#all of that glass might be a problem/something of a security risk... maybe there are ways to mitigate that tho

[halfbaked00q]

I love the idea of Bond having a sunroom or conservatory... maybe he & Q move to a place that had one or they can build one, if Q's place doesn't have one or doesn't have space for one.... I just think Bond would rly like a sunroom. and probably so would the cats. It would be rly cozy & there would be all sorts of cat-safe potted & hanging plants... even on rainy days it would be very cozy and nice <3

[thebluestbluewords]

mother knows best

They meet the heroes of their parent’s stories. 

It’s not as bad as Evie has been anticipating. 

Here’s the thing about being friends with the king: it provides a lot more than just friendship. Diplomatic immunity isn’t quite the word Evie would use to describe their new status, but there’s a sort of leeway that they get with adults now that Ben has shown that he’s willing to vouch for them, and none of the powerful, important, interesting families who need something from the young king would risk being too blatantly rude to his friends. 

So. They meet the heroes from their parent’s stories, and it goes fine. 

+

Evie smiles politely at Snow, who is technically her sister. In another world, they might have grown up together. Might have been friends, or at least acquaintances, trapped together in the same castles, avoiding the same woman together. 

Or not. 

“I read your latest piece in the historical fashion journal,” Evie says politely, over the dinner that has been arranged by her sister, so that they can meet one another in a common space with the least potential for problems to arise. It’s a nice restaurant, the sort that has tiny candles in fancy glass dishes on the table, and a separate menu just for wines. It’s nice enough that Evie is glad she wore her navy blue kitten heels, even though her feet are going to be aching where they’re tight on her heels later. “It was very well-written. I especially enjoyed the section on beadwork in the western kingdoms.” 

Snow offers a faint smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” 

Evie sits perfectly still. She’s been trained by her mother on how to be polite and unobtrusive during a formal dinner, and how to be sweet and desirable for a prince during a dinner date, but meeting her sister for their first real chance at getting to know each other isn’t quite either of those things, and she’s not sure how to proceed properly, aside from attempting more polite flattery and small talk. 

It’s not polite to fidget with her utensils, no matter how much Evie would like something to do with her hands. Maybe she can sip her water, once it arrives. She’ll sip carefully, without messing up her lipstick. 

“Your hair looks lovely,” Snow says, unexpectedly. “Blue suits you.” 

Evie does not jump. 

“Thank you,” she says instead, and keeps her hands out of her hair, which is indeed lovely. “It’s my natural color.” 

Snow nods. “I remember. Grimhilde’s is the same way.”

Evie hasn’t seen her mother’s natural hair since she was a child. They’ve been careful to keep her pretty and perfect, just in case an unexpected chance with a royal family ever came up, even though she’s been doubly in exile for most of her teenage years. They put countless hours (approximately 20,344 hours, Evie’s brain supplies unhelpfully) into keeping her looking beautiful. More than that, if she counts the time spent brewing potions and sewing pretty dresses and educating herself in speech and literature and music and scheming, all so she could play the part of an Auradon Princess and eventually secure them a future off the isle they’d been cursed to live on. 

So much time spent on Evie meant that there was less time left for Grimhilde, and instead of maintaining two heads of thick, wavy blue hair on a desolate island with limited hair products, her mother tied all of hers back under a thick, fashionable hood, and never let her daughter catch a glimpse of it aside from the very end of her braid when she pulled it out to trim. 

Based on the glimpses, Evie would have sworn that her mother had darker hair than Evie herself does, closer to black than blue. It’s fascinating and nauseating all at the same time to think that maybe Evie looks like her, under the makeup and the spells and the enchantments designed to work without true magic, to keep her ageless and unwrinkled and beautiful despite the passage of time over the island. 

Evie loves her mother. 

Except for when she hates her, but that’s the nature of family, or so she’s been told. 

She doesn’t— 

It’s hard to know what family is supposed to be like when her only examples to follow are her mother, and the women in front of her. 

“Thank you,” Evie says, and does not let her voice waver. “I’ve been told—well, I haven’t exactly been told that I look like her, but that’s because there’s not exactly a lot of people on the island who know what she used to look like.” 

Snow White smiles, and her lips are as red as cherries, and her teeth are as white as snow, and her hair, when she brushes a loose strand back, is as dark and velvety as the night sky. “I don’t know either. She wasn’t very sentimental, I’m afraid. I spent most of my own childhood steering clear of her schemes to marry me off to the most advantageous bachelor. It didn’t leave me much time for staring at photographs of a stepmother that I begged my father not to marry. I assume you did much the same?” 

Evie’s mother loves her. 

“Not exactly.” Evie says, around lips that feel strange and numb. “She loved me.” 

Evie’s mother loved her, and so she spent hours upon countless hours shaping her daughter into someone who could be loved in return. Someone who could be a mirror and reflect that love back on a man who could save them. 

Evie also, critically, didn’t have anywhere to go outside of the castle that they shared. So there’s that. She couldn’t have steered clear, even if she’d wanted to. 

“I’m surprised to hear that,” Snow says softly. “She was always such a strong personality. I didn’t think she’d be able to love a child the way she loved herself, but I suppose it’s different when it’s your own child.” 

“I suppose so.” Evie agrees, because that’s one of the lessons her mother ingrained in her bones. Be polite, be proper, and don’t disagree with the adults, even if they’re wrong. 

“Not that it’s your fault, of course. It’s not your fault that she loved you,” Snow says. It’s never Evie’s fault, because Evie is wicked and unlovable and only a villain like her mother could ever manage to care for her. 

“It’s just, I’m surprised,” Evie’s stepsister continues. She’s watching Evie’s face and it’s too much, except for how there’s no other choice. There’s nothing to do but endure the endless beautiful stare of her stepsister’s shiny, beautiful eyes. “I didn’t think she was capable of love, not after what she did to me. I’m glad that she was able to care for you, after everything.”

Evie’s mouth is dry. 

She’s been trained in speech since she was a child, the delusions of a mother convinced that her daughter would one day need to address a crowd of adoring subjects. She’s on the debate team now, and even when her arguments are weak, she can deliver them with such elegant phrasing that she sometimes wins anyway. 

She has seen more blood than this woman in front of her will ever see, and she has survived her mother for sixteen years, and come out the other side alive. 

She will not cower. 

“Mother loved me.” Evie says, slowly. Slow and steady. Flawless Auradon diction, which she can emulate perfectly thanks to years of lessons under her mother’s less-than-gentle hand, instead of the muddier Isle accent that she hides. “I’m very sorry that she hurt you, but I am not her, and I’m not her to discuss her tonight. If she is all that you’re interested in talking about, it would be a better use of both of our time to attend dinner elsewhere. Separately.” 

“Evie, no,” Snow begins, reaching out over the table. Her nails, Evie notices, are perfectly polished into natural almond shapes, and she’s wearing a slightly glossy peach polish. “No. I’m sorry. I want you to stay, really.” 

Evie does not want to touch this woman’s hands. 

“I should probably go home.” Evie demurs. “I have a lot of homework, and I really can’t afford to make a mistake on my next paper.” 

“You could come home with me!” Snow offers, letting her hands sink back to the table. “I have a lovely library, and my husband, he’s a wonderful writer. He could help you with your assignment, and maybe somewhere more casual—“ 

Evie gives in to the urge to fix her hair, and brushes one of her trailing curls out of her face. “I don’t know what you want, but if it’s to hear about my mom, I can’t do that.” 

“I want to meet you.” her stepsister lies. “The real you, not just the person you put on for the cameras. Please do stay. Come home with me.” 

“I can’t,” Evie says, and it might be the most honest she’s been all night. “I really can’t.” 

Snow White is lovely to a fault, and her dark eyes are shiny when she looks up at her stepsister. “You can.” 

She can’t.

There’s too many memories that she’s not willing to touch here, in a nice restaurant with a sister she’s met one time. She’s got a paper to start working on when she gets home, and her schedule (written in blue ink on the first section of her daily planner, which is thick and smells only the faintest bit like mildew) only accounted for this dinner meeting taking two hours, and it’s at least thirty minutes back to Charmingdale, there and back again is more like an hour, and that’s if they spend no time eating, and while Evie could certainly afford to skip one meal, it’s not polite to say that in front of company who’s been so generous this far, and Snow didn’t just offer dinner, she offered help, which will only put her more behind schedule when she’ll have to redo the work later. 

“I’m so sorry,” Evie says calmly, placing her hands back on her lap, away from her face and her hair and everything she’s inching to check. A princess doesn’t adjust her hair in polite company, and she might be a disgraced daughter of a queen-in-exile here in Auradon, but back home Evie was a princess, and she’s going to act as such. “I really do have a lot of homework tonight. It’s a very kind offer to bring me back to your castle, but if we’re not going to eat here I need to get back to school.” 

[elpida]

"am i not picking you now? is this not me picking you?" his eyes softened. "i'm sorry, that i made you feel like you were second choice... i really just needed time to figure my head out darlin'. it wasn't you." he meant that, the way he spoke? soft and warm? that was a voice for her to melt in to, to soothe and it was utterly serious. he couldn't help the bit of laughter that escaped. "because apparently your type is me, i mean, has to be according to that test thing, right? so i'm going to take a chance that tall, dark hair, rough around the edges is your type."

"don't wanna be mean to me, but you're angry at me, so what can i do for you to not be angry at me? then we've half solved that problem right? i can't read means, wish i could, but you might have to give me a clue on what it is i could do." the noise of his door hushing opened and then closed behind them, he was setting her down on his bed as gently as he could. "there we go, easy" he'd go find a bed elsewhere, maybe the sofa so he wasn't too far, but he wanted her to be comfortable. "right, let me get you some water and something for how much your head will hate you in the morning."

eris was staring down at the mug of hot chocolate he'd as good as pushed into her hand, she didn't know what to make of it because.. how the hell did he know that she loved a hot chocolate? it was always her choice when it came to something sweet. it threw her too, the kindness of showing her this first, the normalcy of a cafe and she hadn't half been craving some form of normality the past few days. sure the androids were a little strange but at least a cafe would seem like something they'd have all done in their day to day life before this. it was such a simple pleasure, her fingers curving around the comfortable warmth of the mug.

she followed him again, looking out into such vivid greenery, and this little smile started to tug at her lips. "is that grass?" she could see so much here, so many rooms, it wasn't just boring grey either and seeing the room garden room, such vivid green it made her feel more... more normal. "why are you showing me this?" she moved to the window, clutching that mug close to herself like there was a risk someone was going to snatch it from her, the other hand on the glass pane that looked down to the garden. "can we get in to that room yet?" she was in awe of it.

maybe it was the heat of his chest, or the strong arms that she knew weren't going to stop holding around her until she was ready for it, but something about how he cradled her felt so surrounding and safe. enough that her own hands stopped gripping at herself and instead, gripping into his shirt, her hands balling the material into fists as she held to him, firm and secure and close, she was so close. she was crying, a soft sniffle as she just cried in to his chest for a little bit, because that was fine.. that was fine because he soothed it, he ushered little words of being there, that he was there.

it took a minute for her to calm, for her to breath without the rushing, without the panic in her bone, for her hands to stop their trembling but it did work.. eventually she was nodding her head a little bit because what he'd done had worked a treat. he'd given her something else to think about and focus on, making some space here, a home, how to make it cosy, how to make it feel like a home for him too so he could experience that. "i think so. i can try my best. you should get to have a home, even if it's not one with me for that- the thingy." despite calming, she didn't want to move, she wanted to stay right there. "my head feels all.. all fuzzy." she mumbles into his chest. she could stay right here and be perfectly happy. "it hurts, the fuzzy feeling i don't-" the noise she made was halfway to a hiccup. far too much to drink. "i don't like it."

"see that - that's the problem though!" she points out - voice cracking slightly. "i signed up for it because i - i deserve someone who picks me. someone who loves me as much as i love them." some part of her knows she isn't being fair to him, but aiyla left people she loved behind to get on this ship. she'd hoped to find someone who was hers - and to have learned that not only had he not signed up for the program, but that he'd been married? it broke part of her. "feels like i'm second choice." snorting at his proposal, her head lulled against his shoulder - hoping to scowl up at him only for the world to spin slightly. "dizzy," the word is hissed beneath her breath as eyes squeeze shut. "why would i want you to go around screaming lies?" god he was confusing her. "how would you know what my type is?"

she falls silent as they walk - drunken energy lulled by the steady footfalls, and warmth of his body. "am angry with you," no. not angry, but disappointed? probably. "stupidly handsome face," she grumbled. "don't think i wanna insult you. can we skip that part? i dont wanna be mean to you."

"whatever you want to tell yourself," he remarks with a shrug, silently relieved that she's agreed to follow him. while the path he takes them on does lead them up in the direction of the floors she refers to, they stop several short at a little area that's set up like a cafe. "this floor has the best hot chocolate and has a garden with a huge window. androids don't do bad, but the garden could definitely use a humans touch at some point." stepping around the counter the mix them both a drink, he eventually slides a mug across the counter to her. "caviar never was my speed. neither were oysters. slimy, nasty things. a good dessert though? now that, i would've spent money on. c'mon." snatching up his own mug, the man hardly allows an opportunity for the woman to reject coming along with him before he's moving in the direction of the gardens.

"this was originally meant to be the control deck, which is why there are so many windows. ended up expanding the size of the ship though, so it was repurposed."

it ached to watch her break in such a way, as asher was quick to imagine his sister saying the exact same words when she woke and he was nowhere to be found. would it have been easier, he wonders, if she'd only discovered this information after they'd safely landed at their intended destination, or would she have had the same reaction regardless? "you aren't at fault for any of this," he tries to sooth, brow furrowing as he stays crouched before the woman. "we do... unspeakable things for the people we love. i doubt he wanted to leave you anymore than you wanted to be separated from him."

home was not something he could offer her, not in the literal sense at least. "'m gonna touch you now, alright?" even with the question asked, he hesitates for a moment, waiting for some sort of resistance to the phrase before long arms are reaching forward to scoop her up and hold her against his frame. "'s alright. 'm right here." even after he has a firm grip on her, he doesn't move much - only shifting enough so that he can sit properly on the floor, leaning against one of the shelving units with her cradled on his lap. "never really had a place i would've considered home before," he admits. "was hoping once we got where we were going i could make one. wasn't picky about the destination either really. so this'll work too, you know? 'm not good at making things feel that way though. like home. you look like you'd be good at it though. making it cozy and comfortable or whatever. think you could help me?"

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight - 16

Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E

Chapter Length: 6.9k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: medical stuff, injury recovery, showering together, helmetless!din, negative self image, scars, past emotional & physical abuse, insecurity

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info | Full Masterlist

i once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden; like daylight

“Mando, I wish it was that simple,” Boba says, his gloved hand clasped around his glass. Din sits opposite him at the table, nursing his own glass despite the fact he won’t drink it. “I can’t threaten to stop trade routes with this cult, it would be too dangerous for everyone involved. And it would threaten my position as daimyo, to get involved in such matters, whether they accepted the blackmail for her freedom or not.” 

Din nods, understanding. Then, “But they don’t know that.” 

Boba’s eyebrow quirks up curiously.

“I know that even this is asking a lot,” Din says, leaning closer across the table, “but if we take the fight to them, fool them into thinking your threat is real, maybe they’ll let her go. If they think their connections with supply and trade routes are going to be cut off, or even just soured in some way, they might give her her freedom. In exchange for security.” 

“You think that after everything they’ve done to try and reclaim her, they’ll give her up just like that?” 

“If it’s something concerning money, then, yes. That’s the only thing that matters more to them.” Din’s stomach turns as he says it, as he thinks about how you only matter to Them as a prize, a symbol. An example. He can’t even let himself think about what they’d do to you if they got their hands on you again. And he’s going to make sure that that never happens, whatever the cost.

Boba stares at him for a long minute, considering. Din just watches, waits, his fingers nervously running through the condensation on his glass.

“I know even to make the threat, empty or not, is a risk,” Din says into the quiet.

“And you think it’s a risk worth taking?” 

“I do,” Din answers earnestly. “I think they’ll believe us. But, if you don’t feel comfortable, I can find another way.” 

Sighing softly through his nose, Boba looks down at his drink, then lifts it to take a long sip. He empties the glass, drops it back on the table. “I said I’d do whatever I can to help,” he says, meeting Din’s gaze again, “and I meant it.” 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Yes, my friend. I will make the necessary preparations. Have you thought through the plan? Where we will meet?” 

