#Honest to god AO3 is the best solution the fact things are tagged and in their own corner is good

[carnival-core]

Ok I think it's finally time to give my thoughts on the kink discourse and pro/anti ship etc in my own words bc it's been a hot topic lately and god do I have thoughts . Under the cut because this will be long

I think policing what people can and cannot write based off moral value is a slippery slope and will never just end at things that actually hurt people, especially not in a society that sees gay and trans people existing as actively harmful. That's sadly just how it kind of works. Which is why I try my best to block and move

However like.... to say things like unsanitary fetishes, or foot or latex or shortstack fetishes , or honestly even CNC/rapeplay when done properly and properly tagged , is on the same level as things like incest or pedophilia is insane to me.

I will not judge what two consenting nonrelated adults do in their own privacy and what they choose to roleplay is their business but on the Internet especially , the things you post and the content you make can and will affect people, this is a reality and responsibility you need to accept.

A lot of my opinions come from the fact I Was groomed online, exposed to things way too young by a grown adult and several older teenagers when I was barely a teen myself. Shotacon and incest stories and roleplay were something I was subjected to a lot. And something so many other children also will be, and I think that's something people just need to accept.

I think "we need to stop pedojacketing trans people, especially trans women, for enjoying kinks that are 'unacceptable'" and "don't police what others do to cope if it isn't harming them or others directly" as well as "Internet Grooming and pedophilia are real things that happen and not some boogeyman scenario" and "yes trans people can be pedophiles or do things that put children or adults at risk" aren't like contradictory information

But ... I guess like , it is difficult to know what to do huh , it should be a parents job to protect their kids and monitor their access but I know at the very least I didn't do shit to tell my parents what I was going through because being grounded or being monitored was seen as a punishment and I needed a space away from them

[larkawolfgirl]

I Would Like Frosting with That (Cursed KKM Crack!)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M Fandom: Kyou Kara Maou! Relationships: Wolfram von Bielefeld/Shibuya Yuuri, Anissina von Karbelnikoff/Gwendal von Voltaire Characters: Shibuya Yuuri, Wolfram von Bielefeld, Anissina von Karbelnikoff, Cecilie von Spitzweg, Gunter von Christ, Dakoskos Additional Tags: Crack, cursed concept, Sexual Content, Blow Jobs, Food Porn, Food Sex, Sexual Humor

Summary:  Now you can have an extra SWEET time without gaining a pound. Eat this SWEET candy and your even SWEETER partner till you're fully SATISFIED.

Read on ao3

Yuuri cried the way a baby scared of the boogeyman appearing under their bed would.

Wolfram gave him a disapproving look. “Seriously? It’s not like it’s going to bite you or anything.”

“So?” Yuuri cried. “Dicks are gross. No way am I putting that thing in my mouth. It probably tastes disgusting, too.”

Wolfram smirked at that. “If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be. It will taste like cupcake frosting.”

Now Yuuri was the one giving a disapproving look. “I may not know what cum tastes like, but I know it doesn’t taste like frosting.”

Wolfram just gave a gloating look in response. “Well, mine does. Try it and tell me I’m lying.”

The blonde then proceeded to practically shove his fiance’s face into his crotch. Not that Yuuri put up too much of a fight. With Wolfram, it was always a losing battle, and really he wanted to taste just for the sake of proving him wrong.

But he wasn’t! His dick, honest to god, tasted exactly like vanilla cupcake frosting. He wanted to be mad that Wolfram was right all along, but he couldn’t stop sucking him off because of how sweet and addictive it was. Would this be considered a sugar rush or a sex high?

When Wolfram came, Yuuri was so content from the taste of frosting he didn’t even realize he was hard. Wolfram didn’t miss that fact though. His hand crept down to grasp his junk.

“My turn!” the blonde exclaimed excitedly before popping a small candy into Yuuri’s unsuspecting mouth.

Wolfram set to quick work blowing him this time. Yuuri’s mind was hazy, but he didn’t think his cum used to look like frosting. Wolfram was moaning like it was the best meal on the planet. Supposedly, his cum now tasted like frosting, too.

That didn’t make any sense, but hey, Yuuri wasn’t going to complain about it.

A new, brightly colored, eye-catching flyer was posted all throughout the capital of Shin Makoku. "Yes-I-Would-Like-Frosting-with-That-Kun: Now you can have an extra SWEET time without gaining a pound. Eat this SWEET candy and your even SWEETER partner till you're fully SATISFIED. Each candy lasts for 24 hours. 16 years of age required," was written across it in bold text. Smaller text read: One of a kind, revolutionary invention by Anissina von Karbelnikoff. Contact manufacturer for further details.

It did not take long for Cecilie von Spitzweg to spot the flyer while out on one of her love rendezvouses. She was instantly intrigued and went to see her friend.

The redhead was busy mixing viles of solutions when the former Maoh entered her workshop. She looked up, though, at the sound of the door closing. “Oh, Lady Celi, you saw the flyer, I take it? I assume a smart woman such as yourself figured out the meaning of the flyer, but in case not, the candy turns cum into sugar-free, calorie-free frosting.”

Celi’s eyes bulged. “Both sugar-free and calorie-free? You really are a genius!”

Anissina smirked. “Did you ever doubt me? I thought you would be my first customer, but guess who beat you to it?” She hid a laugh behind her hand. “You’re son, Wolfram.”

Celi joined her friend in laughter. “Oh my! What an animal.” After getting her laughter out, she asked, “But do you lose any sweetness without the sugar or calories?”

Anissina shook her head. “No! I figured out how to sweeten it with a special elixir. Although, I have made a full-sugar, double calorie one as well for a select group of clientele.”

Celi giggled at the raunchy suggestion. “Marvelous. I will certainly keep that in mind. What spurred this wonderful invention, if you don’t mind me asking?” She gasped. “This has to do with Gwen, doesn’t it?”

Anissina sat down in her chair. “You caught me.”

Celi laughed. She always knew it would just be a matter of time. “Finally. I’m so happy for you both. Now, how do I get my hands on these candies?”

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you have got to stop giving me constant blowjobs!" Yuuri complained.

Unperturbed by his words, Wolfram slurped over him until he orgasmed. The fire mazoku opened his mouth but whined when his treat never came.

"Aw, no frosting came out."

"Yeah!" Yuuri panted out the complaint. "Because you've been sucking me dry! You've gotta lay off. Look, I'm chafing!" He was practically shouting, but his voice dropped, hoping the change in tone would get through to his fiance. "Maybe we could take a break and then actually go all the way for once?"

The blonde would not be persuaded, however. He shook his head. "And let that frosting go to waste? No way!"

Yuuri groaned knowing he couldn't reason with his petulant fiance. Wolfram never gave up when sweets were involved. Whoever thought of mixing sweets and sex must be crazy!

Yuuri would have to put an end to this. Otherwise, his dick would probably fall off.

Yuuri stormed into Anissina's laboratory trying to appear as intimidating as possible, which is to say, not all that intimidating. The Maoh could make the most seasoned warrior's skin stand on end, but normal Yuuri Shibuya was as intimidating as a defensive kitten. That isn't to say kittens can't bite–because they can–but people still want to pet them even when their teeth are out.

All this is to say that Anissina only batted an eye at the monarch's rude entrance into her laboratory. "Hello, Your Majesty," she greeted calmly.

Skipping over the pleasantries, he asked in his king voice, "Are you the one making these awful candies?"

Anissina raised her sculpted eyebrow at this. "It says so right on the flyer. And, respectfully, I insist that you take that back. They are not awful, as I'm sure you are aware by now."

Yuuri flustered immediately. Damn it, of course, she knew. She probably handed the candies over to Wolfram personally. "Y-yeah, we'll," stammered, "that's what makes them awful."

The inventor hummed inquisitively.

"Well, Wolfram loves sweets, you know, so…" He trailed off, face surely ablaze. Why was he having to discuss his sex life with this woman? How did he end up in this situation, again?

"I want you to make another candy. I want one that makes it disgusting," he demanded.

Anissina held back a smile and tilted her head with fake innocence. "Makes what disgusting, Your Majesty?"

"You know, my c–cum."

Now the fiery-haired woman smiled openly. "I can certainly do that, but whatever for? Penises already taste like pond scum."

Yuuri made a face imagining what Wolfram's dick would taste like without the candy's interference. Still, he pushed on for his own poor dick's sake. "Because Wolf won't leave me alone."

Anissina giggled. "Why are you complaining about that? Live a little."

"We're living too much! It hurts! At this rate, my dick will probably fall right off, or he'll forget one of these times that it's attached to me and just try to eat the whole thing."

The woman's eyes widened at that. "Oh, my."

"Why did you even think this was a good idea in the first place?" the king asked. Then it dawned on him. "Oh my god! You made it for Gwendal, didn't you?" he asked in a shaky tone.

Anissina tossed her long hair to the side, tone almost unemotional. "I had to do something to make sex with him tolerable. He wouldn’t leave me alone about returning the favors he’s been giving me."

Yuuri nodded. That only made sense. Then the realization fully hit him that this was about his two friends and an image of these "favors" popped into his head without his approval. "Ahh!" he shrieked, shielding his face with his hands as if that would save him from the mental image. It didn't. "I don’t want to know the details, thanks! Anyway, that’s dumb. Normal sex is fine! It’s normal." He said all that with fear still swimming in the back of his mind. Would Wolf's dick really taste like pond scum? "You have to make this counter candy," he insisted. "What are we going to do if everyone turns out like Wolf? No work will ever get done around here. Not to mention that poor Gisela will run out of ointment in no time at all."

Anissina remained unfazed. "Haven’t you heard that you shouldn’t have all work and no play?"

"Yeah, well, you shouldn’t have all play and no work either."

The redhead smirked. "Oh, lighten up. What’s the big deal?"

"We’ll starve if no one tends to the fields, and we’ll be naked if no one makes new clothes."

"With my invention, we won’t need clothes anyway."

"Ewee," Yuuri whined imagining an orgy taking place outside the castle walls. He should probably get his brain checked out when he ever had the time. "Just make the disgusting version, okay?"

Anissina bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

Neither Dacascos nor Gunter appreciated having to test more candies. While Gunter had been pretty compliant during the first trial run, he did not appreciate taste testing this new vomit-inducing concoction. It was hard to refuse, though, when he was already strapped down to a chair and having the vile-looking liquid poured down his throat. Luckily, since they were going for “bad,” they only had to go through a single trial round. This meant that Dacascos (who could barely stand after providing so much fluid before), could actually walk out of the laboratory unaided. This time around, he actually gave Gunter the look of concern since the man was struggling hard to keep the contents of his stomach down.

Anissina just smiled and shooed them both away, pleased with her quick success.

Yuuri received the disgusting candies as requested. He ended up with some nasty burns as a result of "taking Wolf's favorite treat away," but it was worth it to give his dick a much-needed break. Finally, finally, he talked Wolf into letting them go all the way. Blackmailed really, since he refused to eat the frosting candies again until they did, but who could blame him?

Turned out Wolf loved getting dicked down almost as much as he liked sweets, so it worked out in both of their favors. Besides, Wolf still managed to find a way to get his serving of frosting regardless of the position.

Yuuri would shudder in revulsion under normal circumstances, but by all standards, it was just sugar-free, calorie-free frosting, so he couldn't find it in him not to find it cute (because Wolfram's love for sweets was always cute). And hot. That realization was one Yuuri didn't want to dwell too much on, however.

But both of them were now happy and satisfied, so Yuuri could no longer complain. About them at least.

As expected, his fears became a reality. It was sexual chaos. Chaos that only made Anissina, the mad woman, cackle in triumph because she was wracking in endless dough from her sales.

It fell on Yuuri to save his kingdom. Even signing his law into action was difficult with Wolf's mouth firmly covering him. His signature might be messy, but it was still the law.

From this day forward, no person shall be permitted to commit any activities of a sexual nature during working hours. Work must be completed as normal, following a normal time frame. Under absolutely no circumstances are any persons allowed to refrain from work due to sexual desire or sugar cravings. If any person is caught breaking this law, said person (as well as any partners with them at said time), will be immediately subjected to consuming Anissina von Karbelnikoff's candy, Get-that-Disgusting-Stuff-Away-from-Me-kun.

There was almost immediate anarchy, but after a few hundred candies had been dropped, the majority of citizens realized the horny error of their ways.

With time, Anissina invented even more fun bedroom solutions, such as Strawberry-Milk-kun and Honey-Mouth-kun. Each time, short-term chaos ensued before simmering down again.

Since everyone–literally everyone of age–was getting off consistently, no one seemed interested in arguments or fighting any more.  Long-term peace returned to the kingdom, and eventually the world. Everyone lived happy, healthy, and with brilliantly glowing skin for the rest of their days.

[irrlicht-writes]

the path we choose to walk on pt.4

So this is it. Part 4, everyone. The last part! We made it to the end! Wooo! (now I have to focus on my bang again) Thank you for being with me. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Tell me what you thought! Tell me what you liked! Tell me what you hated! (be nice though) @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @cass-said-i-love-you @professorerudite @insertdeeplyrics anyone else want on the tag list?

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Ao3

Part 4: let the good times roll

Sam and Eileen gift a painting set to Castiel one day. Dean isn’t sure why but they say it’s because he saved their baby. Later Cas admits to Dean that he barely remembers what happened.

As it turns out, Castiel sees the world vastly different than Dean. Dean’s no art critic, nor could he detect a masterpiece in the making but to him, Cas’ pieces feel alive. There is a certain aspect to them.

Castiel paints mostly with his fingers and the faces of the people are wonky at best but still, they stare right into Dean’s heart.

“They are dead,” Cas says, “but with this, they’re alive. There was a world people cannot understand today. You have changed so much in so little time and yet it remains – you will always look at the world with wonder in your eyes.”

 Charlie helps them sell Cas’ art online. They sell somewhat well and Dean thinks that Cas is happy that he gets to help. Cas had said that he would’ve like to take a real job, but Dean shut him down very quickly.

Nobody would want to hire Cas – first, Cas didn’t even properly exist. And second; there would be too many days where Cas would have to stay at home. Any employer would only allow so many sick days and Dean is afraid of sending Cas to a therapist.

Even though he knows that they all probably need one, how would you even start explaining?

“Yeah, roughly 15 years ago I set off with my brother to find our dad and now our son turned into God. Oh and also we picked up this literal angel as our best friend and all of us – our son concluded who by the way was fathered by Lucifer – have died several times and then we just kind of went going.”

Yeah. No.

Not to mention all the additional bullshit Castiel would have to unpack. Dean’s been in a mental constitution once; he doesn’t really have to go there again. And he certainly doesn’t want Cas to go there – also, again.

