#All for One saying and the wobbly text bubble along with his frowning face under the mask

[ravelights]

All for One sounds genuinely angry here it's interesting to see how angry he sound about Endeavour "making" Shoto fight. I suppose it could be opening old wounds for him, having brothers fight each other would no doubt remind him of his situation. But he Also seems like he's angry at Endeavour for "neglecting" his children and choosing to be a hero over being a father. There's Also his mind games behind this words, like hawks said, he's trying to rile Enji up/ break his spirit. So there is the fact if the worst guy in the world is angry at your choices in parenting does make you think.

We as the audience knows that Shoto chose to fight Dabi, even though Endeavour didn't want him to, which is something AFO doesn't know.

But Should DFO be true this moment would be very ironic, the fact that AFO is calling out endeavour for neglecting his responsibilities as a father to instead be a hero. All while he'd literally be doing the same with Izuku and even worse. I do wonder if Hori parred up Endeavour with AFO, instead of with Dabi for a reason.

Because under the eyes of DFO unlike with All might which was a fight between mentors, this would be a fight between fathers.

[cower-before-power]

Piety

Summary: Gojo has sinned, and he will repent at the altar of his beloved

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

TW: swearing, implied sexual content, idolatry

Link to A03 here

A/N: First time writing for everyone’s favourite sensei, hope I did him justice. This man can step on me. Enjoy, sweet potatoes!

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“You’re late.”

He laughs softly from the doorway. “I told you I would be.”

“I know,” you say, your eyes focused on the rising moon out the window. “But you’ve always said I was the exception.”

“You are,” you can hear walk over to the closet; next, the rustling of clothes as he sheds his uniform. “But Yuuji-kun is doing so well I got overexcited and just had to stay a bit longer. When I was finished with him, I was planning on rushing straight home to you, but then I ran into my other darling first years. They wanted me to watch them fight. Their training for the exchange is coming along nicely too.”

“Hmmmmm,” you hum, rocking on your heels, “good reasons to be late, I suppose.”

You can’t help but let a little irritation creep into your voice. You’re not angry with him, not truly, but you can’t help be a little annoyed. Your lives were so busy it was often hard to find time to actually act like a couple. The two of you had set aside tonight to finally go out together, a real date. You’d made reservations at a fancy restaurant and even got dressed up for once. Not that you didn’t love your late night routine of takeout, Netflix and sex, but it was nice every once and a while to get out.

To pretend everything was normal. To pretend you were normal.

So when he texted you that he was sorry but things came up, could you please cancel the reservation-you couldn’t help but feel....cast aside.

You loved Gojo’s dedication to his students and his passion for his cause. You were proud of his strength, his powers. But sometimes it felt like you were a planet orbiting around his brilliant sun, competing with all the others for his warmth and light. He was the best, and was always needed by someone somewhere. You knew it was what you were in for when you put your heart in his hands, but it was still sometimes a bitter pill to swallow.

“You’re upset with me,” he says, and you finally turn to face him. He’s out of his uniform and only in a pair of dark sweatpants; your favourite look. You have a strong urge to run to him and bury yourself in his chest. You stay put.

“No not at you, per say,” you run your hands through your hair, taking out the style you’d coaxed it into earlier. “Just at life, I guess. Things are always crazy around here, but they seem to be getting even wilder and it just makes it even harder for us to spend quality time together.”

“You’ve never complained before.”

You sigh, tugging at the straps of your dress. “I know, I know. I’m just in a mood today, I guess. I was really looking forward to going out, and when you texted me, I just felt, I don’t know, shuffled aside.”

He stays quiet, face unreadable. It’s unusual and quite frankly rather unsettling. You feel guilt suddenly bubble hotly in your stomach.

“I mean, it’s fine! What you were doing was very important! Yuuji needs all the training he can get, poor boy. Plus, Megumi and Nobara miss you, they’ve noticed you haven’t been around a lot and they probably just wanted to see you be proud of them, even if they’ll never admit it. I’m being silly, I mean, who cares if we missed the reservation, the students and their training is definitely more important than going out with me-“

Your words die on your lips as you find yourself suddenly pressed flush against the chest you were just admiring moments earlier. You blink and gasp-bright blue eyes are staring intently down into yours. It always stuns you momentarily to see them. They are like sapphires; not only beautiful in shine and hue, but rare and precious. They only show up when he’s feeling particularly loving and mushy, or the very limited occasions when he gets serious.

You have a feeling it’s the latter.

“What have I told you about being too kind, angel?” He scolds you, shaking his head as he cups your face in his large, warm hands. “Just come out and say I’m the asshole here.”

“But-“

“Hush now,” his voice grows stern, the tone he uses when he’s got you at his mercy. You obey on instinct, snapping your lips shut. “I shouldn’t have stayed so long at school, and I definitely shouldn’t have assumed that cancelling would be okay without asking. I’ve never, ever wanted you to feel like you’re playing second string, and I’ve gone and done just that.”

You frown. “I don’t feel like that all the time, please don’t think I-“

“Once is one time too many,” he interrupts. His fingers smooth over your skin, stroking the frown from your face. “I clearly fucked up. I let my angel, my reason to live, my sweet darling thief who stole my heart, down.”

(You feel warm. So he is feeling mushy as well as serious.)

He replaces his fingers with his lips, featherlight brushes over your skin that make your knees begin to wobble. “It’s okay,” you breathe, eyes slipping shut so he can kiss your eyelids gently. “You didn’t mean to.”

He laughs. “Sweetness, you are shit at being mad at someone. This is the part where you call me a prick and make me grovel for forgiveness.”

“You’ve never groveled in your life,” you hum. The irritation you’d been feeling earlier is melting away under his gentle ministrations. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He sometimes forgets the two of you didn’t always operate on the same wavelength. He sometimes forgets that everyone didn’t operate on his wavelength.

“Another exception I’d make for you,” he nibbles at your bottom lip, and you can’t help but chase him, trying to catch him in a proper kiss. He just laughs and sweeps a thumb over where he’s just nipped. “I’ll even get on my knees.”

The image of the worlds most powerful shaman on his knees before you sends a shiver up your spine. And the perceptive bastard doesn’t miss it. He pulls away, peeling himself from your body with a sticky slowness that causes the air around you to heat and thicken. He sinks to his knees before you, palms upturned in perfect piety.

“Oh goddess divine, please accept my humble apologies,” the words drip from his lips like a sacred prayer. “I have displeased you, and I seek to make amends.”

“Only you could apologize and make fun of someone at the same time,” you murmer, feeling your cheeks begin to flush. “You’re an idiot.”

“An idiot who only wishes to repent for his sins,” he grins lazily up at you, and his upturned hands are suddenly on your legs, beneath your dress. His thumbs begin to rub circles on your inner thighs. Time stops; your next breath lodges in your throat.

“Tell me what I must do,” his voice is smooth like the silk of his blindfold, slipping over you. He leans in and presses a kiss just above your right knee. His mouth is hot against your skin.

“Ummmm....” you try to speak, but nothing comes out but a choked whimper.

“I’m waiting very patiently,” another kiss, this time slightly higher. Your brain begins to malfunction. You open and close your mouth, trying to get the words out, but there’s nothing. Nothing but his warm breath and deft hands. Nothing but crystalline blue darkened with hunger. Nothing but need beginning to boil in your blood.

“I’ll just have to decide the form of atonement myself,” he murmurs, skimming his nose along your inner thigh. His hands slowly slide up your legs, your dress is coming up with them....

And then you both hear it.

The loud grumbling of your very empty belly.

He pulls back and blinks up at you. You stare back, mouth open. And then you both burst into raucous laughter.

“What a mood killer,” he grins, sitting back on his heels. “I’ve never been cockblocked by your stomach before.”

“Sorry!” You rub the offending area, still giggling. “I guess in all my stewing I forgot I was hungry.”

He’s on his feet in a flash. “Well we can’t have you starve on me, can we, sweetness? I know, how about I cook for us?”

Your eyes light up. Gojo is an excellent cook, but he rarely does it due to his busy and exhausting schedule. And his bad habit of filling up on sweets. “Really?”

“Sure,” he’s already across the room, throwing on a shirt and his blindfold. “Tell you what, you go have a nice hot soak in the tub while I cook. I’ll bring you a glass of wine and something from my extra secret sweets stash to tide you over till I’m done.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Something from the secret stash? I’m honoured.”

He grins. “Another exception for my angel.” He suddenly claps his hands together. “Oh, and tomorrow we’ll play hookey! Go to Tokyo for the whole day, and I’ll spoil the absolute shit out of you. The kids can survive a day without us.”

“You already spoil me,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’ll just be happy to spend a whole day just us.”

“No arguments!” He wags his finger. “I will drop mad cash on you and you will enjoy it.”

“Ugh you are such a dork,” you roll your eyes, but your heart fills with love for this silly man. You know he really is sorry and is trying to make it up to you. He’s an idiot on occasions, but he’s your idiot, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

You make to move towards the bathroom, but the lingering feel of his touch on your skin reminds you.

“Hey, what happens after the bath and food?”

Before you can blink, he’s back in front of you, gathering you against him. His smile is absolutely feral, and you can feel his smouldering gaze even through the black fabric now covering his eyes.

And his lips are descending on yours, hot and hungry. He licks into your mouth, swallowing the moan that’s threatening to escape. There’s nothing left but him. His touch, his taste, his scent. He is everywhere, in every sweep and valley of your body, in every corner of your pounding heart. He consumes you like fire consumes a forest, and you are happy to burn, burn, burn.

All too soon he pulls away, and you are left empty. Bereft. Lost. But he leans back in, his lips brushing your ear, his voice dark with reverent desire.

“I’ll worship at the altar of my divine goddess until my penance is paid a hundred fold.”

[angelicyoongie]

desolate (2)

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x  reader

— genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut

— word count: 2.9k

— tag list: @mrcleanheichou​ , @ladymidnightt​ Part one Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part eight Part nine Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen Part fourteen (M)

A sharp tone rips you out of your dreams, your alarm screeching at the top of its lungs to make you get up. You groan, fumbling around before you find your phone to turn it off. You look at your screen through bleary eyes, annoyed that you forgot to turn off your alarm considering it’s a Saturday and you absolutely do not have to wake up at 6.30 am today.

You huff, throwing your phone further down your bed and turning over to go back to sleep. The noise startled you enough that you can still feel your heart racing, and even though you doubt you’ll be able to slip back into the dream you had, you can still take a few minutes more to just rest.

You stare at the sunlight that has started peeking through the gaps in your curtains, everything still a little hazy from the vivid dream you had. But the more you look out in your room, the more the golden eyes and black soft fur you thought was only a dream starts melting away and the day before comes rushing back.

You actually adopted a cat! Your stomach does a funny flip, excitement rushing through your veins as you quickly sit up in bed. The floor is cold as you plant your feet on the ground, and you hurry over to your closet with a grimace.

In a few weeks it’ll become too cold to have the heater off, and you already dread how high your electricity bills are going to become in the following months. But it’s either that or freezing to death, and frankly with your busy schedule, you don’t have time for that. You throw on a hoodie and some sweatpants, happy that the only thing on your agenda today is just lazing around the apartment.

You hurry to your bedroom door after tugging on some thick socks to ward off the cold, only pausing for a short second to take a deep breath before opening it. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but finding your kitty lying directly outside of your door definitely wasn’t it.

You freeze, foot caught mid-air as you stare down at the black ball of fur curled up on the floor. You carefully set your foot down again, clutching the doorframe as you slowly slide down to a crouch. He's so fluffy and cute that your legs wobble, and you have to put a hand down on the floor to keep from toppling over your cat.

You wince as the cold seeps into your fingertips, and you don’t like the thought of your kitty sleeping on it. What if he gets sick? Can cats get sick? You’re not sure, but you don’t want to find out either.

“Kitty?” You murmur, watching as one ear twitches in your direction. You reach out slowly, hand hovering over the furry body hesitantly. You want to touch him, but the band-aids along your forearm serves as a reminder of how much he didn’t like that last night.

“Kitty?” You try again, and this time, golden eyes slide open at your voice. You let out a small coo as it blinks slowly, obviously still sleepy. You figure it might be safe to touch it now that it’s awake, but the moment you fingers inch closer it hisses, golden eyes suddenly wide and alarmed before it quickly scampers under the couch again.

You sigh, pushing yourself up to get some breakfast. You desperately want to cuddle and coddle your new cat, but it’s obvious that it needs space and time, and you need to respect that. Owning pets isn’t always sunshine and butterflies and you figure it probably had a rough life on the streets before you picked it up. It was alone in a shelter, after all.

You change out the water in the bowl you put out for your cat the night before, a frown settling on your face as you realize the dry food you got from Yeonjun hasn’t been touched. You sprinkle some more kibble on just in case, hoping that the fresh bits might smell good and entice your cat to eat something.

It’s still early and you’re feeling a little too lazy to make anything, so you decide that today’s breakfast will be yesterday's leftovers. You bring your meal to the couch, placing the plate with rice and chicken on the coffee table in front of it. You hear a low grumble from underneath the couch as you take a step closer, and you decide that maybe delaying getting your feet mauled for another minute is okay as you run back to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

You don’t like the thought of being scared of your own cat, but you figure he’s probably way more scared than you are, and so you just need to suck it up for a while. You gasp as you round the corner, shocked to find your cat eating away at a chicken breast on your plate.

“Kitty!” You rush forward, scared that he’s eating something he isn’t supposed to and hoping to stop him, but your cat is back under the couch before you even reach the table. There’s an obvious gap on your plate from the missing chicken your cat brought with it under the couch, but from the sounds of it, it seems like your cat was starving.

You can hear the hurried bites from where you’re standing, and your heart aches a little at the thought of it being so hungry. Despite your better judgement, you quickly grab another breast from your plate before you can second-guess yourself. Placing it close to the edge of the couch on the floor, you snatch your fingers back just as a black paw comes out and swipes the food in.

You tentatively sit down on the couch, perching on the edge so that your legs are as far away as they can be. Your cat seems to be too busy eating to notice your presence, or maybe it just doesn’t care as long as you bring it food, but you’re nearly all the way done with your meal before you hear a soft hiss from underneath you again.

“I’m done soon kitty,” You mutter, shoving the rest of the food into your mouth before you hurry off into the kitchen with your plate. You know you still have a long way to go before your cat starts to like you, but it still feels like a small victory.  

.

“He hates me,” You groan as you slump down in your chair, Jihyo’s bright eyes staring at your over her computer screen.

“Who? Your cat?” She tilts her head, a small frown on her face as she takes in your tired appearance. You didn’t sleep well all weekend.

You felt terrible for making your cat scared, and so you tried to steer clear of the couch as much as possible. But you also realized you needed to make your presence known if he was ever going to get used to you - so you spent the weekend feeling guilty for both staying away and staying close.

“Yeah,” You mutter as you blow a stubborn piece of hair away from your face.

“It probably just needs some time to adjust ..” She trails off, but you can see the words on the tip of her tongue forming already.

“Don’t–” You start, but Jihyo interrupts you.

“This is why you should’ve gotten a hybrid! It would never be so mean to you,” She pouts. You take a deep breath, trying to push down the annoyance that wants to bubble up and explode.

You love Jihyo and she’s one of your closest friends, but she doesn’t really share the same reality as you. She has money, and you don’t. And while it sounds trivial, it’s enough to create a rift in situations like these where she just doesn’t get it. You don’t have money for a hybrid. Period.

“Jihyo. Let it rest,” You grumble, tone serious and eyes narrowed as you stare her down. She opens her mouth, but seems to think twice and clamps it shut instead.

“Fine,” She huffs. She lets you work in peace until lunch, but you can tell she’s practically bursting with the need to say something as she tugs you inside the lunchroom. It’s empty, you two usually taking your break a little earlier than everybody else just to get some privacy when you eat and talk.

You’ve barely taken a bite of your sandwich when Jihyo sighs dramatically, eyes wide as she throws her arms out across the table.

“I know I’ve only had Sana for three days, but if something happens to her I’m going to kill everybody and then myself,” You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile at how fond Jihyo seems to be already.

“Stop being so dramatic,” You snort. A man quietly makes his way inside the break room; you think you vaguely recognize him as being one of the IT guys in your department.

His eyes grow wide as your eyes meet, and he hurries off to the little kitchen in the corner of the room with his head hung low when you give him a small nod as a greeting. Jihyo seems obvious, too busy dreamily staring out of the window behind you as she continues.

“Sana is so cute. She’s so happy and cuddly,” She gushes, quickly bringing out her phone to show you some of the pictures she took over the weekend. You two have been texting of course, but you knew she wanted to talk about it in more detail over lunch.

“She even picked out her own collar! Look!” You see the IT guy slip out the kitchen as you take Jihyo’s phone, paying him no mind as you smile at the picture of her Pomeranian hybrid.

“Aww, how adorable,” You can’t help but grin, happy that your friend found someone she enjoys spending her time with.

“Y/N!” Jihyo suddenly exclaims, “Maybe I can bring Sana over on Friday? She’s been dying to see you again,” You mull it over for a second.

You do really want to see Sana and Jihyo, and since your cat pretty much lives under the couch you’re sure an hour or two will be fine. Sana seems to sweet and quiet that you don’t think it’ll be much of a problem even if she is a dog hybrid.

“Sure!” You agree, happy to spend some more time with your friend.  

.

The moment you step inside your apartment after work, you’re sure you see a black tail hurry around the corner.

“I’m home!” You call out, but the silence that greets you feels heavy and uninviting, and you suddenly feel more alone than what you did before when you were actually by yourself. You quickly shed your shoes and your coat, briefly slipping into your bedroom to pull on some more comfortable clothes.

You’re hungry; the lunch you brought today definitely wasn’t enough to keep you sated until work was over. You quickly fry up some vegetables and meat, mindful to keep away from any seasoning. Your cat has made it clear it’s not eating the cat food Yeonjun gave you, and so you’ve been letting it eat some of your own food until you can get him something else.

Once you’re sure the meat has cooled down enough, you slip some on to a plate, bringing it into the living room. You’re about to place it down under the couch when you hesitate. If you keep doing this you’re sure it’s only going to get harder to get to know your cat, and that’s not what you want to happen.

So you carefully place it a little further away, so that your cat needs to take a few steps out to eat it. You hurry out to the kitchen to grab your own plate, and when you return, you find your cat halfway out from under the couch, golden eyes trained on you as he eats.

“I’ll stay over here kitty. Take your time,” You make sure to sit on the other side of the couch, giving you cat some space while still being close. You turn on the TV, getting more and more absorbed in the show as your dinner grows colder.

You eat absentmindedly, the plot too interesting to tear your eyes away from. So it comes as a surprise when you move your hand to pick up your fork, but your fingers come into contact with soft fluffy fur instead.

You eyes snap down in panic as you find your cat looking up at you with wide eyes, a piece of meat caught between its teeth. Your fingers twitch involuntarily at the feel of fur against them, and the motion seems to remind your cat suddenly as to why it doesn’t like you.

Its ears flatten against its skull, and you can practically see the murder written in his eyes before he jumps down and crawls under the couch again. You don’t realize you were even holding your breath until your lungs start burning, and you drop your outstretched hand into your lap as you gulp down air.

You stay in the living room for a little while more, ignoring the disgruntled noises coming from the floor as you finish your show.

“Night kitty,” You say as you turn off the lights, hurrying down the hallway to your room and closing the door behind you. You can still feel the brush of fur against your fingers even after you’ve gone to bed, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Even if touching him was an accident, he has still started to feel comfortable enough around you to take the risk to steal your food, and that has to count for something.

.

Nothing really changes between you and your black menace until Thursday evening. You have been tiptoeing around your apartment all week, apparently the cat’s mood has only soured after you accidentally touched it, and you have no idea how to make it better.

It’s grown colder outside as well, and you can only hope that your cat at least sleeps on top of the couch when you’re not there. You’ve taken to laying out some blankets on the floor, just in case. Work today was particularly exhausting, and curling up on the couch with a blanket and some mindless television watching sounds like dream come true. So that’s exactly what you do as soon as you get home and finish dinner.

You’re skipping through channels until you find something mildly interesting - a documentary on hybrids. The narrators voice is soothing, and it doesn’t take long before you start drifting off, feeling comfortable and full after your dinner. You vaguely listen as the soft-spoken voice tells you about hybrids habits, almost lulled completely to sleep before you feel the slight dip in the cushion near your feet.