“I have ideas I will run by you. Thank you,” Din reaches out to grasp Boba’s hand in gratitude. “I won’t forget this.” 

-

“It’s not absolutely necessary,” Garidan says, handing you the tube of bacta gel, “but I’d recommend it. Especially if you’re going to be away from medical services for any length of time. You need it to heal right the first time, and this will give it the best chance.” 

Gingerly, you take it. You’re in the hospital bed, having just sat up after the doctors gave your injuries a final examination before you leave Tatooine. 

It’s been a week since it happened. You’re still in pain most of the time, but Doctor Garidan tells you that it’s all looking really promising; that initial dip in the bacta tank did wonders for the prognosis. You won’t need a skin graft, and he says that, if you apply the gel he’s given you daily, it’s unlikely to even scar. At least, not enough that they’ll show over your existing ones. 

The only problem with that, though, is that you can’t apply the gel yourself. 

Garidan knows this, and he knows why you’re hesitant. He’s always seemed to understand, right from the get go. You feel bad about glaring at him when Din was injured now, but he seems to have forgotten it. 

“We are always here if you need help in future,” Garidan tells you with a small smile. 

You smile back, grateful. “Thank you, doctor. For everything. I mean it.” 

“I know. You’re welcome. You’re all set, whenever you’re ready. Should I bring him back in…?” He gestures to the door where Din is currently waiting in the hall. 

You’re all covered up, both in bandages and clothes. (Your own regular clothes are still too tight for comfort, even though they’re far from it when you’re uninjured—so you’re wearing the ones the medbay gave you: a long, baggy long-sleeved shirt, and trousers that are even looser than your own pyjamas. You don’t have it in you to feel silly, though. You’re just grateful you can walk unaided again. Not without struggle, but. Still. Small victories.)

You nod in response to Garidan’s question. He smiles, nods too, and heads for the door.

Din is there a moment later, and the kid’s with him now, too, sitting in the satchel at his hip. 

A smile breaks onto your tired face at the sight of them. “Hey, you,” you say, reaching out to give Grogu a little stroke on the cheek. He smiles up at you, gives a little wave. 

“How’s it looking?” Din asks. 

“Well, he gave me the all-clear to leave, so, good.” 

He nods. His helmet tilts down, looking at the tube of bacta gel in your hand. “Do you have to use that on top of the other medication?” 

“I don’t have to. But he said it’ll be best to.” You don’t tell him that you’re not sure if you’ll be able to do it yourself. You will tell him, just not right now. Because you know that he will try to convince you to let him do it, and honestly, the worst part of that is that you’re starting to think you might let him. 

He must sense your hesitation, because he drops it. Instead, “Are you ready to go?” 

“Very,” you sigh. “No offence to Boba Fett, or anything, but I’m tired of the sand. How does it get everywhere in this building?” 

“Sand does that,” Din says, wry.

“Oh, kriff, does it get all stuck under your armour and your suit?” You ask, horrified by the notion. You don’t know how you hadn’t considered that before. “Or is it sealed up enough? Please tell me you don’t have to deal with sand getting places under there.” 

“No, it gets places,” you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You shudder. “Gross. Let’s get out of here.” 

He chuckles, and holds his hand out around you as you get down from the bed, just in case you need help. “Will you be okay getting to the speeder?” 

“Maybe.”

“We’ll take it slow. We’ve got to meet with Fett first.” 

You sigh. You’d forgotten that part. “You explained everything to him already,” you ask, “right? I don’t have to do it?”

“He knows,” Din says, standing in front of you with his weight on one leg. “And he’s going to help us.” 

“He is?” Hope springs in your heart, just for a second. 

“Yes.” 

You start to hobble out of the medbay, absently noting that, as much as you’re grateful for this place, you won’t be sad to see the back of it. “You have a plan?”

“I do.” 

“Great,” you exhale, “tell me when we’re back at the ship? I don’t feel like re-hashing it with people.” 

“Of course. We’ll just say our goodbyes, I’ll finalise some things, and then I’ll tell you everything, alright?” 

You nod, satisfied, and tighten your grip around his waist. Not for support: just because he’s wonderful. “Alright.” 

-

Well, it’s not a terrible plan. 

Above all else, They care about keeping the money rolling in. Even the slightest disturbance in their trade, or support from syndicates and politicians, would be considered detrimental. Maybe even more than a rogue daughter who brings shame to the family name. 

(You’re tired of that. Of calling Them your family. It doesn’t feel right; especially not now.) 

“You really think they’ll believe the threat?” You ask Din, sitting in the co-pilot chair with Din in the pilot’s. 

“I think that Fett has never made a promise he didn’t mean. They’ll know that.” 

You nod, chewing your bottom lip. “You realise that we’ve essentially circled back round to using me as bait?” 

“No,” he says quickly, “we haven’t. That’s not what this is.”

“It isn’t?” 

“No. Fett is contacting them for negotiations; we’re not luring them in using you.” 

A small smile twitches at your lips, wry. “I’m a pretty big part of the negotiation, though.” 

“No, you’re not. The negotiation is about trade routes and political support.”

“I thought Mandalorians were more about fighting than diplomacy?” You say, teasing. 

“Believe me, if I had it my way, I’d raze the whole organisation to the ground.”

If only it were that simple. 

Still, your heart swells at the sincerity in his voice. 

You’re in the cockpit and the ship is still in Peli’s hangar, sitting beside Din’s starfighter. You look across at it, admiring its sleek design, imagining Din and Grogu in there, flying around the Galaxy. 

“I don’t suppose you can fit me in there for a flight one day, huh?” You ask Din. 

“Unless you want to squeeze into the old droid port with Grogu.” 

You look at him, smirking, “Would I not fit on your lap?” 

He leans forward in his seat and reaches for you, coaxing you out of your seat. “Not in that ship,” he says as you stand and cross the small gap between you, stopping where his knees brush against your thighs. “But in this one, yes.” 

Smiling, you put your hands on his shoulders and gaze down at him. “You know what it does to me when I sit in your lap,” you tease him. 

His hands grip at your waist, pulling you closer. “I do.” 

“And you also know that we’re still in Peli’s hangar, and your kid is right outside with her?” 

He sighs, over-dramatic. “In that case, let’s get out of here as soon as we can.”

“What, so I can sit in your lap?”

“Yes.” 

With a soft giggle, you lean away from him, stepping back to allow him space to get up. He squeezes your waist as he passes and heads down into the living area. You don’t follow him down the ladder, just wait on the sofa for him and the kid to come back. It’s going to be time to put him to bed soon, anyway, and now that Din has put the idea of all the space that the cockpit has in your mind, your thoughts are starting to run just a little wild. 

So while Din pays Peli, takes the kid back, and preps the ship for take-off, you can’t help but just stay on the couch, lost in the thoughts he’s put in your mind, until he calls you through to strap yourself in. 

It’s only once the kid is asleep, and you’re well into the safety of hyperspace, that you realise how gross you feel. 

It’s been over a week since you had a proper shower. The doctors have just been helping you wash with a sponge ever since you were injured, which has been better than nothing, if a little depressing. But as for getting your wounds wet and taking a shower, the doctors finally cleared you for it yesterday. 

Which should be comforting. Finally you can get clean; even if it is in the small confines of the ship’s ’fresher. You should be excited to feel the hot water on your skin, get your hair properly washed, the dried blood out from under your fingernails, breathing in the steam. 

But nerves are eating away at you at the idea of it, for some reason. Maybe it’s because you haven’t really looked at yourself since it happened, or maybe because you’re a little scared about whether it’s going to hurt, to have the water running over your wounds. Painkillers are still doing their job in your system, but this is going to be a new sensation. 

Your body has changed since the last time you showered. The way it feels, the way you can move. You still get tired at the slightest thing; what if a shower is too hot, too much exertion? What if it makes you hurt so much that you can’t wash the shampoo out of your hair? 

It’s intimidating. 

You don’t even realise that you’re standing outside the closed fresher door, staring so intently that you don’t feel your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, until Din puts his hand on the small of your back, and you jump at the contact.

“Sorry,” he says, sounding surprised by your reaction. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I just…” you glance at him, then back to the door.

“You’re staring at the refresher like something is going to jump out at you,” he says softly. “Is it? Do I need to use my blaster?” 

A chuckle shakes your shoulders. You let his voice, his presence, wrap around the nerves in your stomach and sate them a little. “No. At least, not that I know of. But the ship’s been sitting in that hangar for a while; we should probably check for stowaways.” 

He laughs, too, just a soft chuckle through the modulator. “I’ll do that. Is there another reason you’re standing here staring at it?”

“I want to take a shower,” you say, brow furrowed in determination. Your wounds hurt, stinging at your skin. 

“…But…?” He prompts.

You sigh. “But I’m nervous.” 

“Alright. What are you nervous about?” 

Feeling self-conscious and just a little ridiculous about the fact that you’re scared to shower, “I haven’t showered since before it happened.” 

“Since before you were hurt?” 

“Yeah. I know it’s silly to be nervous about showering, of all things, after everything that’s happened.” 

“It’s not silly,” he says gently. From where he’s standing just an inch behind you, he reaches up his hand and brushes your hair back from your shoulder, revealing your neck. He presses the front of his helmet into it, a Mandalorian kiss. Your eyes flutter closed. “If you feel comfortable, I can help you. Even if it’s just standing outside in case you need me. Or I can help you get clean, if that’s what you need.”

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly. 

“I won’t look at your scars,” he says quietly, as if reading your mind. “I promise.” 

“I don’t think you can miss them,” you say with a mirthless snort. 

“I can, and I will.” 

You turn around to face him, gaze up into his visor. The idea of Din helping you is, shockingly, something that’s actually making things seem better. It’s not exactly how you imagined he’d see you naked for the first time. But maybe this is the best way. If he’s just focused on helping you, instead of it being a big reveal where he feels like he has to say something at the sight of you…

“Mesh’la,” he says softly, breaking you from your thoughts. “It’s alright to say no.” 

You find yourself shaking your head. “No. I mean—yes. Can you help me? Do you mind?” 

“Of course not. What do you need? What are you nervous about?” 

“I just—I’m scared it’ll hurt. That I’ll hurt, and I won’t be able to finish the shower, and just end up with soap all over me. Or that I’ll hit my arm on something, or the water will hurt me. Or that I’ll be exhausted from it. So, just a few things.”

He runs a gloved thumb over your cheek. “Will it help if I go in with you?” 

You swallow. “Probably,” you whisper, your voice failing you at the concept. Then, a different kind of nervousness starts to creep in, as you think about showering with Din, what that might imply… “But I don’t. I don’t think I can. You know. Turn it into anything else. Not that I don’t want to fuck you in the shower, but…” 

His hand cups your cheek, guiding you to look back up into his eyes—you didn’t realise you’d looked away—“It won’t be anything else. I just want to help you. You’re still hurt, Mesh’la.” 

Relief floods through you. You knew, of course, that he wouldn’t try and pressure you into it. But you also know that you’re going to have to hold yourself back pretty hard, if he’s going to be naked in there with you, and you need at least one of you to be the sensible one and not let you ruin your healing progress by bending over and letting him take you under the hot water—“Alright,” you force your mind to stop. Placing your hands on his chest plate, you give him a teasing smile, and say, “But I do want you to fuck me again. You know that, right?” 

“I know,” he says on a soft laugh. “But the shower is a no-go. At least for now.” 

You smile, raising an eyebrow. “For now, huh? I like the sound of that…” 

“You need to control yourself,” he says, but his tone is nothing but teasing, you can hear the smirk in his voice, can see it in your mind’s eye. And, kriff, if that isn’t just the gift that keeps on giving. 

“This might be a stupid question,” you say, “but are you going to take your clothes off?” 

“I was planning on it. If you’re alright with that.” 

“I’m not going to make you shower with me in the armour.” 

“I’d do it, if you wanted me to.” 

You know he’s serious, despite the smile that lingers in his voice. You reach up, put a hand on the side of his helmet. “And this…?” 

He tilts his head, pressing the T of his visor into your palm. “I’ll take it off,” he says like it’s a promise. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’m still getting used to it,” he says. “It’s strange to be seen.” 

“I don’t have to stare at you as much as I did the first time,” you smirk. “It’s just hard not to. But I can try and hold myself back, if it makes you more comfortable.” 

“I like it when you look at me,” he says, and you’re surprised by the sincere response to your teasing. He puts a hand on your waist, squeezes lightly, brushing the other across your jaw. “You’ve always seen me, even with the helmet on.” 

Maybe it’s the meds, but tears start to rise quickly in your throat. You swallow them down, unable to speak for a second. Instead, you just nod, and give him a shaky smile. “I see you,” you manage eventually. “I do.”

He nods, too. Then, steeling himself, “Go wait in the ’fresher, Cyar’ika. Start the water if you want. I’ll be there in a minute.” He walks towards the sleeping quarters, and you reach out to press the button to open the fresher door before the courage leaves you again. 

So, this is a thing that’s happening. 

Din is about to see you. All of you. He’s going to have his hands on you, wash your hair, stand beside you naked and wet. 

Maybe you didn’t think this through. This is supposed to be a needs-must situation. He’s helping you. That’s all this is—it’s all it can be. While you’d probably be up for sex now, first-time-shower-sex is definitely not an option, especially considering the fact that you’re already nervous enough about the idea of water on your skin as it is. And, besides, although you might be just about ready for Din to see you in this situation, it feels different, the idea of being bare while he fucks you. That feels like a step further.

Forcing the thought from your mind, focusing on the now, you get naked, and your hands are shaking. You’re starting to feel nervous now. 

It’s just Din, you tell yourself. I’m fine.

(It helps when you peel off your clothes and smell yourself. You really need this shower.)

Switching the shower on, you hold your hand under it, wait for the water to turn warm. It feels too hot, but kriff, the feeling of warm water on your skin is lovely, such a welcome relief from the sticky staleness you’ve felt for the past week. There’s sand in the creases of your elbows, behind your knees, under your nails. It’s gotten fucking everywhere. For a moment you think, you may have been raised in a horrific cult, but at least that horrific cult wasn’t on a sand planet. That would have just been pouring salt into the wound. (Or sand. Yikes.)

Lost in the uncomfortable sensation of trying to scrape the patches of sand off your skin, you don’t notice the sound of the ’fresher door closing until you hear soft footsteps behind you. 

Bare footsteps.

Then, a gentle hand on your waist, hot breath against your ear. “You alright?” Din’s voice asks gently, husky beneath the spray of the shower. 

Holy kriff. Holy fuck. Holy everything. 

Holy Din. 

“Yeah,” you breathe out. His hand is bare on your waist and you can’t help but reach down and take hold of it, running your palm up over his bare wrist. Your body follows it, turning in his arms as your eyes dart up to his shoulders and his neck and his—

His face. Soft, damp with water, with steam. And, bless him so much, he looks nervous. Uncertain, like this is all new territory. Which it probably is for him; and it definitely is for the two of you together. 

A smile finds its way onto your lips. “Hi,” you say softly. You can’t help it; you lean in and kiss him, just once, chaste. “How’d you get so handsome?” You ask, running a hand through his hair, taking a tight grip of it at the back of his neck. 

His eyes close for a second at the feeling. He leans in, presses his forehead into yours. “How did you get so beautiful?” 

You don’t have an answer or a teasing comment to throw back at him. Because, shit, he’s here. He’s naked, he’s in the shower with you, pressing his nose against yours so earnestly and gently, not even looking at your body; you’d expected him to be instantly distracted by the wounds, the scars, the curves that you’re so used to desperately pretending don’t exist. 

You’ve never been seen like this. You expected it to change everything. 

But it feels like it always does when he looks at you. Comforting, safe. Like, to him, you’re more than just your body. 

He reaches out to the sink and grabs a washcloth, then wets it under the spray of the shower. Wordless, he pulls away just enough to find your arm and lift it, then starts to gently swipe at the patch of sand there. “This shit gets everywhere,” he says.

A laugh bubbles in your chest. Sheer joy, disbelief, that this is happening. That it doesn’t even feel like that much of a big deal. (Having said that, you haven’t let yourself really look at him yet; you know if you do, you won’t be able to hold yourself back. It was bad enough when it was just his face.) 

(His face isn’t just anything.) 