The bees are still on Dean’s mind. He doesn’t need a repeat of that.

And anyway, the paintings are selling. And in time, they might even be able to ask for more money. Dean doesn’t really hold out hope but who knows?

 Two years after Maria is born, Sam and Eileen get married. Dean knows that they’ve been discussing marriage for a long time and have never been able to decide whether it was for them or not. But then Eileen proposed and here they are.

“She asked me to accompany her with the ring shopping. I think she just wanted to use me for my fingers,” Cas says to Dean and Dean smirks.

“Do you think Jack’ll show up?”

“I don’t know. I’ve told him; and I’m sure he knows but whether or not he’ll actually show up... it would be good to see him again. But even if he can’t make it here, he’ll be watching over these two.”

They are about to begin the ceremony and Dean’s excited to be the Best Man. He’s never thought he’d get to be that for real so it feels like a dream. Maria’s supposed to be the Flower Girl but she hasn’t shown up yet.

“Cas,” Charlie rushes over to them. Cas blinks up at her, tilting his head.

“Maria doesn’t want to walk, she’s embarrassed. Do you think you can help her out?”

Maria has gotten overly attached to Cas in these past two years and Dean believes it’s just infatuation. After all, who could look into these big blue eyes and not fall for them? Dean, however, is a little bit upset over the fact that she likes Cas better than him. But he’ll just wait until Maria will appreciate cars. And that’s when Dean will win.

“Of course,” Cas replies, “come on, Miracle.”

Miracle has essentially become Castiel’s therapy dog. She follows him everywhere and makes sure he eats and drinks enough. She loves Cas to pieces and anyone who even looks at the angel wrong gets growled at.

Dean watches them walk away and gets his phone out. He knows that there is a photographer here that films things but he wants that piece for himself. And he has to go up there anyway, so he might just go now anyway.

It takes five more minutes before Cas was apparently able to convince Maria to come out – and even then, she’s getting carried. She’s holding the flower basket close to her chest and Cas encourages her to throw the petals down. Dean’s heart melts at the sight of them.

Cas stops next to the pew where Claire and Kaia are sitting and basically tells Maria to throw flowers on them. Claire laughs and playfully shoves Cas away from them. Jody and Donna are also getting petals thrown in their face. Everybody is smiling and Dean’s happy that he’s filming this.

Maria is giggling and throwing petals all over the place. “She was so stiff before,” Charlie whispers in his direction.

“She wasn’t even looking at me and now look at that. How is Cas’ gayness softer than mine?”

“You’re just intimidating.”

“Cas is an angel!”

 Eileen is beautiful when she walks down the aisle. Sam next to him exhales and has the biggest smile on his stupid face.

“Mama so pretty!” Maria proclaims loudly while clapping her hands.

“Yes, she is,” Cas replies a little quieter. He has her sitting on his lap and he has a flower in his hair. Apparently Maria was supposed to give that to her mom but she had decided that it was for Cas, so now he was wearing the flower. It does fit him, Dean thinks.

The ceremony itself goes over without a hitch even though Sam almost breaks down crying twice. Dean was expecting more, if he’s honest. Maybe Sammy practised with Cas – apparently Cas is the solution to every problem.

Later, at the party, Dean holds an embarrassing speech about Sam and after, Sam dunks his head into a pie. This is fair, because Dean definitely deserves that. It’s all good, though. Cas laughs and wipes Dean’s face clean and Maria – still in Cas’ lap – giggles like it’s Christmas.

Dean dances with Eileen and Sam dances with Cas and Maria. Charlie’s taking pictures and Dean loves it. Cas can’t dance for very long and he leans heavily onto Sam but he tries his best for Sam and Maria both.

Dean loves him.

And someday, he’ll man up enough to actually say these words. He just needs a little bit longer. And Cas is here to stay. Dean’ll work up the courage he needs and then it’ll be alright.

 Charlie is dancing with Maria and Eileen is sitting next to Cas. She’s taken her shoes off and is likely complaining to the angel that her feet hurt. Cas is holding the wedding bouquet now and Dean knows that Eileen will insist he keep it.

“I wish she would’ve thrown it,” Claire says and Dean wiggles his eyebrows.

“You were hoping to catch it, weren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

 At the end, Jack didn’t show. The party had ended a while ago, but Dean and Castiel are still sitting on a bench outside. It’s a nice night, and Dean doesn’t want to drive home yet. There are no clouds in the sky and the stars are shining bright. Dean reckons that that’s Jack’s doing. He still wishes he would’ve shown his face.

“Don’t be mad at him,” Castiel says while leaning on Dean’s shoulder. “You know he doesn’t do that well with a lot of people.”

Yes. That is true but still – he hadn’t even come to congratulate Sam? He also still hadn’t come to meet Maria yet. Dean wonders what work a God has to do. Didn’t Jack say he wanted to be hands off?

“Don’t you miss him?” Dean asks.

“Every day,” Castiel replies.

Castiel raises a hand towards the sky and Dean sees a shooting star. But the star stops after it passes Cas’ hand.

Castiel retracts his hand and there’s a golden orb floating above his palm.

“What’s that?”

It glows brightly and it’s almost too much for Dean to look at. It compels him in the same way it tells him to stay away from it. Where did it come from? Why is it here? What’s it going to do?

“Divinity,” Castiel quietly replies and closes his hand, making the orb disappear.

 *

 “Dean, really?”

Dean sighs. He knew it was a mistake to talk to Sam about this. But he knows that Charlie would’ve squealed in his ear and honestly, Claire is still a bit too young for this to talk about it. And yeah sure, Eileen would’ve been an option but even after all this time, Dean still hasn’t improved on his signing skills.

“I know it’s stupid.”

“I didn’t say that. But have you even choked up an I love you?”

Dean is quiet.

“Oh my god, I knew it. Dean, you can’t just propose like that!”

“...shut up.”

He pockets the box inside his jacket. He doesn’t want to propose right now anyway. It’s more like a promise to himself, that one day he might be worthy of this. If – when he’ll find the words one day, he’ll be good enough for Cas. He can be.

He will be.

For Cas, the best thing that ever happened to him.

For Cas, who still thinks he’s barely tolerated.

For Cas, who sees the world as more than it is.

For Cas, who loves so much and has never been loved in return.

 Their first kiss doesn’t quite happen as Dean would’ve imagined it – not that he had ever been imagining it in the first place.

Cas is watching Dancing With The Stars and he’s really fascinated. Apparently, he’s never danced before. Dean’s never told him about Garth and Bess dancing in front of the window. He wonders how they’re doing now. Maybe they’re dancing right at this moment, while Sam and Castiel are finally asleep?

“Dean, please?” Castiel’s blue eyes are pleading and Dean has a hard time saying no. Cas always asks for so little and Dean’s always liked dancing when he got a chance to do it – which sadly is not often. So he sighs and stands up from the couch, offering his hand up to Cas.

“Might I have this dance, milady?”

Cas blinks at him in question, and then looks at the outstretched hand. At last, there’s a smile stealing itself across Castiel’s face and he gently takes Dean’s hand and hauls himself up.

“Of course, my lord.”

Dean chuckles and pulls Cas flush against him. It’s been a while since they were this close together without one of them on literal death’s door. Cas is alive and warm under his hands and Dean starts swaying. He’s never danced a real dance, much less so with another man. But it’s not like Cas could dance at all, so it’s okay. And besides – it’s not about the skill, it’s about the experience. And Cas –

Cas is laughing. It’s a happy laugh and he enjoys himself. It’s truly a sight to see. It’s rare to see Cas so relaxed and Dean feels more than privileged to witness this much less be the cause of it. Dean swirls Cas on the spot and as the swirl ends, Cas stumbles forward against Dean’s chest. Dean holds him tight and it’s a good feeling.

Cas’ hair is brushing against Dean’s chin and he feels calm. He gently puts one hand on Castiel’s cheek and Cas nuzzles into it. Castiel’s hand is loosely laying on Dean’s chest and the volume of the TV playing in the background is already fading away.

Dean’s in love.

He’s in love with Castiel.

He gently directs Castiel’s face upwards and looks at the big, blue, blinking eyes.

He doesn’t understand how he got to be so lucky.

Dean bends down, just a little, and ever so gently presses his lips against Castiel’s mouth.

It’s a quiet kiss, one that doesn’t require anything.

“Dean,” is all that Cas says afterwards but Dean quietly hushes him.

“Shh,” he replies and kisses him again.

It’s easier than anything else he’s ever done.

He doesn’t remember why he was ever afraid of this.

This, right here, is where he’s meant to be.

With the TV running in the background, in his shitty apartment, in worn-out clothes, with a dog sleeping in her bed, kissing Castiel.

Sometimes things are just easy.

Dean holds Castiel tight and thankfully, Castiel doesn’t speak.

It’s the most comforting silence and Dean cherishes it.

He’s in love.

 *

 It’s a soft thing, after. Nothing changes and yet, so much is different.

He kisses Cas in the morning before he goes to work; in the afternoon when he returns; when they make dinner; when they watch TV.

It’s the easiest thing in the world.

And yet, Dean knows that Cas wonders.

I know you don’t love me.

But Dean does. He just can’t say it. If he did, then – then what would John say? Dad would judge him for this. Dad would call him a girl; and a fairy; and tell Dean that Dad hadn’t raised a gay son.

 He’s still thinking about this in bed. Next to him, Cas is fast asleep, holding onto Dean’s arm. Miracle is snoring in her own doggy bed.

“I love Cas,” Dean says toneless into the dark room and is instantly overcome by anxiety. Somehow, even after all these years, he expects John to bust through the door and expose him and nail him to the cross or something.

He turns to his side and looks at Cas. The angel looks so relaxed in his sleep and Dean gently pats his hair. Cas mumbles a bit and burrows closer to Dean as if to seek warmth. Dean puts his free arm around him and pulls him as close as possible, tucking the angel under his chin.

He doesn’t know what to do. Cas deserves to be told. But whenever Dean thinks it might be the right time for it – then there’s John standing in the distance, observing and judging him. Dean knows he just has to do it, that he just has to push through. Dad is dead and nothing can happen anymore. But this fear is far too ingrained inside his brain. Maybe writing a letter would help? But somehow it doesn’t feel like enough.

Dean needs to say it.

He has to say it.

But he can’t.

He can’t.

For all his bravery, for all his courage – he can’t.

 “A bird learns to fly when it falls.”

Cas is not in bed when Dean wakes up.

“Water will whittle away the mountain.”

Cas is nowhere to be found inside the apartment. Miracle is quiet.

“A flower will break through the concrete.”

Dean panics. In his panic, he runs outside.

“Long after its death, a star will remain in the sky.”

 Outside it’s foggy.

But there is Cas.

Cas is standing outside, barefooted, and Dean is rooted to the spot.

There are golden orbs floating around Castiel.

Divinity, Cas had called them.

“Cas,” Dean breathes and the angel turns around.

“Hello, Dean.”

 “What are those?”

“I’ve told you. Divinity.”

“Yes, I know, but what are they?”

“A burden shared is a burden lifted. Ever since I woke all the way back before time existed, a great many stars have died. And still, some remain in the sky. Did you never wonder where they go?

Their physical form shall burn from velocity, but what about the stars? What about them? Who catches them? Where do they go? Shall they forever be lost in space?

I was lost too, you know. I was lost ever since the start. Sometimes I think I remember. Sometimes I think I remember an all consuming light in the dark. Sometimes I think I remember the beginning before it ever began. Sometimes I think I remember the void, the naught.

And then, just as quickly, I lose it again.

Why did Father abandon us?

Why did He create so many of us, if none of us mattered?

Come with us, the stars whispered to me, we have no answers but mayhap we shall find them.

Why did the stars exist, if only to die? I didn’t want them to be lost and so I collected them. I found them in the void and I took them with me for I thought I might find a purpose within them. And in time, they started finding me. I became their haven, their destination.

But still, I was lost. Each time a star would find me, I think I can see the light in the void again, the end after the end. But soon these memories are gone, too, and I can only hold on to scraps. And I wonder.

What if I don’t remember at all? What if what I see are just fragments from the stars, showing me what they saw in their last moments?

Dean, you must know: time is not linear. What happens before will happen after. The end happens before the start and sometimes the beginning happens in the middle. This time, this life is just one stream amongst them all.

Some stars tell me of the end; and others tell me of the start. Maybe some tell me of the middle. And maybe some tell me of all, and all I get is the light in the void at the start.

I’ve wondered.

Why am I broken?

Why am I, of all the angels, the only one that’s cracked?

What went wrong?

Why was it only ever me? Why wasn’t perfect like the others? Why weren’t others cracked as I was?

Why was I the only one that’s ever looked to the stars and collected them?

What if Father never made me?

What if – what if I was created by something else?

And if so, what was it? And why? And why did Father allow me to continue existing? Did He perhaps just not notice? Did He perhaps just not care? Did He perhaps just think me merely another insignificant angel that He needn’t pay attention to?

What broke the connection?

Why am I the only angel to love you?

Was I whole before, perhaps, but if that was so – what shattered me? What put me back together? Where did the missing pieces go?

The light I remember in the naught – what is it? Where does it come from? Why does it matter at all, why do I care if it lights up the void or not?

Why do I cling to a light that does not matter?

I –

I’m lost, Dean.

Amidst the stars, I am lost.

From here on out, where do I go?”

 Dean reaches out.

Castiel is standing there all alone, surrounded by what remains of the stars – surrounded by divinity.

He takes Castiel’s hand.

“Go with me,” he says.

“I love you,” he says.

Amidst the stars, Castiel smiles.

Dean thinks he can see the light that Castiel spoke about.

It’s a soft, shining light and it’s free.

 *

 “I don’t know if I can.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a big thing, Cas, you know? What if I fail?”

“Then we’ll fail together.”

 Dean buys a corner lot. It’s very expensive. But he has a dream. He doesn’t want to work construction forever. He deserves to be happy. And Cas is here. Cas is here, and Sam is here, and Eileen is here – and everyone is here.

He’s not alone and he can rely on all these people. They want to help him; they want him to be happy. He can do this. For the first time in his life, he can do something solely for himself.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to depend only on himself.

 *

 Sam hoists Maria out of the car seat. He wants to go and help Eileen out of the car but if he did, she’d kick him in the shin.

“Are there no balloons?” Maria wants to know. Sam looks up. True, there are no balloons outside.

“I’m sure Uncle Dean’s got some inside, sweetheart.”

Maria grins from ear to ear and hugs her monkey toy harder. Cas had given it to her just a few years ago. It hadn’t even been her birthday; he had just wanted to give something to his niece. Sam is glad that they get along so well. But sometimes he debates: should they tell her that Cas is an angel? It’s not a problem right now, but he and Dean and Eileen will start aging one day while Cas will not.