You’re so far gone that you barely pay it any notice, not even when you feel the presence getting closer and closer. You’re on your back, head tilted to the side as you watch the TV through half-lidded eyes as something steps on your stomach.

The blanket you have over you is so thick you can barely feel it, but you catch a dark mass out of the corner of your eye. He thinks I’m asleep, you realize, just as you suddenly feel a weight drop down on your body.

You don’t move, afraid that you’ll scare him now that he finally seems to have gained some confidence and trust in you. Your neck is starting to cramp from the awkward position, but you refuse to move, opting to just watch him get comfortable out of the corner of your eye.

You count to two hundred in your head after the moving stops, and turn your head the slightest bit just to make some of the pain go away. Golden eyes blink open immediately, staring you down as you look back at your cat.

“Comfy?” You ask, slowly reaching your hand to see if he'll let you pet him. You feel claws digging into the fabric despite the thickness when he notices your hand, a hiss rumbling in his chest until you drop it back down.

“No touching. Got it,” You mumble, somehow feeling a little chastised. You almost feel shy having him so close, especially when your cat won’t stop looking at your face, almost as if he’s scrutinizing it. But that’s ridiculous, you decide, he’s just a cat.

Any trace of sleep is long gone by now, but you cat however, seems to be growing tired of his staring game, eyes slowly slipping closed with each breath you take. You can still see that he’s a little tense, but just the fact that he’s here, on top of you, warms your heart.

You watch him rest until you feel your own eyelids become heavy again. You know your back will kill you tomorrow if you sleep here, but you don’t want to wake up your kitty, not when you can provide him with some warmth. So, you fall asleep with a lighter heart than you have had in days, hopeful that maybe this will turn out better than you first thought.

Oh, if only you knew what you really had gotten yourself into.  

- - - - Hello! Hope you enjoyed the second chapter of desolate! Next chapter will be Jihyo and Sana coming over to visit you and your kitty, which said black fluffball might not be so happy about .. Not when he’s just starting to warm up to you.

OT7 version is coming soon as well, so keep your eyes peeled for that :) Thank you all for the lovely feedback on the first chapter, it made me really excited to continue working on this! My inbox is always open if you want to chat about the story or just fics or life in general! See you all soon!

[leftonraed]

The Night We Met - Episode 4

pairing : Taehyung x OC genre : bodyguard!au, singleparent!au, idol!au   word count : 2.3k summary — Taehyung decides to take some time off. warning : mention of blood Prologue | ep.1 | ep.2 | ep.3 | ep.4 | ep.5 | ep.6 | ep.7 

You glance at the rearview mirror when you hear Hina grunt.

“Hina, are you hungry?” Taehyung’s looking down at her when she doesn’t stop wriggling in her car seat.

She nods with a small frown, now sprawled, her body pulling down on the belts preventing her from falling off.

“We’re almost there. Wait a little bit.”

“Let’s get you bac-”

Hina squeals again louder in annoyance when Hwiin moves her arms closer to her.

“Hina, look out! Can you see the sea?” You promptly say, trying to distract her.

It seems to work as the little girl stretches her neck towards the window with round eyes to get a glimpse of the ocean. She struggles a bit, pushing on her arms to have her body back on her seat behind Taehyung’s back who marvels just as much at the beautiful sight. Hwiin’s subtle glare goes unnoticed by you, eyes going back and forth between the road and the gps not to to miss the destination.

“We’ve arrived!”

The lunch passes by uneventfully. Everyone was relieved to finally see Hina in a better mood. Taehyung didn’t say it but he was almost calling his holiday idea into question but he knew it’d do them both good. Hwiin was invited out of courtesy and something told you she accepted despite her busy schedule solely because she knew you’d be there as well. You weren’t given a choice unlike her but you surely didn’t mind going with them.

You walk out the restaurant, en route to the lodging he had reserved for five days. Taehyung asked if he could drive. Hwiin opens the passenger side. She hasn’t said a word the whole time you ate. Thrilled Hina pulls on your hand to have you ride with her. The car drives away.

“You don’t look very good, are you alright?” He observes after a while, giving his manager quick glances.

His manager is holding her stomach, unable to hide her uneasiness anymore. “I think I must have indigestion or something.”

No one says anything for a while, only Hwiin can be heard whimpering, earning worried looks from Taehyung.

He pulls over in the garage you opened after stepping out of the car. You take care of helping Hina out of her seat and take some of the luggages on your way to the house.

“Maybe… Coming here wasn’t a very good idea?” She tries softly while massaging her stomach.

In a tricky position, Taehyung scratches the back of his head and looks for words. Hina walks by and crashes herself against his leg, tightening her arms around. He smiles down at her. You keep walking back and forth the house and the car, half-listening to them.

“I can’t cancel this. I promised Hina.” He starts, more embarrassed than he should be. “I really think it’ll do us good.”

Hwiin glances at you at the same time you look at her. She averts her eyes to gaze back at him. She knew she’d ruin their days off by staying, he’d definitely feel bad about her not taking part and at the same time, she’s bothered by the thought of you having him all to yourself. Not that you share that thought but she definitely does.

You walk by at the same time he says, “I don’t want you to go back by yourself.” It makes you roll your eyes.

“I know,” she smiles, his words warming her up.

“A taxi’s on the way!” You blurt out, pushing the phone you’re holding in her face as evidence.

Taehyung frowns a little surprised,“when did you take my phone?”

“You left it in the car,” you smile sweetly and hand him back the device.

“I guess I’m not wanted anymore,” she glares at your back.

He shakes his hands, not wanting her to misunderstand. “I’ll wait with you.” He quickly intejects.

____________________

You’re in the middle of your washing when you hear some commotion outside. You keep your ears open but don’t hear anything worth worrying about, thinking the two of them must be playing together.

A heavy thud is heard right after and this time, you hear Taehyung shouting something to you but you don’t understand.  

“Why are you being so noisy? I’m trying to relax.” You frown while soaping yourself.

Hina shrieks so loud it makes your blood curdle. You frown at the door in shock.

You jump out the tub, catching hold of the furniture to prevent yourself from losing balance and fling the door open. Something hits it hard on the other side.

“Hina?!”

The little girl squeals again at your sight, delighted. You crouch at her height taking her in your arms.

“Are you hurt? Why did you scream?”

You fall back on your bottom under her weight when she hugs your neck as you’re still ensuring she is all right. She points at the door with a toothy grin. “Taetae! Scawy!”

“Huh?” You look at the door that slowly swings back just now to close and reveals a shocked Taehyung on all fours. His head pounds with pain from the unexpected blow.

You watch him, taken aback, while he sits back and brings a hand to his nose. “Ow… Why did-”

His eyes get so big you think they’d burst out of their socket. He can’t help but gape at your body solely wrapped in a short towel, some of the white suds slowly sliding down your wet legs and arms. His mouth moves but no sound comes out.

“Are you okay?” You worry earnestly.

The only thing hiding her- If Hina wasn’t there-, he thinks while staring at Hina’s legs between yours.

“Y-you have a nose bleed.”

“Hm?” His fingers get stained when he touches above his mouth. He covers his nose so Hina doesn’t have to see and complains, voice muffled. “Why did you open the door like that?”

“I heard her screaming. What’s happening?”

“It was supposed to be a joke.”

You frown, even more worried. “You seriously need to work on your sense of humor.”

He mumbles a response but you don’t listen to him as you look at Hina, “wanna come take a bath with me? With lots of bubbles?”

She nods smartly at the sound of bubbles and you both leave bleeding Taehyung behind.

_________________________

Taehyung ends his call with his parents and thumbs answers to the couple of texts he just received while walking back inside. Sliding the window door tightly shut, he thinks the house sounds quiet, too quiet, especially when Hina spent the past hour running and screaming around. It stirs his curiosity up.

He walks in the living-room but the T.V is switched off and no one’s inside. That’s only when he reaches the corridor that he’s able to hear a singing voice. He follows the soft sound and it brings him to the bedroom he shares with Hina.

The door doesn’t make a sound when he opens it and sees you with your back turned to him. It’s almost completely dark inside but he can make you out holding Hina in your arms. The sight makes him swoon and he’s not quite sure what has his heart clenching so hard.

Now aware of his presence, your singing turns into soft hummings out of self-consciousness and you don’t look away from the peaceful face of the angel snuggling against you.

Taehyung walks close by to peak at his niece’s face. The silence you linger in is comforting in many ways.

A loving, fatherly smile naturally adorns his face shortly before surprise furrows his brows when he gets a whiff of your enticing smell.

With a tilt of his head, he lets it drag him along your shoulder where it’s subtle on your skin then it gets heady at your nape and hair, mingling touches of rose, jasmine and grapefruit. He closes his eyes, daring to close the tiny distance between you to let the tip of his nose brush your strands.

He snaps himself out before you notice him and slides a little to the side to look one last time at Hina, his mind fuzzy with an old memory —

“Wow, you’ve grown so much,” marvels Taehyung as he watches eleven-month-old Hina wobble on her tiny feet as she focuses on balancing her weight to stand up.

“Yesterday, she even walked by herself.” He hears his brother brag from the kitchen.

“Can you come to me, Hina?” Taehyung moves his hands to prompt her.

Her mother says softly, with a smile, “go to your uncle, baby.”  

Hina positions him and carefully makes a first step forward, then a second and a third. There’s not much left of a distance before she can grab onto one of his fingers. Her foot trips and almost makes her fall but she manages to stop herself and make another step closer to him with their encouragement.

“That’s it, that’s it. A little bit more.”

She catches the loving smile he addresses her, deconcentrating her and she automatically goes into an all-four position and crawls to his knees.

“Good girl,” chuckles Taehyung as he holds her against his chest, kissing her fluffy cheek and making her smile.

A while later, Taehyung walks upstairs to wash himself.

“The towels are in the second drawer. Don’t hesitate if you need anything.” His brother’s wife says before closing the door.

“Thank you.” Taehyung settles his clean clothes on a shelve nearby and starts undressing.

The bathroom is quickly filled with steam from the shower. Taehyung shakes his bottle of shower gel.

“Hmmm,” he pouts upset when he can’t get anything from the empty container. He eventually gives in and throws it in the bin from his position, turns around and starts reading the plethora of bottles aligned on the shelves. Wondering how his brother gets his bearings. He picks one that reads - Eau du soir.

“Ge- gel- p-parfum-” He stutters, trying to decipher the foreign language. “Do-douz- douche, ba…” He gives up and squirts some of the liquid on his hand. Citrus and floral scents fill in his nose and the air around him. “That must be it.”

After he steps out, he roughly dries his hair and puts on his shirt. He hears some noise on the other side of the door and carefully opens it after he’s finished dressing up.

He’s welcomed with the toothless smile of his niece, craning her neck up to gaze happily at him.

“What are you doing here, small bean?” He grins, caught out.

He notices his sister-in-law not far, watching her. “She can’t get enough of you once you’re here.” She smiles as he lowers to hold her in his arms. Her head naturally snuggles in his chest, still warm from his shower and scented comfortingly. “She was missing you.”

He blindly watches you slowly settling her in the middle of the bed. She stirs and almost wakes up. You naturally decide to lie down right next to her, softly patting her back to get her back asleep.

Taehyung sits down by her side.

“Hm-” He hesitates when he’s caught you out of the corner of his eye, “are you- You’re shaking…”

You look up at him and he’s able to make out the glare you’re sending him.

“You surely must be the only person in the world to have AC on in the middle of winter,” you whisper-shout trying to stop the trembling of your lips.

“Huh? Not even true. It’s the only way I can go to sleep.” He frowns in the same childish tone and carries on, lifting his forefinger to point at your figure. “Besides, you’re the one walking around in underwear.”

“It’s a sleepwear.” You dispute to have the last word.

He mumbles to himself, “liar.”

“We can find common ground…” He looks back at you as you carefully shifts Hina closer to him and yourself to her. You notice his gaze lingering on the curve of your hips when you hike your naked thigh up slightly. “Come lie down behind me.”

His heart jumps in his chest and soon, the room feels warmer despite the steady whirring of the air conditioning.

His mouth is dry. “Wha-?”

“I don’t want to wake her up and you won’t turn it off, so come to bed this way my heat fortress will be complete and I’ll be able to go to sleep.”

“He-heat fortress?” He stands up.

“Hm-hm. Hina’s the first wall. You’re the second one.”

Taehyung brings a hand to his chest thudding hard. “I-I don’t think it’s-”

“I could leave,” you raise yourself on your elbow. “but Hina might wake up and-”

His words are barely audible but you freeze the second you hear them. He’s standing in front of the window. The sky is clear tonight and the light of the moon framing his build emphasizes his height above you. His hair hides his eyes.

“Don’t- Go…”

You gaze up, a little dazed. You can’t remember hearing his voice this low before.

He walks around the bed in silence and sits down. You watch him quietly, a little amused as he hovers your body, giving you a sample of his pleasant scent while grabbing the cover.

You keep a close watch on him over your shoulder, taken aback when he suddenly tucks the thick cover tightly around you.

“Uh- What are you doing?” You ask out of breath.

“Taking precautions.”

You aren’t sure who he's targeting but you can feel yourself already warming up comfortably and dozing.

It’s been around fifteen minutes since Taehyung heard your first silent snores and he still can’t feel a bit of drowsiness, too aware of your close, lightly dressed presence. The night will be long.

A heavy sigh escapes him, it’s simply not working. He’s trying to calm himself, forcing his eyes closed and not making a big deal out of it but it’s difficult. He’s the one who stopped you from leaving and he can always go sleep in your room but something has him desiring you right here, by his side.

He hears you shift and freezes when he feels your arm moving up his chest. His eyes naturally look for your face and find it turned in his direction, peaceful. His hand goes to grab you and surprises him when you close your fingers around.

He doesn’t move and stares softly at you, as if he’d find any kind of answers.

/////////////////!\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Feedback is much appreciated Reblog if you wish to read more

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (8)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 9.1k (I know, I know. I couldn’t help it) warnings: subtle implications of previous sexual assault, brock rumlow remains the #1 asshole, fancy galas and dancin’ on baloncies, bucky struggles to hold himself back  🌹series masterlist 🌹

When you returned home from the boutique downtown, James was trailing close behind you with the dress wrapped tight in a garment bag draped over his forearm. A deep chuckle echoed in his chest after you’d told him you texted Clara before he pulled into the driveway to start the kettle for you.

You had a few hours before you’d need to start on your hair and fumble your way through a decent makeup tutorial, and you’d hoped you could spend it with James curled up in the library, letting yourself lean against his shoulder as you’d turn a page and see whether he pulled away. You wanted to fill your senses with sweet apple caramel tea and the faded leather on James’ jacket and maybe the brush of his hand as he settled in beside you.

Smile bright on your face as you pushed open the door, you’d felt relief for the first time in weeks since Peter was dragged under Hydra’s claws. The warm gust of air pushed through the frame as you stumbled into the living room, turning back to James to tease him about how long he had to finish Goblet of Fire, when you noticed his smile fall away instantly. Replaced with a stone-cold expression, hardened features, he was focused on something beyond your shoulder.

Brock.

“You get what you need?” your husband asked from his seat in the living room, nursing a half-empty glass of scotch. The bottle was close by. There was malice in his tone, a threat, and you felt pride in it.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ on your lips as you shrugged off your jacket. James took it from you without a word and placed it on the coat rack.

Brock stood and crossed the room. He gestured for the garment bag from James and zipped it open, peaking at the dress inside. He didn’t say anything but you could tell by the sliver of disappointment on his face that he was hoping for something more revealing, with a deeper cut and tighter fabric, but he didn’t have the control over you he used to.

“I hope you have appropriate attire for tonight, Karpov,” he said to James, eyes flickering down to the dark wash jeans, t-shirt, and black bomber he usually wore.

“Of course, sir,” James responded shortly, and there was a slight flicker of resentment, something like a challenge in his voice that caught you off guard. Brock didn’t seem to notice but you wondered if his change in attitude towards your husband had anything to do with his relationship to you – whatever that was.

“Best to give my wife ample time to get ready for tonight,” Brock added, as if you weren’t standing right next to him. “You know how long women can take to get ready.”

James wasn’t laughing, but your husband was. He was looking at you, checking for signs of distress as Brock tried to usher him out of the living room. He paused in the frame, like he was waiting for your approval before he departed and you gave him a slight nod. It was the last thing you wanted but you needed him to know you were okay to be alone.

Brock was an ass but you never felt threatened by him. You were safe despite your hatred of the man and you smiled softly for James. He gritted his teeth, still hesitant, but Brock nudged him further out the door until he had no excuse left to stay.

The door closed and, then, he was gone.

Without another word, you turned on your heels and started to make your way upstairs when you felt Brock’s hand snake around your wrist. You yanked it harshly from his grasp and he had the nerve to look surprised.

“Why so cold, baby?”

“Don’t act like we can play pretend anymore, Brock. You’re not foolish enough for that.”

He stepped back, licking at his lips as his eyes trailed along your body. He was displeased with your torn jeans and band shirt, favoring you to dress like the wealthy wives he’d seen in the papers and in press conferences next to their husbands; tight, short dresses, heels, and a full face of makeup, even on days they didn’t leave the house.

You started to turn your back to him as he reached out to your shoulder, but you slipped out of his grasp once again.

Brock grunted, arms folded over his chest. “You’re still angry about the kid.”

It wasn’t a question. The fact that he even dared to bring up Peter said enough about his limited ability to see anything past his own interests, his own cruel and selfless agenda. 

When you didn’t respond, Brock straightened his back, fake smile falling from his lips and turning into a hardened frown. “I hope you’re still aware of--”

“What?” you scoffed. “The fact that you’re keeping me complicit in your crimes and this hell of a marriage to hold onto some perceived notion of power? Or that you’ve dragged the only family I have left into constant danger just to blackmail me into staying with you, as if the threat of jail time and extortion wasn’t enough? I do not need reminding, Brock!”

You watched as he clenched at his jaw, the muscle flickering beneath the surface and you grinned. It wasn’t often Brock was speechless, riddled silent in anger alone, and you thrived on it. Maybe you would have been too afraid to confront him like this before, but something had changed, something had renewed your spark and your drive for freedom from this monster, and if you really let yourself think about it, you knew it had to do with startling blue eyes.

“If you’re worried about tonight, rest assure that I will play my part in front of the cameras,” you said, voice low and detached. “I’ll be the loving, submissive wife for the sake of the press and your immeasurably small ego, but inside these walls, I owe you nothing.”

Brock parted his lips to speak but you were already halfway up the stairs, back turned to him and for once, he didn’t dare to follow.

You stormed your way into your room with heat and fire and gravel in your veins and yanked out an entire drawer worth of clothes. You carried it down the hall and into the guest room, the one with the painting filled with sunset colors you'd purchased from the bubbly college student named Wanda down at the artisan coffee shop and dumped the contents onto the bed.

Two, three, six drawers, and half of a closet later and all of your clothing was sprawled out onto the comforter. You didn’t stop there. No— you went back for your books in the nightstand, your toiletries from the bathroom, the jewelry sitting on the dresser and your shoes lining the floor of the walk-in closet.

It was barren when you were finished.

You collapsed down on the guest bed amongst the piles of clothes and let out a heavy sigh of relief, wondering why the hell you’d waited until now to do that. The surge of confidence was new, the absence of the fear you once carried for your husband, too, because what else could he possibly do to you? He’d already trapped you within this home and this marriage. He’d pulled Peter into his world. There was nothing left he could take.

You thought then of blue eyes, but pushed the thought away quickly. He didn’t know anything about James. That, you were certain. If he did, he wouldn’t be lying in wait. Brock was a jealous man. He would have retaliated by now.

After you managed to find your curler and makeup bag amongst the mess of clothes and shoes upon the bed, you made your way to the bathroom. You’d managed to get ready for these events dozens of times before with no issue, though you’d come to despise the false lashes, intricate hair styles, and heavy makeup you’d mask yourself in.

Those were things Brock wanted.

He wanted you to be the envy of the room, the embodiment of every fashion trend and style, just so he could claim you as his own. So, he put you in skin tight dresses to accentuate your curves, the most expensive of jewelry along your neck and your hands, and heels higher than you could run in.

You looked down at the curler in your hand, studying it for a moment, before you started to smile.

***

An hour later, as you slipped the dress over your head and spent an embarrassingly long time twisting around yourself to pull up the zipper on your own, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. For the first time in years, you looked like... well, you.