He wipes away all the sand he can see from where he stands, and then reaches for the bottle of shampoo that he bought just for you a few weeks back. It smells fruity and sweet; you’d seen it at a market stall, admired the scent before moving on to the next stall, and then found it later that night in the fresher. 

“Are you okay to turn around?” He asks, meeting your eyes, wrinkles in his forehead as his gaze just shines with sincerity. 

It brings a warm, heavy bloom to your chest. You gaze up at him, feel the wounds on your back. Nervous, you nod. “Just—” you put a hand on his chest, momentarily distracted by the hair there, making a mental note to pay it special attention next time you get him like this—“Don’t be shocked. It’s a bit of a mess.” 

He nods. Leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’re perfect,” he reminds you before you turn around and face the shower. 

Feeling the droplets so close to you, you can’t resist—“Hold on,” you say before you step closer and let the water run over your face and hair. 

And, yeah. It’s been too long. It hurts a little, but only initially; you get used to it and eventually just let the water run over your face, down your front, your legs. Some drops hit the wounds on your back. But it’s okay. 

“That feel good?” He asks. You can hear the smile in his voice. 

A shudder runs down your spine. Immediately, you’re distracted from the heat of the shower. “You can’t say stuff like that when we’re wet and naked in a shower and trying not to have sex,” you say, earning a chuckle from behind you. 

“Sorry,” he says, still smiling, and you feel him approach you from behind. He pulls your wet hair from your shoulder, freeing it for his lips. His eyelashes flutter against your skin when he closes his eyes, pressing close-mouthed kisses up towards the back of your neck. His arms, wet and hairy and strong and scarred, wrap around your waist, so delicate, careful not to hurt you. You wish he could press in closer, pull your back to his chest. “Just never seen you like this,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. “Don’t think I can ever look away.” 

Leaning your head back into his shoulder, you thread your fingers through his over your stomach, not even thinking about the older scars there. Not even considering that he’s feeling them, touching them. It’s been your biggest fear for so long, for him to touch those scars. That he’d feel them and back away, decide it was too much. 

But now, it’s the last thing on your mind. 

“Sorry, baby, but I think my strength will run out soon, so you better get a good look while you can,” you tease him. 

“You can’t say that when we’re trying not to have sex,” he says into the curve of your neck, his voice a low vibration. 

Your hand reaches around behind you, grasps the back of his neck. “What, call you Baby?” You smile, so wide you can feel the wrinkles on the corners of your eyes.

You feel him nod. 

“Sorry,” you grin, “payback.”

He makes a Tsk noise, then reaches for the shampoo again, separating himself from your neck. You hear him open the bottle. “Can I wash your hair?” 

“Kriff, please. I feel like a damn oil drum with this greasy hair.” 

“I like it,” he squeezes some out onto his hand, then you hear him lathering it up in his palms. “You make it work.” 

You snort. “Yeah, sure. You’re just saying that ’cause you want to get into my pants.” 

“You’re not wearing any,” he reminds you helpfully. “And at least one of us has to have some self-control.” 

“Please, I have self-control—” but your words melt off into nothing when his hands are suddenly in your hair, rubbing shampoo into your scalp. Kriff, it feels amazing. His touch, the soap, the smell that fills the steamy room. You fall back into him, knees suddenly weak from the sensation as he rubs it in. It’s not even overly sexual, it just feels good. So, so good. A relief, too, like you can feel the oil washing away; the memories of the last few days. 

“How do you feel?” He asks once your head is covered in purple suds. “How’s your pain?” 

“I’m alright. Getting a little tired now, but it’s not hurting too much.” 

“That’s good,” he gently turns you to face him, giving you a soft smile. “You want me to try and rinse it without getting your back wet?” 

“We’ve got to get it wet sometime. They said it was safe.” 

He nods. “But are you okay with it?” 

“Yeah. I think so.” 

“Alright. Go under the water, I’ll keep it out of your eyes. You let me know if it hurts.” 

Nodding, you do as he asks, and he brings his hand up to cup over your forehead, directing the water away from your eyes as it runs down onto your head. The suds flow with it, and most of them avoid your back with your head tilted back a little. The bits of water and soap that do touch your wounds sting a bit, but it’s alright. It feels too good to have the water running through your hair, the dirt and grime from the last week finally washing away, for you to care. Your eyes are closed before you know it, feeling Din’s other hand rubbing at your scalp, making sure all the shampoo is washed away.

Once it’s all gone, you lift your head again and open your eyes, finding him already looking at you, fondness shining in his eyes. You’ve barely seen that look on him, and yet it feels just as familiar as the sight of his helmet. 

He grabs the washcloth again and pours soap on it this time, then starts to wash your arms, avoiding the wounds, lifting them so he can gently scrub underneath them. It’s hard to believe that this is happening; that you’re perfectly happy to be standing here, naked and scarred in front of him, letting him wash you like he’s not bothered by how grimy you are. He just wants to help you, just wants you to be comfortable. That’s all he’s ever wanted. 

You’ve never known tenderness like this.

It tightens your chest, stings your throat.

You let your head fall onto his bare shoulder once he’s rinsed off the soap from your shoulders. He pauses, his hand settling on your hip. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

Instead of answering, you wrap your arms all the way around him, feeling his skin hot and wet beneath yours. It’s not the first time you’ve held him naked. But it is the first time he’s held you naked; the first time anyone has been near you like this. And it’s the first time he’s letting you see him, too. 

It’s just a lot. 

You hold him tight. One arm over his shoulder and down to press between his shoulder blades, the other wrapping around his waist, your hands crossing on his back. He melts into you, carefully holding you back, both arms around you as much as he can without hurting you. He presses his face into your neck, and you could stay like this forever. Nothing between you but water. Nothing but warmth, skin on skin, his heartbeat pressing against yours. 

One of your hands comes up to hold the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his wet hair. It’s longer, darker, like this. 

“Mesh’la,” he whispers, tracing his fingertip in little circles on your back. 

You want to say something. 

Not just anything. You want to tell him how you feel; or, at least, how you think you feel. 

The problem is, you’ve never actually felt that before. Only ever read about it in books, seen it in cheesy HoloNet dramas. 

You never thought that you’d ever find anything even close to what people call Love. Let alone that you’d be standing here, in this perfect man’s arms, contemplating whether or not you even have the capacity to understand what that would mean. What that feeling means. 

And what it might change, if you ever said it out loud.

“Din,” you say, feeling teary all of a sudden. Your face is in his shoulder, the water flowing gently over the both of you. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head. Pulling back just a little, you meet his eyes for a second before leaning in and kissing him. Close-mouthed, chaste as anything, but with all the strength and passion you can give to him. 

He accepts the kiss, of course; lifts one of his hands to gently trace the backs of his fingers down your cheek. When you part, he presses your foreheads together. “What was that for?” 

You’re not ready to say it yet. Maybe you never will be. For now, you just shake your head again, and give him a soft, albeit slightly shaky, smile. “Thank you,” you say. “For helping me. For—for everything.” 

He searches your eyes for a moment, like he knows there’s more to your words. Then he nods, kisses you again. “Of course.” 

“I’m getting tired,” you say reluctantly. “We should get out soon.” 

“Alright. Do you want me to put the bacta gel on for you?”

You’re not sure why you hesitate. Not after this. “Yes,” you say, “please.” 

It doesn’t hurt, exactly. It’s cold, and it might be stinging for a split second before the bacta sinks into your skin and helps with the pain. It smells gross, and feels weird to have something touching each of the wounds.

But Din’s hands are so soft, so gentle, and when he realises before you that you’re shaking, he stops.

“You okay?” He asks. “Am I hurting you?”

You shake your head, suddenly unable to speak. It’s not hurting. Really, it’s not. 

But this is new. Even this is different still from him seeing you in the shower. Because the water’s not running anymore, you’re standing in front of the fogged-up sink mirror with your arms crossed over your chest, and suddenly it’s quiet. It’s focused, all the attention on your back. If the mirror wasn’t foggy, you’d be able to see the scars on your stomach, too. And so would Din.

It’s intimate. It’s too intimate. 

“Hey,” Din says softly, peering over your shoulder, trying to catch your eye. “Talk to me. You’re shaking. What’s wrong? Are you cold?” 

Your head shakes again. You can’t look at him. “I just—” you force out, “you’re seeing me.” 

“I am,” he says, soft, unassuming. “Do you not want me to?” 

No. You do. You do, and maybe that’s what’s scaring you so much. 

For fuck’s sake, you’re crying. 

“Hey,” his voice is so fucking soft, and he’s turning you around to face him, bringing one of his hands up to gently swipe away your tears. “Hey, look at me. We don’t have to do this.” 

Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together, you shake your head again, staring down at the floor. He’s got a towel around his hips, and you’re so stuck in your head that you can’t even take a moment to appreciate his chest, the gentle curve of his stomach, the trail of hair going down from his belly button to the top of the towel.

“I’m alright,” you say, wanting to mean it, not sure if you do or don’t. “Just. I don’t know, it’s probably the painkillers, they’re messing with my head.”

He’s quiet for a moment. He runs his hand over the side of your head, smoothing down your still-wet hair. He’s dipping his head, trying to meet your eyes. His other hand is still sticky with bacta gel, just hanging at his side, waiting patiently. 

“Cyar’ika,” he says, so soft, “is it the scars? You don’t want me to see you?” 

You close your eyes, screw them tightly shut. Your arms are still crossed over your chest. You nod. 

A soft sigh comes from Din’s nose. He moves his hand around to the nape of your neck and keeps it there, using it to gently pull you close and press his lips to your forehead. “The scars of what they did to you?” He asks. Quiet, like he’s not sure if he should.

His mouth still against your forehead, you nod. Tears slip past your closed eyes, fall down onto your cheeks. “Yeah. That, and the wounds, and—just. They always told me how bad I looked. That no one but the man they wanted me to marry would ever want me because of how I look, even before they—before they hurt me. To them, hurting me was just the final nail in the coffin. But the coffin always existed.” 

His grip on the back of your neck tightens, almost protectively. You let yourself focus on that instead of the cool bacta gel on your back that’s trying to steal your attention, to take you away from the softness of his presence; the fact that he’s never, ever shied away from your body, from your scars. 

“Even if I have to tell you every day for the rest of my life,” Din says, “I will.” 

“Tell me what?” You ask, voice trembling. 

His lips brush your forehead again, then trail down to your temple, the height of your cheekbone. His eyelashes flutter against your skin as he closes his eyes. “You’re perfect,” he whispers into the hollow of your cheek. “I mean it.” 

You wish you had the confidence to uncross your arms, to wrap them around him. But it’s not just the scars. It’s your stomach, your stretch marks, it’s the way your chest looks without clothes on top. “I know you do,” you tell him, because you do, you know he does. 

“It’s not what matters,” he says, “that I think you’re beautiful. It’s what you think that matters most. I know that I can’t…take away the way you feel about yourself. I wish I could,” he whispers the last part, like he’s saying it just to himself. Your heart lurches, pulls you towards him. “But until you see how beautiful you are, I’ll tell you whenever you need to hear it. Okay?” 

And you don’t have any words to say. Or, you do, but there are too many. And you can’t form them now, anyway. 

Instead, you just nod, and press your forehead into his. He’s still got his eyes closed. A split second of courage overtakes you and you grab hold of it, let it carry your hand up to the back of his neck, pushing your fingers into his hair. He sighs against you like he’s relieved you’re finally touching him back. 

“I’m sorry, Cyar’ika,” he whispers. 

“For what?” 

As if he’s lost for words, he shakes his head. “For everything They did to you.” 

You sniff, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Because you can’t help it. Because you’ll never not want to look into them. “It’s not your fault,” you offer with a small, sad smile.

His hand cups your jaw. His gaze is so intense, it’s like he’s looking into your soul. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to worry about them anymore. No one’s going to touch you ever again.” Beneath the determination in his eyes, the sincerity of his promise, you could swear you see some…fear? Worry? 

You’ve never seen that on him before. Never even really heard it in his voice. 

You stare back at him, searching. Wanting to know every part of him, wanting to know what’s got that little shine of anxiety sparking in his mind. 

Before you can ask or really let his nerves feed into your own, he says, “I’ve finished the bacta. I just need to bandage you up, if you don’t mind.” 

With wide eyes, you nod. Before he moves away to grab the med supplies, you use the hand on the back of his neck to bring him in and kiss him. Just a small, chaste kiss, but he melts against you, putting his hand against your cheek. When your lips part, he doesn’t keep them that way for long; he’s leaning back in, kissing you again, sliding his fingers back into your hair.

You wish you had the energy to deepen this. To appreciate that he’s here, naked, that you have privacy and time and safety, at least for now. You want to run your hands over every inch of him, look at his face while you touch him, feel him inside you and all around you. 

Instead, you pull back, and give him an apologetic smile. 

You don’t have to explain. “Come on,” he says, “let’s get to bed, alright? I’ll just wrap you up, then we should rest. We’ve got a few days before Fett contacts us.” 

As he goes over to the cabinet by the shower, pulling out the supplies that Garidan had sent you away with, you watch him. The tears have ceased now, so you can get a good look at him. The shift of the muscles in his back and arms, the way his stomach rolls just a little when he bends over. Somehow, he’s wide and broad and strong and hard, and yet soft and supple, curved in places you never thought he would be. You could honestly look at him like this forever. Just stay here and let the sight of him heal all your wounds. 

If only it were that simple.

He catches you staring when he stands up and turns back to you. A small, shy smirk twitches at one corner of his lips. 

You stand up a little straighter, cross your arms over your chest again. “Can I tell you how beautiful you are every day, too?” You ask with a teasing smile. 

He chuckles. Crow’s feet appear around his eyes as he heads back over, stops in front of you. “Whenever you want, Cyar’ika.”

notes: thank you as always for being here, and if you left a comment on the last chapter you get an EXTRA SPECIAL thank you!!! hope you enjoyed this chapter, do let me know if you did!

take care of yourself ❤️

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[idy-ll-ique]

no harm done

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: one mention of a gunshot

requested: nope

word count: 1.6k

summary: y/n works at a bank. one day, three people show up at the bank for a robbery; they work for the most feared crime boss in all of the country, james barnes. who also happens to be y/n's ex boyfriend. but upon seeing her, she is instantly recognized by them and the bank is spared. why? because she is on his 'no harm' list. when she finds this out, y/n decides to pay him a visit, wondering if he still thinks about her. (spoiler alert: he does)

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

---

A loud gunshot made several people scream as everyone turned around. At the entrance of the bank stood three people: one woman and two men, whom everyone instantly recognized. Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton and Peter Parker. "Get away from the counter!" Natasha shouted and everyone scurried away from the counter.

Y/N, an employee, sat frozen in place as the youngest man approached her, staring at her with narrowed eyes. All of a sudden, his eyes went wide and he took a step back, turning to his fellow… criminals. They, too, looked at her as he whispered something to them. "We are extremely sorry, ma'am," Natasha apologized immediately.

Y/N blinked, her hand below the counter ready to call the police but I guess it wasn't necessary anymore. "You're, um, you're forgiven?" she replied slowly. The three criminals instantly left the bank as the other citizens looked over at Y/N, who returned their confused glances with her equally as confused ones.

"Did they know you?" a person asked as the atmosphere steadily returned to normal. "I didn't know them," Y/N offered and the day continued as usual.

---

As Y/N stood in line at Starbucks waiting for a coffee, she looked around and saw a familiar looking man sitting there, sipping on his coffee while talking to someone on the phone. Upon receiving her coffee she made up her mind and decided to approach him, making him look up as she stood next to his table.

His eyes widened like they had a few months ago. "Ma'am," he greeted her and she gestured to the seat in front of him. "Can I sit?" He nodded and she sat in front of him, leaning back on the chair. "Do you… do you know me?" she blurted out and he pursed his lips.

"Everyone who works with Barnes knows you." At the name, Y/N froze. There was only one Barnes she knew, and she was pretty sure only one Barnes knew her. "You don't mean Bucky Barnes," she whispered and the man in front of her, Clint, nodded. "I do mean him. He runs a very feared crime syndicate in the country, and he, well… he has you on the 'no harm' list. Do you two have history?" Y/N nodded.

"We, um, we used to date back when we were both in high-school. But then some family emergency happened… it was a peaceful breakup and after that I kinda lost touch with him… does he live here now? In this city?" Clint let out an 'oh'. "He does, yeah. Is there any chance you'd like to meet him? Because I can take you now." Y/N shook her head.