But, ah well, it might be best to cross that bridge when they’d get there.

“Hunter’s Rest is a nice name,” Eileen says when she finally steps next to Sam. Sam just nods. It’s true. Sam had kept suggesting Roadhouse, in Ellen’s and Ash’s and Jo’s legacy but Dean had always refused. Dean hadn’t wanted to be a copy-cat of what they’ve been.

Dean wants something that’s his own.

And Sam couldn’t be happier for him.

It was a long road, getting here, and even now he could scarcely believe it.

But the Hunter’s Rest is officially opening today.

He smiles at Eileen, takes both his girl’s hands and enters Dean’s bar.

 “Uncle Dean!”

Maria yells as soon as she spots her uncle and throws herself at his middle from across the room. Dean laughs and catches her. He lifts her up and holds her on his hip.

“How’s my favourite tornado?”

She giggles and hugs him tight.

“Where’s Uncle Cas?”

“He’s still in the back, sweetheart. Be nice to him today, okay? It’s not a good day. But I know he’ll be happy to see you, so why don’t you go say hello?”

Maria nods with a solemn expression on her face. She knows about Uncle Cas’ bad days. She shouldn’t be too loud on these and she has to understand that he might not want to play as much with her. She loves Uncle Cas. She wouldn’t tell this to anyone because she knows Uncle Dean would be upset, but Uncle Cas is her favourite. There’s a glow about him that she can’t explain to anyone, but it draws her to him.

Uncle Dean puts her on the ground and she goes to find Uncle Cas. When she finds him, he smiles at her. He looks tired and sick, but he glows so brightly today.

“Hello, Maria,” he greets her.

She steps closer and climbs into his lap.

“I love you,” she says and Uncle Cas hugs her tight.

 “Looks good, Dean,” Sam says to Dean in the meantime. Dean grins and pulls his brother close. He nods at Eileen who waves back.

“How are we coming along?” he asks her and she rubs her stomach.

“Good,” she replies, “the doctor says it’s two.”

“Two, huh? Man, Sammy, you dog!”

Sam laughs and Dean slaps him on the shoulder.

“Maria was really hoping for some balloons,” Sam says and Dean shrugs.

“I have some in the back, but I don’t know if I should hang them up. It’s gonna be a few hours still until official opening, you know?”

“Are Charlie and Stevie coming?”

“Yeah, Charlie’s gonna help me set up the music. The others are coming too, but Donna can’t make it. Some important thing came up but she’s gonna drop by in the coming days.”

Sam nods.

“There should be balloons,” Eileen pipes up and Dean sighs deeply.

“Fine,” he says then, “but y’all are helping me with that. I ain’t the only one blowing these things up.”

“I overheard,” Cas says as he’s rolling out of the back in his wheelchair. On his lap, there are Maria and a big load of balloons.

Dean sighs. “Why am I being set up?”

Castiel smiles at Dean. “Because balloons make everything better. We should’ve gotten glitter, too, you know? We’ll help, Dean.”

 “Bad day, huh?” Sam asks him while they are placing the balloons. Dean nods.

“Last couple days actually. Yesterday was the worst; he wouldn’t even get out of bed. The day before that, he spent almost all day puking into the toilet. But he’s getting better now, I think. It’s just – I know that he’s sick. I know that these days happen and that they’ll happen again, it just – it just fucking scares me, y’know? Knowing that there’s nothing I can do, no spell to find to cure him or anything – it just makes me feel so helpless.”

Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean, you’re doing great. What you’re going through – what you both are going through – is extremely stressful. I can’t even imagine. I can’t imagine all the hurdles you had to go through to get here. How scary it has to be to wake at night and see Cas being sick again. I’m proud of you, Dean. I really am. You’re holding it together so well and if – if you ever have to break, I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. You’re not alone. You’re never alone, Dean.”

Dean huffs out a laugh and turns to hug his brother.

It’s true.

Their lone journey is over.

They started with just the two of them.

But they’re never going to be alone again.

 *

 “I love you,” Dean whispers into dark hair.

“I don’t know when I fell in love. I don’t know when I realised. But I love you. I love all of you.

We’ve endured a great many things, you and I. We fell and rose together, we burned and crashed together. And in all this time, you weren’t even supposed to be there. But you were. You fought and clawed your way back to me every single time, and I’ve never even said thank you. I never once appreciated all the pain and misery you had to endure just to get back to me.

No matter what, you were there. You were there for me and Sam when nobody else was. You stayed by your side since the very beginning and you overturned everything you believed in because you started to believe in me. You had faith in me, the man without faith. And through you – you became my faith. I believed in nothing, I had faith in nothing – except you. I had faith in you. When you were gone, so was my faith gone. And when you returned, you brought it back with you.

When we met, you told me that good things do happen.

For so long, I didn’t believe you. But you were right. And know what? That good thing that would happen to me was right in front of me. And we didn’t know. Neither of us knew. Who could’ve imagined?

A man afraid of flying and an angel afraid of falling.

We really did meet in the middle, huh?

I’m sorry, Cas. I never did right by you. All your life you thought you were wrong because you weren’t like the others. You always believed that you needed to atone for your sins someway. And I – I didn’t help you. I made you think that you were expendable, that you weren’t worth anything. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, because I was wrong.

You’re worth everything. You matter so much, Cas – to me, to Sam, to the world. I’m sorry that all of us have fallen short. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it up to you for all eternity, because I love you. If you’ll have me for whatever reason, then I’m yours. And I’m never going to let go. If I lose you, I will stop at nothing to find you again.

It’s you and me. Now and forever.”

“Look for the light,” Castiel whispers into the darkness.

“Look for the light and you’ll always find me there.”

 *

 At the end of a long, long life, Dean opens his eyes.

Above him, there’s nothing but endless stretches of blue sky.

Dean sits up and looks around.

He’s in an onion field and he stands up.

He turns to the side and sees him there.

 There’s a trench-coat angel standing in the onion field, surrounded by the golden orbs of stars.

The wings behind him are magnificent and have the colour of a rainbow.

 Dean starts approaching him.

Behind the angel, there is a massive tree.

 “Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

[maddiewritesstucky]

Call me maybe (but only during business hours)

A smutty gift for @raynakiasbel​, for her endless patience with my infuriatingly slow writing and inability to focus on one thing at a time! 

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3308

Tags: CEO Steve, College Student Bucky, Poorly-Timed Phone Sex, Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Light Daddy Kink, Dom/Sub Undertones

Part 1 of the SugarVerse series on Ao3 

Bucky is most definitely not watching the clock.

His eyes have absolutely not been glued to the LED display on the bedside table for what feels like a hundred goddamn years, watching the little white lines form number after number, blinking their way into the formation that will mean he can pick up his phone, and call Steve.

That would be all kinds of pathetic, and Bucky is not that kind of boyfriend.

He’s certainly not the kind of boyfriend who’s already fixing to climb out of his skin on day three (three!) of Steve’s out-of-town business trip. Bucky is one of those autonomous, self-sufficient boyfriends, who is entirely too busy with his own obscenely full schedule to care about the fact that he’s not getting dicked down at his every whim this week.

He has midterms to study for, and hours to log at StarkTech to go towards his internship, and Nat’s surprise birthday party to plan even though she’s literally impossible to surprise…he doesn’t have the mental real estate to spare on thirst right now. He might have become a whole other kind of hoe since being exposed to the many splendors of Steve Rogers’ cock, but twitching for it before they’ve even hit the seventy-two hour mark?

That would be highly problematic, if that was happening.

Which it isn’t.

Bucky is well accustomed to flying solo when Steve’s off in corporate alter-ego mode; he’s done this countless times over the past few months since he moved in with Steve, and he’d made his peace with it long before that. You don’t couple up with the CEO of an internationally renowned architecture firm and expect to see his face at the dinner table every night, and for the most part, Bucky has no complaints about having the stupidly plush bed all to his starfishing self a few nights a month.

It’s just...there’s a method to this, usually. And that method does not involve three entire days of near radio silence.

When Steve goes away, even on his busier trips, he always finds time to call Bucky at least once a day, even if it’s just five minutes as he’s crawling into bed to say goodnight. They’ll text, and Steve will send emails that are endearingly formal because his brain tends to stay in CEO-mode 24/7 when he’s on business trips, and they’ll generally tide one another over with tidbits of cyber-affection until they get back in the same physical space.  

But this time? They’ve hardly been in contact at all. And it’s on Bucky, too, at least in part - he’s been swamped with his own workload the past few weeks, struggling to find quality time or head space even in the few days just before Steve left, and all they’ve managed so far is a few sporadic messages in their rare moments of down-time, which have so far been chaotically misaligned.

It’s been a drag, if Bucky’s honest, and he can occupy himself all he wants with his exam prep and his party-plotting, but at the end of the day…

Bucky’s just a boy, laying in front of a clock, asking his dick to hold out just a few more minutes.

Because right now, it’s 10:42pm.

It’s 10:42pm, which means that in exactly three minutes, Steve will be sliding into the crisp white sheets of whatever lavish hotel bed he’s being put up in; buck-ass naked because he’s as stringent on his no-pyjamas policy as he is on his bed time, and in exactly three minutes…

Bucky’s gonna call him, and phone-fuck the soul right out of his offensively perfect body.

He flips onto his back and nestles into the pillows, a dumb grin already fixing to his face in his hormone-fuelled stupor. The lights of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows bathe his naked skin in soft orange-gold, and his hand migrates of its own accord to the semi he’s been rocking ever since it occurred to him that he could just straight up call Steve and spring a jerk-sesh on him.

The whole thing feels deliciously sneaky-skanky. He’s never done this before, just cold-called Steve with an x-rated agenda. They’ve had phone sex before, a great many times in fact, but there’s always a lead-in; a text exchange turned sordid that spirals into a video call straight out of Bucky’s horny teenage fantasies. 

But he’s never gone in jizz-first, ask-questions-later, and as certain as he is that Steve will be entirely on board, it feels just risky enough to have Bucky a little high off the adrenaline of it.

Here lies Bucky, Queen of the Sluts! Stretched out bare atop cream colored sheets, lit up by the New York skyline! Dick in hand and filth on the tip of his tongue!

He is power! He is scandal! He is ready for this!

He pulls the lube out from its hiding place under the pillow and slicks himself up, stroking slow as he tries to summon some small measure of nonchalance about the whole thing. He has a vision for how he wants this to go, and it does not involve him losing his cool the second he hears Steve’s voice on the other end of the line.

This is about seduction, about surprising Steve with some old-school nasty, no video or visuals involved - just Bucky’s filthy mouth and vivid imagination, and he’s determined to keep it together long enough to paint Steve a picture he can jack it to.

He pulls up Steve’s contact and waits out the final torturous minute with his heart in his throat, hitting the call button the second it ticks over to go-time. He hits the speakerphone button, dropping the phone onto the pillow next to him, and holds his breath through the four rings it takes for Steve to pick up.

“...James?”

And oh, but that bodes well...Steve uses his real name in two contexts, and two contexts only - when Bucky visits him at work and he’s in business mode, and when he’s got Bucky flat on his back underneath him, letting him have it.

If Steve’s already keyed up tonight? This just got a lot more interesting.

“Mm, there it is,” Bucky heaves a deep sigh, “that’s what I needed, that voice...”

His mind’s eye conjures up visions of Steve spread out across the bed, taut lines of muscle and bare flesh all laid out. He’s probably just had a shower, so his skin would be all warm and pink, smelling like soap and aftershave; his hair all fluffy from that irreverent way he has of rubbing it towel-dry...god, Bucky misses him.

“James? Are you alright?”

He can practically hear Steve’s brows drawing together in that way they do when he’s overworked; a tight-wound tension in his voice that Bucky has every confidence he can allay before the night’s through.

“Mm, be a lot better if it was your hand wrapped around my cock right now,” Bucky drawls, rolling his body for his audience of no one, “but I guess I’ll just have to settle for fucking my fist to the sound of your voice. Can you hear me touching myself, Daddy?”

He breathes a soft groan as he strokes himself slick and languid, and Steve is silent for a long moment that Bucky’s brain is all too happy to color in with pornographic images of how Steve might be listening; where his hands might be wandering, how his cock would be filling at the mental picture Bucky’s painting. Bucky thinks this might just be the best idea he’s ever had, and he doesn’t hold back on letting Steve hear exactly how good he’s feeling about his decision...

...Until Steve clears his throat, and unceremoniously hits him with an ice-cold dousing of you-done-fucked-up.

“I’m in a meeting right now, I have two clients with me.”  

There is zero inflection in his tone, and if Bucky thought he had experienced true panic before, he was mistaken. He can physically feel himself paling; his mouth dropping open soundlessly, humiliation warring with plain confusion as to why the hell Steve is still working at this ridiculous hour.

And then it clicks.

Horribly, harrowingly clicks.

Steve isn’t working at stupid o’clock at night.

In the perpetual haze of Bucky’s overworked brain and Steve’s ever-changing schedule, Bucky had forgotten that this trip was taking Steve to Hawaii.

For Steve, it isn’t slutty phone-sex hours. It’s very sensible, 4:45pm strictly-business hours.

“Ohmygod,” Bucky gasps, bolting upright and looking desperately around the room like it might hold the solution to his colossal screw up, “Steve, I completely forgot--”

“Mr Barnes, I can give you exactly two minutes of my time right now because I realize it’s been difficult to touch base recently,” Steve interrupts, his tone cooling abruptly with the air of professional detachment and veiled authority Bucky’s heard him use on work calls a thousand times. “Can you tell me exactly what the issue is with the redesign?”

...Bucky blinks, breath caught in his throat as he scrambles to string together some sense from Steve’s response.

Steve hasn’t mentioned any specific projects lately, is Bucky supposed to know something about a redesign? Was there something he--

Oh.

Oh.

His brain and his dick catch on at the same time in a borderline painful rush of blood. He hears Steve pull back from the phone to address his clients, placating them with an apology and the assurance that this won’t take long, and Jesus Christ...Steve is actually doing this.

Steve is actually going to let this happen, going to let Bucky have one-sided phone sex with him while he sits there in some boardroom, with actual clients sitting right in front of him.

What the fuck.

Bucky’s breath leaves him in a rush as he drops back against the pillows and wraps a frantic hand around himself. “The issue is you’ve been gone three fucking days and I wanna sit on your face.”

“Mm, I see why that’s problematic,” Steve muses, cool and unaffected, “what exactly do you need from me?”

God, Bucky can just picture it - Steve sitting there looking like a fucking wet dream in one of his distractingly well-fitting suits, with his hair swept perfectly over and his beard trimmed just close enough to show off the sharp cut of his jaw; radiating that air of quiet authority that makes Bucky want to bounce in his lap until he dies...