Subtle, soft waves down by your shoulders with a few pieces pulled away from your face and tied back in a simple silver clip you’d worn hundreds of times. Neutral colors in your makeup, strengthening the natural beauty your mother had always reminded you of. Diamond posts in your ears and a thin chained pendent around your neck, gifts from your father after he’d missed another one of your recitals in your school days; jewelry Brock could never touch.

You stepped into the shoes you’d worn every year to the graduations at Columbia. Nude in color and with a wide enough heel that you weren’t wobbling on your ankles, they were still a little worn but they were comfortable, familiar, and you found yourself smiling at your reflection.

A single chime from your phone rang out and you turned to the bed, eyes narrowed. It took a moment, digging through the massive pile before you found your phone hidden under your fall sweaters and summer shoes, but you swiped open the message.

A hand set over your mouth, smiling so wide it almost hurt and you tried to chew on your bottom lip to keep yourself from free falling too much, but what else could you be expected to do when James sent you a message like this.

An imagine first. A picture of him sitting on what looked to be a couch that would have fit in amongst the graduate students you mentored years ago, half of his face covered by the top edge of a book, though you could tell he was smiling from the wrinkles up by his eyes. He was nearing the end, maybe only a few pages left of the same book he’d been working on for a few weeks now; Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Classics weren’t limited to ones written by authors before you were born, you know.

Under the picture, a simple text, and it still made your heart soar.

I warned you not to underestimate me, doll.

Heart pounding, cheeks aching, you clutched the phone tight to your chest before sinking back onto the piles of clothes.

You were such a goner for this man.

***

No.

Nope.

Jesus H Christ.

If you thought you were done for before, you should have waited until James walked in the front door in a suit.

Hair pulled back away from his face in a low hanging bun, a few flyaway pieces falling back to frame the strong line of his jaw. Black jacket draped over his arm, white button up shirt folded along the sleeves to his elbows from the heat of your living room, and pale blue tie slightly slacked at the neck doing the most to draw your attention to his eyes.

But it was the way he was looking at you that did you in.

As you stepped down the stairs, his words seemed to die on his tongue, his full attention watching you with every step; the softest, smallest of smiles pushing at the corners of his lips like he was surprised, relieved, maybe even proud. You imagined Brock would notice the change in your makeup and hair from your usual, that he might scoff at your lack of ‘effort,’ but it wasn’t his opinion you cared for.

As you neared the bottom step, James darted forward, shaking himself from his daze and offered you his hand.

It was like you were a kid again. Heart thunderous in your chest, uncontrollable smile, stomach fluttering under the pressure of a thousand butterflies coursing through you, all ignited by his touch. For a second, you were alone with him in this room and you wondered what would happen if you gave into every instinct, everything you’d been craving, and let yourself chase after someone for once instead of being chained to a wall.

But the second passed and Brock emerged into the living room; the fantasy world you’d built for yourself in that moment shattered with the stomp of his feet and the slam of the door against the wall. James dropped your hand immediately, stepping away before Brock could see, and as caught up in himself as he usually was, he didn’t seem to notice.

“There you are, baby,” Brock called, waving towards the door impatiently. He was staring at his phone, hadn't even bothered to look up at you yet, but when he did, there was an ounce of disappointment to see you in the lavender dress. His frown made you smile.

“Follow in the car behind us,” he said sharply to James as he quickly turned out of the living room and began making his way to the car.

You rolled your eyes, huffing out a sigh and you mimicked his voice to James, earning you a hushed laugh in response. He offered you his arm and helped escort you down the front steps and to your car where Brock was already waiting inside.

“See you there,” you said softly before you slipped into the seat, as close to the door as possible to put some space between you and Brock.

James nodded, carefully closing the door behind you, though he lingered for a second on the other side of the window; hand pressed to the glass like it was some kind of extension of himself, keeping him tied to you for just a moment longer.

You studied the lines on his palms, the slight callouses and the nicks in the skin. You almost reached out to touch the window where his hand was placed, like you might be able to touch him if you tried hard enough, but then Brock cleared his throat.

“Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

When you turned back to the window, James was gone.

***

The blinding flash of the cameras as you emerged from the Bugatti was never something you were able to get used to in all your years with Brock. The light of it stung in your eyes, leaving behind blurs of stars in your vision, almost like a haze, as reporters and paparazzi called your name from all directions.

Brock rushed around the car, holding out his arm for you to take as you slipped your legs from the car, careful of the long slit in your dress. It was the only time he resembled a decent man; when he was under the watchful eye of the press.

The gala was host to New York’s wealthiest, set to raise hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars, for the city’s budget. Everyone who was anyone would be in attendance and that included men of a less than moral standard. They put on their smiles and paraded under the disguise of business fronts for their criminal schemes and everyone pretended like they were none the wiser. It didn’t matter where the money was coming from, it seemed, as long as it cleared in the bank.  

“Brock! Mr. Rumlow! How was your meeting with the commissioner?”

“Over here, sugar! Show us that dress!”

“Brock! A word on the jump in stock at the Lernaean?”

“Give us a smile, honey!”

You forced a curve onto our lips, though it seemed to ache in your cheeks, teeth gritting beneath the surface as Brock pulled you aside to answer the question of a pretty reporter holding out a microphone and wearing a long, red dress. He took his time answering her question, his gaze noticeably traveling down to the plunging neckline at her cleavage, though she didn’t appear to mind. She leaned into it, curved at her shoulders to make the exposure more pronounced. She knew what tactics to use to get his attention and get her quote. You’d admire her if you weren’t so angry with Brock for keeping you amongst the chaos of the photographers longer than necessary.

Though, even when you made it inside, there was no relief.

Instead, swarms of Brock’s business associates, local politicians, and sons of generations’ worth of inheritances crowded you as you stepped foot inside the extravagant ballroom.

Brock introduced you to Ulysses Klaue, a man with a nasty scar over his face and rotten teeth, claiming his money came from his family’s restaurant downtown and not the trading of weapons down at the docks.

Then, Grant Ward, the newly elected councilman already in your husband’s pocket with a boyishly handsome face and cold, dark eyes. The one you’d seen in your kitchen earlier that day as Brock coerced you into attending this event.

Finally, on your left, Obadiah Stane, who found his riches profiting off of a grieving, orphaned kid of billionaires.

You’d met all these men before.

Several times.

Brock, nor none of these men, ever seemed to remember. You supposed they only took in the pretty dress and the flow of curves, but never your face, and certainly not your name. Men like this didn’t much care for the character of the women in their lives.

You found yourself glancing around the room, in search of something, though it took you a minute to realize you were seeking out James. He didn’t seem to be anywhere in the main room and you hadn’t seen him pull the car up behind you and Brock at the front entrance. Your heart sunk a little, wondering how long you’d be left alone with your husband without reprieve.

He had promised he’d be here, hadn’t he? It was the only reason you hadn’t completely broken down twice as you’d done up your makeup. It was part of your usual routine anyway. The idea of acting as a trophy, a visually pleasing object at Brock Rumlow’s side for him to show off to his friends, wasn’t just humiliating, it was degrading. These events were nightmares to you until James.

He had to be here somewhere, you reasoned. He wouldn’t have lied to you. He wouldn’t have left you on your own. He was better than that, you were sure of it.

It only took four minutes of mild conversation and blatant objectifying comments of a young woman by the bar before Brock turned to you with a hushed whisper and said, “why don’t you go sit with the other wives? I have some business to take care of.”

It always came to that eventually. This sort of comment where he’d dismiss you when he no longer required your presence, when your purpose expired and he held no use for the pretty, silent woman at his side.

You glanced over to the gathering of wives at the center of the ballroom and scoffed at the prospect of being around those women. They were as ruthless and cruel as their husbands, Lady Macbeths standing amongst expensive couches in fear of wrinkling their dresses and gossiping amongst themselves, comparing riches and their husbands’ latest business ventures.

Still, there was relief in not having to wear this mask any longer; of acting like the doting, loving wife, hanging off his arm for his friends to admire and stare at. You nodded without another word and quickly made your way to the bar.

Brock didn’t even seem to notice you’d left.

There had been a time that you’d been incredibly self-conscious on your own in a venue like this, dressed in garments worth twice your last paycheck and nursing a glass of red wine alone. You’d come to crave the solitude. It meant you weren’t listening to Brock’s endless self-praise or dealing with catty wives or forcing out a smile. It gave you a chance to just breathe.

Though, of course, it never lasted long.

You swirled the wine glass in your hand, watching as the burgundy red liquid chased the widest curve of the cup. Mesmerizing and dizzy with the alcohol in your system, you brought it to your lips and took back a heavy sip. It ran like warmth down your body, a comforting blanket.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing on your own?” a voice suddenly purred from behind you, low and deep and unfamiliar, as a hand snaked its way from the low of your back around your hips.

You gasped, jumping out of the man’s hold and nearly spilling the wine down the front of your dress if the bartender hadn’t pulled it from you hand in time with a short grimace and placed it on the counter.

Your cheeks were flushed, the man staring down at you with little regard for his wondering eyes.

“Try hitting on someone else, creep,” you sneered.

“Come on, sugar,” he purred, ignoring the way you tried to step out of the space he invaded and moved closer to you, “I know you’re looking for some company.”

As his hand started to reach out to you again, suddenly it was stopped midair by a tight grip on the wrist. Wide eyes darted to the assailant before he was shoved away from you. A thick wall stepped between you, like a shield, and a wave of calm swept through your chest, easing your racing heart.

“She said no, asshole. Back the hell up,” James growled, his hands curling into fists.

You set a hand on his shoulder blades, a reminder that you were just fine and despite this man’s wondering hands and eyes, he didn’t require the brunt of James’ job description as punishment. The quiver in his stance would suffice.

“Fuckin’ prude. Not worth it anyway,” the man grunted before stalking away in search of his next target. He didn’t spare you a final look.

It took a minute before James turned around, but as he did, the hardness of his features softened immediately upon seeing you.

“You alright?”

You nodded. “’Course. Comes with the territory of these things.”

James clenched his jaw, clearly chewing on the inside of his lip. It bothered him that you’d become so used to the unwanted touches and the blatant staring of crude men. He wanted to say more, that much you could tell, but he sighed instead.

“It’s not so bad now that you’re here,” you said teasingly and his cheeks heated a slight shade of pink. How a man like James Karpov could manage to blush was still a mystery to you.

“That so?” he smiled, letting go of the tension as he finally turned away from staring daggers into the man he’d nearly assaulted.

James leaned back against the bar and picked up your wine, placing it into your hand. He looked over you as you took another sip, smile filling his face, pushing up by his cheeks and wrinkling by his eyes.

“I was right, you know,” he shrugged casually, glancing back out into the sea of guests. You raised an eyebrow, not sure what he was referring to, but as a stunning blonde woman walked by in a dress two sizes too small and the cleavage of her chest near spilling out the top, James didn’t even spare her a glance. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Face burning hot, you tried to hide behind the wine glass, hardly able to even look at him, but he didn’t let up.

“Gave all these women a chance too, just like you asked,” he tsked. “Still don’t hold a candle to you in that dress.”

You chewed on your lip, tasting the lipstick you’d put on just an hour earlier you were sure was completely faded away by now. Your stomach was alight with fireworks and your heart was thumping so hard, you wondered if he could hear it over the string quartette playing just a few feet away.

“Almost thought you were gonna bail on me,” you said, changing the subject quickly because he was making it incredibly hard not to jump into his arms, and ravage him right on the bar, even amongst all these people and your husband laughing away with his associates not too far away. You squeezed your thighs together and cleared your throat awkwardly. “You get lost?”

He chuckled, unfazed by your lack of response. You supposed the slight tremor in your voice was enough for him.

“I’m not allowed the privilege of the front entrance,” he said. “Parked around back and checked out the security first.”

You nodded, taking another sip, hoping it might give you confidence. “I don’t remember Rollins ever taking precautions like that. You take your job very seriously, don’t you?”

He pursed his lips, a slight shake of his head. A beat, and then, “only when you’re in the room.”

He said it so simply, as casually as one might order a second drink or exchange pleasantries with a cashier at the store, like it was second nature. You found yourself staring at him, wide eyed and certain he could see every ounce of your heart spilling out from your chest, but he only winked at you with that charming smile of his before turning out to watch the guests.

He was trying to kill you; stop your heart, steal your breath, something, because he kept saying things that made you feel impossibly weak, words that made your stomach twist in ways you hadn’t even experienced in the years Brock was pretending to love you and he’d purposely sculpted himself into everything you ever wanted in a man.

James was still somehow so much more.

***

You stood there with James for nearly an hour, laughing at the high-end attendees as they attempted to one up one another with stories of their latest vacations or libraries baring their name on college campuses. You made fun of a couple bickering with the waitstaff and the twenty-something son of a billionaire donning sunglasses indoors, wobbling on his feet and carrying around a half empty bottle of tequila while his father ignored him.

After a few times turning you down, James finally agreed to the drink you’d ordered him nearly twenty minutes prior and started to sip on the bourbon like it was honey. You could smell it on his breath but it didn’t repulse you in the way it did when Brock smelled of it. It was sweeter, lighter, and he wasn’t drowning in it. It made his cheeks a little flushed and his smile a litter bright, his muscles a little looser, and you wondered if you could adore him more than you already did.

His laugh was like the kind of melody that got stuck in your head after a single listen; a captivating kind of key change and a series of lyrics that punctured you straight through the chest. He was charming and kind and impossibly sweet and if left unchecked, you were certain you’d free fall for him straight into an abyss.

Though, you’d already made that jump months ago, hadn’t you?

“Think you might be up for Indian this time?” you asked as the conversation began to drift to your upcoming Sunday afternoons. He’d promised to meet you down by the bridge a few hours earlier so he could join you and Peter for lunch before Peter snuck off to find his ‘not-girlfriend’ Michele at the climate change rally downtown.

“I told you, Y/n, I’m up for anything. Whatever you want to do,” James smiled, taking another sip of his bourbon.

“You say that every time! I know for a fact the peppers at that Thai place we tried last week almost killed you,” you teased, thinking back to how quickly his eyes watered and he started coughing at the first taste, though he insisted he was fine even as he’d asked a water refill twice in the span of ten minutes. Peter was in near hysterics. You struggled to hold back your laughter. “You’re allowed to disagree with me, James.”

“Me? Never.”

You swatted at his arm until he started to laugh and you realized your cheeks were hurting from how wide you were smiling. Some of the guests glanced over in your direction, eyeing you under narrowed stared before they scoffed and turned away. You didn’t mind at all. It barely even fazed you.

But as with every good thing in your life, Brock found a way to insert himself right into it, leaving you with no relief. He was waving in your direction, a slight sway in his stance as his drink sloshed up over the side. You realized then he wasn’t looking at you at all, but at James.

“I think you’re being summoned,” you said disappointedly with a slight roll of your eyes. You nudged James’ shoulder and pointed in Brock’s direction as he nearly stumbled onto a friend of his.

James pressed his lips, pretending like he didn’t notice. “No, I don’t think so.”

He could hardly keep a straight face. It brought a smile back to your own. 

“You better go before you get us both in trouble,” you warned, pushing him along. You were laughing before you realized it. 

“You’ll be alright?” His smile was softer now, more serious, concerned. It fluttered straight to your chest and warmth burned around your heart.

“I can manage without you, you know,” you teased. He raised an eyebrow, about to challenge you with that grin of his, but you pointed to the back gardens. It was quiet out there, away from wondering eyes and you could use a break from the heat of the ballroom and the wine. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll be fine, James. Go.”

He gave you a short nod, quickly gulping back the rest of his bourbon, leaving you to laugh as he wiped his lips and turned to head towards Brock.

You watched him as he left, a cautious look over his shoulder the further away he got, like he was checking on you, making sure you were as fine as you insisted, and only turned back when you gave him a smile of encouragement. Brock had never done anything like that in your years together, even when he was playing his part so convincingly. But to James, it was an instinct.

Brock slid back into his chair, a little uneasy and you were certain he was drunk. It was a frequent occurrence at these events anyway. He'd waste himself in expensive alcohol until he could barely stumble home if he wasn’t practically draped over your shoulder and he’d let his hands wander in the car on the way home and as you’d put him to bed. No matter how many times you swatted his hands away, he’d slide his fingers up the thigh of your dress, or kiss at your collarbone as you took off your makeup, until you'd eventually give in just to get him to go to sleep.

It had been months since you’d last let him touch you. You couldn’t stand the idea of his mouth on you, his hands trailing over your skin and taking what he desired. It was like venom, poison, and you couldn’t just roll over and close your eyes anymore. You’d found a courage to say no and you realized, as you watched Brock grab onto James’ collar and yank him down close to say something quiet in his ear, it had something to do with the kind blue eyes that still managed to watch you intently from across the room.

Brock shoved a glass into James’ hand and pressed him to sit amongst his inebriated friends. There wasn’t much about Hydra and Brock’s criminal life you knew details about, but you knew enough to wonder the sorts of things he was asking of James, the kind of conversations those men must have amongst each other.

James was reluctant, gaze flashing back in your direction, but you had already moved away from the bar. You watched as he narrowed his focus, glancing around for you until he spotted you walking towards the back doors. There was a slight exhale in his shoulders, though his expression remained stoic, almost longing, before he sat down next to your husband.

The double doors leading to the gardens were lined with reflective panels, the walls too, and it reminded you of the hall of mirrors in Versailles. Brock had taken you there on your honeymoon, back in the days when he was pretending to love you before your father’s money became available to him. He’d done such a convincing job back then and you wondered most days how you could be so foolish as to fall for his act.

With a heavy sigh, you watched your own reflection as you approached the doors. The lavender dress really was stunning; the softness of the color standing out amongst the sea of dark reds, deep blues, and forest greens. You never suspected James was lying about how well it suited you, but it felt nice to see yourself in something you liked, too, something you felt comfortable in and allowed you to resemble even part of how you saw yourself. You weren’t interested in transforming into Brock’s ideal woman with the hair extensions, false lashes, and skin tight dresses.

You just wanted to be you, if only for once.

The air was cool as you stepped out into the gardens. It raised goosebumps on your arms and you ran your hands along the exposed skin. Still, against the flush in your cheeks from the busy, crowded ballroom and the alcohol in your blood, it was a relief.

It was really quite beautiful outside as you leaned against the balcony and looked out into the sea of flowers and bushes. Vibrant colors surrounded by infinite shades of green, all sitting under a star covered navy sky. It was like something out of your novels; a scene you’d never appreciated before until you found someone you wanted to share it with.

Starting to wonder if you’d find him again that evening, you picked up the hem of your dress, turning to head back inside when you were met with a wall of muscle; a slight chuckle in his chest and a hand extended out to you.

“Dance with me.”

James smiled softly at you, simply waiting, and you could only stare at his hand. The melodic tones of the string quartette filtered out into the balcony, playing a waltz you recognized from your time at Columbia. Your office had been by the music department and you’d slipped into the orchestra’s practice hours to grade assignments in the back row most nights.

Your eyes slowly trailed up to his face to find he was as sincere as he sounded.

“Dance with me,” he asked again. There was no impatience in his voice, if anything, there was amusement, enjoyment.

“What—What did Brock want?” you asked, changing the subject abruptly because he couldn’t possibly be serious, but he didn’t drop his hand and he didn’t step away.

“Nothing important,” James shrugged. “He’s too far gone to be talking business anyway and ended up trying to rope me into ogling with his buddies at a woman on the arm of military weapons manufacture with an ego the size of the empire state building.”

“And?”

James narrowed his eyes. “And what?”

“What was the consensus?”

You didn’t even know why you were asking, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from his hand. He let it fall then, but only to step closer to you. There was a softness in his features, a kindness that shouldn’t be there for a man of his profession, and yet, when he touched you it felt like he was handling something precious, something like paper thin delicacy with the calloused hands riddled with scars.

“She was pretty,” James admitted with an exhale, “but she’s not you.”

He stepped back again, extended his arm, that boyish grin on his face returning and you swore he was going to be the end of you.

“Now, dance with me.”

“James,” you sighed, eyes flickering inside to where Brock was laughing with his partners inside, a whiskey glass in hand as the amber liquid slipped up and over the edge with every jarred movement. “I don’t know if we can—this is— he’s right there.”

“Just one dance, doll,” James said sweetly, curling his fingers at you. “It would be a shame to wear a dress like that and not get a dance out of it. Come on, Y/n. It’s harmless.”

It most certainly wasn’t and he full well knew that.