"Sorry, I'm busy today. Can you give me his address? I can visit sometime later." Clint readily gave her Bucky's home address and Y/N got up, bidding him adieu as she left Starbucks, thoughtfully sipping on her coffee. Well well well, life just got interesting…

She hadn't really lost feelings for Bucky, per se. Y/N thought of him often, always wondering where he was now and what he was doing. "I guess I found out today," she muttered to herself. A crime syndicate? He was their leader? His father seemed shady back then but she didn't think Bucky was that kind of a man…

And him putting her on a 'no harm' list? Did he think of her, just like she did? Maybe he still liked her too? She couldn't wait to visit him.

---

"Ye— oh. Oh, lord. Ma'am! Come in, come in please!"

Y/N sent a forced smile towards Peter, who had opened the door to the house. A few days had passed since Y/N and Clint met at Starbucks and she was currently standing outside Bucky's mansion. Well, inside now, maybe. "Hi, Peter, isn't it?" He nodded immediately. "Such an honor," he gushed and Y/N smiled.

"Where is your boss? I'm here to meet him."

"You, um, you'll have to wait, I'm sorry. He's in a meeting right now." Y/N waved her arm dismissively. "I've got all the time in the world," she smirked as Peter led her to the sitting room. Inside sat Natasha Romanoff along with another lady Y/N recognized to be Wanda Maximoff. They instantly stood up at her arrival.

"Miss Y/N, pleasure! What brings you here?" Wanda chuckled nervously as Y/N sat down, crossing her legs. "Oh, came to see your boss, but he's in a meeting, I suppose. I can wait." Natasha hurried to the dining table and poured out a glass of water, handing it to her.

"The boss will be extremely thrilled to see you, he does talk about you a lot," Wanda spoke as Y/N chugged the glass of water. "Does he, now? Fantastic, I can't wait to see him either." All of a sudden, there was a slew of footsteps coming downstairs and Y/N turned around just in time to see Bucky entering the room, Steve and Sam behind him.

He froze when he saw her. Y/N stood up, her eyes filling with happy tears as she took in Bucky's appearance; he had lost quite a lot of face fat that he had in high school, making his jawline appear sharper. He also had a wonderful stubble and fluffier hair, but his eyes were still the same: full of light and determination. "Bucky," she whispered.

Bucky instantly ran to her and hugged her without second thought; he had missed her quite a lot. He was only 18 when he'd taken over the family business— running the most feared mafia in the entire country. He was forced to delete Y/N's number from his phone and cut off all contact with his friends.

After taking over the business he'd sneakily met her one night and made up a lie about moving away and wanting a breakup. It was peaceful, but Bucky still felt guilty about lying. Not to mention he still loved her, even after all these years. He'd thought if she knew what he was, what his work was, she'd never look at him the same again.

A breakup he could handle but her looking at him like he was a monster? There was no way he'd be able to handle that. "Y/N, you're here. Oh my God, I missed you so much," he whispered into her shoulder, pulling her impossibly close, uncaring that everyone was watching. "I missed you too," she whispered back, "But you lied to me." Bucky pulled away.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I had to. What I do is too dangerous and I can't risk the lives of anyone close to me. My father forced me to break up with you. I didn't want to but I understood his reasoning. It's too unsafe, what if something happens to you?" Y/N shook her head, letting her tears fall free.

"No, I— I still like you, I can't— don't do this to me, please Bucky," she begged and Bucky's own tears flowed when he heard her feeble voice. "God knows I still like you too, sweetheart, but I'm sorry. I have to say no. I can't risk it. Do you know many people are on my back constantly? Once they find out about you, it'll be like a witch hunt—"

"Fine, I'll go," Y/N hissed all of a sudden, not able to contain her annoyance as she stormed past him, walking to the front door to leave. "King of fumbling the bag," Peter sneered as Natasha and Wanda followed Y/N. Bucky stared at the floor, wanting nothing more than to just run after her and beg her to stay.

But he knew he couldn't. He loved her so much that he didn't want to be with her, only because his line of work was too risky. "Dude, are you kidding me?! After all these years, you find out she still likes you and you let her go?! Just like that?!" Steve shouted at him. Bucky's head went lower with shame.

"You don't know," he muttered, "I'll only be risking her life. I love her, Steve, if something happens to her, I don't— I don't know how I'll live. For all this time, the thought of her has kept me sane and going. Knowing she's out there somewhere, living life to the fullest, still alive… if I bring her into my mess…"

"What mess?" Sam chided too, "Look at you! Everyone in the country fears you, all the other syndicates, their bosses, they respect you a lot! You've got top notch security and you're telling me your job is unsafe?! At this point, it just sounds like an excuse to not be with her." Bucky's eyes snapped towards Sam.

"Don't say that!" he roared, "I do love her! I just— you know what—" he whirled around to run after Y/N but froze when he saw her standing right behind him, her hand covering her mouth as a teardrop rolled down her eye. Bucky immediately pulled her into his arms once again, apologizing profusely.

"Don't go. Please, don't leave me again, I love you so much, Y/N," he whispered and Y/N burrowed closer to him, smiling. "I love you too, Bucky, feels so good to be back into your arms after so long." He laughed and dropped a kiss to her head, rubbing her back. "Are you sure about this?" he whispered.

"Never been more sure about anything, Barnes. You heard Sam, your job might not be safe but you are. And I trust you, so it won't ever be a problem," she assured him and he sighed, melting into her arms.

Everyone around them only smiled at each other. "I guess you didn't fumble the bag this time, good for you."

"Shut up, Parker."

---

a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!

[friendscfmine]

   “I am helping them learn,” Peter says.  “People won’t learn if you don’t point out that what they’re doing is wrong.”  He has noticed that almost every kid in South Park suffered an extreme lack of discipline.  Part of it had to do with the adults in this little backwards town being uneducated as well.  They saw no problem with the kids playing games like Border Patrol, with one team dressing in racially insensitive costumes and covering themselves in grime.  This was literally going on in their backyards, and nobody tried to do anything.

   “The problem with all the -isms is that so few people realize they’re fucking up.”  Granted, maybe he could be gentler about the way he teaches them, but evidently, that hasn’t worked in the past.  These kids kind of need a heavier hand, no matter how distasteful other people find it.  Peter has already seen remarkable progress in the adults, so there is no reason for him to change his tactics.  The kids will come around in time, especially with more of their parents embracing political correctness.  “So, you see, I really can’t let them just flounder until they stumble into the right things, especially not when it risks the security and safety of other students.  If it weren’t for me, the school would be a warzone of bullying.”  It still is in many ways, but he’ll fix it; he will fix it.

   “And you’re wrong that it’s not my problem to solve.  Oppression and discrimination is everyone’s problem, and it’s ignorant to say otherwise.”  Maybe he is being pedantic, he knows what she means, after all, but he cannot bring himself to care.  He understands his cause to be noble, and whatever she says will not deter him from it.

   “Not to mention, the mayor literally brought me in to clean up the town, so yes, it is my responsibility.”  One could argue that a white woman bringing in a white man for that purpose was not the move.  At least, Peter is actually aware of his privilege and capable of checking it.  “I’ve been studying social justice for most of my life, training for this, so even if it wasn’t my problem, I’d still be qualified to deal with it.  Kind of like…”  He pauses, roots around in his mind for an analogy, comes up with an imperfect one that will have to do for now.  “…like h9ow somebody else’s injury might not be the doctor’s personal problem, but you still wouldn’t want the doctor to leave that person to die.”

   He pulls down his shades to give her an exacting look over the top of them.  “I also know you’re assuming the doctor is a man.  Knock that off.”  He pushes his glasses back into place.

   “The problem with the ‘stupidity’ that you want me to ignore is that it breeds aggression.  If we don’t do something about it now, it could culminate in a hate crime in the future.  All of the kids you like so well, I’m stopping them from getting in more trouble later down the line.”

Making people fear you could only go so far, something Ava knew very well and was far more familiar with than she would like to be. As an outsider, she did come in to a lot of this without having the biases or opinions. She was just going based off what she had seen so far and everything else she had experienced. There was always going to be a few stubborn souls out there who refused to change, but that was pretty bog standard anywhere one went.

"No shit, they're kids." Everyone could go through that process, of learning and unlearning. It didn't just stop because someone grew to a certain age or was one way or another. It depended on the individual, really. If she had any desire to throw herself into the middle of this, she'd point out that there were a lot of things that she had thought were okay prior, and had unlearned them of her own free will. "Making mistakes is okay too, y'know what right? Like, that's how most people learn. They make their choices, and if they fuck up, they can learn from it." How the fuck else were people supposed to learn? Kids especially were sometimes given a little more leeway to make mistakes, and then grow from them, or double down if they so chose, but that was no one else's problem at the end of the day.

"Why do you wanna get so involved with this anyways? It's not your problem to solve." That was something Ava had learned early on, there were a lot of problems in the world, the galaxy, and no one person could or should have to shoulder it. She may be a pot calling the kettle black on that one, but at least Ava's aware of what she's doing.

"People are stupid. Let 'em be stupid. The only thing this really makes you look like is a dick. You're the only person who can control your own feelings, opinions, thoughts, all that jazz. You can't change others and they can't change you." Hell, Ava and Odin consistently butted heads on the fact that Ava still held a soft-spot for Titan, as her friend had yet to comprehend that he can't change the way she thinks just because he doesn't like Titan.

And for the most part, Ava respects that. They've grown up in two very different environments, and that's fine! From what she had seen too, a lot of the kids in town grew up very differently from each other, even if they lived next door to one another.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

All Men Have Limits - VII

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 3,500+

Warning: Mention of domestic violence

Previously on…

“The Court is holding session two weeks from now,” Y/N announced to the group.

“How do we know they’re going through with it after all the recent attention?” Damian challenged.

“They haven’t missed one in over over 20 years.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Dick asked.

Y/N took in a deep breath, “We need a diversion.”

“Diversion?” Jason asked.

She nodded. “The Court has two kinds of protection: the Talons and then the protection they either buy or blackmail. The Talons are at every meeting, making sure nothing goes down and protecting The Court.”

Y/N eyed all of them before continuing – except for Bruce. The two of them hadn’t spoken since their argument, and Y/N hadn’t so much as acknowledged him.

“We need to do something to drag the Talons away from The Court – something big,” Y/N clarified.

“Like what?” Tim asked.

She didn’t say anything. Instead she just awkwardly shifted her weight.

“No,” Dick shut down, being the first to put it together.

“It’s the only way,” she countered.

By now the rest of them had figured out that Y/N wished to put herself in danger once again.

“They almost killed you,” Dick started to get heated.

“Yeah, and they’re even more anxious to kill me after the trouble we caused them. We all know it. The quickest way to get the Talons out of hiding is to dangle me in right front of their faces. Make it so easy that they can’t say no.”

They all went quiet.

“It’s a good idea,” Jason broke the silence.

Jason wasn’t one to beat around the bush. He was brutally honest. Also, he wasn’t scared of a risk. 

Dick glared at him.

But to his surprise, so did Bruce.

“We don’t use our own as bait,” Bruce finally spoke for the first time.

But he wasn’t even looking in Y/N’s vicinity.

That didn’t stop Y/N from rolling her eyes at ‘our own,’ as if she were actually treated the same as everyone in this family.

“Fine,” she snapped. “So what’s your genius plan for getting the Talons away from The Court and where we want them?”

Bruce was quiet, but clearly because he was thinking.

“B, we only have two weeks to get this together,” Dick tried to reason.

Y/N just continued, “While we’re distracting the Talons, the FBI and Gotham PD can raid The Court’s meeting. Security will be at an all-time low and they won’t be able to fight their way out with the distraction of a Talon defense.”

“We can think of another way,” Bruce said. Then he addressed all boys, “We’re heading out for patrol in 15.”

Dick stood up to join them.

To everyone’s shock Y/N and Bruce simultaneously said, “You’re staying here.”

Dick’s brow furrowed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re still injured,” Y/N argued. “You’re stitches aren’t even out yet.”

“You’re staying here with Y/N,” Bruce added on.

Tim, Damian, and Jason all looked at each other in amusement from seeing Bruce and Y/N gain up on Dick.

Bruce muttered out radiuses at the other three boys for patrolling.

“Just to be clear, I’m going back to being a lone wolf when this Court of Owls bullshit is over with,” Jason announced. “But I have to admit, the drama is entertaining.”

“Aww! Come on, J! You know you love the quality family time,” Tim teased.

“I personally can’t wait for him to go away,” Damian mumbled.

“Do you know what a swirly is?” Jason asked the youngest boy.

“No.”

“Do you want to find out?”

Damian looked at Tim for some kind of hint. But Tim just aggressively shook his head in warning.

“Enough,” Bruce warned, but he wasn’t all that annoyed.

When they all left for patrol, Y/N walked to her computers.

“What are you doing?” Dick questioned.

She gave him a look, “Uhhh…doing my job?”

“You did your job,” he countered. “Give yourself a break.”

Y/N knew he was technically right. She already had everything they needed to show the FBI and Gotham PD in order to take down The Court of Owls. Now they just had to wait – even if Bruce wasn’t on board with Y/N’s plan on playing bait.

“Plus,” Dick smirked. “I need someone to entertain me.”

She playfully glared at him. “Oh, I see. So this isn’t about me needing a break. It’s about you needing attention.”

He had no shame. “Maybe.”

Y/N shook her head at his ridiculous, but couldn’t hide her smirk.

“How about I teach you some self defense?” Dick offered.

“Dick! What part of ‘you’re recovering’ is so hard for you to understand?”

He had the audacity to laugh at her reaction. “Fine. Fine. But you should learn a few things at some point.”

Then Dick started walking to the training area, specifically where all the gymnastics equipment was.

Y/N hadn’t seen anyone using it while she was down there, but she assumed it was mostly for Dick.

Without warning, Dick did a press handstand mount on the balance beam, and then he held the handstand.

“Dick! Stop!” Y/N said in a panic.

And she did exactly what he wanted, leaving her computer and walking down to where he was on the balance beam.

“What?” He shrugged as he now stood on the balance beam. “It’s just a handstand. Relax.”

“I swear to god, Dick Grayson, if you do a fucking flip on that thing…”

“You’ll what?” He challenged with a smirk. “Come up here and stop me.”

Y/N crossed her arms and glared at him. “Fine. I will.”

Dick was beaming from his success.

Y/N might not be a gymnast or a vigilante the same way as all of them, but she wasn’t completely hopeless when it came to athletics. She managed to lift herself up enough to sit on the balance beam.

However, standing up was an entirely different thing.

“Fuck,” Y/N muttered under her breath.

“You got it,” Dick encouraged.

But he was still walking across towards her as if the thing was a runway.

“Have these things always been this fucking narrow? I thought it was like width of bleacher seats.”

Dick chuckled as he offered her a hand.

“I got you. Come on,” he urged her softly.

Y/N slowly stood on the balance beam, but gripped Dick’s hands tightly.

“I have some newfound respect,” she laughed lightly as she looked down at their feet.

“Harder than it looks,” Dick agreed.

“Do you think you could’ve gone to the Olympics?” Y/N genuinely asked.

He shrugged, “Who knows. Probably not.”

But Y/N knew he was most likely being modest.  

Then Dick let go of her hands to grip her waist, “Try walking.”

“I feel like we’re in Dirty Dancing. You know, like the scene where they’re working on lifts and walking across the log in the woods.”

He smiled.

Y/N lost her balance a little bit and panicked.

But Dick’s grip on her waist was strong. “You’re OK. I got you.”

It was hard to focus on balancing and walking when his gentle voice said things like that to her, making her stomach drop and her heartbeat quicken.

And it all proved to be too much when Y/N really lost her balance and there was no stopping her from falling. She shoved into Dick too hard, making him lose his grip as well.

But as they fell, Dick quickly maneuvered their bodies so he took the fall and caged her body protectively.

Y/N instantly sat up in hysterics.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Are you OK?” Y/N cried out as her eyes went down to where he still had stitches, half expecting blood to be on his t-shirt from the wound reopening.

But Dick was laughing his ass off.

“It’s not funny!” She slapped his chest.

“I’m not made of glass, Y/N.”

She couldn’t keep her own amusement in check much longer and started laughing along with him.