Bucky knows for a fact that Steve’s face will be betraying precisely none of what’s happening on the other end of the line, and why the hell is that such a turn on?

“Well I was gonna describe in graphic detail all the things I want you to do to me when you get back,” Bucky huffs, breaths coming faster already, “but if I’m on the clock now, guess I’ll have to settle for sayin’ I need you to bring that dick home ASAP...fuckin’ miss it.”

“I see,” Steve sighs, “well I’m not back in New York for a few days yet, how do you plan to manage this in the interim?”

Bucky curses under his breath, tightening his grip on himself. “Just have to fuck myself, imagine it’s you.”  He sounds every bit as unconvinced of the efficacy of this plan as they both know he is, and Steve hums thoughtfully in response.

“I’m going to need more detail, paint me a picture here.”

Bucky knows he’s blushing, feels the heat of it all the way down his chest, and fuck this shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Dirty talking at Steve and getting nothing back but clipped responses, void of emotion and the usual undercurrent of affection he’s become accustomed to?

Work-Steve needs to come to the bedroom more often.

“I’ll touch myself, like I’m doing right now,” he twists his grip a little on the upstroke, hissing at the change in sensation, “get my fist all wet and tight around my cock...pretend it’s your mouth.”

How close are Steve’s clients sitting to him? Steve wouldn’t be letting this happen if there was any way they could hear...but what if one of them has some kind of medical condition that gives them enhanced hearing? What if one of them can read minds and is hearing this entire conversation play out in stereo quality in their head?

Why is there a part of Bucky that hopes one or both of those things are true?!

“...And?” Steve prompts, almost brusque, and Bucky gives himself a second to revel in the way his dick twitches for the hard edge in Steve’s voice.

“And I’ll, fuck- ” Bucky stutters, rocking his hips with the rhythm of his strokes, pushing himself up through his grip, “I’ll use my toys, fingerfuck myself.”

“Right, well why don’t you go ahead and start that for me now,” Steve says, off-hand; pulling back from the phone to place an honest-to-god coffee order with the oblivious intern who’s now seemingly in the room too, and Bucky’s never felt more of an affinity for the whole bored-and-ignored thing.  

He slicks up the fingers of his free hand and shifts a little onto his side, hiking a knee up as he slips a finger inside himself.

“Can I take that as a yes, Mr Barnes?” Steve asks at the breathy moan Bucky lets out as he presses in first with one, and then with two fingers, and Bucky nods frantically even though Steve can’t see him.

“Yes, fuck...I'm doin' it...feels so fucking good, Steve.”

And it does. It’s a difficult angle, and he can't quite hit the spot he wants to inside himself, but the steady stroke-tug against his rim while his fist flies over his cock is working for him; winding him towards what would, in any other non time-constrained circumstance, be an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He can hear Steve shuffling papers, making quiet sounds of agreement along with whatever conversation is going on in the background between his clients whilst they wait, unknowing, and Bucky can’t decide whether it’s a blessing or an immense disappointment that Steve has to bite his tongue right now; that he can’t unleash any of the filth he’d definitely be spitting if he didn’t have an audience. 

Steve fucking loves to run his mouth, and Bucky loves to hear it; lives for the endlessly colorful obscenities Steve comes out with in the throws of it.

Just listen to you, he’d be laughing a little; his voice dripping with that indulgent, self-satisfied grin he gets, so goddamn easy for it, ain’t that right baby? Three fuckin’ days and you’re gagging for it...should be ashamed of yourself…

But Steve is in a very public forum right now, in the middle of a meeting no less, trying to give the impression that he’s very decidedly not having phone sex. Right now, he’s Steve Rogers - CEO, consummate professional.

But he is also an asshole, and when he asks Bucky “do you feel you have a firm grasp on the situation, or would a second set of hands be helpful on this one?” Bucky swears he can hear that faint hint of a smirk all the way across the fucking country.

“Might just have to go find myself a second set of hands if you stay away too long,” Bucky retorts, emboldened by the distance, and a little morbidly curious to see what sassing gets him when Steve can’t say shit about it.

Turns out, what it gets him is a full-body shiver and a throb between his thighs as Steve’s tone dips to somewhere in the realm of politely-veiled threat. “I would not advise that, Mr Barnes.”

It occurs to Bucky, then, that this won’t just be done and dusted once they hang up. At the end of the week, Steve will come back to New York, and he will absolutely have some Things To Say about this little interruption.

He can picture it now, the way Steve will stand there all calm, staring him down with his mouth upticked at the corner while Bucky fumbles his way through an explanation. 

He’ll probably do that thing where he doesn’t say much but his eyes say everything, and Bucky will have to try really hard to seem remorseful even though they’ll both know he’s not actually all that sorry. And Steve won’t want him to be, not really, but it’ll be something he can use to their mutual benefit, nonetheless.

Fuck, Steve might spank him.

Bucky smothers a moan into the pillow next to him, twisting his fingers inside himself and brushing his thumb across the head of his cock as he turns that thought over, Steve bending him over his knee, or better yet, over his desk...

“Oh,” Bucky gasps, a sudden rush of heat twisting tight in his gut, “fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Steve huffs a vaguely incredulous laugh, and there’s a faint creaking sound like he’s settling further back in his chair. “Oh really? Who authorized that?”  

Bucky lets out a deeply undignified whine, his whole body strung tight enough to snap; caught between the sensations of his hand moving frantically over his dick and his fingers scissoring inside himself.

“Come on,” he whimpers, teetering on the knife edge of losing it, “tell me I can finish, please.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Oh, fuck him, fuck him...how is he still edging Bucky when he was the one who put the rush order on this?

“Please, Daddy,” Bucky doesn’t try to hide the desperation in his voice as he changes tact, “if you don’t authorize this orgasm I think I’m gonna go blind, just fucking let me come!”

Steve pauses a beat, humming a considering sound. “No, I’m not comfortable signing off on that. We’re tabling this until I get back to New York.”

Bucky freezes, both hands stilling; his face crumbling into a mask of abject disbelief.  “You can’t be serious?”  His stomach drops, even as something in the back of his mind says he really should have seen this coming...or, not coming, as is the case.

“I'm sure we can come to a far more satisfying resolution in person,” Steve says, maddeningly cavalier.

Bucky’s gearing up to plead his case, but Steve’s not done ruining his night yet.

“In fact, Mr Barnes,” he piles on, “I’d like to make you personally responsible for ensuring no further action is taken on the matter until I return. Can I trust you with this?”

Bucky gapes down at his poor, oblivious cock still standing at eager attention in his grasp, unaware of the disaster that’s just befallen them, and he takes his hands off himself with a pained groan.

“This is criminal,” he objects, flopping heavily onto his back and throwing his arms out to his sides, “if my dick falls off, it’s your fault!”

“Great! Glad to hear it,” Steve chirps, as if he's not the worst person alive, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Whatever,” Bucky scowls at the shadows stretching across the ceiling, willing his mind off the throbbing ache of injustice between his thighs, “I’m totally not answering any of your calls.”

Steve’s smile bleeds into his tone a little when he responds, the closest he’s come to fondness yet. “Okay, speak soon, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky tries, really tries, to inject some petulance into his tone as he signs off with a grumbled “love you, I guess,” but he can’t quite bring himself to sulk as much as he feels the situation warrants.

After all, in exactly four days, Steve will come back to New York.

He’ll come home, and they’ll laugh about this, and in exactly four days…

Steve will make him forget what he was even upset about in the first place.

(Part 2 of the series here!)

[llexeh]

Do You Remember Tijuana? - Steve Rogers / Tony Stark

Part 1 of “Steve Is Going to Lose His Damn Mind”

Summary: He had a sudden urge to just go to bed. Maybe he was too old and his age was finally showing. He wasn’t certain he could still blush after the super serum, but it was a blushable situation. So, yeah, he had been in the army and they were all filthy and he wasn’t actually as much of a prude of people made him out to be. But it was still a blushable situation.

He knew he should have just given Natasha her present and maybe a hug. But Steve was many things, and he thought supportive was one of them. He was right in that assumption, but at what cost?

Warnings: edible dicks, deepthroating competition, alcohol consumption 

Rating: explicit

Pairings: Steve Rogers / Tony Stark, Darcy Lewis / Bruce Banner

Tags: pre-slash, crack treated seriously, slowburn, everyone is alive, wild Dr. Foster

Word count: 6087

A/N: This has been on Ao3 for ages, I’m still trying to get the whole series finished and I’m posting it on here in a desperate attempt to kick-start my fanfic productivity. You may have noticed the “crack treated seriously” tag, it’s there for a reason. This is ridiculous and ooc for the most part, but I also love it enough to share it with everyone who will read it. This has not had the loving touch of a beta, so excuse whatever mistakes I’ve missed.

The first time he was left speechless by how attractive Tony was, it felt a lot like being hit by a train. Steve didn’t have the best track record with trains. (Ha! Track record.) When he was young, he watched people get on them and never return. He dropped Bucky from one. He watched helplessly as the one he was on sped wildly through Seoul. So the first time he realised he was attracted to Tony Stark, it felt like he turned his head and all of a sudden he was standing on the railway and headlights were closing in on him, there was no time to move aside, and his breath was stolen from his lungs.

There had been hints, and even half formed thoughts when in between insults and petty arguments, Steve thought Tony was above average. Which, he thought, as he recovered from the train running him over, was complete bullshit. And not only was Tony above average, he was god damn beautiful. Steve just gave up: his mind was a mess, and he figured this was what happened when people survive train trampling. Which was no one. Except for Bucky, but that was falling off a train, and Steve just gave up again. It was pointless.

He needed a stiff drink. It was hardly the first time the need arose, and he was perfectly aware he couldn’t get drunk, but it was more the sharp pinch of the alcohol on his tongue, the soothing way it burned its way down his throat that he wanted. It was anchoring in a way few things were. Fighting was one of those things, but Natasha was terrifying, and this was her birthday party. And on top of that, Steve genuinely cared for the redhead and wanted her to have a good time. And she was terrifying. So unless she instigated some group brawl, that was not an option.

There were plenty of bottles pretty much everywhere around the large common room in the tower, but Steve also needed a dark corner to brood for a little. There was a poignant desire to lament his inability to get drunk. Because maybe if he could, he’d pass out and it would finally get quiet in his head. Like many other things that night, that wasn’t an option. So he sat down and drank scotch straight from the bottle, trying to attract as little attention as possible.

Maybe if he thought of it tactically, as if it were a mission he needed to plan. He took a deep breath and another swig from the bottle. Situation: the reality he found Tony Stark attractive. Extra information: not only did he find his fellow Avenger attractive, he was rendered speechless, mid conversation with… someone because he found him so attractive. Problem: he found Tony Stark attractive. Gosh, Steve was well happy no one could actually read his mind. They’d either pass out with the sheer stupidity that floated around, or pass out from laughing too much.

The problem wasn’t that Tony was a man, or even that he was a fellow Avenger, or that he was Howard’s son, or that he was a dick most of the time, or that even if he was remotely attracted to men, he wouldn’t go for Steve’s righteousness and stubbornness and whatever it was that annoyed him about Steve. Oh, wait. Those were the exact problems. Maybe not the Tony being a man part, because Steve always knew he was a bit not-straight. And coming back into the modern day and age, he quickly adjusted to the fact that he didn’t need to stick a label on himself. It was a stark contrast to going into a battle against the Nazis with the distinct thought that some men wear a uniform better than others.

So, tactically. Problem: Steve was currently speechless halfway through a bottle of scotch that did absolutely nothing to him (while everyone was having a blast) because he found his friend hot and there was no way anything would come of it for various reasons. There, that was the most compact way of putting it. Steve was thankful the babbling in his head didn’t translate into his reports. Solution: drink the entire bottle, put on a smile, and join the party before someone asks questions.

The train metaphor, Steve figured, came from the abruptness of the entire thing. It was all going fine. Natasha’s birthday was coming up and she made a point to not say anything about it. It was all a bit uncertain anyway – her age, her exact date of birth – all of it buried in triple classified files hidden in underground bunkers under a lake in Switzerland; or something. The intel was her birthday was on the 22nd of November, and they accepted it as such.

She didn’t plan anything, didn’t mention it at all, and Steve was fine. He’d bought her a hand carved wooden jewelry box from a thrift shop in Brooklyn months before. It reminded him of her with its intricate edges and vintage finish, and Steve was a sucker for gifting people things he thought they’d like. He was ready to wrap it up and present her with it at midnight if she was around, or for breakfast, and he was absolutely fine with it. In hindsight, he would have preferred it, if only to avoid a metaphorical train. Steve was less and less fond of trains with each passing minute.

Clint approached him at lunch a couple of days before with a smile (first sign of trouble), a notepad (signs two-to-five of trouble), a pen (!), and confetti on his shoulders. Steve nearly turned around and walked away. He might have looked young, but he was starting to think he was essentially an old man – what was that line in the film? Too old for this shit?

The short conversation went along the lines of:

“We’re throwing Tasha a party, tell your friends.”

“All of my friends live here, Clint.”

“You need to get out more, Cap.”

“Okay… Does she want a party?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“She’s gonna shoot all of us, Clint. And some of you are more prone to dying than others.”

“We’ll duck. She can’t shoot all of us at once.”

“She can if she gets a grenade launcher. The rest she’ll thigh-strangle to death.”

“It’ll be fine, Cap, you worry too much. Here, shopping list. Hide everything in your room, we can’t order online, she’ll know. Thanks!”

It turned out everyone was excited about it, so Steve went with it. He volunteered to be in her line of fire, shield up for when she reacted to the surprise. It went as well as expected: she walked into the dim room, shot at his shield, and pretended to be very surprised while wearing a cocktail dress and high heels. Her smile was bright however, and Steve found it endearing.

“Clint,” she started walking towards the marksman, “I know this is on you. Come, we’re doing tequila.”

Clint actually groaned. “Tasha, anything but that! Remember Tijuana?” He shuffled his feet towards the bar where Tony started pouring shots.

“Do you?” Natasha asked with a laugh. She turned to the people gathering at the bar. “Thank you so much for wanting to celebrate with me. Now drink!” She passed shot glasses to everyone and set the tone for her party.

Thor placed a crown on her head, naming her their queen for the night as soon as the bottle of tequila was finished. Someone put some lounge music on, and Steve was pleased to see his friends enjoying themselves as they mingled.

It was all very informal, with just the Avengers and their close friends. Vision trying to be inconspicuous in his white button down, drifting around Wanda as close as possible without clinging to her. Quicksilver speeding around the room smiling at Maria Hill in that downright shameless manner that made Fury cock his head ominously. Pepper and Maria converging to the side to complain about managing what were basically children. Bruce chatting to Jane and pretending not to be dumbstruck by Darcy’s pin-up dress and hair. Sam and Bucky to the side, chatting animatedly about sport, Steve guessed. It looked like a promising night. No trains in sight.  