“He can’t see us, you know,” James reminded you quietly, sensing your hesitation as he watched your gaze trailing back inside where your husband sat, a lingering hurt in his voice you didn’t expect. “Those are two-way mirrors. All they can see from the inside is a reflection of themselves. I think it’s rather fitting, don’t you?”

Right. You’d noticed that when you came outside.

“Dance with me, Y/n,” he asked again, persistent but never demanding. His hand was still there waiting for you to hold.

You stared at it, the open palm and the patience in his stance. There was no doubt that you wanted to, that you would have thrown yourself into his arms at his first invitation, but there was danger in that. With Brock so close, the risk of him finding out, of exposing whatever it was between you and James, it didn’t just terrify you, it was a constant source of dread.

Brock was an angry, jealous man, and he’d tear James apart if he knew even half of how you felt for him.

But the temptation was strong. James gave you the kind of choices Brock never did. He was kind and patient and understanding. He was everything you had once thought Brock was and still, somehow, so much more than that. He was sincere and genuine and you could never quite reconcile how he’d ended up working for a vile organization like Hydra. He was too good a man for that. You were certain of it.

You glanced up at his eyes to find him simply watching you, curious; shades of ocean blue and the light pink of his lips curving as your resolve began to crumble. It always would when he asked you to.

“One dance,” you warned, tentatively slipping your hand into his and he seemed to melt at the relief of it alone. His hand was cold, like ice to the heat of your palms.

He echoed your words, though once your hand was locked in his, his other sitting gently on your lower back as he guided you to sway along to the tempo of the music, you both knew one dance would never be enough.

You’d been in his arms once before, the night he’d come rushing over after Brock had dragged Peter into his underworld, already in the car before you could even get the words out to ask him to come. He’d held you as you cried and soothed a hand along your back until your eyes dried, but this was different. This was intentional. This was something you’d only allowed yourself to dream about in the furthest corners of your mind, never once believing it was anywhere within reach.

Yet, here he was.

You could smell the soapy fragrance of his shampoo, the oak of his cologne. You could feel the warmth of his breath so close to you that it brushed against your cheeks with every exhale. You felt the grip of his hand, the slight readjustments of the one on your back, like he might be as nervous as you were despite his charming demeanor.

“Don’t know the last time I danced like this,” you whispered, the words spilling from you before you could stop them. It seemed to surprise James for a moment before the realization clicked; the understanding that your husband was not a man of love and tender moments such as these. You wondered if it had been since your wedding day. You couldn’t remember.

“Well, I can’t tell at all,” James said, smiling softly at you. “You’re a natural.”

“Only because you’re leading every step,” you teased and when he started to laugh again, you swore there wasn’t a more beautiful sound in the universe.

“Have to have a good partner for that.”

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, trying to stifle the smile pulling hard against your cheeks.

The two of you danced for at least three songs like that, swaying back and forth, a twirl under his arm when he decided to mix things up to pull a laugh from you, and a brief moment where he attempted to teach you to waltz properly, but you’d stepped on his toes enough times he brought you back to the simple swaying, teasing that you were going to put him out of commission with moves like that, though he promised to teach you next time.

You liked the sound of that. Next time.

After the melodies playing inside began to soften, turning to long, drawn out notes amongst the deep sounds of the cello and the fragrant notes of the violin and violas, James lifted your hand to his neck, releasing his hold on your hand and slid it to meet his other at the base of your spine. You relaxed into him, resting your cheek to his shoulder, closing your eyes because you’d never felt as safe with any man as you did with James.

You could hear his heart thumping beneath the jacket of his suit and for a moment, you were reminded that you weren’t alone in your fears. You weren’t the only one who knew how dangerous this was, how much you were risking, how terrifying it was to care for someone the way you did for him. Fingers danced in the hairs at the nape of his neck, brushing at the baby hairs there and flattening your hands against his back, feeling as much of him as you could.

His nose pressed into your shoulder, arms snaking tight around your back, and you wondered if he’d been dreaming about this as much as you have. He held onto you like it was the last time, the only time, like he might not ever be given a chance again, and you realized you’d never known that kind of longing before. It nearly tore right through you.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you said quietly, not even sure he could hear you as your hand slipped around the base of his neck to settle against the rush of his heart. Under your palm, you could feel every pulse, and it was loud, frequent, and it seemed to channel right into your veins.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “it is.”

“Why is that?”

It was a dangerous question but you asked it anyway.

“I think you know,” he replied tenderly, his fingers tracing patterns in the small of your back as he leaned forward to press his nose to your shoulder. You shivered as he inhaled, his lips grazing your skin before he pulled back and swept a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You... you make me do things I shouldn’t. You make me want things I shouldn’t.”

There was more than what he was saying, words he was holding back, confessions on the tip of his tongue but he bit them away. You couldn’t imagine anything more forbidden that to fall for your husband’s right-hand man, his enforcer, and for him to care for you in return. Brock was not a man many have dared to cross and when they have, well, they’ve ended up like Rollins – asphyxiated alone in a prison cell.

And still—there was something else. Something else holding him back but you couldn’t place what it was. There was guilt in his eyes, shame, he didn’t have when he spoke about your husband. James knew that your relationship to Brock was a sham, nothing more than a publicity stunt and you held no affection for him. It wasn’t a matter of adultery or breaking hearts. There was more going on than what he told you, but you didn’t press him. Not now.

“Sometimes I wish I could just run from all this,” you whispered slowly, clinging tight to the lapel of his jacket. You didn’t dare meet his eye but you felt as he stilled, as the sway of his steps gently pulled to a stop. “I think about getting on a plane and going somewhere far from where Brock or—or Hydra could find me. But then I think about Peter and Aunt May and—and you.”

His breathed hitched. You felt his heart race again and his grip on you tightening, though he didn’t say anything.

You took in a shaken breath, trying to find courage as you rested your cheek to his shoulder.

“I’m not naïve. I know what you do for Hydra, but there's something in me that can't accept it. It just doesn’t make any sense and I keep racking my brain trying to figure out how you ended up in this world being as kind and compassionate and sweet as you are and I just... I can’t. I can’t figure it out because you’re nothing like Brock. You’re nothing like any of his men or Jack Rollins and I... I don’t understand. I hate everything about Hydra, what they do, what they stand for... but you... you don’t belong with them, James. You can’t.”

Heart in your throat, hands clenched so tight into his jacket your knuckles started to ache, the words left you before you could stop them. You held your breath, wincing at what you’d said because they had just tumbled out one after the other without much room for hesitance.

James swallowed thickly and you started to register his hand trailing along your spine, gentle reassurance, as he slowly brought it up to around your neck, then to rest on your cheek. As tenderly as you’d ever been touched, he guided you off of his shoulder to meet his eye.

There is was again; that guilt you swore had little to do with your husband but it was eating him alive.

“When this is over, I’ll take you away from all of this,” he whispered and your breath hitched.

You blinked a few times, not quite understanding. “Over? I don’t--”

“You’ll never have to see him again if you don’t want to. I promise,” James continued, determined, and he cupped the sides of your face. His thumbs traces along your cheekbones, almost desperately and his eyes flickered down your lips but he snapped his gaze away almost instant, like he was reminding himself the dangerousness of that thought. He cleared his throat. “I just need more time, sweetheart. Just a little more time.”

“Time?” you sighed, shaking your head slightly. “James, you’re not making sense. Time for what?”

Neither of you realized the quartette had stopped playing minutes earlier; the chirp of the crickets and the bristle of wind the only melodies left in its place. You reached up to his hand, holding it against you, wondering if this had anything to do with the shame clouded into the blue of his eyes. He didn’t answer your question, but you could tell from the clench his jaw how much he wanted to.

He parted his lips, like he just might tell you, but his eyes flickered to the floor and the words died before they touched his tongue. You sighed, turning your head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand as he held it by your cheek. It surprised him, ocean blue flashing up in an instant and you smiled softly at him.

Heart thunderous in your chest, you pulled yourself closer to him, enough that you were flush against his chest. His hand wove into the hairs at the base of your neck, stroking gently into the nape, and you felt the heat of his breath brush against your nose.

So close. Impossibly close. Closer than you’d ever been and it wasn’t enough.

You leaned in, inching away the space between you, enough to feel the sharp intake of breath as his lips parted. Aching, yearning. 

Your lips only grazed his for a second, a glimpse of the love and care and affection you’d been missing for years, before it was stolen away.

The doors to the balcony swung open, slamming against the stone walls and you jumped out of James’ hold, a gasp in your lungs. He took several paces down the terrace, brushing at his lips, his hair, eyes glued to the floor, as Brock sauntered into the garden.

His whiskey still in hand, the amber liquid barely kept within the glass as most of it ended up on the floor. With every step, he was stumbling, laughing to himself under glazed eyes, until he spotted you.

“There you are, baby!” Brock slurred, fumbling his way to you and you winced at the reek of alcohol on his breath. A few drops of the whiskey stained onto your dress.

You glanced over at James as he watched you from a careful distance. He was tense, hands clenched at his sides as Brock threw an arm around your shoulders, nose nuzzling at your neck and you tried to squirm out of his grasp as you felt the wet of his lips touch your skin.

“Ready to head home, sir?” James gritted from the corner.

Brock popped his head up, a drunken grin beaming on his face. “Didn’t even see you there, Karpov! You been hanging around my wife, huh? Trying to get some side action?”

James didn’t respond, his face as stone, but your heart was pounding.

“Well good luck!” Brock laughed, grabbing at your ass sharply and you swatted him away, ready to near smack him until he tugged you up under his arm again. His grip was strong for a man with alcohol in his veins. “Haven’t gotten a lay out of this one in ages. She’s a real tease.”

Your face was on fire as Brock dragged you back inside. There wasn’t anything you could do, not in front of all these people the way you could at home. He’d never allow it, even in this state, and it left you feeling weak and pathetic and shame coursed through you like poison.

James was only a few steps behind you and you could feel the anger seething off of him. There was a moment as Brock led you through the front entrance of the ballroom outside to the valet, when he told James to meet him back at the house, that you realized you were to be left alone with your husband again and the defiance in James’ stance made you question whether he’d ever follow Brock’s orders again.

It took him a second to respond and in Brock’s drunken state he almost didn’t notice, but James said, “I can escort Mrs. Rumlow home if you’d like to attend your meeting downtown.”

Brock paused, pursed his lips as he glanced over James, then to you. His eyes trailed lower, down to your cleavage and you looked away, far down the street where neither of the men could see the rush of embarrassment on your face.

“I think I’m good for tonight,” he smirked, tugging you tighter to his side and you counted down the seconds until you crossed the barrier into your home and you could crawl out of his hold without repercussions, lock yourself behind the door of your new room and wait until morning.

“I don’t mind, sir,” James pressed, studying the way you couldn’t quite meet his eye anymore.

Brock raised a brow. He wasn’t used to be questioned and he appeared for a moment, that he might retaliate, until he broke out into a smile as if he’d been in on the joke.

“Go the fuck home, Karpov!” Brock laughed, waving his hand. “I’ve giving you a night of freedom. Grab a woman and get laid, will you? God knows you need it.”

Brock gestured to you rather dramatically as the car pulled up. He leaned forward, nearly losing his balance in the sudden movement, and opened the back door.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, waiting for you to slide inside.

You swallowed, eyes catching on James and you could tell from the clench of his fists, the twitch of the muscle behind his jaw line, that he would have started a war in that moment if you asked him to.

You’d be fine, you told yourself. You always were. Brock would run his hands up your thighs in the car and he’d stumble his way to the bar cart as soon as he made it into the living room and he’d forget about you. He was too drunk to try anything tonight, but it didn’t seem to lessen the look of absolute rage on James face.

You resided to text James as soon as you could, the moment you got home. You'd make a laugh of it, tell him how Brock face planted on the stairs and how he could barely get his own coat off. You'd tell him you were used to it and you were making tea and catching up on your latest novel, even if you were huddled under layers of sheets, clinging to your phone, crying behind locked doors.

You’d tell him whatever he needed to hear because the look on his face broke your heart; too see how much he wanted to defy all orders and take you into his arms and away from the man who made you retreat so far into yourself you barely recognized your reflection.

But James was no fool. He knew the consequences of disobeying your husband. He wouldn’t survive them.

“Goodnight, James,” you said, voice as even as you could manage it. It was your promise to him that you were alright, that you'd be okay if he left, even if none of it was true.

You pushed out a polite smile, one your husband would not question, and without another look – simply because you knew you’d never be able to walk away from him if you turned back now – you sunk into the back seat of the car, crawled to the outside window and made yourself as small as you could.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Rumlow,” you heard James say in response, soft and aching, before Brock slid in behind you and closed the door.

The air smelled of whiskey. It burned.

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: talk about body image/dysmorphia, past ED’s, veganism (idk if that’s a warning???)

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This is...very self-indulgent. But oh well. A continuation of the Agent 14 series, in which Steve finds another diet he wants to try and he needs some help getting started. As always, let me know what you think! 

Sam finds him one afternoon, staring into the glow of the open fridge, in full superhero stance with his feet planted wide. Nothing abnormal about super soldiers looking for a snack; those boys can really put it away. But this one looks like he’s conducting an interview with the refrigerator contents - in his hand is a small notepad, a worn down pencil stub poised over it, and Sam can see little scribbles and tally marks covering the page.

“Uh…Steve?”

“Hm?” Steve doesn’t turn around, but Sam can see his deep-set frown in profile, harsh refrigerator light illuminating his lowered brows.

“What’re you doing, man?” Sam takes a couple steps closer and peers around those massive shoulders into the offending appliance. “That your grocery list?”

Steve finally looks up, blinking. Absently, he taps the end of his pencil against his chin.

“No, not a grocery list,” he frowns. “I’m just…taking stock, I guess.”

“We do inventory of the fridge now?” Sam sidesteps him, reaching for the orange juice. He still drinks straight from the carton and Barnes can just kiss his sweet ass.

Steve ignores him, sparing only an eye roll in response.

“Don’t worry about it,” he sighs, in a way only Steve Rogers can sigh about groceries. “Just got an idea, that’s all.”

Sam sips his orange juice as he watches him leave the room, more worried by that phrase than anything else Steve could’ve said.

**********

“I’m sorry - you want us to what?”

Steve crosses his arms and gives Clint his most authoritative frown.

“I’d like us to try a plant-based diet,” he repeats, looking at the faces scattered around the common room. This little “family meeting” didn’t warrant using the conference rooms on the upper floors; he had let everyone get cozy after dinner, helped dig through the couch cushions for the remote, and then made his little announcement.

“That means vegan, right?” Natasha says from her armchair, eyes on her phone in her lap. She’d started googling as soon as he proposed this little challenge.

“Woah, woah - hold up,” Sam raises a hand, sitting forward on the couch. “I know you’re not asking me to quit eating meat, Rogers.”

“And dairy,” Steve confirms.

“Eggs, too,” Wanda adds helpfully.

“No meat?” 41’s fingers curl into her baggy bacon-print PJ pants. Her lower lip wobbles. “No-no ice cream?” She looks to Clint, who immediately folds his hand over hers.

“There are plenty of plant-based alternatives-” Steve starts, his tone soothing.

“Is this because of that documentary you watched?” Bucky grumbles. He’s leaning on the back of the couch, eyes narrowed at his long-time friend. “What was the name…the one about the athletes who don’t eat meat…”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Steve glares back at him. “There’s plenty of evidence to suggest it gives them an edge in athletic performance, so why not-”

“Oh my god, Steve, we’re literally a team of superheroes,” Sam groans. “Earth’s mightiest heroes, and all that jazz. We’re already mighty! We don’t need this! I don’t need this!”

“That so?” Steve raises an eyebrow. One hand digging into his pocket, he produces the little notebook he was scribbling in a couple days before. “I’ve been making some notes-”

“Oh boy, here we go,” Clint mutters.

“In our fridge, the percentage of animal products is a little over 60% - that’s crazy high, guys.” Steve licks his lips, glancing at the skeptical faces around the room as he flips a page in his notebook. “Not only that, but as a whole, our consumption of takeout and highly processed foods has really gone up lately; the team ate a total of 23 meals from fast food restaurants in the last 2 weeks.”

“You’re monitoring our food, Rogers?” Natasha is looking at him now, though he almost wishes she weren’t. Her undivided attention is not for the faint of heart. Steve musters himself and pushes ahead.

“Look - let’s just try it, give it our best shot and then, in a month-”

“A month?” 41 cries, clutching Clint’s hand. “A whole month? But…but what about Bite?”

Oh. He’d forgotten. Sam and 41’s cherished food festival, held every July - a whole park full of food trucks, unlimited samples, live music. One of their photos from last year’s Bite was proudly displayed on the door of the fridge: 41 and Sam each chowing down on a massive bacon cheeseburger - a cheeseburger with Krispy Kreme donuts as the buns.

“Well…” he hesitates

“No. Uh-uh. No way.” Sam folds his arms across his chest and sinks back into the couch cushions. “There is no way you’re making us miss the best event of the year for another one of your health kicks.”

“Sam-”

“Besides! You and Tin Man can eat as much pizza as you want and still outrun a car,” Sam huffs.   “No reason to make the rest of us suffer through another one of your diets. Not to mention that I’m not interested in just eating salad and broccoli…that’s depressing.”

Shoulders falling, Steve sighs and drops his notebook in his lap.

“Okay, well. Sam has spoken,” he says, quirking an eyebrow. “Anyone else?”

“Mm, I’m with Sam on this one,” Bucky shrugs, unbothered by Steve’s answering look of betrayal. “Sorry, pal, I guess I just don’t see the point…and besides, we had to go hungry for half our childhood. I’m not gonna live on rations now.”

Steve folds his hands in his lap, staring down at his knuckles with what looks for all the world like a pout. Maybe he should’ve made the team watch the documentary first…that would’ve gotten them excited. Hell, even he was inspired - after all, if a non-enhanced guy could train to carry over a thousand pounds, surely there was some kind of benefit to this lifestyle.

“Alright, how about this,” he pulls his last card, his last idea. “If I can make a meal that will convince you vegan food is actually good, would you agree to try it for a little while?”

Sam and 41 turn towards each other; he raises an eyebrow, she responds with a shrug.

“We can accept these terms,” Sam agrees. “But you’re really gonna have to wow us.”

“Yeah,” 41 nods, settling in next to Clint. “Bring out the big guns.”

From his place behind the couch, Bucky’s shoulders quake with silent laughter.

“You really played yourself on this one, pal,” he chuckles, shaking his head. Reaching across the cushions, he gives 41 a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, squirt. Your ice cream isn’t going anywhere - I’ve known Steve for a long, long time…” He smirks at a now exasperated Steve.

“…and Steve Rogers can’t cook for shit.”

**********

Steve Rogers, in fact, cannot cook for shit. But he’ll be damned if that will stop him from trying.

He’s swiping through recipes and grocery lists on his Stark pad, wondering if baking his own bread would be as easy as it seemed, when the text comes through.

Hey soldier. I heard you were going on a diet. That true?

Steve snorts and chews his lip, thumbs hovering as he thinks over his reply.

Yeah, it’s about time I got in better shape.

Feeling a bit silly, he watches the little dots in the text bubble as she types back a reply, and tries not to feel too pleased with himself at the cluster of laughing emojis she sent.

Well, listen. I’ve been vegan for a while, actually, so if you need any help I’m here!

An eager leap in his heart, and his thumbs fly over the keyboard once more.

Oh, really? In that case…I’m not sure if I can really handle cooking by myself. I have a terrible track record in the kitchen.

Another laughing emoji. They didn’t teach you that in the army?

Shockingly no.

Someone (Wanda? Peter?) may have told him something about double texting, but he can’t help himself as he quickly follows up his text with another.

Anyways, I’m desperate. And the team is desperate for me to not burn down the tower, haha. Can you help a guy out?

Waiting for a reply, his knee bounces under his desk and he clicks the pen in his hand over and over, hardly hearing the annoying little noise as his thumb reflexively twitches on the button. When her response buzzes on his screen, he almost flinches.

Tell you what. Today is my day off, and I needed groceries anyway. Trader Joe’s in an hour?

**********                                                                                                   

“What on earth are those?” Steve stares incredulously at the basket. “And why are they…not orange?”

“They’re called Hawaiian sweet potatoes and they just grow that way,” 14 laughs as she reaches for a display of squash next to the potatoes.

“That’s not a sweet potato - I know what a sweet potato looks like,” Steve says, obstinate brows crowding together. Shaking her head, 14 just turns away from the squash towards the avocados on the opposite side of the produce aisle.