But then Dick’s phone lit up and vibrated beside them. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when they fell.

Y/N didn’t mean to look. She really didn’t. But her eyes couldn’t stop from reading the name ‘Barbara Gordon’ on the screen.

Her smile dropped for some reason.

But Dick didn’t see the problem.

He casually reached over and looked at the message.

Y/N moved off of Dick. “Texting your ex?”

Dick narrowed his eyes at the framing of her question. “Do you know every woman I’ve ever dated?”

She smirked at that. “Maybe.”

“Yes, I am. She’s a friend.” He tilted his head. “Don’t you stay in touch with any of your exes?”

Y/N shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t really have any ex-boyfriends. Just…” she hesitated, “people I’ve hooked up with or whatever.”

Dick nodded slowly.

“Why hasn’t she been around?” Y/N changed the subject quickly.

“She’s been working her own case – had to go undercover for awhile.”

She nodded. But wasn’t looking at him as they talked now.

“You know…just because that’s what’s happened in the past doesn’t mean that it always has to be that way,” he told her quietly.

“Easy for you to say.”

Dick winced a bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her gaze finally moved up from the floor to his. “You’re a serial monogamist. Being in relationships is easy for you.”

“That’s what you think of me?” Dick couldn’t hide the hurt in his voice. “You think I don’t know how to be alone?”

“I didn’t say that,” she quickly defended.

“But that’s what you were implying.”

Y/N got up from the mats and started to leave.

“No. Don’t do that,” Dick caught her arm.

“Do what?” She challenged as she pulled her arm away from him.

“Don’t make up problems that don’t exist, Y/N.”

She huffed at that.

“Yeah, I’ve been in serious relationships for most of my life. Not because I didn’t know how to be alone, but because I loved them.” He shook his head. “I know men have treated you like shit, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same.”

“What are we even talking about, Dick?” She shot back.

How did they get from messing around on a balance beam to discussing their non-existent relationship?

“Don’t play dumb, Y/N. You’re one of the smartest people I know. Act like it.”

It wasn’t until now that Dick saw how Bruce and Y/N were similar. He’d never met anyone else that could push people away like they did. But it was clear they both thought it was easier and less complicated to isolate themselves. 

Maybe that’s why they gravitated toward each other. Like if the faced it together than they were cheating their way out of their own rules.

Except Dick couldn’t help but wonder what Y/N’s life could look like with someone who really loved her, who showed her that she didn’t have to face the world alone. Obviously he wanted to be that person for her. But his ego wasn’t too proud to allow someone else to do that for her. Even if it hurt like hell.

“Dick, I can’t–”

But he didn’t let her say another word, and his lips crashed against hers.

She tried to be stubborn and pull away, but he wasn’t letting her get away.

Dick deepened the kiss. This wasn’t like the night of the gala. It wasn’t innocent and soft. No, this was filled with fire and infatuation.

Dick wasn’t being polite anymore. His hands slipped under her t-shirt to grasp her waist, needing to feel her and refusing to allow fabric between his touch and her skin.

Maybe he was trying to prove something to Y/N now.

But just when Y/N was about to push it further, Dick pulled away.

Their lips were both swollen.

And he kept close to her, tempting her with another kiss – but not giving in.

“You don’t want to talk about it? Fine.” His voice was raspy.

Eventually he’d push her to talk about them. For now, he’d let her figure things out.

“But don’t convince yourself that I’m no one to you.”

———————

Y/N couldn’t sleep.

Her mind was restless.

She knew Dick had been right: she was trying to point out issues that didn’t exist, picking unnecessary fights.

Getting Dick frustrated was a great way to stop herself from actually reflecting on how she was starting to feel about him.

Instead of tossing and turning in bed, Y/N decided to go to the library. She hadn’t spent much time there – too busy practically living in cave. But it had intrigued her since she arrived. It was so beautiful, and even large enough to hide in.

She was a hour or so into a book she grabbed from the shelves when someone cleared their throat.

Y/N jumped in fright and looked up to see Bruce leaning against one of the book shelves.

His hair was wet and he was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Clearly he’d just taken a shower.

“You’re back early,” she noted.

It wasn’t even 4AM yet.

“Quiet night. The boys had patrolling handled.”

She just nodded and went back to her book.

But Bruce’s presence made it impossible for her to even focus enough on the words to keep reading. So, she faked it.

“I owe you an apology.”

Her stare snapped up.

“I should not have spoken to you the way I did.”

Y/N was silent.

“It was unfair, and I was mistaken. I apologize.”

Y/N watched him for a moment before saying, “Apology accepted.”

She expected him to leave after that. He’d checked his little box. Now they could both move on.

“I was scared,” Bruce confessed. “That I was going to find you dead. And then I was scared Dick would lose it and…” His words died out.

“Well… you hid that very easily.”

“I have to.”

“I know. But you don’t realize how frustrating that can be for other people.”

Bruce sighed and frowned. “I understand.”

Y/N finally put her book down and got up from the love seat to slowly walk to where Bruce was standing.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” she apologized softly. “And I’m sorry for scaring you. I was only doing what I thought was right.”

Bruce didn’t even realize what he doing until he pulled Y/N into his arms and felt her bury her face into his chest and hug him back. He tightened his hold around her, breathing in her hair.

Y/N was surprised by his hug, but she was grateful for it.

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. It was either his body wash or his cologne, but Bruce always smelled like musk and wood. Y/N was rarely close enough to smell it this well. But when she did, it instantly soothed her.

“Why are you up so late?” Bruce asked when they finally pulled away.

Y/N let out a long sigh, “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

“You do not know how to make tea,” she answered while trying not to laugh.

“I am not as hopeless in the kitchen as you’d imagine,” he told her with a smirk.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she replied, as she followed him downstairs.

True to his word, Bruce made Y/N lavender tea, making it just as Alfred had taught him as a child.

He gave her a smug smirk when he handed her one of the mugs and saw how surprised she was by him.

Y/N never expected he would linger. 

But an hour later, they were still sitting on the barstools at the island.

The conversation was slow, but light.

Now that Y/N had spent so much time with the family, she mostly talked about the boys with Bruce, asked him questions about each of them.

It was easier for him to talk about them than himself – or them. 

Little did Bruce know, Y/N was learning so much more about him from the way he talked about all of them.  

Bruce was subtle, but Y/N could tell how proud he was of all of them – even Jason, who he had a tumultuous relationship with. He loved them with all his heart, even though he was terrible at showing it.

“Damian’s the only one who still lives here. Tim has a penthouse in the city. And Dick is constantly jumping around place to place. But it’s been...nice having them around so much recently,” Bruce admitted with hesitation.

“And what about Jason?” She asked. “He never seems to stay here.”

Bruce hid his sadness and disappointment well, but Y/N could still see it.

“I’m lucky Jason even speaks to me,” he answered darkly. “He tends to like his space and prefers to…keep to himself.”

She nodded, not forcing the subject more.

But then her eyes got a glimpse of the clock. And she looked inside her now empty mug. How long ago did she finish it?

“I should probably attempt to get at least a couple hours of sleep,” she murmured as she got up from the stool. 

Bruce nodded, and did that thing where men stand up as soon as a woman does.

No matter how many times he did it, Y/N was always caught off guard by it.

“Thank you for the tea,” her voice was so quiet, but sincere. She smiled, “I’m sorry for ever doubting your skills.”

He grinned and watched her leave.

But when Y/N reached the edge of the kitchen she turned around. “If I asked you a question, would you answer truthfully? And I mean really answer.”

Bruce observed her for a few seconds. 

He knew she deserved his honesty.

They constantly answered each other’s questions with questions. It was like a dance – or a fight – which one probably just depended on the day.

He nodded.

“It’s okay if I am. Really, it is.” She took a short inhale. “But was I just another one of Bruce Wayne’s conquests?”

The desperation for honesty was so clear in her face and voice. If he said ‘yes,’ it would hurt her, but she would get over it. After all, that’s what she’d been assuming all this time.

Bruce did not have the words. Furthermore, he saw this for what it was: the two of them approaching dangerous territory.

But he owed her this.

Bruce didn’t break her stare as he carefully shook his head.

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

——————

LATER THAT NIGHT/EARLY MORNING…

Bruce knew Dick would be in the gym in the manor.

Everyone trained in the cave, so Dick knew no one would find him there. And he could workout in peace without being reprimanded about resting and being cautious about his injuries.

Dick had been sprinting on the treadmill when Bruce walked in.

When he spotted his entrance in the mirror, Dick stopped the machine.

He was dripping in sweat, proving that he’d been training hard – too hard for his condition.

Wonder where he learned that from…

“What’s up?” Dick asked as he wiped his face with a towel.  

“I had a feeling you weren’t resting,” Bruce said as he crossed his arms.

“I’m fine,” Dick shot back.

But he did a double take when he realized how deep in thought Bruce seemed to me. He was staring off, an extremely unusual thing for him. 

“Bruce?” Dick asked with concern. 

“Y/N’s parents abused her,” Bruce told him firmly all of the sudden. “Her father was an alcoholic – beat her and his wife. Her mother emotionally and mentally terrorized her. After running away countless times, Y/N was finally able to emancipate herself at 16.”

Dick’s entire body froze. “How do you know that?”

“She told me.” 

Bruce didn’t mean to sound smug. 

But Dick still took it that way. 

“For obvious reasons, she didn’t go into great detail. But I filled in the blanks with research – though she’s hid her past well, as you can imagine. She was homeless after that. Broke in where she could. Tried to stay off the streets. Even dressed like a boy for safety.”

Dick felt sick as he listened. Stories like this were all too familiar to their family. 

“One day, she saw someone coding on their computer at a coffee shop. She had always overachieved at computer science in school, and it intrigued her. As you and I both know, she caught on rather quickly.”  

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she’s not going to,” Bruce replied as if it’s obvious.

Dick scowled, still not putting together the deeper meaning. They had never shared a conversation like this before. And it was confusing him.

Was Bruce trying to shove his past with Y/N in Dick’s face?

“I was the first person she ever shared her past with,” Bruce said slowly. “And it took me far too long to realize that I mishandled her trust. I did not deserve it.”

Dick could see the regret on Bruce’s face as he spoke.

But Dick finally understood what Bruce was actually trying to tell him: ‘If she does you the same honor, don’t you dare make the same mistake I did.’

“I understand,” was all Dick responded with.

Bruce gave a curt nod.

“Need I remind you that the cave has cameras?”

Bruce saw them kiss. But little did he know, it wasn’t their first.

Dick only quirked an eyebrow as if it say, ‘So? What of it?’

-----------

Part 8

Guys, I was 30 minutes early. You’re welcome. 

I want to point out that Y/N’s dark past was always part of the story. But I avoided actually including it because I am not a fan of fanfic writers often romanticizing abuse or mental health issues or other serious matters. I just want everyone to know that I take things like this seriously and I’m not just using them as a plot point. 

So here is a resource if you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence. 

[smutsonian]

the mobster’s little girl

pairing: mob!steve rogers x reader

summary: what happens when the big bad mobster gets blackmailed by your father to marry you? (kind of fluffy kind of not. kinda dark kinda not.)

warnings: smut, violence, death, obsessive behavior kind of, poorly written smut (for real i skipped some), innocent reader (kind of?), lil bit of angst, drowning, accidents in the kitchen, reader getting burned, not proofread, a lot of mistakes for sure (It’s a long fic and im too lazy to find the mistakes), loss of virginity skskks, oral deed (f & m), fingering skksks, kind of a handie, please let me know if i skipped some, please read at your own risk, rumlow is a warning periodt, this has crack vibes i swear idk what i was typing at some point, ddlg? (is this ddlg? jesus fuck idek anymore), dub-con but like not really?, the POV gets fucked up towards the end so goodluck with understanding this piece of sheeet

word count: 11k (what da actual fuck? this is loooong)

a/n: df am i being awkward while writing them warnings for? Holy shit that’s a long list of warnings

big thanks to @buckys-forgotten-plum​ for helping me edit <3 luv u mwah

this is a combined request of a mob!steve x innocent!reader + steve teaching reader to suck his ding-a-ding-dong

this has a sucky ending. i hate the fucking ending. 

also, i don’t got no clue on how to do spacing on tumblr so im terribly sorry for that.

masterlist

Maybe it’s because they were terrified. Maybe it’s because they know what’s out there and what evil lurks in every corner of the city. Whatever the reason is, her parents hid her from the outside world. Never was she able to step another foot out of the gates of her home. No matter how huge the mansion her parents keep her in, it still feels small and lonely. Instead of the friends that she should’ve made in kindergarten, she became friends with her parents’ employees. Instead of the high school friends that she was supposed to have, she has the few cleaners in the house. She didn’t feel like they work for her because they’ve become her friends that keep her sane for being in one place for her whole life. Being able to go somewhere that’s not the garden, the gazebo, or even the lake that became her favorite place has always been in her mind but never her heart never really demanded to go out. She gets curious at times but it’s not enough to make her go against her parents’ number one rule.

 “Never let yourself be known and never talk to anyone outside this house. If possible, keep yourself away from the entrance gates.”

Being the obedient daughter you are, you followed that rule without question. You became the daughter that your parents wanted you to be. You learned everything from your tutor. The basics of economics but mostly proper etiquette. You didn’t know why you had to learn those but you did what your parents wanted you to do without question. You always do…

 That’s why when your parents told you that you were to marry, you agreed with a little bit of hesitance. “It’s for the best, princess.” Is the only thing that your father said while your mom looked at you with a small smile. You thought that it was going to be like the ones in the movies. You imagined a magical wedding but you didn’t even have one. You were told to sign some papers and just like that, you’re married to some man you don’t even know. A man that you didn’t see until a few days after the signing of papers.

  Steve never felt so disrespected in his entire life. He’s so used to being the powerful man of the city, the country even, that never did he expect some feeble man to come barreling into his business. The Y/L/Ns… He knew of them but he knew little about them. The family is so secretive but are known to be powerful. Nobody knows how they do it but now he has been graced to learn how.

Blackmail… Along with bribery. How fucking pathetic.

He didn’t know how the man managed to acquire his plans for a rival gang but somehow, the fucker did. The rival gang that he was trying to take down for so long and managed to make a plan of action until this fucker messed everything up. The bastard wanted to marry his daughter off to him for a powerful alliance. Saying something about how both of their names would benefit from the marriage. The bastard also promised a fat amount of money that he’ll receive once he marries his daughter. The bastard knew that money has always been a problem for him by the smug look on his face. 

“It’s simple. You provide us security, we give you money. We seal the deal once you sign the papers to be my daughter’s husband.” The old fucker says with such pride in his voice. Steve gritted his teeth before making a move to toss the man out but the fucker clicks his tongue at him. “Ahh, we also wouldn’t want Rumlow to know about your plans on attacking his turf a fortnight from now, do we?” The old fuck stares at him as he waits for his answer.

 Having no other choice, Steve says yes with flared nostrils. He glares at the way the man smiles giddily while walking towards the door. Before the old man could leave, he turned back towards Steve with a serious look before pointing a finger at him. “One more thing… My daughter will be your wife but you are not to touch her. You live at the mansion with her but you ain’t allowed to touch her. Do get out of her way as much as you can. You get all the money you want by following my orders. That easy. Nice dealing with you.” The man was out the door in an instant as Steve glared at the closed door before picking up a wine glass from his desk and throwing it against the door.

   “It’s a bit weird, mother.” Is your reply when your mother came to visit you in your room and asked you about how you’re feeling given your situation. She continues to brush your hair with her fingers as she hums in response.

 “It’s not like the ones in movies, that’s for sure.” You joke, earning a chuckle from your mother.

“My situation… It’s not really normal, correct?” You pull away from your mother’s hands and turn to look at her. She lets out a sigh before turning you back around and resuming to play with your hair. “No…” She says. “We might have been a bit strict with you but we only did it for your safety. The world out there… It’s not safe.” She continues. Once again, you pull away from your mother to fully give your attention to her. “But you and father are always out there. You put yourselves in danger on the daily so why can’t I?” You look at your mother who was looking at you with an unamused expression. You let out a sigh before sighing. “I know... I know. It sounds a bit silly to ask myself to be put in danger… But what about marrying me off to some stranger! You told me that father is bringing him here after he signed the papers. He’s to live here with all of us. Mother, we don’t even know him. Why would you let a stranger into our home?” You reason out, making exaggerated hand gestures to back yourself up. When your mother makes no effort to respond to you, you retort with a scoff and an eye roll. 