About two hours in, Rhodey lost to Steve at arm-wrestling for the seventh time. He was about to ask for a rematch, when Natasha asked to replace him. She sat down on the bar stool opposite him, smiling widely. On top of what Steve assumed was an actual crown, she now sported a plastic tiara adorned with large silver stars that bobbed whenever Natasha moved. Her eyes were as focused as always, but there was a subtle flush to her cheeks.

“Think you can win, Tasha?”

“I don’t know, Cap. Will you let me?” She cocked her head to the side, flirty as always. The stars on her head dangled dangerously.

Tony materialised to their side with two more shot glasses. “He’s an honest guy, Natasha. Of course he won’t let you win.” He downed his and gave the other to her.

“Not even if I ask nicely?”

Steve laughed. “I value my life. Wouldn’t want to insult you.”

She nodded. “Let’s make it interesting. I’ll bet my tiara and you can bet…” She looked around trying to find something. Her smile broadened. “Ah! You lose and I get to set you up on a date!”

“Is that still happening? Okay then.” He placed his elbow on the bar and wiggled his fingers. Natasha grabbed it and signaled Tony to count. It was more difficult than with Rhodey, Steve will give her that, but in the end he was victorious.

She graciously admitted defeat. “Fair and square. Well, ignoring the super serum and the days you spend in the gym.” She disentangled the plastic tiara and placed it on Steve’s head. “I still get to set you up on a date cause it’s my birthday and you owe me for the thing in the place,” she told him.

He laughed and gave up trying to dissuade her. He’d just have to find a way out of this one as always. “You’d think there were no more people I can say no to,” he said jokingly.

“Oh, Steve. I’m only on J. We’ve got a long way to go,” she informed him.

Tony poured her another shot and drank his from the bottle. “I’ve got an updated list of Stark employees you can use. And Friday made a folder called Operation Date on the common server to simplify your mission,” he offered.

“Excellent,” Natasha said covering Steve’s groan.

The music changed to something more familiar to Steve; Bucky stopped by his side on his way to the dance floor. “Watch this,” he told them with a shit eating grin. He quickly grabbed Darcy and pulled her close. Steve groaned again.

“I swear to god, if we have a code green I’m getting the largest electromagnet in the tri-state area and I’m hanging him in Times Square,” Tony told them.

They kept an eye on Bruce as Darcy and Bucky eased into a swing dance. He had a small smile on, wiping at his glasses absentmindedly. Without the threat of a Hulk-out (and Steve was certain Bruce had more self-control than to lose his shit over this), it was actually amusing to watch. His eyes swept Darcy’s figure up and down as she moved, looking like he was trying to convince himself of something or the other. Steve grudgingly admired Bucky’s plan, but even if it worked out fine for everyone, he was still going to get punched in the non-metal shoulder for being a dick.

Once their dance was finished, Bucky put on a show of bending over Darcy’s hand and kissing it delicately. He offered his arm and led her to where their little group was gathered. Her fingers shot out towards Tony and she wiggled them in a silent plea for alcohol. Tony indulged her with a laugh.

“Well, that’s the most physical I’ve been in ages,” she told them after a quick succession of straight-from-the-bottle tequila shots.

“That’s because you keep skipping your damn training and I get bored of looking for you,” Natasha said casually. “I’m keeping track, by the way. You owe me twelve miles and four kickboxing sessions.” Darcy just grabbed the closest vodka bottle and started chugging. “And a hundred and fifty push-ups,” the redhead continued unfazed.

Bucky leaned into Darcy in a show of support. “Think how much ass you’ll kick,” he told her.

“Yeah, no, Lover Boy. There’s no motivating me, like, ever.”

“Lover –"

“It’s from a movie,” came the voice from behind them. Bruce was standing there casually, arms crossed over his chest, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

Steve remembered watching it late one night when he couldn’t sleep. “Isn’t it with the ghost guy?”

Tony snorted and offered Bruce a glass of bourbon. “Yeah, no,” he said, repeating Darcy’s words. “On the right track though, so props.”

Bruce took the drink and sipped it slowly. Steve felt like he was caught in some odd power play between people who had more of a life than he did. He poured a shot of tequila and downed it just to adhere to their standards. Tony poured him another one.

“Imagine betting on Rogers in a drinking competition. You’d make millions!”

“You already have millions,” Darcy told him with a laugh. She pulled away from Bucky and pat his cheek. “Thanks for the dance, Footloose. I better go find Jane before she has too much to drink and decides to strip.”

Bruce choked on his drink. “Dr Foster wouldn’t…?”

“Dr Foster definitely would,” Darcy told him. “College was a weird time. Don’t ever look up her arrest record.”

When she left them Tony was already on his phone. Bruce made a vague noise, gesturing wildly with his half empty glass. After several failed attempts at words, he nodded and followed her general direction. Once he was far enough, Steve turned and punched Bucky as he promised himself he would.

“Ouch, Rogers! I’m wounded!”

“You will be if you keep this up,” Steve replied. “You have no business with these nice people, leave them alone.”

Bucky grinned. “But it’s so much fun, Stevie! Besides she looked great, and who was I going to dance with? You? You have eight left feet. You’re like a clumsy spider whenever you even think of a dance floor.” Steve punched him again in the same spot, really hoping it would bruise, at least for a couple of minutes. “You know, when you were just a scrawny kid in Brooklyn and I fought all your fights –"

“I thought you couldn’t get drunk, Buck. What is this, memory lane? You always did this and I had to listen to you for hours. Hours, Buck.”

The former assassin had the cheek to look offended. “Just because you’d have died if you drank too much…”

Tony choked on tequila and turned his back to Natasha for help. She hit between his shoulder blades a couple of times. “Thank you,” he told her. “I feel I’m watching Grumpy Old Men on cable during a storm when there’s nothing else on.”

Steve was confused and was about to ask what he was on about when drumrolls flooded the large common room. Clint’s voice could be heard over the noise, belting out Happy Birthday horribly off-key. It was Natasha’s turn to groan. Steve felt almost vindicated.

Clint was carrying a huge tray of what looked like reasonably sized jell-o dicks. Steve wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but he had a Bad Feeling about it. Not like when a villain would pop out of nowhere before breakfast and coffee, but close.

“Loaded with vodka, just like you like them” Clint told Natasha. He deposited the tray on the edge of the coffee table, turning to the people sitting on the sofas. “Hurry up, make some room.” Natasha groaned again, louder than before. Steve put on his best patronizing smile and pat her shoulder.

They walked to where Clint was standing proudly admiring his work. Steve counted fifteen identical phalluses in various colours wobbling on the tray. He had a sudden urge to just go to bed. Maybe he was too old and his age was finally showing. He wasn’t certain he could still blush after the super serum, but it was a blushable situation. So, yeah, he had been in the army and they were all filthy and he wasn’t actually as much of a prude of people made him out to be. But it was still a blushable situation. There were things he couldn’t shake despite everything he’d seen. And jelly dicks on a tray was one of them, apparently.

“Clint, why?” Natasha’s voice gave away some annoyance, but mostly humour. So at least she liked it somewhat.

“Remember when I had that bartending thing in Vegas? Well, there were a shit-ton of bachelorette parties and this was popular with the ladies.” He shimmied a little and promptly burst into laughter.

“I’m assuming they weren’t chewing them in front of the strippers,” Sam said casually.

“Not until much later, no,” Clint replied. “Deepthroat competition!” he said and Steve wasn’t even sure who groaned the loudest.

Jane took a step forward, and Darcy’s hand shot out to catch her shoulder. She tried her best withering glance, but it seemed the good Dr. Foster had gone to the dark side. Steve was proud of his reference, even if he had yet to watch Star Wars. That was a new thing he’d started doing, where he privately googled popular references just so he wouldn’t be lost in conversation. He just hadn’t gotten around to watch everything he missed being frozen, and that made the cheating thought a bit less poignant. Jane nodded at Darcy, and Darcy shook her head, so Jane nodded louder, and Darcy just sighed and took a step forward too. Steve recognized it for what it was: solidarity. He’d done enough stupid shit for Bucky to know it intimately.

“What is this deepthroating?” Thor’s voice managed to boom even when he didn’t mean it to.

In the slightly tense (and also curious) atmosphere in the room, his question seemed to make everyone burst into laughter. The god’s confused expression almost made Steve take pity on him, but Pepper was quicker.

“It’s when you suck on – ah, how to – ” Her inability to not be helpful left her stranded halfway through her sentence not really knowing how to go on. “Tony?”The scientist lifted his hands in a clear sign of not-touching-this-one-it’s-hilarious-to-watch-you-struggle. Pepper looked around some more, her cheeks starting to redden.

Maria Hill of all people chose to lean forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Dick sucking, Thor.” She prodded a jelly dick with her finger and then looked up at the god. “But really deep.” The entire room burst into laughter again.

Thor’s face lit up and he brought his hands together as he did before a fist fight. “Ah! Of course, it makes sense now. So, a competition,” he said and Steve knew that look.

Jane giggled, Pepper touched her hand to Maria’s shoulder in a sign of gratitude, and Darcy released another long suffering sigh. Wanda stepped closer, looking like she wanted in. Pietro shuddered somewhere to his right, and said a quick “Wanda, no,” to his sister. She smiled viciously. Steve was certain he would never understand their dynamic, even though there was a part of him that envied the feeling of belonging in a symbiosis of that nature.

“Tony, remember when we –"

“Rhodey…”

“Tony…”

“Rhodey!”

“Tony!”

Natasha stepped forward and knelt by the end of the coffee table. She looked up at Tony with a smirk. “Well, it is my birthday…”

“For the love of god, we don’t even know if you were born or if you hatched from a large egg!” Tony exclaimed.

“Come on, Stark. It’s gonna be like that time we were stranded in Atlantic City. I remember you taking off your shirt and well, are we still banned there?”

“Rhodes, I made that disappear from your record, I can bring it back.”

Clint interrupted their little spat. “Okay, okay, enough. Show of hands if you wanna suck fake dicks for Natasha’s birthday. She’s obviously gonna do it so we might as well show some solidarity…”

Jane put both her hands up, Maria joined her with one. Darcy’s finger lift up. Thor put one of his hands up and the other snaked around Jane’s shoulders. Steve couldn’t even begin to think about their sex life. Mostly because it was wrong to give it that much thought, but also because he wouldn’t even know where to start. To his surprise, Bucky put his hand up.

“What?” he asked. “Remember Jacques bet me I couldn’t stick a bottle of beer down my throat? I won that one.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He didn’t actually remember. His best guess is he was agonizing in a corner about making Peggy like him. He tried not to choke on air when Tony’s hand went up following Rhodes’s. “You are going down. Literally,” he heard the scientist say. Pepper joined them as well, downing her entire champagne flute. Bruce ran his hand down his face.

“Captain?” he heard Sam ask him with a smirk.

“Oh, I’ll pass,” Steve said with a small smile. “The serum removed my gag reflex, it wouldn’t be fair.” He was happy to make his friends laugh, but he was still not going to slobber over some vodka filled jelly dicks. Even though he could. And he would probably win. Still wasn’t doing it.

After a brief rearranging, the contestants sat or kneeled around the table. Everyone moved out of the way, and Clint made sure to put some raunchy music on before getting in position. He dished out the jelly dicks on cake plates and got Vision to count to three. As soon as the word was said, they all bent their heads and went for it.

Steve took a moment to observe without looking like a pervert. Pietro had given up on his disappointment and was cheering on Wanda in typical supporting-my-twin-forever way. Wanda, for her part, kept her eyes down and opened her mouth wide to slide down on the thing. Vision seemed mildly amused by it. Steve wondered briefly how lust worked in his case, but the snort coming from Rhodey’s general direction stopped his thought. The man was trying his best not to choke on both the jelly dick and his laughter, leaning heavily into his palms on the table. Pepper wasn’t faring much better, pulling back and clutching at her chest to try and stop laughing.

Sam sat opposite Bucky, both of them staring at each other. Steve was trying to decide if it was flirting or competing, but he came up short. Fury sat on the side of an armchair, drinking whiskey from the bottle, probably lamenting how much money went into the Avengers Initiative. Steve couldn’t blame the man. His good eye was starting to lose focus, and Steve felt a slight pang of jealousy at the ability.

Thor and Jane were holding hands on the table, both of them trying to accommodate as much as possible down their throats. Jane seemed to be doing better, but it could have been the fact that she wasn’t smiling like an idiot. Thor… not so much. Darcy kept her eyes trained on Bruce. The scientist still had his small smile on, Steve was glad to see. Even if it looked vaguely pained, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, or how to lean on the sofa better. Darcy pulled back, smirked at him, actually had the audacity to wink, and wiped at the corner of her mouth before taking most of the thing down her throat. For the first time since their competition started, Steve felt some inkling of arousal.

The whole thing was arousing in a way he supposed, but these were people he would be giving coffee to the following day when their hangovers wanted to kill them. They were the people he lived with, worked with, went to die for, trusted, and cherished. And for some reason, watching them try to deepthroat wasn’t exactly touching yourself material. Especially when half of them were at various degrees of hysterics, abandoning their task altogether in favour of laughter. Darcy was… different because Darcy was putting on a show. And Steve was many things, but not made of stone.

For some, it was a bonding experience – see Jane and Thor. For others, it was an excellent story – see Rhodey and Pepper. For others, it was blatant flirting – see Darcy and Bruce (who was cocking his head to the side; and Steve was absolutely certain that Dr. Banner was the only person in the world to watch their love interest perform a lascivious sex act and find it adorable.)

Clint pulled back to cheer on Natasha who was still going strong in the middle of them all, golden bejewelled crown crooked on her head. Steve felt proud of her determination, and also slightly turned on by the way her lips held on to the jelly.

Fury clicked his tongue from Steve’s side and it spoke volumes about how distracted Steve actually was. “Aren’t you glad you’re their leader?”

Steve nodded. “Hey, if all else fails, at least they can suck dick.”

Fury snorted in his glass. “I’m wondering who Clint used for the mould.”

“I don’t think I –”  

Freight train.

Tony leaned on his elbows, bending the jelly dick so he could suck on it and also look straight ahead. His eyes seemed glued to Steve’s thighs. He figured, as a last desperate thought, that the scientist was staring at whatever was in front of him, and at the highest point he could without rolling his eyes. Steve wanted to ignore the way the man’s throat bulged as he relaxed it to accommodate the phallus. He really, really did. But he’d seen the Godfather, and there was a bit there where Michael gets hit by lightning when he falls in love and Steve had no idea why that was where his mind took him, but it damned felt like Thor unleashed his thunder god power right through his spine. Tony swallowed around the thing, and Steve would swear until the end of time that the bottle of tequila he didn’t realise he was holding most definitely didn’t shatter in his fist. He was utterly speechless. And would you look at that, he could blush.