“Oh boy, you’re gonna learn a lot being vegan…” she sighs. She squeezes a couple of avocados, testing ripeness and feeling the size before she chooses two and adds them to one of her produce bags. With a satisfied nod, she settles her hands on her hips. “Okay, next on the list: tahini.”

Looking at the cart, Steve can’t tell what his dinner is going to be.

“Tahini? What are we gonna do with that?” He wonders what it is, too, but doesn’t ask.

“Eat it, Rogers.” Smirking over her shoulder, she grabs the front of the cart and pulls him along towards the condiments aisle. “What on earth would you do without me?”

“Die a carnivore, I guess,” he shrugs.

“Hm. Tragic.”

 **********                                                                                                  

“It’s practically foolproof - all you have to do is cook this, roast the sweet potatoes, and then we’re gonna throw it all in together.”

“Never underestimate my ability to totally ruin a meal.” Steve says, stirring the quinoa. An adorable scrunch wrinkles his nose as he turns to where she’s dicing the avocados. “Ask Bucky. Even army rations taste better than my cooking.”

“You must be very confident in yourself to admit that,” she smiles back. Cheeks warm, he turns back to the pan with a shrug.

Silence stretches between them for a few moments, the quiet of shared work - from the other room, they can hear the TV playing, occasional laughs from Sam and 41 as they catch up on episodes of Brooklyn 99. Outside the windows, the summer sun sinks steadily lower, golden hour glow illuminating the skyline and filtering into the kitchen. She’s barefooted, chipped blue polish on her toes, and her feet pad lightly across the tile floor as she moves her bowl of avocado chunks over to the island. The little sound makes his heart hungry.

“So,” he clears his throat. “How long have you been, uh, plant-based?”

“Hmm. I guess about 6 months or so?” She taps her fingers absently against the marble countertop as she thinks. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

“Wow. Why did you start?”

“Someone dared me,” she winks at him. “No, but really. A friend challenged me to do it with her for a month…and then I realized I felt great and didn’t miss the animal products so much.” She shrugs. “I had more energy, I felt stronger, my skin looked amazing - trust me, after a week, you’ll practically be glowing.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder with a melodramatic flair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, a playful smile dimpling her cheeks.

He laughs with her, shaking his head. “Oh, thank god. My skin is a nightmare.” His sarcasm sparks her laugh again, and it inflates his chest even more. He feels light, easy, weightless as the dust motes floating through a sunbeam between them.

Her giggles die down when her phone timer buzzes, signaling her to check the roasting potatoes in the oven. Sidestepping him, she leans down carefully in front of the open door, waves of heat assaulting them both as she pokes and prods the vegetables with a spatula. “Perfect,” she closes the oven door with a satisfied nod. “Just a few more minutes. And it looks like that’s almost done, too.” She gestures to his pan and hands him a lid to cover it. “You can go ahead and turn the burner off - the water has cooked out, so we’ll just need to let it sit.”

With the rest of their ingredients prepped and waiting in a neat row on the island, they slide onto a pair of barstools as 14 sets another short timer on her phone. Steve takes a sip from his beer, leaning an elbow on the counter as he turns to face her.

“Have you always liked to cook?” he asks. In his mind, there are a million questions - they roll over each other, constantly trying to push their way out of his mouth, his overwhelming curiosity wishing he could crack open her shell through sheer force of will. Instead, he drums his fingers against the counter, picks at the label on his beer bottle, scratches his beard, and waits for her to speak.

“Oh, no, not at all,” she laughs at the question. She’s not facing him, but she smiles, fingers lightly tracing the stem of her wine glass. “Actually I used to hate it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Surprised?”

Steve is surprised - her kitchen confidence certainly impressed him. Not once has she consulted a recipe, or googled how long to roast potatoes in the oven, how to make lemon tahini sauce. Things that would’ve left him completely stumped and likely going hungry.

“A little. You really seem to know your way around a kitchen, that’s all.”

“Well…” she takes a deep breath, and he can see the shape of it forming in her mind: whatever it is she’s about to tell him, whatever she’s preparing to say - it matters. With a fortifying gulp of wine, she knots her fingers together and forges ahead. “I used to have a lot of…um, body image issues, you know? Super critical of myself, low self esteem…it got pretty bad for a while.” She doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t need to know and how could she even begin to tell it? Too many cups of coffee and too few meals, the feeling of a toothbrush in the back of her throat. It hurts her now, the memory of that girl who thought that making herself less would somehow make her enough. She reaches for the wine again. Steve stays quiet, his eyes watchful and soft. It hurts him, too.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“Yeah.” Glancing at him, she licks her bottom lip, before turning her eyes back down to her hands. “Anyway - cooking helped me learn how to actually take care of myself.” A half-hearted little shrug, a self-conscious smile. “That’s really all there is to it.”

He nods, holding her gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between her own. Her shoulders curl where she sits a little hunched at the stool, bare feet tucked up on a bar that ran between the legs of the stool, one knee bouncing rapidly. A minute ticks by, then two, the kitchen gone quiet and warm, hazy with the smell of a good meal.

“You know, a long time ago, before I was…this-” He gestures to himself, his big shoulders and tree trunk thighs, the massive everything of him. “- before the serum, well, I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures. Or a documentary,” he smirks, a little rueful. “I was less than half the size I am now - short, skinny, no matter how much I ate my ribs stuck out. Buck used to try to help me train, doing pushups or learning how to box, but I was still so weak. A strong breeze could’ve knocked me over, probably - plus, I had asthma, and I was always getting sick with one thing or another…honestly, it’s a miracle I didn’t die before the army got me.”

It coaxes a mirroring smile from her, one elbow propped on the island. She shuffles on top of the stool, turning to face him fully.

“I thought…I don’t know, I thought I’d feel…different. Better, once I was stronger.” He shakes his head, chuckling at himself. “But it was more like…I was just in the wrong body. I kept bumping into things, hitting my head on doorframes; I took up more space than I thought I should.” Letting go of his beer, he spreads his hands in front of him, turning them over alternately and staring at the broad palms, the strong fingers, crisscrossed with veins and scars. “Drove myself crazy trying to sketch. I kept breaking my charcoal, snapping pencils…it was like trying to draw with another person’s hands.”

“Did you get used to it?” she asks. The hand not occupied with her wine glass reaches out to gently take hold of his wrist. A delicate thumb drags across his pulse, and she looks down at the lines of his palms, still uncalloused and pink. Her hand cradles his large one as she brings her eyes up to his own.

“More or less,” he shrugs. “Sometimes I still pass a mirror and do a double take.” More often than he would admit, in fact. He thinks of all the mornings he comes home from a brutal run - double marathons, barely sweating - and sees himself getting into his shower, a god he doesn’t recognize staring back at him.

She nods. She understands.

“Taking care of yourself helps. I think - it never quite goes away, but…” her smile is sweet. Hopeful. “The little things. They help.”

Turning his wrist, he grasps her hand with his own. Her skin is soft and warm; smaller fingers slide between his thick ones. Once, a long time ago, their hands would have been the same size.

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, her phone buzzes, vibrating against the counter and startling them both. As she withdraws her hand, she grins up at him.

“You hungry, Rogers?”

“Starving.”

**********

They take their bowls into the living room, joining Sam and 41 on the couch. Steve does his best with the chopsticks at first, but he still hasn’t gotten used to it. In the name of efficiency, he switches to a fork so that he can shovel the food into his mouth faster.

“Woah - what is that?” Sam leans over to get a better look. He sniffs the air. “Damn, it smells amazing.”

“It’s called a Buddha bowl,” 14 says, politely covering her mouth to conceal the sweet potatoes she’s still chewing. With her fork, she strategically arranges the next bite, collecting a little bit of everything: quinoa, potatoes, tahini sauce, avocado, greens. “Because it’s pure bliss,” she adds, before neatly shoving the next forkful into her mouth.

Steve hums in agreement, his own cheeks stuffed full. His bowl is half empty already. Peaking around 14’s shoulder, Agent 41 licks her lips and makes eye contact with Sam.

“I mean…maybe, we could try making some?” she shrugs her shoulders. “With a little Yum Yum sauce, too, I bet that would be good…” Sam is already nodding in agreement, pulling out his phone to look up a recipe.

“Don’t worry,” 14 smiles, patting her friend’s thigh. “I made plenty for everyone.”

As the other two scramble up from the couch and into the kitchen, she catches Steve’s eye and winks.

[omniswords]

How to Open a Padlock, Part 2 [Nino Lahiffe/Camila Siddiq (OC)]

Four times Camila Siddiq ran into Carapace, and one time she found Nino.

Well. Here’s part 2! Camila’s still my baby and I hope you love her too. (And if you do, please tell me!! I love sharing her with people <3333)

[ii.]

All Camila remembers is her father. And honestly, he’s the last person she wants to be thinking of.

She always heard that when people were akumatized, they barely remembered anything that they did. Only that they felt something pitch-black—anger, despair, jealousy, shame—and it was all over from there. That they were locked away somewhere inside themselves until Ladybug and Chat Noir brought them back. She didn’t know if people ever really relived the horror of it. The havoc they wrought on the city. The constant fear that it could happen to them again if they felt anything short of happiness. The trauma if they ever kept the things that turned them into demons.

She already knows what being locked away feels like. To know what having those black, black feelings turned on you feels like. She doesn’t need to be akumatized for that. But she was, and all she remembers is her father in the end, and the marriage text messages, because that’s all he ever seems to want to talk to her about these days—marriage, and schooling—and the phone in her hand. And how she squeezed it so hard with every dark thing she felt that she was almost afraid she might break it.

She wasn’t going to die alone, she told herself over and over, and anyway, so what if she did?

So what if…

Then there was the butterfly, and everything really did go dark.

She doesn’t know how much time passes before it all melts away and she opens her eyes again. She doesn’t know how she ended up by the Seine. She doesn’t even know what she did, or if she wants to know. All she knows is that her head is pounding with pain, and she feels faint, and Ladybug is kneeling in front of her, asking, “Are you okay?”

For a long moment after she comes to her senses, Camila doesn’t speak. She only nods to answer Ladybug’s question, even though it hurts. She rubs her head, kneeling along the riverbank while Ladybug and Chat Noir and a couple of other heroes trade their signature fist bump. And then she says, “I’m sorry.” Because she doesn’t know what else she’s supposed to say.

There’s a hand at her back before she can keep speaking, or even get up. When she looks up, Carapace is there—again—smiling and keeping her steady as he sits beside her. “Hey, stranger,” he says, signaling that the others can leave. “You put up one hell of a fight. Something must’ve got you really mad, huh.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Camila says, feeling nauseous. If she tries to stand or move at all, she might just pass out. Or vomit. Or both, but not necessarily in that order.

“You don’t have to.” Slowly, Carapace starts to rub wide, sweeping circles into her back. Maybe he remembers the feeling from all those years ago, on the day of the scarlet butterflies. “No one’s saying you have to. Just…”

She has to move in pieces, but eventually her vision stops swimming when she turns his way. “What?”

His hand pauses in between her shoulder blades, and it probably shouldn’t soothe her as much as it does. He may be Carapace, sure, but he’s just a superhero she’s happened to meet twice, and know about for even longer—and possibly see patrolling her neighborhood on a number of evening occasions. And there’s a person under there besides. There’s nothing to feel here but the importance of a moment or two.

Is there?

“Just wanted to tell you,” Carapace murmurs, “that I don’t think someone like you is meant to be alone. You got some good in you—a lot of good in you. I’ve never heard anyone, y’know, apologize for being akumatized before. It’s the kinda good that brings people to you. Someone like that doesn’t just end up alone.” Little by little, he helps her stagger to her feet. It’s like she weighs nothing to him. “Can you walk?”

She’s a little wobbly, but otherwise okay, so she gives him a faint nod. Even though she’s still clinging to his arm. “Guess I broke my promise, huh.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“My safety. I messed it up. So now I really do owe you.”

“You don’t owe me for feeling,” he says.

There he goes again, looking so familiar in a way she can’t even place. Doing it when she doesn’t even have the chance to clear her head and really think about it. His gaze flickers down to her phone, and she follows it. Unlocks it and deletes those awful messages in record time. Even blocks her father’s number for good measure. Maybe she’ll unblock it later but she can’t bear to hear from him right now. She can’t bear the certain silence that comes from a lack of apology.

“What did you say all that for?” she asks.

Carefully, Carapace takes her by the wrist and coaxes her to put her phone away. The touch of his hand feels strange, or maybe it’s just the superhero suit. Briefly, and in the back of her mind, she wonders what it might feel like underneath. “I figured it was something you needed to hear,” he says, and dares to give her wrist a squeeze before he pulls his hand away. “Listen, I can take you back home if you need a lift or something.”

On instinct, she raises her hands in protest, that roller coaster feeling starting to tie her stomach up in knots again. “You don’t have to do that,” she insists. “I, uh. I can take the metro. Besides, aren’t you gonna, you know…” She wiggles her fingers in a vague gesture. “Detransform soon, or whatever you heroes do?”

It must be the gesture that makes him laugh, and he draws his hood a little further over his head to shade his eyes. What lives in them? Who is he under there? “Nah, not anymore. The longer you do this stuff, the more control you have over it. I guess it’s kinda like muscle memory. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I know what you mean.”

“Hey.” Carapace gives her a nudge. Enough that she can feel it, but not so much that it knocks her over or makes her sick all over again. “Get yourself home and take care of yourself. You’ve had a rough day.”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s had a rough day.” Camila tries to laugh. She sort of succeeds. “Having to fight some sort of… I don’t even know what I was.”

She doesn’t want to know what she was. He doesn’t tell her.

“Carapace,” she says, so low he’d be the only one to hear it. “You’re a good person, too. I hope you know that.”

She can practically feel him go soft. Which is kind of ironic. “Thanks. Glad you think so.”

“That’s my line.” She smiles, more to herself, but she wouldn’t complain if he saw it. “I’ll be okay, you know. You don’t have to feel obligated to look after me so much. There’s plenty of other people in Paris to be watching out for.”

“I know,” he says. Gives her a smile of his own. “But would you blame me if I wanted to?”

If she can feel the blush on her face, there was no way he can’t see it himself.

He nods toward the nearest metro station, a sign for her to really be heading home now, and for the entire walk over, her phone doesn’t buzz once. And for the entire walk over, she swears she can feel eyes on her. And it’s never felt this welcoming before, to be watched so closely.

(Days later, she unblocks her father’s number to the silence she expected, and he speaks to her like nothing happened, and she expected that, too. When she recounts the whole ordeal to Nino while they lounge about the bridge and blow bubbles over the Seine, he goes quiet until he tells her it happened to him before, once. That it made him sick to think of what he’d done—no, what had been done to him. All he did was feel.

All she did was feel, too.

How could they be blamed for that?

He tells her that he brought a padlock, too, on a whim, and that they should make a wish together on it. That it doesn’t have to be some thing that only couples do to hope their love lasts an eternity—even though she knows for a fact that Luka and Marinette did it once on a date, and it was the most adorable thing she’d ever heard of. And also absolutely on brand for Marinette. “Maybe you can wish for us to stop getting nagged about this whole marriage thing,” he tries to joke, but it falls a little flat, and he apologizes with a frown and a hand on her back.

He writes his name on the padlock, and lets her write hers and the date. Makes sure they’re both holding onto it when he loops it around the chain-link fence. Counts to three, and pushes the lock with her, and slings his arm over her shoulders as they admire it together.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks.

Camila says it’s supposed to be a secret or else the wish won’t come true, as childish as it sounds, but really it’s because she doesn’t know how to tell him that she doesn’t want him to leave her alone.)

[im-a-goner-foryou]

Babysitter! Peter / Married dad! Tony au, as per an anon's request several months overdue because I'm a piece of shit. Let me know if anyone's interested in a continuation!

It's only the first day of his new job, and already Peter's having second thoughts about the whole thing.

It's not like Harley's a problem child, or anything like that. On the contrary, the bubbly three-year-old has to be the sweetest boy Peter's had the chance of babysitting, something he's incredibly grateful for-- he shudders to think about Mrs Stark's reaction upon finding out her son broke a million-dollar house ornament while under Peter's care-- no, the issue was that the Stark residence is the most opulent estate Peter's ever seen, luxurious enough to make the glossy pictures in those modish home design magazines look frumpy in comparison. To say that Peter had been surprised to walk into the fully marbled, high ceiling, lavish parlour was an understatement; his knees actually wobbled, and he would have sunk down onto one of the many couches if they weren't clearly designer and made of pristine white leather.

Glancing down at the address on his phone screen in a panic, he entertained for the first time the idea that maybe this was all a huge mistake. "Uhm, Mrs--"

"It's just Pepper, I don't really do the whole 'Mrs Stark' thing. What is it?" Pepper interrupted, sounding more than a little tired; still, she certainly made a picture perfect image against the backdrop of the pristine mansion standing tall in a gorgeous sapphire blue dress, the boy resting on her cocked hip gazing at Peter curiously with his huge brown eyes while tugging on strands of his mother's blond hair.

"Miss Pepper," Peter immediately rushed to correct himself, feeling the tips of his ears burn at the mild eye roll this garners him. "I was just-- Uh." Wondering if this is just one big screw up, because there's no way a family this affluent will pick a mere high schooler off a babysitting website rather than a professional caretaker. "Hoping to go over the whole arrangement again, just to be sure?" he finished lamely.

"Oh. It's fairly simple, I thought I was clear enough on the phone earlier." Frowning down at her wristwatch as though thinking about the other more productive errands she'd rather be doing than talk to some daft teenager, Pepper sighed, "you'll look after Harley five days a week, provide the basic babysitting service, drop him off and pick him up from daycare; I'll text you all of the info you need about his feeding schedule and nap times later. Tony comes home every day around eight-- of course, if he'll just take more time off work we wouldn't have to deal with hiring a caretaker in the first place," the last sentence venomous under her breath.

Peter had blinked nervously, unsure how or if he's supposed to respond but before he could decide, an armful of toddler is thrusted upon him. Gathering up her purse, Pepper then instructed primly, "well, I'm going to be busy tonight, so if you have any questions just message Tony."

And just like that she turnt and left with a flick of her ponytail, heels clicking sharply against the across the sparkling linoleum-- and before Peter could point out that he didn't have her husband's number.

Mind still reeling from this turn of events, it was only Harley's vigorous squirming in his arms that snapped him out of his daze. Looking down a little helplessly at the wiggling boy he mused, "so, Harles. You like cupcakes?"

............

...Which turnt out to be another one of Peter's bad ideas, as evident by the sticky situation- literally- he's now in, vanilla icing smeared all over the beautiful marble countertops along with flour and powdered sugar and god knows what else; Peter nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to tidy the kitchen up to its once spotless state-- which was not an easy feat (who knew a single three year old could cause this extent of damage in those very few seconds Peter had taken his eyes off him to go preheat the oven?)

He was just bending over the island table to scrub at a particularly stubborn stain when he hears the distinct clearing of a throat right behind him, and the high pitched shriek that slips past his lips is something he'll vehemently deny later on.

"Woah there," a voice speaks up, unmistakably male from the deep intonation of his words. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry," the man adds, and for some absurd reason Peter feels liquid heat pool in his belly at just that silky low baritone alone, tinged slightly with amusement--

It's only then does the teen finally register the compromising position he's currently in, standing on his tiptoes and leaning over the counter so his ass is arched high in the air... right in front of his employer.

This first day is not turning out in his favour.

Feeling himself blush to the tips of his ears, Peter scrambles to stand upright once more, whirling around while holding his breath in anticipation of the annoyed expression he'll surely be greeted with-- but what he didn't expect to see is a devilishly handsome man, dressed in a three-button suit that fits so perfectly snug around those broad shoulders and firm chest it should be illegal; and for the second time in just a few hours Peter actually feels himself go weak at the knees once more, because holy shit this fine specimen of a man was not in his job description when he very well should be; if he had known how fucking hot Harley's dad is he would have brought his inhaler, or something.

"Hey, you okay?" the man- Tony, a dazed part of Peter's mind helpfully supplies- asks, chocolate dark eyes examining him in a way that leaves him in serious danger of swooning. "You look a little pale... Peter, isn't it?" The boy only nods dumbly in affirmation, but Tony smiles warmly. "I'm Harley's father. Nice to meet you."