“You’re so hell-bent on keeping me inside this place, claiming that it’s to protect me that you failed to realize that you’re putting all of us in danger by letting an unknown man live with us. Seems kind of idiotic to me.” 

 *SLAP*

 You look at your mother with wide eyes as you hold your left cheek as it is stinging in pain. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. That was disrespectful of me. I’m sorry.” You scrambled to get away from your mother, ignoring her calls as you left your room to run down the long hallway and down the flight of circular stairs. You went out of the mansion and started running down a pathway towards the lake. You were so upset and focused on getting to your destination that you didn’t see a strange man coming out of a black SUV just as you walked out of the mansion.

 You ran down the wooden dock, frowning at what you had said to your mother. You couldn’t believe how you acted just now. First, you disrespect your mother. Now, you hide yourself away like a child that got reproved for the first time. You clicked your tongue in annoyance, an action that you got from your father, as you paced around the wooden dock. “Of course, they were just trying to protect you, you stupid idiot.” You hit your forehead with your palms over and over before tilting your head backward to stare at the sky, not caring at how your eyes hurt at the blinding sun. 

 You closed your eyes after a few seconds, sighing out as you figured that you should probably go back. Your so-called husband was supposed to arrive today. You start to walk back when your foot slipped and suddenly, water enveloped your body. 

 You fell into the lake.

 You would think that being locked up in a big mansion would give you a lot of time to learn how to swim but with your luck, no one ever thought you how so now you couldn’t do anything but drown.

 Your arms flopped around you as you kicked your legs all over the place just to get some air down your lungs but you only found yourself sinking further down. You couldn’t even scream for help because you know that if you did, you would only be swallowing a whole lot of water. 

 Before you could lose your breath entirely, something grasped your flailing hand. You would’ve screamed if you weren’t pulled out of the water. Turned out, it was a hand. Not some kind of creature from the fantasy movies you’ve watched.

 You were sitting on the wooden dock, gasping for air when the sound of an annoyed huff caught your attention. You tilt your head up to see a man looking down at you with an annoyed expression. Your brain started clicking and then it hit you. He must be your husband.

 “You’re here early.” You whisper, looking down. You weren’t sure how to act around him. Around your husband. You would base it on the movies you’ve watched but so far, those movies were nothing like your life. You were sure that if you tried to act like one of the characters there, you would look like a complete buffoon. 

 “So glad to know that I’m married to a dumbass.” He cuts your thoughts off with a sneer. 

 “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall and drown like that.” You remember the lessons you had. About not engaging in someone else’s hostility. You looked down in embarrassment. You’ve never been called something vile like that so you must’ve made him really upset. He scoffs before shaking his head and leaving you on the wooden floor as he walks away.

After that encounter with your so-called husband, you never really saw him again, even though the two of you were living in the same house. It was a few weeks after the drowning incident and you made sure to not tell anyone about it and you only hoped that Steve (you had to learn his name from your mother) didn’t tell anyone about it either. You and your mother are in good terms again and she’s currently in your room again, telling you how she and your father are to spend a few months in Prague to deal with a few business hiccups. You didn’t bother to ask if you could come with but you did bother to complain about them leaving. “You’re leaving me alone with a stranger under the same roof as me?” You exaggeratedly widened your eyes at your mother. “Oh, stop it. I’ve gotten to know Steve myself. I’m sure you’ll be safe with him. He seems like a nice guy. Although, I think your father gets a little bit on his nerves.” Your mother giggles to herself and you look at her with an amused grin. “You’re closer to my husband than I am with him.” You joked which earned a sympathetic look from your mother.

 “Talk to him. He’s your husband after all.” She caresses your face. You hold her wrist as you push your cheeks towards her hold. “I’m pretty sure he hates me, mother. I have a feeling that he’s scrupulously avoiding me.” 

 “How about you bake him something, hmm? You’re wonderful at baking!” Your mother grins at your excited reaction to the mention of baking.

 “I do love to bake…” You hummed in thought before giving your mother a faux pointed look. “Alright, I will bake but only because I love to bake. So if he doesn’t want to socialize with me, then so be it. I wouldn’t care.” You huff proudly as your mother looked at you with a grin and a hint of playfulness in her eyes.

 “What is it?” You ask her.

 “Why do I get the feeling that you want to impress Steve?” She chuckles at your stunned expression.

 “You have completely lost your mind, mother. Haven’t you got a plane to catch? Go on. Say hello to Prague for me!” You push her out of your room, her laughing at your antics before placing a kiss on your forehead and leaving you to yourself.

  “Ooof!” You hissed as your finger touched the hot tray when you were pulling it out of the oven. You were making the third batch of cookies and somehow, you managed to burn your finger now. You quickly pulled the mittens off before putting the hot finger into your lips, as if sucking the pain away is possible. 

 You heard footsteps coming over and when you turned your head, you saw Steve looking at you with something you couldn’t comprehend. “H-hey.” You pulled your finger out of your mouth before hiding it behind your back like a kid. You tiptoed over the counter to reach the plate of cookies before walking over to him. “I made cookies. Would you… like to try some?” You moved the plate closer to his face but he only scowled at you before taking your right wrist and surveying your hand. He found the finger you were sucking on earlier and muttered something under his breath. You thought you heard him say ‘dumbass’ again like the last time.

 “Put cream on it.” He grumbled before leaving the kitchen. You glared at his back until he turned back around, making you wipe the glare out of your face before smiling bitterly at him. He walked towards you with a dark look until he was inches away from you. The position you two are currently in made you realize how tall he is. How he’s towering over you and how his biceps are poking out of his shirt. His crystal blue eyes are staring deep into your soul and you were almost hypnotized by it. You gulped in nervousness. You remember all the things you told your mother about this certain stranger that could possibly be a danger to you until he smirked and took the plate of cookies from the table before walking out once more, leaving you gaping at the door in confusion as your heart was beating faster than normal. From fear or something else, you do not know.

 ----

 Steve was deep in thought as he chewed on the cookies she made. It was really delicious and he hated that he liked it. He did his best to avoid the girl. He’s trying his best to avoid the girl. He did his best to hate the girl so things would be easier for him. He’s trying his best to hate the girl. He didn’t have time to babysit her. Her father is not someone he wanted to have ties with but he is. Steve didn’t want anything that has to do with that man and that includes her.

 But why is it so hard for him to keep her out of his mind?

 The first time he saw her, she had that cute little frown on her face but he found his heart skipping a beat at the sadness in her eyes. He knew he would regret following her but then he didn’t. He saw her as she fell down the dock and he didn’t know why he felt like his world stopped when he saw her gasping for air but it did. It took him his best efforts not to just dive into the lake to save her. Instead, he took her flailing hands and easily pulled her out of the waters. He wanted to keep her warm when he saw her shivering on the wooden floor but he suddenly remembered the deal. His worry was quickly converted into anger and annoyance so he managed to leave her alone, something heavy in his chest as he walked away from her.

 He hated the way she made him feel so he avoided her like a plague. Their home was big and avoiding her was really easy. It was stopping himself from going near her is the hard part. Her mother is the total opposite of her father. Her mother is a nice woman and living with the Y/L/Ns didn’t feel like a job other than her horrid father. Steve got to learn more about her through her mother. She talked about her so dearly. Steve felt his heart fall at the mention of her not leaving the mansion. It sounded like she was an animal caged in better surroundings. Steve realized why she acted so differently when he’s watching her. She seemed so… innocent. 

 Then he caught her baking cookies. It took him his best not to run towards her when he heard her hiss in pain. He watched as she tried to hide her injury from him. He didn’t know if he found it cute or annoying because she shouldn’t hide injuries from him. From anyone. If she was injured, she should get it to check as soon as possible. Then she offered him cookies. Steve swore that his heart leaped in adoration but he took the offered plate in front of him as a chance to check on her hand. He observed her fingers, internally flinching as he saw the burnt area on her index finger. “Such a clumsy little girl…” He muttered under his breath. Steve caught himself though. Why was he so worried about her? He quickly composed himself and dropped her hand. Before turning to leave. He heard her huff and he couldn’t help but to chuckle at that. He turned around to see her frowning at him only to have her eyes widened in surprise. She gave him a stubborn smile as he walked over to her, teasing her and testing her to see where her cuteness could go. Where her STUBBORNNESS could go. Did he really just say cute? 

 When he thought she had had enough, he smirked and took the plate of cookies before leaving.

 The plate of cookies that he’s currently munching on. 

 The more Steve thinks about it, the more he’s realizing that he couldn’t keep her out of his mind. It was impossible.

 The more he sees her, the more he wants to be with her. The more he sees her, the more he wants to protect her because it seems like she has a way of putting herself in danger.

 So innocent.

 So pure.

 He wanted her and he didn’t know if he could control himself anymore.

  A week has passed and things with your husband seemed to have gotten better, if one is optimistically speaking. 

 He no longer avoided you so that’s better than before. He doesn’t acknowledge you much though. He only speaks to you to correct your every move. Called you out when you were walking barefoot around the mansion, mocked you when you walked around the docks, and even demanded you to leave the kitchens alone because according to him, you don’t know how to properly use it.

 He only ever opened his mouth to speak his mind of his distaste towards you and you were starting to miss the times when he completely avoided you.

 But you ignored the insults and kept your head high up. You aren’t going to sulk. Especially not when someone’s clearly made it his goal to make you feel just that.

 That’s why you’re currently making pasta. Ignoring his demand and continuing on having adventures in the kitchen. You just finished making the sauce so now you just have to cook the pasta. You took a pot that was way bigger than your head and proceeded to fill it with water from the sink.

 You struggled to carry it over to the stove, letting out a relieved sigh once you managed to set it down. The problem though, the bottom of the pot somehow got stuck on the burner plate. You clicked your tongue in annoyance before grunting and attempting to pull on the heavy pot. It remained stuck so you exerted more effort, succeeding but managing to tilt the pot towards yourself. You let out a yelp as the cold water inside the pot spills all over you. 

 “Y/N!”

 You felt his hands before you heard his voice.

 ——

 Steve heard clanking noises from the kitchen and he just had to roll his eyes at the thought of her prancing around the kitchen. Didn’t he tell her to leave the kitchen alone? He’s just trying to stray her from the harm she could put herself in. Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

 He walked into the kitchen, just in time to see water spill over her from the boiling pot. His blood went cold as he felt his heart stopping. “Y/N!” He rushed over her knelt body, covered in water. He cautiously touched her face, being careful not to hurt her possibly burnt skin. Why can’t she just listen to him? He told her not to work in the kitchen for a reason. 

 As he touched her seemingly cold cheeks, he watched as she looked up at him with an innocent confused look. “Steve?” Her voice was so meek yet it made his ear start to ring as his heart started to beat back to life. She must’ve seen his frantic expression because her eyes widened in realization before she’s shaking her head and pointing at the fallen pot. “I haven’t boiled the water yet! See? I’m fine. I didn’t burn myself.” She had the audacity to smile cheekily at him and he didn’t know if he should be leaping in joy with her or reprimanding her for being so careless.

 Steve clicked his tongue at her, something that he must’ve picked up from her, before leaving the kitchen with a huff. Something that he’s been doing a lot whenever he’s with her.

 ——

 After he left, you took a seat on one of the chairs, recalling what just happened a few moments ago. He thought you were stupid enough to pour boiling water all over yourself. Does he really think you’re that stupid? He looked so worried though. You smiled at the thought of him possibly caring about you. 

 You let out a short squeak when you felt something falling at the top of your head. A towel. Steve wrapped it around you until your head was the only part exposed. “Whatcha grinning on about, little girl?” His voice was stern but there was a teasing tone in it. You looked up at him as he watched you. You shook your head before furrowing your eyebrows when he bought the pot towards the sink, filling it with water.

 “What are you doing?” Your voice is small as you asked him.

 “Can’t trust you with this. You might boil yourself the next time you even try.” He clicked his tongue before effortlessly bringing the pot to the stove and lighting it up. After that he walked back towards you and sat at the chair beside you, turning himself to stare back at you.

 “I thought I made it clear when I told you not to work in the kitchens?” He mockingly tilted his head before raising one eyebrow at you. You stared back at him, not knowing what to say so you just tilted your head down like a chided kid. 

 “Uh uh uh…” You felt his long fingers under your chin as he tilted your head back to face him. “What’s the matter? Did you manage to burn your tongue as well? Hmm?” You didn’t know why but the way he was talking to you is making you feel something unfamiliar in your stomach.

 When you didn’t answer, he put the hand that was on your chin to the side of your mouth, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your eyes fluttered when he managed to poke his thumb into your mouth and pressed it down your tongue gently.

 “Seems pretty alright for me…” He mumbles. You watched as his eyes widened in surprise when you sucked on his thumb absentmindedly. You realized what you were doing and stopped immediately. “No. No, don’t stop. Do it again.” He watched you with bright eyes as you hesitantly sucked on his thumb once more, feeling your body warming up at the current situation. 

 He slowly pulls his thumb out before rubbing it around your lips and leaning his face closer to yours. You could feel your heart panicking in fright or in excitement, you weren’t sure. You saw him close his eyes before he let out a sigh. He pulls away from you then ruffles the towel on your head. “Why don’t you go ahead and put dry clothes on? I think the pasta’s ready.” He grins before walking back toward the stove to start preparing the meal.

 You stumbled to your feet, mindlessly walking towards your room with a clouded mind.

 What was that all about?

  All Steve could ever think about was her. Her beautiful lips. Her eyes that glisten with innocence. Her nose twitches whenever she’s focused on something. The way she fits in his hold. The way she reacts under his touch. 

 He couldn’t forget about the way she sucked on his thumb unknowingly and the way her eyes became hooded from his touch. It’s obvious that she had no idea what was happening and what she was feeling and that only fueled his hunger more.

 The thought of her being hurt made him furious. It made him protective. He wants to protect her at all costs because not even the ends of her hair should get hurt. No. Not on his watch.

 Steve couldn’t take her out of her mind even if he wanted to. That’s the problem. He doesn’t want her out of his mind anymore. He doesn’t want to avoid her anymore.

 Steve accepted it. 

 He knows that he wants her and he knows that she’ll be able to have him wrapped around her precious little finger if she wants to. 

 He realized how she has a tight hold over him without even knowing it and he’s accepted that fact. 

 He’s ready to do everything for the girl and she doesn’t even know it. He’s ready to give her everything he has and everything he is. 

 He’s ready to give himself completely to her. Of course, it is if she’ll have him.

  After that encounter with Steve, you finally followed his instruction and stopped trying to make various meals in the kitchen. 

 You were craving cake so you asked one of the cooks to bake you a cake. That’s why there’s a whole cute pink cake in front of you at the kitchen counter. 

 You’re currently staring at it, thinking it’s too precious to destroy and eat but after a minute of your mouth watering, you give up and run your index finger on the sides until it is covered in icing.

 You licked your finger before sucking on it and humming at the sweet taste of the icing while your eyes are closed. When there is none left on your finger, you take your index and middle finger before sliding it on the sides of the cake to gather twice as much as the previous one.

 Your eyes are closed and lips parted slightly apart, ready to suck on your fingers one more time when a hand grips your wrist. Your eyes fly open to see Steve holding your hand while he’s looking down at your face with a boyish grin. Your eyes widened for the second time when his tongue darted out of his mouth and started licking the icing off your fingers.

 He was staring at you as he continued to lick the icing and you were starting to pull away when his lips parted wider to start sucking on your fingers. You’re frozen in shock as your eyes twitched at the sight of him sucking on your fingers. 

 You feel your heart drop when he starts groaning against your fingers. The unfamiliar feeling in your stomach made itself known again and you bit your bottom lip anxiously at the strange feelings you always get whenever Steve’s with you. 

 Your eyes follow Steve’s lips as he pulls your fingers out of his mouth with a silent pop. He looks at you with a smile before furrowing his brows. “Did you bake this?”

 “N-no! I had someone to bake it for me.” You’re quick to let him know that you didn’t make the cake. He smiled again and you just realize how giddy you feel when you’re able to make him smile like that. 