There was a vague sound of Rhodey whooping and Natasha clapping and Bucky cursing softly and Darcy laughing and Clint patting Tony’s shoulder. It all registered in the back of his head, including the proud look Tony threw him, and Maria inviting them all to eat a bunch of dicks. Steve turned away and walked to a bottle of scotch, conversation with Fury forgotten.

He welcomed the relative quiet and solitude while he tried to command his thoughts to re-enter some sort of order. He went to run his hands through his hair and of course he’d forgotten and watched the man he was suddenly aware he was attracted to deepthroating a jell-o dick while wearing a plastic tiara. Because being frozen for seventy years wasn’t ridiculous enough. He uselessly drank some more.

The music had changed by now, and everyone swapped impressions about their competition while swaying to it. Or at least he thought they were, he didn’t care all that much. Tony was showing Natasha his throat, explaining something about it and Steve’s mind brought back the image of the bulge, and what it treacherously decided to paint as heat in Tony’s eyes. Steve really wanted to get drunk. And yes, it wasn’t his party, but he could cry if he wanted to.

Bruce sat next to him, and if Steve were to chose, the man was probably his safest bet. With his kind eyes and gentle demeanour, at least he wouldn’t get chewed for being less than subtle. Steve handed him the bottle and they shared it between them in companionable silence. When Bruce pulled a second one from seemingly nowhere, Steve nodded his thanks.

“At least I can get drunk,” Bruce offered, and Steve found himself laughing. It was useless to think people hadn’t noticed his reaction, but this, this he could deal with.

“Well, I’m not a quitter. At least there’s less for all of you to drink, and that makes me happy.”

“Vicious,” Bruce said. “Not your normal mood, but I like it.”

“She’s really into you,” Steve said, not really caring at this point. “You should ask her out –”

“Yeah, no,” he repeated her earlier words, and Steve couldn’t help but find it endearing. “I tend to kind of break things when I get out.”

“Then ask her in. At least some of us would be home, if it makes you feel better.” Steve drank some more. “Besides, she’s not the type to anger people. Unless you can Hulk out from laughing too much.”

Bruce snorted. “Never happened before. I don’t laugh much.”

“From someone who has absolutely no idea what they’re doing to someone who’s conflicted as all hell: just spend some time with her. She’s probably the second kindest person I’ve ever met.” Bruce was too polite to push. “After you, I mean. Bruce, she’d be good for you.”

The scientist turned to face him. “Okay, are you sure you can’t get drunk? Cause you’re saying some liquor-wise things right now, some of which are complete bullshit,” he laughed.

Steve joined him. “Trust me, you’d know if I were drunk.”

“Well, I’ve got a nice buzz to get me to sleep, so I’m gonna cherish it and maybe improve it.”

“Bruce –"

“Steve, don’t. We can sit here all night with me getting drunker by the minute, and you staying as sober as always, and I could be listing a thousand and one reasons why it wouldn’t work. And honestly, I’d rather have a drink with a kindred spirit and then go to bed.”

Steve was many things, but not made of stone, and not a quitter. And focusing on someone else took his mind off his own shitty thoughts. Steve was many things, and even maybe a bit selfish. “So she’s younger than you.”

Bruce nodded vehemently. “Exactly! A whole life ahead of her!”

“So choosing for her is the way to go?”

There was a pause. “Well, no. But I’m making a conscious decision to not get her caught in this even if she thinks it’s what she wants.”

“So you’re choosing for her.”

“And she’s way out of my league!”

“Right.”

“And she’s funny and kind and perky and I’m not.”

“Okay…”

“And I can’t offer her stability or a family.” Bruce drank, passed the bottle to Steve, waited, took it back, and drank some more. “Or going out clubbing!”

“Of course.”

“Stop agreeing with everything I’m saying, Steve. It’s a low tactic.”

“Absolutely.”

“And she –"

“She’s beautiful,” Steve interrupted.

“So beautiful,” Bruce agreed with shining eyes. “She has this small smile on sometimes and a frown on her left side when something doesn’t make sense. And her face lights up when she talks about something she’s interested in.”

“Mhm.”

“And she knows I prefer almond milk and makes sure to add it to all the cups of coffee she brings me.” Bruce sighed. “And in the afternoon she makes my tea for me and brings me food sometimes when she knows I’ve been to busy and forgot to eat.”

“And of course, you do nothing similar for her,” Steve told him casually. He knew the only reason Bruce was so talkative was a lethal combination of misery and alcohol.

“Well, there was that exhibit I recommended. And I save her dinner every now and then.” Bruce sighed again. “I put away all the mugs in the labs so she doesn’t have to.” There was a long pause before the scientist spoke again. For a while, Steve thought he’d fallen asleep. “Oh, I also named a star after her. I mean she’s never going to know, but it’s just one of those things –"

There was some reward in staying sober when no one else did. Steve was certain to remember the moment Darcy Lewis stepped on the steel ledge at the bottom of the bar, leaned over the tall structure, gripped Bruce’s shirt, and pulled him for a kiss. And Steve was lonely and kind of miserable so he watched them because the warmth in his chest was beautiful, and it was so much better than the loudness in his head.

When she pulled back, Bruce was dazed and very confused. He managed a weak “What?”

“I stood and listened to you go on and on about this and that and maybe I’d have walked away and processed everything and then come up with a plan. But then you mentioned the fucking star, and I swear to god Banner, you’re the worst!” Darcy told him in one breath. She looked at Steve and grabbed the bottle out of his hands with a quiet “thanks,” then poured a glass and downed it.

“I… am?” Bruce asked uncertain.

“Yes! I spent the last six months of my life trying to find a way to be close to you, and you go and do some dumb shit that I can’t even begin to understand.” She turned to Steve. “Like, how do you even name a star after someone?” Steve shrugged helplessly.

“Darcy…”

“Don’t you Darcy me! With your stupid curly hair and your glasses,” she took a deep breath when Bruce unconsciously pushed them back up on his nose, “and your rolled up sleeves, and your kindness, and your smiles! Acting like you can decide what’s best for me.” Bruce had the decency to flinch at her accusation, his face flushed at her aggressive compliments.

“I just don’t think…” he started.

“That’s the thing. For someone so fucking smart, you’re being an idiot.” She turned to Steve. “Now, you. Both this dummy and myself and kinda drunk and I need you to bear witness to all this for when he’s trying to deny it all in typical fashion.” Steve nodded solemnly, trying to hold his laughter in. Everything was surreal. His entire life was a joke. “Now, you’re gonna get up,” she said, pulling at Bruce’s hand, “and walk with me over to that massive armchair. I’m gonna climb in your lap and you’re gonna tell me every reason you have for not wanting me –"

“But I do!”

Darcy was unfazed. “And I’m gonna counter-argue with my vast debate skills – what?”

Bruce sighed and walked around the bar. He rubbed his face with both his hands and pulled Darcy in a hug. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

Steve really wanted to get drunk before he punched someone for being stubborn and impossible. Bruce. Before he punched Bruce and got him to Hulk out and Steve was going to stop that train of thought right there. Trains. God damn it.

“So…?”

“So I think you can do better and I’d rather not waste your time,” he finally admitted defeatedly.

“I swear to god,” Darcy said and lifted her head to kiss Bruce again. The warmth in Steve’s chest was back, and maybe he wasn’t dead inside yet. She broke their kiss again, and stayed glued to Bruce’s side as she walked them away. “Thanks, Steve, you’re the best!” she said loudly, and Steve wanted to duck. Everyone who heard her turned to look at him.

Trying to at least look normal, Steve lifted his hand to salute them and touched plastic. He forgot about the tiara again. No, seriously. His life was a joke. He gave up completely and just let his head fall forward on his forearms. The metal on his back made it clear who it was that came to comfort or confront him – he had no idea.

“So, Stevie. Should I get Stark to dance with me as well? It seems to be working tonight,” he said and Steve could hear the smugness in his voice.

He lifted his head to look his oldest, best friend in the eyes. “Fuck off, Buck.”

Next part

Masterlist

This can also be found on Ao3.

Send me opinions and thoughts and random things, ily all x

[beanplague-moved]

my @aphsecretsanta gift for @reyeslala! happy slightly belated holidays, i’m not sure I captured the best of them here—i have a kind of particular characterization of bela and i’ve never written spain extensively until this project, but i had a lot of fun. i kinda pictured him as a very fumbling romantic.

all that aside, i really hope you enjoy it! i tried to touch on all the prompts without being heavyhanded, and there’s unrequited lietbel in there for the sake of a sort of compare/contrast thing.

read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198962

There’s some kid sitting at Natalya’s bus stop. She tries not to pay him any mind, but he’s just so happy. It’s incredibly distressing.

Natalya has been taking this same bus to work almost every day for the last five years or so, and she has never encountered this unfamiliar entity. He sits at the other end of the bench, humming contentedly—probably to some music playing over his headphones, it sounds far too cheery for Natalya’s taste—as he waits for the bus.

Natalya tries not to pay him any mind. He probably won’t be here tomorrow, anyway.

He’s there tomorrow. And the day after that.

He’s becoming quite the regular to public transport, and Natalya would usually assume that two or three days of taking the bus and likely the subway would chase away any semblance of joy related to the experience. Yet still, he keeps on smiling when sitting at the stop.

He waves at Natalya when she arrives at the stop today, and she raises her eyebrows at him.

She takes a good look at this kid. He’s relatively normal looking. He doesn’t seem to be a rampant serial killer, though Natalya isn’t known for her ability to read others.

(That might be evidenced by the fact that she believes one must be a serial killer to enjoy riding the bus, or wave to strangers.)

He isn’t bad looking—he’s kind of cute, in an objective sense. Natalya thinks he’s a bit too handsome for her taste. All her partners in the past have had pretty obvious flaws, which Natalya appreciated. This guy seems a bit too unreal for her. Sun-kissed skin and messy but not too messy hair. He’s like someone lifted directly from a magazine her sister might’ve read when they were younger.

He wears an apron, so Natalya assumes he’s heading to a workplace of some kind. Probably a Starbucks or something. He’s been wearing the same headphones since his first day at the bus stop.

Natalya figures he’s a new regular, and pays him no mind. If he wants to be disproportionately happy with public transportation, who is she to stop him?

He says, “hi!” when Natalya passes him on an early morning. It isn’t the best decision he could’ve made. Natalya has barely slept for the past few days.

There’s this meeting coming up, and Natalya’s boss—who she would usually describe as, “an American asshole who’s never known hardship a day in his life,” but for the sake of her sanity, she refers to as Mr. Jones—says she’s up for a promotion. So all this weekend she’s been preparing for this meeting, and she’s going to be preparing for it until the day it comes around, because like hell is she going to be here, riding the bus to work everyday, only so she can sit in a cubicle and file everyone else’s cases.

So yeah, she’s a bit on edge today, and she glares at the new bus regular. He looks confused—like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong, which, yeah, is to be expected—and then quickly tilts his head curiously at Natalya.

She keeps her chin up and ignores him. There’s no point in caring about how a stranger might perceive her. Hell, Natalya barely cares about how people she knows and talks to regularly perceive her.

Natalya looks like shit, and she realizes it as soon as she gets home and looks in the mirror. Her eyes are sunken and tired-looking. Her hair is a mess.

She has a face that was often described as delicate when she was younger. Fair-skinned and free of blemishes. Long, shining blonde hair and simple, thin features. Nowadays she does little to keep up that image. Fuck that, she’d rather be this than continue that reputation of some angelic, perfectly kept young lady.

It is better to be unbroken than it is to be fragile. It is better to be rough around the edges and clearly visible than it is to be blurry, hard to comprehend. And she’d do anything nowadays to prevent that softness from creeping into her.

Her hardness is an immunity to the outside world and its effects. If there is one chink in her armor, it flies by unnoticed, because the world can’t attack Natalya. No one can.

It’s best, that way.

That same guy who’s been riding her bus everyday stands up when Natalya approaches the stop, and honest to God, he bows.

He bows, and holds out a hand to her. Natalya raises an eyebrow. She’s almost entirely sure that they’re at a bus stop in Queens, not some kind of renaissance faire where it's commonly accepted that one bows to those they’ve wronged.

She should be clear, it’s not a full on bow. He doesn’t bend at the waist and declare his subservience. Nor does he fall to the knee at the sight of her. He simply lowers himself a bit and holds out a hand.

“I, uh,” He laughs, “I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to do this. I’m sorry?” He tries, and he keeps talking, “I said hi to you when you came to the stop the other day, but you kind of glared at me, and that got me thinking, is it not protocol to say hi to people here? And then I started overthinking and I wanted to apologize, if you’d let me.”

Natalya is a little bit shorter than him. She glances at his green apron to see that his name tag says Antonio C. She glances back up at his hopeful eyes, and denying his apology now would be kind of a cheap shot, like kicking a sick puppy or something.

She shrugs, “It doesn’t matter,” She says, “I’ve been having a bad week, you’re a stranger. Seemed an easy solution.” She speaks in the same level tone that she always does.

“Ah, okay,” He seems sort of relieved, still sort of confused, “thank you, miss…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She repeats.

“Miss It Doesn’t Matter, then,” He smiles, and Natalya isn’t the best at reading people, but he sounds amused, “I’m looking forward to riding the same bus with you.”

“You shouldn't be.” She says, deadpan. “I’m not.”

It’s quiet from then on, but the silence is less confrontational. Maybe that’s an improvement.

At work, there’s this guy. He likes Natalya, and it’s all very sweet aside from the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to feign interest in him.

Toris is nice—far too nice, in Natalya’s opinion. One really should use discretion with those they are kind to—and he isn’t bad looking. Quite the opposite, but he isn’t Natalya’s type. Not even Natalya really knows what “Natalya’s type” is.

He stutters when he talks to her and smiles when he thinks of her, and it’s nice. It’s nice to be liked by someone, she can admit that much, but aside from the ego-boost, it does little for her. She avoids him, most of the time.

“Ms. Arlovskaya,” He refers to her, and he goes pink in the face when she looks at him, “I have some cases you should look over.”

“Toris,” She returns, and he hands her the files, and it’s over. Natalya thinks little of the interaction, because she thinks little of Toris.

Antonio thinks of Natalya as a friend, or so it seems. He smiles when he sees her and he exudes this warmth that just gets warmer when she’s nearby. She thinks, maybe, in a way, he might like her. More than other people do, anyway. It feels good, being liked by Antonio. It makes her question what “her type” might be.