Brain finally catching up, Peter blurts, "I know," before realising just how bad that sounds and backpedalling quickly. "Wait-- no, I just meant I already knew-- that you're Harley's dad, I mean... Uh, Mrs Stark told me earlier... I-I'm Peter by the way, shit you already knew that," he babbles, cheeks flushing hotter with every squeaky word that leaves his mouth until he's sure that he's a cherry red by the time Tony raises a hand to stop him.

"Okay, okay! Slow down there, kiddo," he chuckles, and fuck even his laugh sounds so incredibly sexy it's unfair, Peter's just a teenaged boy with daddy issues; he doesn't stand a chance. "Give your old man here some time to catch up, will ya?"

"Sorry," Peter instinctively says, or squeaks, more like; tucking his chin into his chest his shoulders fold forward in mortification, painfully aware of how ridiculous he must seem to the older man. Get it together, Parker. You're being pathetic.

His mental beration abruptly cuts off, however, as Tony begins to shrug off his suit jacket, dress shirt underneath stretching thin over his biceps as he drapes it over the back of a chair and holy shit, holy shit the urge to just reach out and trace over those defined muscles with his fingers is so overwhelming Peter has to grab at the edge of the countertop. "You don't mind, do you? I've had a long day at work is all," Tony says apologetically.

Nope. He does not mind at all, not one bit. "It-- it's okay, Mr Stark."

That earns him another warm smile, hardened lines across the man's face deepening along with the crinkling at the edges of his eyes. "Oh, you're sweet." --Peter actually feels his legs threaten to buckle underneath him at that-- then Tony's eyes drag almost lazily over his body, and his lips curve into a roguish grin as he adds, "...and that cute little apron you've got on there certainly helps your image."

Fuck. Oh, god, until then he'd forgotten the apron he had found and hastily thrown on earlier-- and not just any apron, but a frilly soft pink one complete with a lacy hem-- not unlike the ones housewives donned back in the nineties or something. Peter actually buries his face in his hands with a groan then, so overcome with humiliation. "I'm sorry, I just found it in one of the drawers..."

"It's alright, Pep never uses it anyways," Tony says dismissively, his next words pitching lower into one of a drawl that makes Peter shiver. "...Plus it looks much better on you, sweetheart."

Peter peeks out shyly from behind his fingers then, only to gasp; for the look on Tony's face that greets him can only be described as hungry, dark with unmistakable lust and something else he can't quite decipher but leaves him breathless for more-- the combination of both that gaze pinned heavy on him and the use of that pet name is enough to draw something akin to a keening whine from the back of his throat that he quickly tries to smoother into a cough. "Really?" he mumbles, hiding his pleased flush as best as he can.

Tony grins knowingly. "Oh, for sure. I've never seen anyone look prettier in an apron than you, sweetheart," he purrs, closing up whatever remaining distance between them in two confident strides; Peter gasps, automatically backing up until his back hits the edge of the island table, the older man effectively pinning him there. Staring up into darkening eyes through fluttering lashes, Peter draws his bottom lip in between his teeth- nervous habit- and hopes that Tony won't catch the wild thudding of his hear against his ribcage at their close proximity; the man's expensive cologne fills his senses, makes his head spin with pure want and has him subconsciously licking at his lips.

Tony's next words come out more gravelly and deeper than before. "You've got a little bit of icing on your face," he grunts, and before Peter has the chance to respond he's reaching forward to swipe at his flushed skin with a calloused thumb. Breath hitching at the tender touch, Peter sways on his feet as the huge palm cradles his cheek for a split second-- then just like that it's over and Tony's stepping back, the loss of him enough to make the younger teen whimper pitifully.

"All clean now," Tony mutters, sounding decidedly more strained than a few moments ago; Peter's no better with his raggedly falling breaths, and the tent rapidly forming at the front of his skinny jeans-- maybe wearing the apron's not such a bad decision, after all.

"Thanks, Mr Stark," he squeaks, and he swears the older man's eyes darkened at that; gaze darting away from the intensity of that stare, Peter focuses instead on the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. Pepper should be home soon--

Shit. A fresh wave of guilt crashes over Peter for the first time that night at the thought of Pepper-- Tony's wife. How could he be so stupid? Mr Stark's a married man, for Christ's sake-- not to mention a father as well, to a child Peter's supposed to be looking after. He's here to babysit, not be swept off his feet by a rich older man, as appealing as the second option sounds.

And yet-- the way Mr Stark had looked at him earlier, gaze almost predatory as he crowded him in...

Shaking his head as though that would get rid of his thoughts, Peter hurriedly unties the apron and stammers, "I, uh, I should go--"

"Wait. You don't have my number, do you?" Tony frowns, grabbing his forearm lightly to stop him from reaching for his backpack. When Peter shakes his head no, the man reaches into the breast pocket of his discarded suit to pull out a business card. "Here. Just in case... you know," he shrugs. "You have questions about Harley, or whatever."

"Yeah, about-- Harley," Peter echoes, taking the card; their fingers brush against each other as he does so, and he can't help but shiver at the contact; he thinks he catches a small grin out of the corner of his eye. "It was nice meeting you, Mr Stark."

And there's another one of those smiles; Peter feels his stomach flutter again. Stupid. "Pleasure's all mine. I'll see you soon, Parker," Tony says smoothly, shooting him a quick wink as he releases his hold. Peter practically flies out of the front door on trembling legs-- taking care not to crash into any glass ornaments on the way, of course.

This new turn of events definitely add another compliation to his job, that's for sure; and yet Peter walks home that day with his heart hammering in his chest, cheeks still tinged pink... and with a giddy smile on his lips.

[sugagimmesugar]

Only Fools Fall for You Chapter 6

Chapter 6: No more playin’ cool tonight

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 

Namjoon’s head snaps around from where he had been talking to y/n, suddenly shooting death glares at Yoongi, the other rapper completely unaware. He had made sure to tell them that only y/n knew about BTS and Emma was supposed to be left in the dark as long as possible to avoid possible fangirling or such. But before he can try to distract Emma from Yoongi’s ridiculous pick up line, she already answers.

“Haha yea of course. I don’t live under a rock music wise like a certain someone.” She laughs, shooting a mocking grin at y/n. “I honestly have some difficulty getting in to K-pop though. I prefer it when I can understand what the artists are singing. But yea, y’all are doing great, I actually wanted to come to your concert tomorrow, y’know, check out some dope performances irl…  but it sold out too quickly. But why do you ask?”

As Emma finishes her answer, everyone is a bit in shock. She knew who they were from the beginning but didn’t say anything? That’s a first.

At the deafening silence in the room, the girl almost breaks down laughing. “What? You guys think I am as weird as y/n and don’t look up artists faces? You guys have been all over the news and shit. I recognized Namjoon when I met him, and all of you, too. I am still learning names but I guess meeting you in person helped with that. I wanted to let you guys have a vacation without having to deal with being celebs, but I guess Mr. Suga here didn’t care enough about that, huh?” With the last words she turns to the man, whose frown has turned to laughter a while ago.

She lightly slaps his arm, teasing him with a smile. Around her, everyone is overcoming their surprise, Namjoon turning back to y/n, who is silently laughing, a defeated smile on his face.

He shrugs his shoulders, suddenly too engrossed in the beautiful girl in front of him to really care about the drama that has already been resolved between Yoongi and Emma.

As everyone sits quietly chatting away in pairs, just eating away, Emma suddenly pipes up, a big grin on her face. “Since it’s now official that you guys are music industry giants, how about everyone queue their favourite songs? I wanna know what the 21st Century Beatles listen to. And also your favourite songs from your own music. Recommend me good stuff and make me another one of your fans.” She winks at Yoongi with the last word, his hand on her thigh sign enough that “fan” is not what he is going for.

Beside her, Hobi looks up from his phone, a big smile replacing the somewhat annoyed look he sported before: “Yea Baby, let’s do it! How about 3 songs each. Two general songs and 1 BTS song? I have the power over the bluetooth so everyone give me their songs please. Let’s start with BTS songs, get that over with. Jin-hyung?”

One by one, the men name their favourite songs out of their own. Not so soon after, the flat is filled with the upbeat melody of “Seesaw”, Tae’s choice. He actually jumps up, dragging Jimin with him, into an impromptu, and quite wobbly try at the Seesaw choreo. Meanwhile Yoongi looks like he is trying to sink into the couch, a blush obvious on his face as he smiles both proudly and shyly at the younger men.

Watching the two young men dancing away, he suddenly hears a small voice from beside him: “That’s my favourite song, actually. Like of all the BTS songs. Thank you.” He turns around, his eyes big as Emma smiles at him, her fingers moving along to the melody absentmindedly as her other hand grabs his, squeezing his fingers. The rapper’s blush only deepens, his smile bigger than before.

From the table across the room, Namjoon and y/n just watch, their fingers intertwined as she rests her head on his shoulder.

They’re calm, happy and content with each other, somewhat in a bubble, looking out at the others enjoying the party. The youngest three now dancing with overacted enthusiasm, Jimin somehow still in almost perfect control, even though he could barely walk before. Dancing just seems to come as easily to him as breathing.

On the couch, Emma and Yoongi are not-so-subtly flirting while Hobi is texting away, sometimes dancing while still sitting, just small movements here and there, bopping along to whatever is on.

A few minutes later, Hobi jumps up, the new songs obviously having caught his attention. He grabs on to JK, pulling the youngest on to “the dancefloor”, which is just the biggest bit of empty space in the living room. The two grin at each other, nodding in unison before starting a small choreo, their bodies moving around each other perfectly. The hard beat dictating their dance, and as Jimin turns up the volume, him and Tae join the two already dancing, joining in for a few seconds before the choreo completely falls apart as they break down laughing at JK’s ridiculous facial expressions. He is overacting for comedic effect and, as usual, it works.

After that, nobody tries to do any kind of choreo again as they at best just jump around to a particularly energetic song. They’re on holiday after all. Might as well dance like drunk idiots.  

It turns out to be a quite calm get together, Jimin gladly sharing his alcohol with the others, his small giggles and cute nature only enhanced the more intoxicated he gets.

With all the alcohol he bought, they don’t manage to drink it all, but still, all nine of them end up decently smashed.

Hobi’s dates never show up, but he doesn’t seem bothered by that. As the music is turned down again and it seems like the party is almost dead, he decides to liven it up again.

“Hey, let’s play a drinking game! What’s something you girls usually play at your parties?” His sunshine smile hits y/n, her eyes shooting towards her friend, considering.

“I don’t know, we don’t really play a lot of drinking games. Would “Never have I ever” work for you guys? It’s fun and easy. You know, if you’re the only one who has to drink, aka has done the thing, you have to explain the story behind it.” She finally answers, giving Namjoon a questioning smile.

So there they are, on the floor in some house in Gothenburg, seven of the biggest stars on the planet, and two random girls. And they’re playing “Never have I ever”, occasionally roaring with laughter when one of them has to reveal an embarrassing story.

JK: “Hmmmm…. Okay… Never have I ever…. Kissed on the first date.”

Half the group just huffs at him, nodding in disbelief as if to say “Well… Obviously.”

Y/n just turns to Namjoon, takes his face in her hands and pulls him towards her, kissing him with drunk enthusiasm before quickly pulling away and drinking. “Well, now I have.”

While everyone is howling with laughter at both her initiative and Namjoon’s complete shock, a big grin parts his lips and he pulls her back to him. He kisses her, softly this time, a soft smile on his lips as he cups her cheek with his hand, ignoring the comments from his brothers.

After what feels like an eternity, they pull away from each other, just looking into each others eyes with a smile, before intertwining their fingers again, her head resting on his shoulder, again.

“You know, that’s not the point of this game, right?” JK says, only to be shut up by a laughing Emma and a somewhat drunk Jin. “Let them! It’s fine as long as it’s just this cute.”

After that, the game continues, a few embarrassing stories revealed mostly by the girls. Everything the boys have done, it seems, at least one more of the members has done.

About an hour later, the game over as nobody can come up with any more things, they decide to call it a night. They all start cleaning up, and with 9 people, it goes quickly.

Tae and Jimin quickly say goodnight, the latter ending up almost getting carried to his room by his sober friend.

Jin still fixing the last bits in the kitchen, Hobi slips away with just a wave to the girls. Jungkook follows him soon after, surprisingly still energetic, the youngest one carries snacks to his room.

After seeing y/n’s questioning eyebrows, Namjoon quickly explains: “He has so much energy, he is probably gonna play Overwatch now. I don’t know how he does it to be honest”

After saying her goodbye to Jin, and checking on Emma, who has now moved on to Yoongi’s lap, the two of them completely engrossed in one another, y/n just pulls Namjoon towards the door, towards some privacy.

They stand outside, waiting for the cab she called, just holding one to each other, both dumbfounded at how well they clicked, how well they get along, and most of all, how quickly all of this happened. 12 hours, and she has him falling head over heels for her. Not that she is any less affected than him. Her eyes must actually have hearts in them, she thinks to herself every time she looks at the man.

Another bold move is needed, she thinks. He said he was free until tomorrow at 12. So there’s still 9 hours of vacation left.

“Come over.” The words come out almost as a whisper. “What?” his question more shock than anything, he looks at her, their eyes meeting as she puts her hand on his chest.

“I said come over. You said you were free until twelve. So sleep over. I live alone, nobody’s gonna see you. I can get us breakfast tomorrow and then you can go do RM things-” She is cut off by his lips on hers. The kiss isn’t hard, it’s somehow passionate and soft, shy and yet an obvious answer.

“Are you sure?” He finally asks, tearing away from her. She just smiles and nods,leaning back into his touch, waiting for the cab to pull up.

[jenuminous]

Some Things Change  —  LJN

anonymous a jeno enemies to lovers scenario where has to babysit your younger sibling and he meets you but (somehow idk lol) you guys become enemies but the more he comes over the more he grows on you ? idk if this is clear omg but thank you ily !! 💚

2.4k | “just a slight of caramel on top of the popcorn” jeno doesn’t have the best first appearance to you, and you accepted it as a challenge. the relationship between you weren’t so great, until he started to see you differently.

genre fluff, angst, enemies to lovers! jeno (jeno being a jerk?)

messages oof thank you so much for the request ilysm 💚 i hope you like it omg worried if i disappointed you lol i just can’t write Argh

You grabbed the black hoodie, wearing it over your pajama shirts. You comb your hair once more to tie it up into a nice bun, then applying chapstick on your dry lips. As you were getting your last touch done, you were interrupted by the doorbell.

“Y/N! I think he’s here!”

Your brother exclaims with eyes sparkling in anticipation as he followed your steps. He was turning grade 1 this year, his height was slightly lower than your waist. He mumbled with his wobbling tooth, which only made him cuter.

“I’m sure you’re going to love him.” He added, before you opened up the door for the babysitter. It was your first time meeting the ‘him’ which made you quite nervous. Opening up the door, you see him - height slightly taller than you, around your age - standing in front.

“Hi!” he replied back to your greeting with silence, as he was busy shaking off the rain on his umbrella. Despite the umbrella looking big, the shoulder of his indigo hoodie had a darker color from the heavy rain. He leaned it gently against the wall, plucking out his earphones.

He had a fine figure, black hair dangling from the weight of the rain. His eyes opened widely with confusion when he met yours. “Who-”

“Jeno, this is my sister!” Your brother interrupted, tugging both hems of the hoodies to pull each other closer. With an awkward smile, he pulled back from you, ruffling his hair.

He mouthed the word ‘o’ as he glanced between you and your brother before his entrance. “You guys don’t look alike as I thought.” He added, closing the door behind. You laughed awkwardly, following his step with your eyes.

“We hear that a lot.” you smile, bite down your teeth in order to hide your sudden annoyance. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” Jeno ignored the hand you reached out after taking a glance of it, making you close them tightly into a fist.

“I’m Jeno.” He introduce simply. “I’m Y/N.”

Jeno mumbled your name under his breath several times, heading straight to the kitchen without further comments.

…

The three of you sat at the dinner table with dead silence. Jeno was sitting opposite from you, watching your brother gobbling up his meal. Biting down on your chopsticks, you stare at your favorite dish out from your reach, directly in front of Jeno. Awkwardly, you cough to grab his attention.

“Sorry, but can you pass me the dish over there?”

Before you even finished, Jeno turned his head around to your brother if he need anything. Your eyes blinked with disbelief. “I’m sorry but-” you try to repeat yourself again, but he cuts you off.

“I’m only here to babysit your brother, not you too.”

Abacked from his words, you didn’t know what to say. What did he even mean by that? Your minds were flying papers everywhere, confusion scribbled all over them. Giving up, you pick up a chopstick of rice, shoving it into your mouth. Your eyes kept on staring at Jeno, constantly feeding and smiling kindly at your brother.

Was he a double-personality? Both your mom and your brother seemed to love him head to toe, and you didn’t get why. “Aren’t you going to help wash the dishes?” Jeno called you out from the kitchen, pulling up his sleeves. You could hear that he was already getting the sink filled with hot, bubbling water.

“What?” you reply as you deliver the stacked up cutleries. The tower of dishes wobbled every step you took, making clunking sounds with each other. You felt gravity pulling your arms down lower every step.

“Hey, careful. Those are heavy.” Before anything crashed down to the floor, Jeno caught your arms with his. His eyes met yours, as he helped you get up. You blubbed your words, blushing slightly. “Thanks,”

“Seriously, do you have anything you can do well?” Jeno asked savagely, before turning back into the kitchen with the dishes. “Excuse me, but I thought I was helping the dishes?” You try to speak up to him, convincing you were helpful. But seeing his face, you knew it wasn’t much than an excuse to him.

“No. Second thought, just stay still.” His eyes folded into a crescent moon as he smiled. They were beautiful somehow, but sincerely they were there to annoy you.

Groaning silently behind his back, you couldn’t believe yourself for blushing for a short time simply for that. It seemed like Jeno was the house master, not you.

…

“You can eat if you want.” Looking up from your phone, you see a package of caramel popcorn thrown onto the desk. You could smell the faint smell of sweetness coming out of it. The corner of your eyes caught Jeno wiping his wet hands off by the hem of his hoodie.

You stare at him coldly, showing that you were completely mad with him. “I don’t need it.” Jeno rolled his eyes, picking up the package. “Just eat it. For dessert or something.” Jeno shoved it into your arms before swivelling around.

“I’ll be in here if you need me.” You looked at his cheeky face with an unbelievable face, as he pointed his thumb at your brother’s door.

“I don’t need you- why would I even?” you fireback. Jeno smirked at your words, closing the door shut behind him. “Hey!” You knew he was doing that on purpose, he probably would have heard your scream of annoyance behind him.

“What a jerk!” Was it a habit of him to cut someone’s words that rude? You wondered if he was satisfied by your reaction, with a smile of victory. You notice the popcorn bag laid in your arms, seducing you with an invisible ‘eat me!’ sign.

The package was harder to open than you thought. “Shoot,” you mumble, cooling down your numb fingers. You head to the kitchen to grab the scissors, cutting the top of it in a straight line. Before digging in, you hear a chuckle from behind.

You didn’t know how long he has been standing there, but Jeno was laughing in his fist. Your face reddened automatically, hiding the package quickly behind your back. “I told you I’d be there if you needed me.” He said casually, opening the refrigerator.

“The matter is, I didn’t need you.” You shoot back, crossing your arms in defence. “As if.” He took out a can of coke, opening it up with a sparkling sound. You raised an eyebrow at his action, wondering: since when was he allowed to take anything from the kitchen without permission?

Jeno insisted you the drink and you move your head from left to right, indicating as a no. He shrugged, chugging the drink right away as he closed the refrigerator. Jeno ran through his hair with his fingers, smiling at you brightly.

“Are you alright? You’re blushing.” You felt some caramel popcorns falling at your feet, tickling you.

…

Jeno came again the following morning. And the following the day. And then the following day after it.

He came almost every single day, always bringing along the caramel popcorn for you in his bag. The more Jeno spent time with you, it was natural for you to get closer to him.

“Okay, here’s another one.”

“Please, Y/N. Your jokes are the worse thing ever.”

Jeno always wore his same indigo hoodie, with his black backpack on his shoulders. It was his fashion for today too.

“It looks like you came directly from yesterday.” You teased.

“Shut up. I’m wearing a different shirt inside.” You were surprised to see the tip of his ear burning with the color red, not matching your eyes. He said that they were different brands, but in your eyes there were no differences. It didn’t mean that you hated it. It was just that sometimes you thought pink might go well with him.

“And there’s you whose doing a fashion show.”

You had to agree with his statement. Before his arrival, your hairstyle changed every minute; sometimes greeting him with your hair half done when he arrived. You couldn’t seem to figure out why your heart started pumping, making your hands move urgently.