 “Really? So you finally listened to me?” He chuckles when he sees you nod shyly at him. “Aren’t you a good little girl.” He cooes before looking at the cake with a smirk. “This cake is really delicious…” He leans back to stand straight and you nodded at him in agreement. “I wonder…” 

 You let out a loud squeal when he suddenly puts his hands under your arms before pulling you up and sitting you down on the counter. You look at him with a stunned expression. “Wha—“ 

 “But I bet you taste better than this cake.” You couldn’t respond because he immediately connects his lips with yours, making your eyes pop out in shock as he continues to attack your mouth. You let out a small whimper when you feel his tongue pushing past your lips and roaming around the inside of your mouth, tickling the roof of your mouth.

 You start chuckling against his lips and he stops, looking at you in confusion. “You’re tickling me…” You point at the top of your mouth and Steve’s frown turned into a grin. His hand found their ways on the top of your knees and then he’s pushing them apart. “I know a place where I can tickle you... I’m sure you’ll like it.” He pulls you closer to him so you slide against the counter. He carefully pushes your shoulders until your back is laying on the cold kitchen counter. You feel him hiking your skirt up and pulling your underwear down before he sets your feet back on the counter, knees bent, and far apart. 

 You could feel him breathing against your skin and you could feel your body running hot while the hairs on your body stand in attention. You feel something wet run against your skin and you yelp as you sit on your elbows, looking at Steve alarmingly. His face was just in front of your core and tongue is just retreating your skin. 

 “Wh-what are you doing, Steve?” You bite your lip as you watch him stand up until he’s face to face with you. “I’m trying to make you feel good, baby. Do you trust me?” He presses his lips against yours and pulls away, waiting for your answer.

 “I don’t know…” You admit, stomach dropping at the sadness that flashes over his face.

 “Then let me show you that you can trust me. Can you let me do that?” He looks at you and smiles when you nod at him. He presses his lips on you once more, pushing you against the kiss until your back is back on the counter. He pulls away, pecking you one last time before going back to press kisses in between your legs.

 He licks up your skin, hands pressing down on your hips when you begin squirming around. You feel his mouth sucking on the bud before flicking his tongue over it. He doesn’t stop until you’re whining under him, unsure if you want him to stop or to do something else.

 “What do you want, little girl?” He breathes against your core, making your legs shiver at the sensation. 

 “I don’t know…” You whine, eyes staring at him as he stands over your body. He raises his right hand, fingers fluttering in display as he gives you a questioning look. “You want me to use this on you?” You could only nod in desperation because the feeling of emptiness when he pulled away from you is becoming too much.

 “Good girl.” You hear him whisper before going back in between your legs. You feel his fingers playing with your bud instead of his tongue and it feels overwhelming when he uses his tongue to press it against your entrance. 

 “Mmmhm” You close your eyes in delight as he continues to play with you. The familiar feeling in your abdomen makes itself known once again and this time, it’s stronger. You need more.

 “P-please…” You mutter under your breath, pulling on Steve’s hair to catch his attention. He looks at you with a proud smile before asking. “What is it? You need more? Want me to put my finger inside you, is that it?” 

 ——

 Steve smiles when she nods her head eagerly. So innocent, can’t even tell him what she wants. What she needs.

 He rubs on her clit a few more times to wet his fingers before lining a finger against her slit. He looks back at her as he starts pushing the finger in, slowing down when her hand grips her arm. 

 Steve groans at the tightness of her walls against his finger and starts to slowly pump it as he watches her face contort into a pleasured frown. When he feels her loosening up, he adds another finger that earns a low moan from her. Steve stiffens for a second when he feels his pants getting tighter in the crotch area. His cock is begging him for attention but he pays no mind, focusing on the angel in front of him.

 He spreads his fingers apart inside of her as he leans down to start flicking his tongue against her clit, smirking against it when her thighs shiver against his head. He feels her breaths starting to become uneven and he knows that she’s just about to cum so he doubles his effort, sucking her clit harshly and curling his fingers inside of her.

 Her back arches off the counter and Steve hooks an arm under her to pull her up and press her against his chest. She shakes against his hold as he helps her get through her high. She slumps against his hold, head falling down the side of his neck. 

 Steve tilts his head to look at her face, eyes hooded and forehead sweating. She looks so adorable like this. “That cake gave us such a rush, huh?” He chuckles before hooking her legs around his torso and hugging her body close to his. He feels her dozing off as he carries her to her bedroom. 

 He lays you down on the bed and tucks you under your blanket before studying your face. So peaceful. So relaxed. A smile forms on your face and Steve finds himself smiling as well.

 “Goodnight, my sweet little girl.” He presses a kiss on your forehead before walking out of your room. 

  It’s currently four in the afternoon and Steve is currently sitting on a couch in the massive living room, thinking about the night he has planned for him and his little girl. 

 After that time in the kitchen, things have been great with them. It’s been a few months and he became someone he didn’t know he could be and it was all for her. He wants nothing but the best for his girl. He gives her the ‘special treatment’ or ‘reward’ whenever she asks for it. She’ll do something nice for him to receive his special kisses but Steve knew that he’ll give her anything without her working for it. He just likes the attention he gets from her when she gets a little needy.

 Steve feels his crotch stirring under his pants at the thought of eating his little girl out. He always eats her out and makes her putty with his fingers but his cock remains abandoned. 

 He didn’t think she was ready. He didn’t want to scare his girl. He’ll wait as long as he needs until his little girl’s ready for him. For the time being, he’ll make sure to keep his little girl happy and satisfied.

 Steve’s thoughts were cut off when his little girl walked in front of him with a weird look on her face, a phone held against her right ear. He sits up in attention, his body becoming alert at the way her face scrunches up in fear as she looks at him.

 “What’s wrong, little girl?” His voice is a whisper but his tone is hard. 

 She looks at him with a frown before handing him the phone. He looks at it and listens to her as she speaks.

 “Father called… Which is weird because he never calls when they’re on a trip. Let alone a business trip. He told me that the trip would be a few months and I didn’t think they would be in some kind of situation after being gone for almost seven months… They’re usually gone longer than that. But then that guy—” She points at the phone in Steve’s hand before continuing her explanation.

 “—That guy took the phone away from my father when he’s explaining something to me about telling something to you, Steve. His name is Rumlow and he’s got a very foul mouth—” He watches as her nose scrunches up, probably at the memory of the man’s words on the phone but Steve didn’t care about that. He’s worried about Rumlow talking to you. Through your father’s phone at that!

 Steve presses the phone against his ear before asking who’s on the other line.

 “Ahh, Rogers… Where’s the little brat? I thought she’s enjoying the things I’m promising her. Told her about how my cock will make her cunt cry—” Steve feels his blood boiling at the way Rumlow is talking about his little girl.

 “What are you on about, Rumlow? What are you doing with that phone?” Steve cuts Rumlow off, voice so harsh that he sees her flinching at his tone. He smiles at her before ushering her back to her room.

 “You see… Your girl is supposed to be mine. I saw her first but imagine the surprise I got when I ask her dear daddy for her hand and he tells me that she’s married to a Steve fucking Rogers.” Steve hears Rumlow’s bitter laugh before hearing her little girl’s father groan in pain, no doubt that he took a blow from Rumlow.

 “I just want a simple deal here, Rogers. I’ll text the address and I expect to have the girl and a bag filled with… I don’t know, ten million dollars? If you’re too broke then just bring the girl. I’m sure she’ll make the lack of ten million with her pretty little cunt.” Rumlows cackle was heard along with the cries of your parents. He must’ve held them as hostages. 

 “Do that and her parents stay safe. Be here at 9 pm sharp or it’s bye-bye for her lovely parents. Tik-Tok, Rogers. Tik-Tok…” Steve almost crushes the phone into pieces in his hand when Rumlow hangs up on him. Rumlow holds your parents as hostages and dares to speak about you like that. He’ll fucking kill him.

 The phone buzzes and he sees the address Rumlow sent him. They were no longer in Prague. They’re back here...

 Steve makes a move to call his best man, Bucky, when he hears sounds coming from her room. He quickly runs over, throwing her door open to see her shoving a bunch dollar bills into a huge bag while a phone is pressed against her neck and her shoulder. 

 Steve’s heart falls at the sight of tears falling down her face. She must’ve heard everything with the connecting phone lines. He sighs before walking over to his girl and steadying her by holding her shoulders in a firm grip. “Everything will be alright. I’ll call someone to fix the problem. They’ll clear the building, catch the bad guy, and then your parents will be home in no time!” Steve gives her a smile but it doesn’t work. Her face is still wet with tears as she shakes her head in disagreement.

 “No! The b-bad guy will harm my parents if he sees your men without me! I don’t w-want anything bad happening to my family, Steve. I-I don’t want that!” He pulls her against his chest as he sobs and shakes against his hold. Steve runs a comforting hand on her back before sighing in defeat. 

 “Fine. We’ll save your parents but I have to call my friends for backup. And you have to stay as far away from the fighting. I’ll have my best guy, James, be with you the whole time. You can trust him, he’s my best friend. You need to stick with him because he’ll keep you safe, got it?” He gives her a firm yet gentle look, jaw clenching when she nodded eagerly at him before continuing to fill the bag with cash. 

 He makes his calls and in no time, they’re driving towards the address Rumlow sent him.

  Steve parks the car a few miles away from the building where her parents are being held as hostages. He looks at his little girl who’s currently wearing sweatpants and his hoodie which looks pretty big on her. He smiles at the sight before letting out a shaky breath. 

 “You gotta stay here, okay? I promise that I’ll get your parents out safely. You don’t have to worry about them because I’ll protect them for you, okay? You trust me, little girl?” He watches her as she reluctantly nods her head. He sighs at that before handing her a pistol gun. “You know how to use one?” He asks, surprised to see his little girl nod. She must’ve seen his surprised look because she looks down before explaining, “I had basic shooting lessons.”  He smiles at his little girl before nodding. 

 He gets out of the car before walking around and opening the door for his girl and helping her out. He sees James walking over to them and he nods at his friend in acknowledgment before looking back at his girl. “This is Bucky. He’ll keep you safe. Stick with him, alright?” He watches her girl as she observes his friend with her adorable curious eyes.  

 “The others are already surrounding the building. Backup is also ready. Just say something and they’ll attack. Good luck out there.” He smiles at Bucky’s words before kissing his girl’s forehead.

 “Please stay safe, Steve.” His girl mutters and he feels his heart skip a beat at that moment. “I will. Anything for you, little girl.” He turns to leave, hearing his girl one last time before disappearing. 

 “That’s a nice-looking vest, Mr. Bucky.”

  Everything was going well for Steve. Rumlow’s men are really weak and easy to take down and when Rumlow realized that, he ran. He ran away like the coward he is. He ran out of the building and that was that. At least, that’s what Steve thought. 

 He was able to see her parents and he quickly untied them, her mother thanking him endlessly while her father only grumbled his thanks once. 

 He was guiding the couple out of the building, surprised to see his little girl standing a few miles away from them with Bucky. He sees her eyes brighten in relief that made all his worries disappear. 

 He was walking with her parents when he heard the cocking of a gun beside his head. 

 “Not so fast.” A raspy voice speaks beside him.

 Rumlow…

 Before Steve could even move, a bang was heard. Followed by another bang that has his ears ringing in pain. He closes his eyes to ease the aching in his head or his body. Was he shot? 

 His eyes fly open when he remembers that his girl is also out in the open and his eyes quickly darts over towards her.

 To his surprise, his girl is holding the gun he gave her earlier in his direction. 

 Steve quickly scans the couple near him for injuries when he hears someone groaning below him. He finds Rumlow laying on his back, legs bleeding while his arms are spread out. 

 He looks back at his girl, a sense of pride filling his system. His girl just did that. 

 He watches as his girl runs towards him with her arms wide open, ready to envelop him in a hug. 

 Steve grins before he hears Rumlow muttering and everything seems to be moving in slow motion. 

 “If I can’t have her… Then nobody can!” Rumlow spits before a loud bang go out.

 Steve’s eyes grow wide when he sees the bullet piercing through his hoodie and into his girl’s chest. 

 His heart stops when he sees her falling down into Bucky’s arms and onto the cold ground. 

 Her mother’s cries filled Steve’s ringing ears as well as her father’s curses as he tried to console his wife.

 Steve quickly kicks the gun from Rumlow’s hand before kicking the bastard’s face repeatedly until he’s unconscious. He releases all his anger on the bastard who shot his little girl by bending down and throwing punches down the unconscious man. He keeps punching until he sees Bucky carrying his girl towards them. 

 He pulls back from a bleeding Rumlow before running towards Bucky and taking his girl from his best friend. He brushes some stray hair away from her forehead before observing her face. 

 “Call the fucking ambulance!” He barks at nobody but Bucky follows his order, quickly fumbling with his phone and calling their mob doctor. 

 Steve was about to rip his hoodie off his girl when her eyes suddenly flew open, gasping for air. 

 Steve’s heart stops for a second, he doesn’t know if it’s from shock or relief but he’s grateful to see his little girl alive and breathing. He feels her wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face on the side of his neck as she catches her breath. He wraps his arm around her shaking body, gripping her tight and pulling her body against his like he’s afraid that she’ll slip away from his grasp.

 “Mother. Father. I’m so glad you’re okay!” He hears his girl talking to her parents who are currently behind him. He should let her go to reunite with her parents but he doesn’t. He keeps her against his body. 

 “Are you okay, dear?” Her mother asks and he feels his girl nodding against his neck. His girl finally pulls away from him before tugging on the hoodie she’s wearing and pulling it up to reveal a bulletproof vest. 

 Bucky’s laughter fills the air and everyone turns to look at him. “You little genius!” He exclaims before pointing at his little girl. “She kept bothering me about my vest and didn’t stop until I gave her one! Ah... You got yourself a keeper and a smartass, Steve!” He continues to laugh, her parents soon follow Bucky until everyone is laughing as well. 

 Everyone’s laughter is cut off by Rumlow waking up before gasping for air just like you were a few moments ago. 

 He pulls his girl against his chest, blocking her view from Bucky who gets his gun out before pointing it towards Rumlow’s head. 

 Steve covers his girl’s ears before another bang goes out. The last one for the night.

  “I’m really fine, Steve. Dr. Banner said I was fine! No scars and all, see?” You pull your hoodie up to assure him. You watch him stare at your skin, probably looking for scars before he forces your hoodie down with a frown as he bites his lip. 

 “You can’t just pull your shirt up like that. People might see.” His hushed and commanding voice makes you gulp and nod apologetically. 

 You look around as he walks the both of you towards the lake. “But there’s nobody around, Steve.” You whisper, looking down at the dirt as you walk with him. 

 You feel his warm fingers under your chin before your head is tilted up so you’re looking directly up at him. “You really are a smartass, huh?” He smirks, feeling your body warm up against his hold before throwing his arm around your shoulders to continue walking.

 Steve holds you close as the both of you walk down the dock under the darkness of the night. He stops just at the end of the dock before turning to face you. 

 You admire his face, looking so enchanting under the light of the moonlight. “You remember the first time we met?” He asks, grinning at your embarrassed reaction which is you chewing your bottom lip. He caresses your face before running his thumb across your lips, stopping your teeth’s attacks on your lips.

 “How you’re taught to shoot a gun but not how to swim will always be a mystery.” He chuckles, smiling down at you and you watch him as he does just that. He’s just so pretty to look at.

 “You really scared me tonight, little girl…” His sad tone made your eyebrows shoot up in worry. “I-I didn’t mean to, Steve! I’m so sorry.” You frown at yourself but he brushes his fingers on the wrinkles you made between your eyebrows which makes you relax just a bit.

 “I was supposed to be the one protecting you. Not the other way around.” He lets out a sigh before looking at the water. “But thank you. Thank you for doing that. And for trusting me. I know you were a little hesitant with trusting me but you still did. So thank you for that. It means a lot.” Steve looks back at you and smiles. You feel your heart fluttering at his smile but it also breaks at his words. You wanted to tell him that he’s wrong but you are cut off by a bunch of lights.

 You gasp at the lights that start to flicker all around you. You do a slow full 360, looking at the trees that are covered with fairy lights, the side of the docks are covered with lights as well, and the darkness is soon replaced by a whole bunch of lights. Your heart starts to jump when you hear slow music playing in the background and it feels like every time you do a full 360 turn, something new presents itself. 

 Everything seems so magical, so pretty and so… Something straight out of the fairytale movies that you watch. 