“Miss It Doesn’t Matter,” Antonio greets her at the bus stop. It’s a Friday, today, and he’s been greeting her like this all week, “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Did you hear something?” She says to no one, “I swear, there’s something insignificant flying near my ears, making noises,” She pauses dramatically, and there’s this primal amusement that’s hard to suppress, “Oh, it’s just you.” She turns to Antonio.

“Very funny,” He smiles, and she thinks he means it. It’s kind of weird, how genuine he is. Natalya can’t imagine being so happy in public, but she is smiling a bit when she talks to him.

The non-confrontational silence is getting very friendly as of late, and Natalya thinks more about it. She’s been thinking a lot more about Antonio, lately.

Natalya’s sister wants to visit. Natalya’s boss wants her to do some overtime shifts. Natalya’s brother wants her to come home for the holidays. Natalya’s friends—if she had any—would probably want to steal her time if they could.

Natalya takes her boss’s offer. It’s the best decision, if she wants that promotion.

Antonio thinks Natalya looks very unhappy lately.

“You seem very independent. Are you a scorpio?” He asks, and Natalya raises an eyebrow. Their bus is late. “I’m an aquarius.”

“A virgo, actually.” She says, and she doubts he’d expect her to be superstitious. Still, she researches the signs, and so she asks, “I don’t see much of an aquarius in you.”

He looks surprised, and then a smile creeps onto his face and he scratches the back of his neck. “Well, you’d have to get to know me better.”

Natalya might like to get to know him better. Maybe.

It rains during her overtime shift, and it’s all very depressing, watching the rain hit the windows as it slowly gets darker, but she always packs an umbrella. She’ll be fine, if a little less motivated.

By the time she clocks out, it’s absolutely pouring outside. She catches the bus without a drop of rainwater on her. Her heavy utility umbrella is good for something, at least.

When she gets to her bus stop—the one she catches in the mornings and gets off at in the evening—she’s surprised to see Antonio there, shivering on the bench. He’s soaking wet.

He looks up at her, before smiling that stupid smile. “You might not believe it, but I didn’t actually know it was going to rain today.”

“I believe it.” Natalya says, holding her umbrella over her. It’s black, and it’s made for the rainiest of days. It kind of looks like she’s heading to a funeral, honestly.

He scratches the back of his neck and coughs, “I thought it’d be better to wait here so I could get dry before trying to walk back and get more, you know, soaked.”

“I see,” Natalya says, and that’s kind of the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. It’s cold out here. He’s certainly going to get a cold. “And how’s that working out?”

“Bad,” He’s still laughing. He’s so happy, all the time. It’s like it’s effortless for him, and Natalya has a lot of feelings geared towards that particular facet of his personality. They’re all very confusing emotions, most of the time.

(And when they aren’t confusing, they’re crystal clear. Envy and anger and frustration, but also a sort of hope that she’ll catch it from him one day.)

And Natalya analyzes the situation, and she’s completely dry save for her shoes, which are touching the wet pavement and are therefore getting wetter by the minute. Usually she’d hurry to her apartment to lessen the damage, but instead she contemplates her actions before handing him her umbrella.

“Pay it forward,” She says, and he looks up at her like she’s doing something very generous and very stupid. She agrees. “I’ll be fine.” He takes the umbrella silently, nodding at her.

She walks home in the pouring rain. It’s cold and annoying and she feels awful, but there’s something warm and unidentifiable in her chest that has grown slowly since she gave him the umbrella.

Whatever. She takes a hot shower and goes to bed in dry clothes. Sleep-wise, it’s one of the best nights she’s had in ages.

The morning greets Natalya with a particularly powerful case of the sniffles. Antonio greets her with the umbrella and a bouquet of flowers.

“I thought repayment might be in order,” He smiles, and there must be some dial inside of him that allows him to turn up the charm on a whim. Natalya certainly feels the effects of it. “Thank you, you did me a favor, Miss It Doesn’t Matter.”

“Natalya.” She says, and he tilts his head, “My name. It’s Natalya. You’ve been calling me by that nickname the whole time.”

“Natalya,” He says, testing the sounds in his mouth. “It suits you. I love it. Are you sick?”

A lot to take in there. Natalya focuses on the last one, “It’s only the sniffles, it’s fine.” She says, and he places the flowers and the umbrella on the bench.

“Can I take your hand? This works best if I get to hold your hand,” He says, and it’s kind of adorably kind that he asked, so Natalya says yes. He takes her hand, “You got sick on my behalf! I demand that I be able to right this past wrong, and take you out to lunch, if that’s okay.” He adds if that’s okay, and Natalya likes Antonio.

She likes that he makes her smile. She likes that silence with him is no longer confrontational. She likes that he respects her boundaries in every regard.

“Okay.” She says, and she doesn’t smile, but she hopes he can tell. He adds his number to his phone and saves himself as Antonio Fernandez Carriedo with a heart at the end.

She goes to the meeting and presents perfectly, and it’s boring as hell and it’s long as hell but at the end of it Mr. Jones announces that she’s due for a promotion, and Natalya takes that time to ask if she can get an extra hour added to her lunch.

Mr. Jones—Alfred, he tells her. He’d like it if she’d consider him a friend, but Natalya never could—is surprised. Natallya has never expressed a desire for added benefits, but he’s more than happy to give her this one. He tells her that, if she wants, she can be free for the day.

She texts Antonio to tell him she’s free for the rest of the day. He sends something back that is full of emojis and happy emoticons. He tells her to meet him at the bus stop.

She walks with little urgency, he arrives out of breath, like he ran to get there.

“I ran to get here,” He says, “I convinced my boss to let me out of there so I could hang out with a beautiful woman, and maybe get lunch.”

“You lied to your boss?” Natalya raises an eyebrow.

He grins, “Hardly.”

Lunch is nice, Antonio makes it better. Natalya isn’t in love with him or anything, but snow falls outside of the restaurant windows and Antonio makes a comment about the weather being all over the place lately and she wants to laugh even though it isn’t funny at all. He makes it funny, what with all his softness and all his happiness.

She thinks, in her heart of hearts, that she may have caught some of it.

[sweetwriting]

Kon has always been the mom

Category : Gen

Genre : Angst/Fluff

Fandoms : DC Comics, Teen Titans v3 (2003)

Prompt : Tim and Kon acting as Bart’s parents

Summary : Tim seems really down, Bart wants to cheer him up but it doesn't go as planned. As always, Kon is very perceptive and has actually started to mature enough to somewhat understand what's going on, kind of.

Author’s notes : I tag this as TimKon but you’ll only find it if you squint very hard. It’s more like pre-slash I guess. This happens right avec Stephanie Brown and Jack Drake’s deaths

Word Count : 1941

You can find it on AO3

_______________________________________________________________

 Bart was bored. Like really, really bored.

  He had finished both his and Superboy's homework and Conner hadn't even deigned do anything than stare at Cassie's....pretty eyes (yeah right, like Bart would believe that).   He had read a lot in the past couple of hours (which actually seemed like days to him, but hey, a speedster has to adapt his internal clock to the outside world) but he needed a change of pace....and human interactions. Sadly, because of the mission they had finished earlier, almost everyone had fallen asleep while he was busy reading a strangely interesting collection of Art History books (more specifically, animal deities and humans represented as animals (deities) between ~ 4000 BC and ~600 AD... There was some really weird stuff in there and there was an actual Scorpion King even if the Return of the Mummy didn't get anything other than the name right, on that note the anime watcher in him laughed endlessly -well for him- at the fact that Egypt also had had an actual Prince Baka).

  So there was nothing to do besides, maybe, bothering Tim…Who might actually need it. The other/new/girl (?) Robin had disappeared during the week and he's not an idiot (he also knows how Tim became Robin in the first place even if not in details), since Spoiler/Girl!Robin hasn't reappeared (he actually checked, he has spent a lot of time with Tim after all) and there's no new vigilante in Gotham so chances are she's either hurt or undercover somewhere (or dead but he'd rather not think about that)? In any case, Tim probably needs some cheering up (though if he's honest with himself, they all do. Tim's just a bigger case to work on).

  But what to do? The last time he tried to cheer up one of his teammates had been when Kon had lost his powers back in their Young Justice days. He couldn't do it yet these days had been a lot more happy (though when he thought about it back then Kon hadn't just lost his powers but also Tana and while thinking about how a newborn/16 years old Kon was in a relationship with a clearly adult woman now felt slightly creepy, there was no denying that she had been really important to him, just like Rob might have to deal with something having happened to his (ex?) girlfriend)...Ah…Considering how his cheering Kon up had turned out he was probably not gonna be able to get Tim's head out of his ass (also he might get killed). After all it had ended up pretty badly.

  Then again if there's someone who can cheer Tim up it's Bart! (Well, actually, it might be Conner but while he probably noticed Tim wasn't at his best, he's been trying to give Tim some space and not force him to talk too much. Bart knows because Conner had asked him to help in distracting him from confronting Rob…And Conner had little patience and there was Cassie and…Huh…now that he thinks about it maybe there's a link there…Anyway Conner may not be as intelligent as Tim or himself (well he kinda is…just…in a very different way) but that's because he's more of an intuition kind of person. But while he's getting better at using it efficiently, while he realizes something is wrong he doesn't always know what is.

  So…What to do? What to do? Get Tim mad at him? Probably not a good idea (even if there's like a 90% chance that's how it'll end up…That and a lecture…After all Conner has been a master at annoying Tim since their first meeting and he taught Bart well).

  Maybe ask him to work on something together?  But what ? After All, while Tim's widely more intelligent than he is, Bart 's still sufficiently intelligent (more than that to be honest) to not need help (or to have already asked if he did)…Plus while Tim might have understood his explanation building stuff's not really his thing (though he could have proposed ideas to make it better…maybe) so it probably wouldn't have worked anyway.

  So yeah…he's kinda stumped.

  Or maybe if he's …? Yep quick check and Conner's still ogling Cassie (Bart still thinks it's a little weird that, like, half of the time Conner gives his attention to Cassie it's (in)directly related to Tim but this thought has little chances of being well receive….by anyone so, like most of his thoughts on the matter of his friends' (sorta) relationships, he's gonna try to forget about it). So yeah, Conner's not gonna be of any help.

  Tim was starting to get a headache, a Bache, a Bart-Induced headache. They were a special kind that had developed after months of hanging out with Bart on a regular basis. And for the past five minutes Bart has been passing through the room while stopping behind the armchair Tim is slumped in for a second and then disappearing, only to come back every few second and doing the same again and again and again.

  And Tim, well, he can't say he was actually working on his laptop unless you count staring at it blankly working. Steph was dead and so was his dad.  He hadn't been able to help them, much less save them. Hell in his father's case he had been at least partially responsible. They were…. And Dana was…she was…not well and she hadn't adopted him anyway so it's not like he could have gone with her even if she hadn't…And he had until the end of the week-end to find a solution to his situation.  And why oh why does Bart keep on doing that? It's distracting and Tim doesn't have the time to deal with it! So if he wants Tim to know about something that badly he should just come out and say it :

"OH MY GOD BART! Just stay still and tell me why you're bothering me!" he said, raising his voice in annoyance.

  At which point he looked up, at Bart's face. Bart who was trying and failing to hide his crushed face (because while he had gotten better at hiding his emotions, he was still Bart and face it, anyone who had known Impulse!Bart couldn't be fooled by his newly acquired -and far from mastered- skills). And okay, maybe Bart had been right not to engage him.  Also Bart was gone now and if he tried to look for him on the feed from his laptop…and found him, intercepted by Conner, who's hugging him…and looks mad…Yeah he probably deserves what's coming.

"TIM!"

  Yep, there stands Superboy, in all his (furious) glory, hands on the hips. Shoulders bending his upper body slightly toward Tim, towering over him, his frowny face promising a big lecture. Kon really was the mom, he hadn't been joking when he had first said that…Well okay he kind of was joking but he was also partly serious.  It wasn't often that Conner had the moral high ground over him. It used to be because of his immaturity but since the last Bedlam debacle (and that awful war) -when Steph had been Robin and Harm hadn't killed Greta and Kon was an adorably puny nerd and Steph *was Robin* (to be fair he had also been puny but a lot less than Kon- it had been because they were on a more equal standing and actually communicated so there wasn't any high ground to have.   But Tim had obviously upset Bart and he should know better because if the roles had been reversed he'd be planning Conner's destruction (OK, maybe not, but he'd plan a very humiliating revenge plot…Maybe).

"Look. I don't know what's going on but it doesn't give you the right to treat others" Bart "Like they're nothing!" Kon yells.  Direct as always, he's actually going easy on Tim. Probably because they both know Conner has just kickstarted Tim's internal lecture system.

"Tim…" he started again, more gently this time, only to be interrupted:

"I know. I realized as soon as I said it, ok. I wanted to apologize immediately but between Bart's speed and yours I didn't have the time."

  Now he just needed to find Bart…and get out of the protective arms of the corner he had chosen to make his nest at.  He could feel Conner looking at him, frown still in place but anger replaced with worry. And damn he didn't want that. Conner was his best friend but he didn't want to burden him just because he had trouble dealing with death. He also couldn't hurt Bart because of it.   So he ignored Conner the best he could while trying to look for Bart (again) on the feed of his computer. Conner just sighed and went to find Bart who had luckily just come back from a run (where? Somewhere Max Mercury related probably and wasn't that a whole can of worms in itself?) and looked calmer, if still wary, when Conner escorted him protectively to the living room where Tim was still hiding.  He quickly got up and ran to Bart, stopping a few centimeters from him, hands hesitating before falling solidly on the younger boy's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry Bart, I just. I'm not…Some things happened and, well I took it on you and I shouldn't have. I'm really sorry."  This was the most heartfelt Tim had been in a while and he was almost proud of it.

  Whether Bart had decided to forgive him before his apology or his speedster brain weighed the pros and cons of accepting his apology right after (or Bart decided to forgive him on the spur of the moment), he ended up jumping into Tim's arms for less than a second (Tim barely felt the hug but he wanted more of it) and gave Tim a small smile. All was forgiven and they started moving toward the couch. Conner was still frowning slightly but he smiled back at them only a few moments later (as if to make sure there was no issue left between them) before joining them on the couch, on Bart.

"You are so the mom".

  Oops. Tim had apparently slipped up. Bart looked surprised and speechless (they had the "argument" because Bart had just sped off after all), but then a sly smile made its appearance on his face.

"Hey you're right! Conner's totally the mom!". He shouted excitedly.

  Conner, whose cheeks had started to redden and was glaring dagger at Tim, became redder and started glaring at Bart too so that Bart felt the need to defend himself:

"C'mon Conner you're like the nurturer and protector! That's totally what moms are!"