“Someone’s gotten herself ready for someone.” Your mother heading towards the door, teased your outfit - wearing a cute pink shirt, along with white shorts.

“Mom, please!” You shout out in embarrassment, quickly pulling your hoodie over your head. Your mother nudged Jeno slightly, making it more obvious for him to know. He only laughed silently, making you more embarrassed of yourself. His eyes met yours, making your heart thump louder.

“Just go,” Hurrying your mother to go to work, you sigh heavily. “Are you getting ready to tease me again?” Turning around, you crossed your arms, acting like you didn’t care about his upcoming judgements.

“No,” Jeno replied quick, frowning his eyebrow together. Your arms slid down beside you gently. It was an answer that was usually out of his option. He looked up at down with an unreadable face.

“You look cuter in hoodies.” He commented, before throwing away the bag on the floor, following your brother with his toy.

…

[I think I would be staying back until morning] [sorry and please thank Jeno for staying over with you and your brother!]

Your phone tossed away beside you on the couch ringed, but you didn’t read them. It was obviously texts from your mother, informing her absence until the next day.

As a matter of fact, you were too busy fidgeting to open up the bag of caramel flavored popcorn that Jeno has brought earlier. It opened with a large pop sound, hitting your nostrils with the sweet smell. You turn up the volume before getting your fingers sticky with caramel.

You were wearing Jeno’s hoodie on top, and you were sure that he still didn’t took yours off too. It was an indie pink colored one - your favorite. It still had a slight scent of perfume you once applied.

You wondered if he liked the smell. Does he prefer cherry blossom or mint? His smelled like cats: warm and cozy. There were - in fact - some short furs stuck everywhere on his hoodie.

The lights were all off, and the only light available was the television and the dim moonlight behind the curtains. You weren’t distracted by the sound of the small creaking sound of the door closing behind. The movie was far more interesting to take care of your surroundings.

“Finally you opened it without me.” It was Jeno, who have just succeeded on sending your brother to bed. Like your thought, he really did look great in pink. He slid his hand inside the popcorn, taking a few before sitting beside you. His shoulder brushed against yours, making your heart skip a beat.

“What are you watching?” He asked casually. “Oh, just an old movie.” you reply with a voice crack; hiding it by crunching the hard shelled popcorns with your teeth.

Jeno didn’t say anything more, since he was into the movie more than you were. Sitting down shoulder-to-shoulder, making you realize how close you’ve gotten with him.

Flashback to the first day, the scene of the days when you two couldn’t stand sitting on the same sofa rolled inside your head like a panorama. It went along well with the old fashioned movie you were watching.

“Mhmm, these are nice.” He added as he slipped a hand inside the package, grabbing a handful of them. “You’re not getting anymore of these.” you slapped him lightly on the arm, watching him laugh.

He was focusing on the movie pretty hard, despite of him skipping the whole introduction. But your eyes weren’t on the screen.

In fact, they were slowly following the curves of his face. From the falling bangs covering his forehead, to his chin. Jeno turned his neck sharply towards you, and it was too late to hide your eyes from him.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks innocently, and you sway your head left to right. He shifted himself closer to you, even though there was no more space for him. You felt his warmth spreading to you, and you didn’t hate it. Reaching in for another clump of popcorns, you felt something softer than that.

Looking for what it was, you realize Jeno’s eyes stuck to you. And so were his hands. It was embarrassing enough to be caught by stealing a glance of him, and now you had his full attention. He moved the direction you did, keeping a constant distance.

“I’m sorry, it’s a coincidence-” as you were slipping your hand out of the way, you felt a slight yank. “Just stay.” His voice melted you. Gulping your dry saliva, you nod. Feeling his hand embracing yours, nothing felt better than now.

“You’re blushing.” He giggled at you shortly, turning himself completely towards you. “Shut up, Jeno.”

“It’s alright, you look beautiful whether or not.” You felt your heart tugging towards him. He was pulling gently, and safely until you arrived at his heart. His eyes were soften, full of the sweetness you never could find in the beginning.

“What is it now you’re looking at?”

“You.” Jeno laughs shyly at your simple reply. He was beautiful too.

You reached out your hand to tidy the bit of hair to the side for Jeno, who was leaning his chin against his hand.

“You’re blushing too,”

“Am I?”

Your hands were getting warm and sticky from the caramel, and his warmth. You were drawing all sorts of patterns on his hand, and it didn’t seem to tickle him at all.

“Y/N.” his voice ringed. “What are you going to do now, mr. lee?” Jeno’s mouth didn’t curl up into a smile like yours. Instead, they were dead serious. “I think I like you.”

Jeno knew your answer. As soon as his confession he came towards you, and your eyes shut automatically. In the pitch black, you felt his lips on yours, the sticky fingers embracing your cheeks. Your heart ached - in a good way. It was spinning around, dizzy from them.

“No, I do like you. I’m sure.” His whisper was sweet, and tickling. “Since when?” You ask. Jeno’s ears turned more red, coughing continuously. “Since the very first time I met you.” Jeno seemed to be embarrassed about acknowledging the fact.

“I, well, didn’t know how to hide my feelings so...” You were surprised to hear his answer, finally getting a reason why he acted towards you. “It’s cute to see you gibberish,” You say simply. “But that doesn’t change the fact you were a jerk.”

“I know,” Both of you giggled, before sharing another kiss.

[afternoonteawithme]

Eren heard the faint rumble of voices from the studio suddenly grow louder, and jerked into motion. Scooting his chair back under the desk, he grabbed a book from the messy pile he’d dumped them all into when he’d arrived for the night, and slapped it open to a random page.

As he sat, shoulders hunched, staring blankly down at the page, he hoped he gave a decent impression of someone who’d actually been studying for the last forty-five minutes, and not simply spinning in his chair as he stared into space.

Two pairs of footsteps crossed the wooden floorboards of the small hallway that led from the studio, and were abruptly muffled as they reached the rug covered floor of the waiting room. Ever so casually, Eren glanced up from his book an instant after Levi arrived at the counter with their newest client.

The clean-cut twenty-something who’d walked in less than an hour before wore a pale blue knit sweater over a button-up shirt he’d tucked into neatly pressed khaki pants. The outfit didn’t really need the ornate, greek-letter-engraved ring to all but scream ‘frat boy’ – but the ring had confirmed Eren’s first impression. As had the way the man’s leather belt matched his shoes, wallet, and the collar and leash on the bright-eyed Pomeranian he held cradled in his arms.

The Pom yipped happily as she caught sight of Eren, the pink bow over her ear wobbling precariously as she strained frantically in his direction.

Eren stayed firmly in his seat behind the counter, his face firmly fixed in the polite expression of mild interest he’d been practicing in the mirror at home.

He couldn’t help but smile at the little dog, though.

Frat Boy eyed her in slight bewilderment. “I’ve never seen her act like this, with anyone except me.” He glanced back at Levi. “She basically hates everybody.”

“I noticed.”

Frat Boy winced a little at Levi’s flat tone. “Yeah, you would have. Sorry, again.” He gave what even Eren had to admit was an engaging grin. “But hey, at least her jaw is too small to do much damage, right? She barely even broke the skin, after that first time. And I really will pay to replace that backdrop she peed on if the stain doesn’t come off.”

With a fresh surge of wiggling, the Pom almost managed to wrestle free. As Frat Boy re-adjusted his grip he shot that same sparkling grin at Eren. “Historia did say said you were good with Ymir – the dog Ymir, I mean. Maybe you could help out next time. I have a feeling she wouldn’t bite you.”

Eren didn’t look at Levi as he gave what he hoped was a convincingly professional, non-committal smile. “Yeah, maybe next time.”

A slightly alarmed expression crossed over Frat Boy’s face.

Eren decided he probably should practice that particular smile a little more before trying it out in public again.  

Levi barely moved a muscle, saying nothing as Frat Boy paid the final part of his bill – cash, so Eren still didn’t know his name – but it wasn’t until Frat Boy and his dog were headed out the door that Eren risked actually looking directly at Levi.

And felt every organ in his chest squeeze. Levi was watching him, his eyes unwavering, serious.

After one long, endless second, Levi’s eyes drifted away, down to the book Eren had been pretending to study. When they flicked back up to Eren’s face, there was a new, slightly quizzical expression on his face. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then shut it, turned on his heel, and stalked back into the studio.  

Eren sagged in his chair.

What the hell was he going to do to put things right?

He’d been so careful for the past two days, since the Emily incident, but the walls Levi had put up between them only seemed to be growing taller.

Levi hadn’t asked him to help today. He barely talked to Eren at all anymore, beyond the bare minimum. He spent almost every minute he wasn’t with clients in his darkroom, with the door firmly shut.

Eren had almost left a toilet dirty the night before, just to see what Levi would do. Only the fear that Levi would still say nothing to him had kept him from doing it.  

Oddly, the part that seemed to hurt the most was the way Levi wasn’t there by the door, waiting, when Eren arrived for the night. It was stupid, but Eren had found himself almost losing the battle to fight back tears as he’d waited for Levi to come let him in.

Even Gix was avoiding him. Maybe he hated the tension as much as Eren did, or blamed Eren for it, because he spent most of the last few nights out and gone, only coming back in just before Eren left for the morning.

Eren was lonely, worried, and bored.

And, worst of all, he was hungry.

“Interesting.”

The deep, resonant voice nearly made Eren shriek. He jumped to his feet, chair shooting backwards, his fists up and ready.

The big, blond man standing just inside the front door smiled gently back at him. He looked cool, calm, and as if he’d just materialized in from some high class board room downtown. He wore a suit so closely fitted to his large frame that even Eren knew it had to have been tailored for him. He stepped forward, and Eren caught the faint glimmer of gold at his wrist.  

“You must be Eren. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you in person.”

That voice. Eren knew that damned voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“The nice young man with the dog held the door for me.”  Pale eyes glittered as they studied Eren. “I expect you were a little distracted.”

Eren determinedly ignored that comment. “You’re Erwin, right? You have a distinctive voice.”

“I am.” Erwin’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m impressed, we’ve only talked a few times. Since you usually avoid my phone calls.”

For a split second, Eren found himself struggling with the impulse to climb up to stand on the counter, so he could at least have the advantage of height in dealing with Erwin. He was grateful for the small, rational part of his mind that reminded him he’d look ridiculous, and that it probably wouldn’t help anyway.

Almost as if he knew what Eren was thinking, Erwin smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you. You’re not quite what I expected.”

Eren blinked. “You have? Levi told you about me?” He couldn’t help the surge of…something happy he felt at the idea. He couldn’t keep it from his voice, either.

The slight softening of Erwin’s expression was almost imperceptible. It might have been sympathy.  “No, but with Levi, it’s often what he doesn’t say that needs to be listened to the hardest.”  

Eren struggled with both embarrassment and disappointment. He shrugged, “No big deal.” And then he frowned. “Then who told you about me?”

“Hanji.” Erwin’s eyes flicked to Eren’s mouth and stayed there. “She told me all about you.”  

And just like that, Eren felt panic bubble up in his stomach. “Hanji? What did-”

The door flew open, and the Hanji in question walked in on a gust of wind, her arms wrapped around her giant stage make-up case. She grinned at Eren. “Hey, kid.”

“Erwin, you asshole.” Levi’s voice made all three heads turn back towards the studio. Levi stood just inside the waiting room, glaring at the newcomers. “You’re supposed to give me some advance warning. I could have been busy.”

“But you’re not. Besides, Hanji said she’d let you know.”

“And I did, too!”

“Thirty seconds before you turn up is not advance warning, Hanji.” But Levi already sounded resigned, as if he knew he knew he was fighting a lost cause. “Did you text me from the street outside?”

“Exactly!” Hanji beamed at him. “Because last time you told me I gave you too much warning.”

“Oh, that’s right, Levi, I remember now. You said you wouldn’t remember something that unimportant.” Erwin shook his head, “You’ve got to stop changing your mind all the time.”

“Fuck you, Erwin.”

Erwin just smiled back at him.

With a disgusted sound, Levi turned on his heel. “Well, come on back then.”

Levi and Erwin disappeared into the studio, but Hanji stopped halfway across the room, the grin slipping from her face once she got close enough to get a good look at Eren.

“Eren. You’re too pale. When did you last eat?”

Eren flicked panicked glance after the other two. He could still hear them talking to each other. He couldn’t make out their words – but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t hear Hanji’s. Her voice was good at penetrating.

“I know you’re uncomfortable eating the neighbors-”

“Hanji, please.” He glanced back again at the studio.

She sighed, but lowered her voice. “You just have to go for it, Eren.”  

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not? There’s plenty of places in the apartment building you can just hang out and wait for someone to come along. I can disengage the cameras easily enough.”

“Right, because lurking in the- the elevator, or the stairs, or sitting in the laundry room and waiting for some poor neighbor to come along to wash their undies isn’t wrong in so many ways.”

“I’ve told you before, you have too many scruples.”

“I really don’t, Hanji.”

She eyed him with concern. “Eren, you have to eat. That isn’t negotiable.”

“I know, but-”

“Then you’ll have to start going to class in person again, instead of online. It should be easy enough to lure one of your classmates off to a dark corner somewhere every once in a while.”

Eren moaned, dropping back into his chair. “Hanji, could you not- just not.”

She braced one arm on the counter as she looked down at him. “You really don’t look well, Eren. You haven’t been eating enough for a while.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Uh-huh. You should just tell Levi all of it.”

Eren choked. “What?”

“Just tell him. He’ll be fine with it. And then you can just eat here, when you need to, like I said you could when I suggested this job.”

“I can’t tell him!”

“Sure, you can.”

“I can’t.” Eren glanced back at the studio, and lowered his voice even more. “Look, technically, the fact that you, Armin, and Mikasa, know about me means I should already have disappeared.”

She waved her hands through the air. “Yes, yes, but we’re exceptions.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

She grinned. “Sure we are.”

“And that reminds me, why’d you tell Erwin?”

She blinked. “Oh, did he find out about you being a vamphf-”

Her words were cut off when Eren jumped to his feet and set his hand firmly over her mouth. “Hanji, please.”

Pushing his hand away, she grinned at him but shook her head. “I didn’t tell him, Eren. I wouldn’t. Are you sure he knows?”

Eren glanced back towards the studio. “Not exactly, but-” He was very nearly certain Erwin did know.  

She shrugged, settling more comfortably against the counter as she reached down to grab one of the almonds from the little dish he’d set out to bribe Gix with. “He probably figured it out on his own.”

“But if you didn’t tell him…this is the first time I’ve met him.”  

“Yeah, that’s Erwin for you. I’m actually surprised Levi hasn’t figured it out yet. He will though.” She angled her head to look at the book Eren had been pretending to study.  

“What?” Eren almost yelped. “What do you mean, he will?”

“Eren, since when have you been studying biology?”

Distracted, Eren glanced down, and felt a wave of horror sweep through him. The page he’d opened to at random showed a giant, colored diagram of an erect penis. It must have been one of Armin’s textbooks that had gotten mixed up with his.

Before Eren could gather himself again, Levi walked back in from the back room, a studded black leather jacket in one hand and what looked like a red Mohawk wig in the other. “Hanji, get your ass back here-”

He stopped abruptly, eying Eren’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Eren wasn’t sure if he’d gone red, or stark white. He felt as though he’d gone through a dozen raging emotions in the past thirty seconds. He shook his head mutely.

Hanji hoisted her make-up kit, and skipped towards Levi. “No worries. Is Erwin already undressed?”

“Yeah.”

She nudged at Levi’s shoulder as she walked past him. “Then we’d better get to it.”

With one last long look at Eren, Levi turned to follow her, leaving Eren staring after them.

A rattle behind Eren had him turning, almost numb at the thought of any more surprises for the night. Gix popped through his hatch, angling his head from side to side as he studied the room. Evidently deciding it was safe, he hopped all the way through, and flew down to land on the desk in front of Eren.

And then he bit Eren’s hand. Hard.

“Ow!” Jerking his hand back against his chest, Eren studied Gix. “What was that for?”

Gix twisted his head to one side and then held still, clearly waiting for Eren to do something.

With a sigh, Eren reached out and stroked a finger over the black bird’s neck. “At least you’re easy to understand, Gix.”

Gix cawed, nipped – lightly this time – at Eren’s hand, and then hopped towards the little dish of nuts.

 It wasn’t until a while later, after Hanji and a remarkably different looking Erwin had left, when Levi was once again ensconced in his darkroom, Gix was happily muttering to himself in his corner, and Eren had gone back to spinning idly in his chair and staring into space, that he let himself acknowledge Hanji’s point.

She wasn’t the first to tell him his scruples were becoming a problem – Mikasa and Armin were constantly telling him he was his own worst enemy when it came to surviving in this life he’d chosen for himself. He couldn’t quite explain why he couldn’t bring himself to entirely follow their advice – except to say that anything that made him feel as if he were some kind of monster preying on humans also made him feel as if there was no point in trying to live among them.

Still, he had to eat, whatever else he did. Self-control was what kept people, creatures, like him from simply becoming one of the true, mindless monsters humans had been writing about in their novels for centuries, and the one sure-fire way to lose that control was to starve.  Human food didn’t help, though it kept him from looking like one of the gaunt, pasty creatures that always seemed to be creeping in through balcony windows, or down shadowy staircases in old black and white films.

He could survive on blood alone, but he wouldn’t look very human doing it. Living on human food alone, on the other hand, would leave him a monster with no awareness or control.

He’d been living in a perpetual state of light, gentle hunger for a long time now. Certain members of his family only fed once every few months, but the humans involved tended to end up dead, or close to it. Even the small amounts Eren took could cause almost irreversible damage, if the person was ill, drugged, or weak-minded enough – and that was if the trance he put them into first hadn’t already completely messed them up.

Like had very nearly happened with Emily, for a very glaring example.  

But how the hell were you supposed to figure out how healthy, or how strong a person was when all you had to go on was that they preferred Downy laundry detergent, or that they hummed to themselves in the elevator?

And when he did find a good prospect, he couldn’t feed from them more than once in too short a space of time without causing something like an obsession on their part. More than two or three times within a couple months and you wound up with a mindless creature that could be very dangerous to have around.  

The only exception, as cheesy, clichéd, and ridiculous as it was, were people in love. A human that loved deeply would never lose their mind no matter how often they were fed on.

He supposed that was what he needed to find. A strong human, deeply in love, who didn’t mind getting bitten every now and then.

Yeah, because someone like that is so easy to find.

Eren sighed, and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He really did need to eat soon. He hadn’t touched anyone since Emily, and he’d barely gotten anything from her. He supposed he’d been eating more lightly than usual with the rest of Levi’s clients, since he hadn’t worried so much about where he’d be getting his next meal.

He’d have to find someone on the way home in the morning. Or maybe he’d have to spend a few hours in the laundry room later that day.

Or maybe he’d wait another day or so.

He’d be fine.

[swargarohana]

take me on a spin.

Someone must have dropped a bludgeon on his head last night.

Giri wakes up with a splitting headache, every inch of his body ache painfully, and a tremble that doesn't have anything to do with the cold air.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," someone murmurs from his right, settling a cold hand on Giri's forehead.

In another occassion, Giri would've leaned into the touch, desperate for any physical contact. This time, however, he feels raw, frayed on the edge, and as the hand lands on his forehead, Giri finds himself stumbling off the bed, bile rises up his throat.

"Bathroom! Bathroom!" Another voice comes, carefully directing him to another room which Giri assumes a bathroom. "Shit━"

Things blur into the background a while after that. He could hear panicked murmurs in the background but they are all drowned under the sound of Giri retching into the toilet. When Giri finally comes to his senses, he has his forehead pressed against the cold toilet bowl.

"Fuck," he says, voice scraping raw on his throat, and next to him, Tio is patting his back.

"There, there," Tio murmurs, gently massaging his shoulders, and Giri groans, emptying the lining of his stomach into the toilet, "Eddy is getting you water and hot tea."

Water sounds amazing, Giri loves water a whole lot. "'Kay," Giri coughs out, legs wobbling as he rises to his feet. Tio is on his side immediately and he has an arm around Giri's waist.

"Fuck you, Tio. Not going to party with you ever again."

"Hey," Tio looks mildly offended at that, "at least I still managed to fetch your unconscious ass from the party."

"What happened though?" he adds, frowning in concern. "You took drugs, didn't you?"

Giri nods, the slight movement causing pain to bloom behind his closed lids. "Yeah, but I don't know what it is."

