found a cat bed he would occasionally deign to sleep in, put it down next to him, then placed him in it.  He curled up there and slept.  He did not move until the next morning when he was trying to walk to our bedroom.  I picked him up and put him on the bed in the dark room and he curled up again and stayed there.

I was working from home yesterday and my daughter was home sick from school, so we kept an eye on Oscar, but things did not look good.  There was no interest in food or water.  I let my daughter take him out in the back yard where it was warm (72 degrees) and sunny to see if that would stimulate him.  Oscar has never been outside and has shown no desire to ever leave the house.  But as a cat any new environment is of interest to him. He explored a bit, but could barely go a dozen steps before having to lay down and rest for a bit.

Out in the grass

While he was out there with my daughter I called the vet and made an appointment for one last check before the end.  We all went to the vet and cried a lot  as we said good bye.  He is at peace and suffers no more, but we are still sad today and miss him.

The end of an era.  We always grow attached to our pets, but after 16 years the bond is very strong and the parting all the more difficult.  Oscar had been with us since before my wife was even pregnant with our daughter, and we used to joke, when my daughter wanted a sibling, that he was her older brother.

It is even difficult to choose pictures to post of him.  We got our first digital camera as a gift just before we got Felix and Oscar and he has been a kitty of the digital camera and then the iPhone age.  There are literally hundreds of pictures of him to choose from.  But I think my favorites are from the early days, when he and Felix roamed our house and were such pals, and when Oscar just had to get into everything, so I will add a few more of those to the end of this already over-long post.

Felix and Oscar in the sun

Exploring birthday balloons

Hiding in a pillow case

Felix and Oscar on the bed

Kitty in the chair

Sharing a piece of red cloth on the couch

Sharing the rocker

Tough looking cats

Sharing a nap on my shirts

Oscar hiding in a roll of foam

Just curled up

The fate of warm laundry left unattended

Not quite enough room for two

Oscar packed to go

Climbing the entryway lattice

Oscar using Trixie as a pillow

Trixie, Oscar, and Fred together

Trixie and Oscar as nap buddies

Oscar at Peace After we moved into the old house... our first real, single family detached dwelling in the mold of the suburban American dream...