  Tim smiled slightly as he started to list the "nurturing" types of behaviors Conner had shown to corroborate Bart's statement while Bart looked at them, happy to have distracter Tim (even slightly) and he started falling asleep, listening to his best friends' bickering, smiling slightly more when he felt Conner lifting him up (with his famous TTK, luckily Tim must have glared at him because Conner stopped before he even began talking about it) and to his room where he deposited him on his bed, took off his boots and pulled the covers over his body while Tim joined them and they both messed with Bart's hair, patted him on the head and temples before turning his light off and closing the door, leaving him to a few hours of blissful sleep.

_______________________________________________________________

Author’s note part 2 : I hope I did Bart justice. Because of his Speed and unique growth he acts more like an hyperactive child than any other speedster has, but at the same time he has started gaining on maturity by that point in time (also I'm mad that they made him go darker instead of trying to simply keep on making him mature bit by bit), plus Bart is one of the most intelligent characters of this generation so I wanted to be able to show both. That's why I tried to write him in a way that shows a speed of thoughts where it can seem kinda jumbled because he makes a lot of connections.As for Tim, he's a special blender of PTSD and Depression (canonically), and most likely Anxiety, Boarding School Syndrom and, as of his father's death, survivor's guilt (granted it was viable until Kon's death) and all other secondary effect of having your parents leave you for unknown periods of times like lack of empathy and 0 Self-Esteem. (and probably Borderline Personality Disorder, but I'm not completely sure about that one...It'd fit though). So with this plus his recent grief and Tim usually being fairly prone to irritation and anger, I tried to make it realistic without being too aggressive.Finally Kon is a very nurturing person if an arrogant one *cough*over compensation because few people wanted him and those who did left/died*cough*. Kon is a very perceptive character but due to his relative youth he doesn't know how to interpret his perceptions, it's something I wish had been explored more, but anyway. Kon is a very loving and nurturing person and by the beginning of Teen Titans he had started really assuming this role especially toward Tim and Bart. And here he's worried about Bart of course, but he also knows how repressed Tim is and if he lashed out, especially at Bart then it means something's wrong (but he's willing to give Tim a bit of space for Tim to talk to him on his own...he doesn't have that big of a patience and Tim can be very stubborn though so he might want to ask him later ? But then canon catches up to them and Tim's forced to talk about his father (and not Steph because ? ).

Also the stuff on Egypt 100% true. There was an actual Prince Baka (that’s how I learned at least half of the Ancient Egypt Speciality of the Ecole du Louvre of the 2011-2012 years was made of weeaboos)

[capricornus-rex]

“The Taste of Lead” - Shokugeki no Soma oneshot

Summary:  Immune to the brainwashing methods of Nakiri Azami, Yukihira Soma and his notorious group of rebels take up arms against the tyrannic father of the God Tongue wielder.

Also on AO3 | Tags & TWs: assassination, death, oneshot, murder, AU

Author’s note: There was literally no works about this kind in AO3, so I thought it’d be fun to write about it just to keep myself from getting rusty in writing. There’s this profound hatred for Azami within me and I would be greatly satisfied to bring him that sweet, sweet release.

The air is tense and stiff. Azami Nakiri towers over Yukihira Soma—whose calm stature does not falter under the dead-as-night stare of Erina’s father—while grinding his teeth in a madness.

“Say, Nakamura-senpai, my best suggestion is to relax while you still can. You seem to be on edge.” Yukihira said mockingly in the guise of a friendly suggestion.

“And I suppose you have something—some dirty diner trick—you got under your sleeve, eh?”

Yukihira smirked, “Better than that. You’re going to die, Azami Nakiri.”

The director was taken aback, his eyes widened, and undoubtedly his heart skipped a beat at such a threat. But then his mind regained its own composure and brushed it off as an empty threat. Him, a high school student? Murder me? I have no time for jokes, Yukihira! He thought violently.

Azami boomed out laughing, assuming that it was all a joke, but deep inside he was afraid and Yukihira sensed it. With that, he was satisfied enough, so he turned around, waved goodbye while making his way to the door, but before he could actually exit the room he was stopped by Azami’s warning.

“Make use of that confidence well, Yukihira, because I’m going to rob every last bit of spirit that you have in that shrimpy body of yours.”

I think not, Nakamura-senpai. Yukihira thought as he finally exited the room.

And now he has the looming threat on his shoulders, weighing him down more than ever.

 They have had enough.

And now they will strike back.

There is never a more perfect time to start a war than now.

They were tired of everything—his injustice, the corruption and cheating, their powerlessness, and being easily robbed of everything they loved and worked so hard on. So, they came up with a revolution albeit small, however, their advantage was the rebellion being silent. Azami would think that this revolution is still one with cooking, he doesn’t know it was a rebellion of guns and steel. They have to take down the false king and his disciples.

Fighting it fair is not enough, they have to do it his way. They have to play it dirty now and they’re ready for everything—even if it meant having blood in their hands, but the only blood that they must spill is that of Azami and the remnants of what has become the Elite Ten: Central. Yukihira and the rest of his friends have geared up in the Polar Star Dormitory; in their free time, they made rudimentary, makeshift weapons out of whatever materials they can find in the vicinity of the dorm—metal rods, rusted pipes, sharp tools, and what have you—they were not playing around anymore.

“Alright,” Yukihira coolly sighed, but there was a heavy air around him as he gathered them, “Time to work on the route.”

“Do you think they will suspect and tighten security?” Takumi Aldini hypothesized.

“There are two possibilities. First, he will shrug this off and not take it seriously—which is actually good because we have no interventions to worry about.” Zenji answered.

“And the second?” Mito cuts.

“That’s the challenging one: he will actually take it seriously, he’ll have a number of guards to protect him and to scout the building so that no one will get through to him.”

While both were most likely to happen, depending on how much Azami knows—given his spies that could be lurking in the woods around the dorm—but they have no time to worry about anything, they just have to go all out.

“Well, we can always presume he’ll do both possibilities.” Yukihira proposed.

Majority didn’t think he was wrong. Azami is all-powerful, he has everything and everyone wrapped in his finger, well, at least for now.

 They were set to take action two days from today, by then, they will scout and then map out the way to Azami’s office and assume where the security and those of Central could possibly be walking around; at the same time, they also have to come up with backup plans and routes in case it fails. They must succeed.

Azami spent a considerable amount of time alone in his office, no secretaries or assistants, nothing. He sat idly in his seat, staring through the glass of his window—contemplating whether or not Yukihira meant of killing him. Why should he be afraid of a teenager—with a death threat, no less? He has encountered several death threats from the brave souls who would dare challenge him—but many of them have been felled by Azami’s hand, so why should he be scared?

He laughed it off and leaned back his seat. Nothing but an empty threat. Teenagers are incapable of doing such criminalities.

Apparently, he was wrong. He has underestimated them until the bitter end.

But perhaps, that would be the rebels’ best advantage. They may have it easier when it comes to entering Totsuki—there will be fewer to no hurdles in their way. They biggest hurdles would be the Central members.

The next day, everything seems to be normal, except the fact that there is tension among the Central members and the rebels. Yukihira, Mito, and Megumi were walking together to their next class until they were stopped by Rindo, who speaks as if she is ultimately unaffected by the tension that Yukihira was cast upon everyone on both sides. She jumped in and erratically waved at them.

“Yooooo, Yukihira! You never fail to surprise everyone, dontcha?!”

Megumi for once did not go all jumpy on this reaction, she expected it—she expected that one or two of the Central’s members would pick up the little stunt that Yukihira pulled in front of Azami. There is no doubt that the first one to pick it up would be Eishi and he would open it up to the rest.

“Word travels fast among the corrupted, it seems.” Mito sniggers.

Rindo played that game, “Ah, come on now, Mito-chan, no need to be so mean around me. To be honest, I think it’s sounds exciting, that little old plan of yours. I look forward to being part of the action!”

“You literally are part of the action—I can finally introduce my butcher’s knife to that smooth, pretty face of yours.”

Rindo did not like the threat not one bit, Mito even stole Rindo’s smug smirk, and the Central member was quick enough to catch up.

“Well, let’s see if you will even get past us Central.” She said with a fiery spark in her cat-like eyes.

“I look forward to it, Rindo-senpai.” Yukihira bluntly said, walking past Rindo with his friends and went to class.

The Central knowing about Yukihira’s threat against Nakiri was the least of their problems, Yukihira was more concerned about his approach to Nakiri—will he go subtle or blunt? He can only imagine how Nakiri told them and how Eishi told them about it. Regardless, they have to prepare for the worst. They cannot be complacent, now that it’s finally tomorrow.

 Morning. The time has come.

The sound of steel disturbed the peace in the dormitory. It is the sound of knives being filed and sharpened, the clinking sounds of bullet shells hitting against each other as they’re laid out on the table before being loaded into a magazine, and the iron-clad will of the rebels to eradicate the tyranny that plagued and terrorized the school rung around the confinements of the building.

They made one more review of the plan courtesy of Zenji, he reminded each and every one’s designated locations and when they will strike. Of course, the less likely to draw attention went first as a decoy and a diversion, Daigo and Shoji are the perfect distraction so they will come into the picture, by that time that Yukihara and his company may come in with less problems along the way.

Once everything was clear for everyone, they are ready.

 As they were preparing, Erina has been noticeably quiet and shaky, she didn’t have a firm grip on anything she touches.

“Hey, Nakiri-san, you really sure about this?” Yukihira confirmed.

She snapped out of her anxious trance, “H-Huh? Oh yeah…”

“Are you really sure? You can always put yourself in the back of the line until you think that you can do it.”

“N-No! I can do it, honest. I just… now that today’s the day, I can’t fathom the idea that I’ll go against my father.”

“Hey, you’re doing to save the school, right?” he consoled, “Then I suppose that it’s the right thing, given the circumstances. Sure, it’s the worst possible solution, but… Nakiri-san, what other choice do we have to retaliate? Everything that we have tried by playing it clean is nothing because of your father. Well then, I say we have to play the game the way he does: dirty.”

Yukihira’s fiery resolve encouraged Erina and strengthened herself, bringing herself to take up arms against her father to end his reign and his “utopia” of Totsuki. They prepared everything they need—guns, blades, and protection. Yukihira and Erina exited the dorm, they were greeted by their friends at the porch—gleaming despite carrying such crude weapons contrasting their expressions—they were fired up.

“Hey, Yukihira-kun, you sure kept us waiting!” Alice chuckled while a bat with nails hammered into the tip, and if that wasn’t enough, she covered the spaces between the nails with barbed wire.

Yukihira chuckled, “Oh, sorry ‘bout that! Had to double-check, make sure I didn’t forget anything.”

“Well, are ya ready now, Erina-chi?” the bubbly Yuki asked and Erina replied with a nod.

They set out for the school with their collective goal in mind: kill the director.

 They made themselves as discreet as possible, leaving Erina and Ryo waiting in the sidelines because their weapons would cause a stir and suspicion among the regular students. The rebels were slightly caught by surprise when they spotted a few guards patrolling the hallways—Azami took it seriously, after all, but not too seriously.

“Well, now we know he’s paranoid,” Yukihira whispered.

“Shouldn’t Daigo and Shoji be there by now?” Megumi worriedly muttered.

“Be patient, Megumi-san.” Mito consoled her.

Not long after, Daigo and Shoji’s boisterous voices could be heard up to the end of the hall, the guard patrolling near Yukihira heard the two’s voices and came to check on it, if ever they did a good job in making their fake argument believable enough to draw attention or the guard was just downright stupid.

Well done, you two. Yukihira thought as he smiled.

They have snuck past that guard’s area but they still have a long ways to go before they could reach the director’s office. The closer they got to the office, the denser the security around Azami’s proximity—and that’s where Alice, Ryo, and Hayama jump in, practically mowing down the numbers for Yukihira to gain access.

“Yukihira! Get in here while you still can, we’ll hold them off!” Kurokiba shouted, definitely in his terrifying, monstrous persona when riled up, they run through, Yukihira thanked Kurokiba when he passed by him.

They’re so close, yet so far.

 They had to slip through the cracks, evade the guards and the other Central members before they could get to Azami’s office. They caught sight of the door, they have already loaded their guns and took out their weapons. Before barging in, Yukihira turned to Erina who was evidently troubled.

“Erina… are you really sure about this?”

Her eyes were almost blank and shifty, her pupils threw left and right all over, looking for some sort of calm around her while she was mentally entrapped with the biggest last-minute decision she has ever made in her tender life.

“Y-Yes.” She noticed her stutter and reconfirmed it to the group until she got an affirming nod from Yukihira.

The dead serenity in Azami’s office was disturbed by Yukihira and his group barging in the door. Azami did not do so much as a flinch when the door burst open. His preoccupation shifted from the numerous contracts and proposal documents to the grievous-looking students who have trespassed into his office without prior appointment.

Megumi immediately locked the doors—both the bolt latch and the doorknob lock—while Mito barricaded it with whatever furniture that could be used.

The group walked up to Azami’s desk.

“I believe I didn’t call all of you for a meeting,” Azami coolly sniggers.

“No, no you didn’t,” Yukihira replied.

“Then do you have a concern with me—to such degree where you had to barricade my door?”

“Actually, we do… Father.”

Erina brandished her revolver, had her own father at gunpoint, and she thumbed down the hammer before priming her index finger at the trigger.

“Really, Erina? You? Shoot your own father?” he smirked, “Don’t make me laugh!”

Erina was fighting demons at that very moment, she was one step down to doing the irreversible—she had already pulled down the gun’s hammer and there’s one step left to do to finish the deed. Was she really sure of the answers that come out of her mouth whenever Yukihira asked her?

In a split second, there was a loud burst of sound—Erina had unconsciously triggered the gun and shot Azami on the shoulder and she had decisively made her move. She jumped onto his desk, her free hand viciously took hold of his lower jaw and stretches it downward to forcefully open his mouth.

“You were never a father to me! You were never my father!” she shouted in a loud freedom that she was never able to express to him in all those years.

“Now, all of the poisonous succulence of food that your tongue has touched will be shrouded by the cold, bitter taste of lead and gunpowder.”

That one last moment, for once, Azami felt fear—in his own daughter, no less, who had a gun barrel stuffed down to the end of his mouth—and he was afraid of the newfound resolve in Erina’s eyes, that rich glint that he thought he would easily extinguish through manipulating her. He was wrong.

“Goodbye, Director. Death to the tyrant.” With that, Erina pulled the trigger for a second time, the bullet found its way out of Azami’s skull, warm blood masks his blank, doubly-pale face, and the group eviscerated his body will their bullets before finishing off what remains of his deluded fellowship.