And that is when last night's recollection runs over him like a truck.

--

One drink turned into two, three, five, seven, until it was too much for Giri to remember, but all he had in mind was he felt lighter than he ever did for years.

"Hey," the man he'd been drink with whispered in Giri's ear, "I have something for you. Open up."

He should've known better not to let a stranger popping a pill into his mouth. But it seemed that his brain had shut itself down when Giri started to drink, thus Giri let his mouth fall open, tongue sticking out. It was a small pill and Giri swallowed without a care, a grin taking over his feature.

The stranger laughed and he too, popped a pill into his mouth, before he leaned in to slant his lips against Giri.

Normally, Giri would push him away because like it or not, he didn't agree to be kissed on the mouth. He was straight, a heterosexual man with no attraction towards another man. This, the kiss, shouldn't feel this good.

Brightness exploded behind his eyelids, euphoria bubbling up inside Giri, and he let out a soft moan, eagerly returning the kiss. The lazy way their lips move against each other sent thrill up along his spine. Giri knew that a kiss with another man shouldn't feel this good,

but it did, and Giri couldn't bring himself to care.

"You're feeling it?" Voice low and sultry, matching the wandering hand all over Giri's shoulders and arms. "It hits, doesn't it?"

Giri laughed, feeling hot inside out from the touch. "So good." The immediate effect was terrifying, something Giri couldn't control: his heart was pounding in an irregular rhythm, hands going clammy, but Giri could hear his blood rushing loud in his ears. "Fuck, I'm horny."

The last bit was unintended, but the other man chuckled at that. "Do you want to have sex?"

Of course Giri did. "Yes, yes, please." His skin felt raw, his pants were way too tight for him, and a single touch could unravel him in the most delicious way possible.

"You friends?" The man was already pulling Giri up to his feet and Giri followed suit, head going blissfully blank. "Where are they?"

"No idea." Who did he come here with? Oh, right, Tio and Eddy. If things went awry, Giri could always blame the two of them for abandoning him. "Fucking, maybe." Giri couldn't contain the bitterness that welled up inside him at the thought; he shouldn't care anyway, he was a straight man. Definitely not jealous at his two friends spending their time with each other.

Another kiss stole his attention and when Giri blinked out of his thought, he found himself pressed up against a wall. "Aw," was all the man said, "don't worry about them, we are going to have fun."

--

The rest of the night blurred out, all broken in Giri's distorted point of view. Maybe he spent the trip to a nearby hotel making out with the man, he had no idea. The next thing he knew, he's got himself pinning the other man on the bed.

"What's your name," Giri demanded in between kisses, a leg slotted in between the stranger's thigh. They were trying to rip each other's clothes off and while Giri had no idea where the urgency came from, he found this exciting to do. His hand found bare skin, muscles rippling under his touch, and the moan the stranger let out was gratifying.

This time, his pants flew across the room. "Adam," the man━Adam━murmured against Giri's lips, biting down on his lower lip hard. "Fuck, come on, fuck me."

Without the influece of drug, maybe Giri would chicken out of this. He never had sex with a man, nor did he know how. In theory, he did, since he'd been watching gay porn just for the sake of research. In reality, his heart beat erratically, not to mention he trembled a little as he rolled a condom down his penis.

"Just put it in me," Adam murmured and Giri did, pushing in slowly, exhilaration causing his head to swim. "Fuck, you're big━"

Giri couldn't hear the rest of the words because pleasure drowned all his senses, sending tendrils of heat coiling around his spine and a pit of fire bubbling up in his stomach. It felt amazing, everything was beyond compare even in his twisted state, yet there was something off about this for Giri.

He carefully stuffed the thought into the back of his head and got on with the agenda.

They didn't start slow; Adam was very demanding and Giri could only give him what he wanted. Even through the rubber, Giri could feel how hot Adam was gripping him, the way the other man whined when Giri rolled his hips; each thrust tipped him closer to the edge.

It was very different than sex with a woman. Rather than hearing soft and breathy moans, grunts filled his hearings, but Giri didn't mind. He had another man's penis in his hand and rather than putting his mouth to a good use on a breast, Giri sank his teeth on Adam's shoulder and bit down hard. The erection inside his grip jerked, dripping ejaculate, and along with it was a moan; Giri grinned at that. Adam enjoyed this as much as Giri did.

"Come on, come on━" Adam hissed, pulling Giri down for a kiss, and wound his fingers on Giri's hair. He tugged just right, causing Giri to whine into Adam's mouth because it hurt so good, the sharp pain and pleasure of having his hair pulled was unexpected. "I'm close━"

It had been building up inside him, the tightness in his belly. Giri twisted his wrist as he tugged, hips rolling in an angle that caused Adam to clench down almost painfully on him, and with his lips pressed against Adam's ear, he murmured,

"Come."

Adam did, cumming all over Giri's hand and pelvis with a long-drawn moan, almost sobbing. His muscles clenched down on Giri and that was it, Giri let out a choked moan, gripping Adam's waist hard and like a glass shattering, he emptied himself into the condom. Underneath him, Adam had found a place to bite down, now sucking hickeys on Giri's neck and shoulder.

The high, coupled with the sudden rush of happy hormones from the drug, caused Giri to whimper, torn between crying or laughing. Everything was so intense, his brain felt swollen inside his skull and his visions were too sharp that Giri couldn't open his eyes.

"Fuck," was all Giri could say, panting heavily against Adam's neck. After a moment, he pulled out of the other man, hands twitching as he tied the condom before discarding it to the floor. "Oh God."

Next to him, Adam laughed. "Fuck indeed," he said, scooting closer to Giri. A soft kiss on his cheek caused Giri to open his eyes a little, the muscle on his cheek twitched as he tried to smile. "That was amazing."

"Yeah." To his surprise, Adam didn't say he wanted to do this again nor did he snuggle into his arms. Underneath his juddering heart beat, Giri felt relief. He didn't think he could have anyone except Eddy and Tio sleeping in his arms. "That was great." He carefully didn't say how this was his first time having sex with a man.

Adam yawned, already tugging the blanket up his chest. "I'm gonna sleep for a while. I have to be up in several hours."

Giri didn't understand how the other man was able to string up a sentence with more than three words in it but he nodded his head.

He slept.

--

In the present time, Giri whines, covering his face with a pillow. He was so god damned stupid and reckless; he could've had died. Maybe it is his paranoia speaking, but Giri is sure Adam could kill him when he sleeps. Giri doesn't even know whether Adam is his real name or not.

"How did you get here?" Giri asks, peeking from underneath his pillow. Next to him, Tio is staring at him with a frown on his face, forehead creased. Giri doesn't like the sight.

"You sent me a text," he says carefully, "saying that you're staying in this hotel, at room 782. The key was in the receptionist."

Giri sighs at that, gingerly putting the pillow down. The nausea is controllable now, less daunting, and slowly, he pushes himself to a sitting position. At this point, he doesn't know whether last night really happened. Maybe it was just a fragment of his hallucination and he had sex with a ghost.

He just hopes it wasn't the case.

The only thing that gives him a clue is that he's naked. The pillow next to his is also crinkled, a sign that someone has slept on that last night. Giri's clothes, however, are neatly folded on a coffee table in the corner of the room.

"That wasn't me," Giri sighs, trying to muster up a sheepish grin at Tio. "That was━"

"Did someone drug you last night?" The fierceness in Tio's voice surprised Giri a little. Tio looked genuinely upset about this, which confused Giri as well. "Was your drink spiked?"

Giri shakes his head, sinking back against a stack of pillow. "No, I took the drug willingly."

Something crosses Tio's eyes, too fast for Giri to catch, but for an unknown reason, he feels his hackles rise. "What?"

"No, no," Tio quickly waves a hand, a faint smile on his lips, "I'm just surprised, that's all. You slept with someone, huh?"

"Yeah," Giri hums, tugging the bedsheets higher to cover his bare chest. He feels oddly exposed eventhough he's just stripped naked for a stranger. "Yeah, I did."

"What's her name?"

"It’s a guy," Giri corrects, "Adam."

Giri glances up to see Tio gawking at him and it's peculiar how a simple stare could rub him the wrong way like this. "What?" he snaps for the second time, frowning even deeper.

"But," Tio pauses, head tilted to a side, "aren't you straight?"

Ah. Giri deflates at that, shrugging a shoulder. He has no idea as well but Tio deserves an answer, he supposes. "Not really. I have been... questioning myself." Giri carefully doesn't say why, he can't deal with that right now.

"Maybe I'm not straight."

The door swings open, revealing Eddy with a plastic bag full of bottled water and both hands holding two paper cups. His eyes grow wide at the sight of Giri and he grins, wide and bright, looking genuinely happy. "Bang! How are you feeling?"

Giri stretches his upper body, slow and languid. "I'm okay," he says, accepting a bottled water from Eddy. He takes a sip, feeling no resistance from his stomach, and gulps down the content.

"Fuck, so good," he groans, falling back into the bed. "Thanks, Ed."

Eddy is blatantly staring at his bare chest, to which Giri tugs the blanket up higher to cover his shoulders as well. "Uh," he says belatedly, averting his gaze away, "you're welcome. Bang Tio, your coffee."

Tio is still staring at Giri, something unfamiliar is lurking behind his gaze. "Huh," is all Tio says, taking the cup from Eddy, "thanks, Ed."

Giri could swear he's distracted. What's so surprising about his confession anyway? It's not like Tio doesn't like men too, judging from the way he and Eddy had been fucking like bunnies behind his back, he likes men a whole lot.

Ah, still bitter. Giri decides to finish his bottled water.

"Where did you go last night, Bang?" Eddy asks, face lined with worry. "We were looking for you."

Giri squashes down his guilt. "I was at the club before I went here with someone."

A frown appears. "Did you sleep with someone? What's her name?"

Here they go again. Giri rolls his eyes, a little exasperated. "Yes, I slept with someone. His name is Adam."

Eddy blink. "That sounds like a guy name."

"Because he is," Giri explains, feeling antsy all of a sudden, "he is a guy. I slept with a man last night."

The room is deadly silent all of a sudden. It irks Giri in a way, especially when he catches Eddy gawking at him in the same manner Tio did. The said man is sipping his coffee, watching Giri from above the rim of his cup.

"The fuck is wrong with you two? You guys aren't the only one who could fuck men," Giri grumbles, making to get off the bed only to realize that he's naked. "Where were you guys anywhere?"

Eddy has the audacity to blush at the question. "Uh, we━"

"Sorry we left you, Gi." At least Tio sounds genuine with his apology yet it irks Giri in some ways. He's staring at Giri with sincerity in his eyes but Giri looks away.

"You both know how I hate being around strangers, how anxious I could get from behind in a crowd," Giri says, leaning back into his stack of pillows, feeling weary. There is this unsettling feeling clinging to him that threatens to take over him if he's not being careful. "If it wasn't because of Adam, I'd probably pass out in the toilet from drinking all the liquor in the club."

Tio opens his mouth to say something but Giri waves his hand dismissively. "Nevermind. I'm going to go to sleep, if that's okay." It isn't a request; Giri is already curling up underneath the blanket. The nausea has returned along with the gloom that has made a nest inside the hollow of his chest. Giri just needs to sleep it away.

The bed creaks as if a weight has been lifted. They're leaving, then. That's great, Giri is going to be left alone again.

What Giri doesn't expect is a solid body pressing up against his back and an arm slung over his waist. "I'm sorry," Tio murmurs, rubbing comforting circles on his bare arm. "I'm glad you're okay."

Eddy settles on his left, making Giri sandwiched between the two men against his will. He doesn't mind, he never does, but in this ocassion, the close proximity rubs him the weird way. He doesn't know whether he wants Eddy and Tio to leave or stay with him here the whole day.

"Did he treat you good?" Giri hears Eddy murmurs. The man is not laying down; he's sitting with his back against the headboard, hand patting Giri's hair. "Did you enjoy it?"

Giri hums, trying not to arch into the touch. "Yeah, he was okay. I enjoyed it but, I don't know, the whole fucking stranger stuff isn't for me, I think. I feel like there's something missing."

"Hm," Eddy hums, running his fingers through Giri's hair, "something missing, huh? Like feelings?"

Giri shrugs, unsure about the answer. "Maybe." He never really thought about it. "I just don't usually have sex, even with my ex-wife."

There is something weird going on between the three of them, something Giri couldn't put his fingers on. He feels less like a thirdwheel at this moment yet it's not entirely pleasant for him to be the center of the attention. It must be the drug; it has messed him up inside and out.

"I think he gave you molly," Tio says, words pitched low, flowing soft. "You're going to feel... like a mess for 2 days, at least."

Great, just what I need. Giri voices that out and he figures something in his voice sounds wrong because Tio wraps his arms firmly around his waist. This is the closest they have ever been since the incident, physical and other aspect wise. It makes Giri queasy, their close proximity, but he keeps his mouth shut. He doesn’t feel like starting a fight between them.

"It's fine," Tio murmurs, Eddy joining him with a hum. "We will take care of you. Don't worry about it."

Giri doesn't know how to respond to that so he sighs, settling firmer on the bed before he lets his eyes flutter close. Whatever happened to them, Giri would deal with it after he wakes up.

[sinkingsidewalks]

Crumbling Landscapes

a/n: A speculation for the remainder of Season 4.

Chapter 1

The first thing that startles her is how utterly real it feels. She knew that it would, of course, she’s been in simulations before. The fight with Coulson that might as well have been real except for the unformed bruises on her skin. But this.

The heat from the water, sinking into her skin, the porcelain of the tub, firm yet slippery, the air that bubbles past her lungs, glancing across her cheekbones on its way to the surface, it all feels so real. The hollowness under her skin is barely noticeable.

She struggles against her own mind beneath the surface of the bubbles. Thoughts, ideas, memories conflict. A life that she didn’t live swims just beyond her reach. Some of the details she can grab on to, a to-go cup of coffee in a busy shop, the frowning brow of a woman she recognizes but doesn’t know, the ghost of a hand caressing down her ribs, but most slip away, through her fingers as easily as the water around her.

By the time she gets her head up to break the surface her lungs are burning from the lack of oxygen. Pressure that builds up inside her chest that pulls her towards the surface, despite her somewhat helpless thrashing. The air that cleans her lungs manages to refocus her fully.

The rendezvous point, she has to get to the rendezvous point.

A phone buzzes beside the tub that must be hers. She picks up the foreign technology curiously, not only is it not her usual cell, it’s like nothing she’s ever seen before. She doesn’t allow herself any time to marvel over it as she reads the text.

Her boyfriend.

The thought shocks her so much that the device slips from her grip, almost into the tub with her, but she manages enough control that it bumps onto the bathmat instead.

Could it really be?

Everything else slips away as she makes her way out of the bathroom. A body lies in the bed, under a pile of blankets, turned away from her enough that she can’t make out the shape’s face. She has to get closer.

“Lincoln?” She breathes. She doesn’t dare wake him. She doesn’t dare disrupt this which must be a dream.

He died. She lost him.

Daisy steps around to the side of the bed and recoils. She clutches the robe across her chest and stutters backwards until her hip reaches the dresser. Something clatters and falls at the clumsy contact. She can’t look to see what it was.

Ward.

Every possible emotion runs through her in a second. Grief, hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger. She ends up cold. Goosebumps flash across her skin.

He’s waking, disturbed by her disturbance, and she gets stuck in place. Her feet may as well be soldered to the floor. They can’t move as he rolls over and stretches, one hand slipping across the blankets to the other side of the bed. A shudder runs through her at the intimacy of the action. He’s obviously looking for someone, and there’s no one here but her.

By the time he’s realized that he’s alone in the bed and is sitting up, she’s still rooted to her spot on the hardwood. She can’t comprehend this.

He drags a hand over his face and smiles at her. “Morning.”

She should reply, smile at least, but all she can do is gape. It makes him get up and move towards her.

“Skye?” he looks like he’s going to touch her shoulder. She pulls back further, curving her spine around the dresser, pressing back firmly enough that the wood cuts through to her skin.

“I- what?” The icy chill in her veins isn’t fading. Nausea presses at the front of her throat. How is this happening?

“Are you okay?” There’s an ease to him that’s just so Ward. Not Hive, not the monster he became or the monster he already was, when she saw him as a prisoner of SHIELD, but just her SO. It makes her feel small, young, weaker than she knows she is. It turns her into someone reminiscent of the girl who first met him. The name doesn’t help.

“Yeah, uh, fine. We got called in.” Which instinct tells her to play along, she’s not sure, but it seems like the safest option at the moment. Much better than the confrontation that’s now burning to a blaze under her skin as the shock fades. What is this place? What have she and Simmons gotten themselves into?

He nods, steps closer, lays a hand on her shoulder that she has to grit her teeth not to throw off, and kisses the side of her head. It’s still damp from her submersion in the tub. That seems like a lifetime away but also like it’s still happening.

“I’ll shower, then we’ll go.”

She nods, numb.

He’s naked. So naked, she realizes for the first time as he starts making his way back over her path towards the bathroom. She doesn’t notice she’s looked until she has, seen the sharp V of his torso, the definition of his back. Her gaze drops to the floor, focusing on a detail in the grain of the wood and squashing the blush rising in her cheeks.

Those old feelings will not be making a reappearance, she’s sure of it.

The bathroom door swings shut behind him lazily, without enough force to click into the latch, to allow Daisy some proper solitude. She sighs her way through a breath once she hears the water running in the shower.

She turns around, pressing her palms into the surface of the dresser. Two deep breaths, with her eyes closed, is all she allows herself to get her emotions under control. Once she does, her gaze drops down onto the top of the dresser. There’s a lamp, a basket full of creams, products which, after a cursory shuffle, she discovers are not the ones she’s used to using, and a framed picture of the two of them smiling, Ward’s arm comfortably slung over her shoulder, her fingers tangled with his. The object that fell is a hula girl, either the same one that used to be on the dashboard of her van or one very similar.

She picks it up carefully, twisting it to see every angle before she sets it down once again. It wobbles, next to the photograph. She doesn’t want to look at either. Instead, she looks around the rest of the room, hoping for some indication of what the hell her life is in this place.

The entirety of the space is so, not her. Granted she’s been living in SHIELD bases – which have a propensity for exploding perennially - or on the run for the last four years of her life, then just a van before that, so she’s never really developed a taste in design per say. Regardless, whatever this is, it isn’t her.

So it’s his place then, or he picked it out. Her mind swims with questions. She starts opening drawers.

He’s only going to be minutes in the shower, she remembers that from living on the Bus with him, he’d perfected the military efficiency, so she doesn’t have much time to search. Anything would be helpful at this point though. Anything that would explain what got twisted up to land her in this world that isn’t at all like her own. Simmons said that it was supposed to be identical.

Identical.

He called her Skye.

She looks down at her hands. They look precisely like her hands. She tries to feel the pulse of her heart within the veins, the neat ordering of bones and the muscles that fiber them together. The shred of panic rises.

Reaching out, she tries to grab onto the waver of the air in the perfectly still room. She looks for the building, the stress of its joists and the weakness below it, beneath the ground. Her mind’s eye reaches down, through the other floors of the structure, beneath the building’s basement and below the rock even under that, searching for the threads, flexing her carefully contained muscle.

She holds her breath.

Nothing.

~~

Jemma opens her eyes and blinks.

It’s dark, darker than dark really, more like there’s nothing there to see. She blinks again, trying to differentiate which end of the motion of her eyes is open and which is closed. She can’t. The surface her back lays against is hard, unforgiving, yet almost plush.

Claustrophobia creeps up the back of her neck and she tries to breathe it away. The air is dry, but rapidly moistening. She must not be in a very large space. It smells so heavily of soil she can taste it. Going into the simulation, she thought she was prepared for anything, she didn’t expect this, whatever it is.

She lifts her hand, touching her eye to ensure it actually is open, then presses it out in the space beyond her face. It meets resistance almost immediately. Silken fabric drapes down from something and when she presses into it she meets the same hard surface beneath her spine. Wood then, beneath the fabric. Her hand slides up, testing to see how far it extends, reaching the corner just above the top of her head.

She curls her hand to a fist and knocks.

The silk masks the sound slightly as Simmons knocks two dull thuds into the wood. The frame doesn’t give. The sound goes nowhere.

She gasps, realization crashing down. Wood box lined with soft fabric but no padding. Both of her hands press into the silk above her face, she pushes with all her strength.

Nothing happens.

It’s a coffin.

She’s been buried alive.

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