 You turn to face Steve again only to find him gone. You frown before looking down to see him down on one knee, a red velvet box in his hand which he holds towards you.

 You feel yourself grinning with so much joy running through your system and you can’t help but to let out a squeal when the velvet box opens to reveal a very pretty diamond ring. 

 “Little girl… Will you make me the happiest man alive by marrying me?” He asks, uncharacteristically shy which makes you giggle. You start giggling more which makes Steve lick his lips as his eyes flash his nervousness. 

 “Steve, you’re so dumb.” You mumble through giggles. 

 “Huh?” Steve slowly stands up, looking at you with sad eyes.

 “We’re already married! We both signed the papers!” You point out the obvious, stopping your giggle fit before kissing him on the lips.

 “Don’t be sad, Steve… I accept your proposal… Even though we’re already married.” You giggle once more before letting him put the ring on you.

 He guides you until the both of you are sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling down the water.

 “I just wanted you to have a normal yet magical experience even just for a moment,” Steve whispers after a few minutes of silence.

 “That’s kind of useless.” You automatically say.

 “What? Why?” Steve feels his heart fall at your words. Is he doing this whole thing wrong?

 “I already feel like that whenever I’m with you.” You state, looking at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 Steve feels his heart beat an extra mile but he also feels relieved that he’s indeed doing it right. 

 You grin at the sight of Steve blushing in front of you. You never thought that the man who was so hard on you the first time you met was going to be a blushing mess in front of you right now.

 “Hey, Steve?” Your voice cuts the thin air and he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah?”

 “You know how I saved your life earlier…” Steve smiles at your bashful expression that he finds so adorable.

 “Mhmm…” He nonchalantly hums.

 “Well… I was thinking…” You bite your lip in nervousness and embarrassment at the question you’re about to ask him.

 “What is it, little girl?” His voice is matched with a chuckle as he gives you a grin.

 “Can I have a reward for that?” You blurt out.

 Steve feels his cock stir in his pants at her words. He bites his lip before standing up and helping her up as well.

 “I’ll give you everything you want, little girl. It doesn’t have to be a reward. You ask for it, you get it, is that clear?” He gives you a questioning look before smiling when you nod eagerly at him.

 “Now, what is it that you want as a reward?” 

 ————-

He trails kisses from your forehead to your nose, nose to your cheeks, cheeks to your neck. He purposely skips your lips with a grin and starts feasting on your neck. He licks and sucks on a spot he knows too well, earning an adorable squeak from you when he teasingly bites on the skin. “S-Steve!” You gasp, hands going straight to his head, fingers sliding through his soft hair. He continues nipping on your neck until your head tilts back and a quiet moan escapes your lips.

 He pulls away to look at you and then smirks.

 “You want me to give you those special kisses for your rewards?” He cocks a brow before smiling when you nod your head eagerly at him. “Y-yes please.” 

 Steve wastes no time to pleasure you. His little girl.

 He dives for your glistening core and groans in pleasure at your taste. He uses his tongue to stimulate you through your clit, enjoying the way your body shakes under his hold.

 Steve listens to your moans and whimpers like a song and uses it as motivation to keep you a writhing mess under him. “Please, S-Stevie…” He hears you cry under him, reaching your hands towards his hands and pulling it closer to his face as he tongues your clit. 

 Steve chuckles at your needy behavior but complies, not missing the nickname leaving your lips. Anything for his little girl.

 Steve easily enters a finger into your wet core, groaning at your warmness and wetness before adding another finger. He sees your face contorting into a mix of pleasure and pain. Steve leans down to kiss your clit and flicks his tongue faster to distract you from the pain.

 “A-aah” He watches your eyes rolling back when he begins to spread his fingers inside you. Another finger enters and you’re crumbling against his fingers, walls closing around his fingers as you cum undone under him. He pulls away from you before reaching for your face and kissing you hungrily. He smiles against the kiss when he feels you return the kiss with the same hunger.

 He feels you pulling away and he lets you, frowning a little when he sees you looking at him timidly. His hand carefully reaches for your face, knuckles gliding down for cheeks smoothly. “What is it, little girl?” 

 He watches you bite your lip before looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “I w-want to give you special kisses too…” Steve freezes as he feels his cock getting harder than before. He feels your hands reaching for his member, giving him a look before gulping. “C-can you teach me? I want to make you feel good too…” 

 Steve doesn’t know which is beating harder; his cock or his heart, maybe both… Probably both. You do that to him. Only you. His little girl. 

 Steve finds himself gulping as well. “You don’t have to, litt—” 

 “I want to!” You’re quick to cut him off. Almost eager, he notices. He lets out a nervous laugh before nodding. “Okay, okay… I’ll teach you.” He doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up from his approval. He smiles at you before guiding your hands that’s currently holding his hard member.

 “Just do this gently…” He guides your hands up and down his shaft, head going crazy at the sight of your hands not being able to cover his huge cock. He bites his lip, willing himself to hold on and not cum on your hands so early.

 “C-can I kiss it now?” He looks down at you, sitting on the mattress as your innocent eyes look up at him while he stands on the ground. “Go ahead, little girl. Try it.” He encourages you, smiling when you press a quick kiss on his tip. His jaw clenches when you press another kiss, longer this time. 

 Steve’s eyes flutter when he feels your tongue dancing around his tip. You begin to lick along the shaft and then under, making Steve groan wantonly. 

 Steve lets out a frustrated huff when you quickly pull away from him. “I-I’m sorry. I was just doing what you did to me. I-I didn’t mean to hurt you!” Your eyes are teary and Steve realized that his moans made you think that you hurt him.

 He sighs before leaning down to your face, giving you an assuring smile before kissing your nose. “You didn’t do anything wrong, little girl. You’re doing everything right. In fact, you’re doing so great that my friend down there couldn’t help but to go wild under your touch.” He points at his member before grinning at your widened eyes.

 “I’m going to guide you. There’s no reason to be afraid. If you want to stop, just tap me and we will stop. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, okay?” He waits for your response and lets out a breath of relief when you nod.

 He stands back up, putting your hands on his behind and guiding your face just in front of his cock. “Open wide, little girl.” He sings and grins when you do as told. He holds the back of your head but never pushes you, leaving you to go at your own pace.

 You push yourself forward, taking him halfway before pulling back and pushing yourself back to him. His moans of pleasure push you to do more so you do. You swirl your tongue on his tip as you bob your head, smiling at the loud moan that leaves his lips. 

 “You little tease…” He breathes out, his grip on your head getting tighter but not enough to hurt you. He feels the vibration of your laughter on his cock and he lets out another cry of pleasure.

 Feeling confident with yourself, you push yourself forward until his tip hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

 He helps you as you pull away from him, looking down at you with his flushed face. He studies your face, eyes shadowed with lust, making his heart do somersaults. He wipes the tears on your face before saying, “Breathe through your nose, okay?” He watches you nod and chuckles when you go back for his cock, taking him deep at a slow pace and staying there for a second before pulling slightly away. “That’s my good girl…” He moans as you continue to take him, teasing his tip with your tongue when he suddenly pulls you away from him.

 “Did I—” He cuts you off with a kiss, groaning against your lips and pushing you until you’re lying on your back with him on top of you. “You did great. I just want my cum somewhere else…” He catches your lips when you bite on them, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth.

 He pulls away, guiding your body until he’s kneeling between your thighs, one hand on his cock while the other is on your thigh. “Is this okay?” He asks when he places the tip of his cock on your slit.

 You gingerly nod, whimpering when he slides his cock on your sensitive clit. “P-please…” You have no idea what you’re begging for but he seems to know what he’s doing. 

 “Do you trust me, little girl?” Steve asks, looking at your face with hopeful eyes.

 “Yes, Stevie. I trust you.” Steve’s heart warms up at how fast you answered his question. He nods before sliding a few more teasing thrusts into your folds and clit before slowly sliding his tip into your slit. He stops to look at your face that’s contorted into a frown. He leans down your face to kiss your frown away and kisses your lips as well, hoping to distract you from the pain. 

 Steve pushes his cock deeper when he feels you relax under him. He pushes slowly and stops when he’s fully in, groaning when your walls hug his member tightly. “Fuck!” He hisses before looking at you. “You okay?” He asks, smiling when you nod at him, eyes closed. He kisses your lips before pulling halfway and thrusting into you once more, earning a little whimper from you.

 “How are you feeling, baby?” You try to ignore the nickname, opening your eyes and looking straight at his eyes. “G-good. Please move, Stevie.” You press your palms against his chest. He pulls halfway out before shoving himself inside you again, repeating this action until you’re moaning loudly under him and clutching his biceps for support.

 Steve feels your walls fluttering around him, alarming him that you’re close. He knows he’s close as well so he helps you reach your peak by rubbing your clit with his fingers, groaning at how your walls tighten around him.

 Steve listens to your cries of pleasure as your walls clamp down on his cock as you cum, making him cum as well and milking him. Your body shakes under him and both of you breathe heavily as you try to catch your breath. He falls to your side, his arms enveloping around you to pull you against his chest into a warm and strong embrace.  

 “It’s official. We just consummated our marriage... I’m all yours just as much as you’re all mine.” He stares at your face, watching your eyes as you fight yourself from falling asleep.

 “I fucking love you, little girl.” He lazily says, brushing your face with his fingers. You stare at him sleepily, listening to the beat of his heart.

  “The fuck is he doing?” Your father grumbles as he watches Steve prance around the kitchen.

 “He’s making our daughter breakfast. I think our daughter broke him.” Your mother snickers at the way your father looks at Steve in disbelief. 

 “You tellin’ me that he touched Y/N?!” Your father fumes, getting ready to walk up to the man in the kitchen before your mother stops him.

 “Oh, hunny. Would you stop that? They’re married. And Y/N is an adult. They both are. They can do anything they want. And I can see that Steve really loves our daughter. The way he acted after Y/N got shot. Not to mention the part where he literally saved our asses. Your ass.” Your mother berates your father who just huffs in response before leaving. Your mother chuckles before following her husband, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

  “You made cookies without me?” Steve’s heart flutters as you pout at him. “I want to make cookies too…” You mumble under your breath. You just woke up from your sleep when Steve entered the room with a plate full of cookies.

 “I didn’t want you getting into any accidents, little girl.” Steve chuckles when you take one cookie before grumpily munching on it. He watches as your eyes light up before covering it up with a frown. “Will you stop calling me little girl?”

 “Never.” He simply says. You huff and Steve couldn’t help but to chuckle at your cuteness.

 “Your cookies aren't even that good. I make better cookies.” You mumble before taking another cookie from the plate and munching on it. Steve raises an eyebrow at you before shaking his head. “I know you do, little girl. I know you do.” He smiles at you before making a move to sit beside you. 

 “No! Wait! Stay there.” You point a finger at him before fumbling around the sheets as if looking for something. 

 “You okay?” Steve asks, eyes shooting open when you jump out of the bed to stand in front of him, only the sheets covering your body. You realize this and quickly pull on the hoodie from last night before looking back at Steve with a grin.

 “Hi,” You start, earning a confused look from Steve. “Hello?” He chuckles when you look at him with so much excitement that you’re literally bouncing on your toes.

 “I want to give you something.” 

 “What is it?” Steve watches your fist as you hold it against his face before opening it, revealing a gold ring that looks to be vintage or a hundred years old.

 “Where’d that come from, little girl?” Steve whispers.

 “Can I put it on you? Will you marry me too?” You ignore his question, too excited to listen to anything. Steve laughs before nodding, watching you with adoration as you giddily put the ring on him. 

 “There! So pretty! You’re so pretty, Stevie!” You continue to admire the ring on his finger when he takes your chin with said hand, making you look up at him. 

 “Thank you, little girl.” He leans down to press a kiss on your lips before pulling away with a smile.

 “My father gave it to me.” You blurt out, making Steve’s eye widen just a bit. 

 “Your father?” He asks, not sure about what’s happening.

 “Yes. He came here earlier. Told me that you deserve the ring and that you should never make him regret anything?” Steve listens to you, you obviously don’t know what your father did but it’s enough for Steve to understand.

 “Oh… And Stevie?” He looks at you, smiling and asking you if you need something.

 “I love you too.” You grin at him.

 Steve stares at you for a moment before feeling tears sliding down his cheeks.

 He makes a quick move towards you, pulling you in a tight embrace and pampering your face with kisses.

 “I love you, little girl. Thank you for saying it back.” He mumbles against your hair before pressing a kiss on your lips once more.

 “Stop calling me little girl!” You grumble against him.

 He only chuckles at you before shaking his head. “No. You’ll always be my little girl.”

 ----

a/n: omfg if you finished all that, congratulations you just wasted a whole lot of ur time but thanks for wasting it on me 3;-)

[softluci]

hello yes can i just say i l o v e d your gen z hcs and may i acquire more

for starters, i am not religious, but i am PRAYING you don’t think i was ignoring your ask. i’ve been thinking about it since i got it, it’s just that i’m a college student with worms for brains, so hopefully you understand. this is something that i’ve had on my mind for a long time [i’ve been at this on and off for months], and it most definitely can be associated with/attributed to gen z. 

for a fleeting, wonderful period of time, there was a trend on tiktok that went, “buss it, buss it…” are you familiar? 

that should be enough of a summary, right? ah—for future reference, “o7” is like a saluting emote, for anyone who might not know. reader is g/n as usual, enjoy!

[a/n: so because this is so long, this part is going to be, like, the lore, and then the actual headcanons will be right here]

trendy 

the two things most corrosive to the human spirit are easily named—capitalism and boredom. while it would be easier and less taxing to explain the former, the latter was the problem at hand. it’s not that there was nothing to do in the devildom—quite the opposite, actually—it was just that you wanted some time to yourself every now and again. the trouble with trying to take time for yourself in a completely new location, the residents of which are always enamored with you in one way or another, is that there isn’t anything to do. the house was full of adventures for you to take—the trap door under the rug in the library, the other trap door under the dining room table, the small door behind the couch in the living room, and whatever other poorly hidden doors your seven roommates thought you didn’t know about. 

trouble was, you didn’t want to leave your room. you, intelligent creature that you are, knew that the chances of you running into mammon or satan or beel or asmo were all too high, and even higher were the chances of you agreeing to spend time with them if they asked, and you knew they would. what were you to do? 

you stared at your ceiling from your bed, d.d.d. resting on your stomach as you let your mind wander. your d.d.d. was full of things for you to do, the devildom’s ethernet at your fingertips, but you weren’t interested in finding new things right now. you wanted something familiar, like—like your phone. 

what was the point of lucifer taking your phone, anyway? it’s not like you could use it—being here rendered it a useless brick of glass and metal, so it wouldn’t have been a big deal if you still had it. it was funny, though, that you couldn’t use your actual phone when it was still possible to access the human internet from down here. 

at least, you assumed so. 

how else would levi be able to keep up with his human idols, get tickets for their shows—the works, you know? luckily, you were fully capable of asking. 

d.d.d. now in your hand, you rolled onto your stomach and found your messages with levi, nails clacking against the glass as you tried to reach him.

hey, you texted, can you help me with something?

his reply came faster than you expected: ?? what do you need 

how do i access human websites and apps, you asked, rolling onto your side. you know how to, right?

lololol, it’s not possible :p

a grunt, more aggravated than you’d care to admit, escaped from the back of your throat.

don’t lie. 

a few minutes passed with no response, and you wondered if you were too harsh. 

“he’s a sensitive guy,” you mumbled, inhaling deeply. “i probably came on too strong or something.” 

just as you started typing out an apology and a, “forget i ever said anything,” you got a response. 

a vpn and a proxy site. 

a smile crept onto your face as air came out of your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you could muster. 

can you set it up for me? 

after another few minutes of no response, you sit up, wondering how you could’ve possibly fucked up a second time, your d.d.d. buzzed. 

levi sent you a file and a link, with a host of instructions. 

click on the file and it’ll take you to the vpn you need to download. don’t worry about bugs or anything, i made it myself. 

you let out a low whistle, flopping onto your back once more. 

“this guy gets up to more than i thought,” you said, eyebrows raised. “someone get this man some physical affection.” 

you continued to read, growing more fond of him with each sentence.

once you install it, pick the country whose network you want access to. from there, you’ll have a list of that country’s most used applications available for you. again, don’t worry about bugs. 

what’s the link for? you asked, excitement getting the better of you. 

for when you download internet applications. it’s added security, paste the link in before you search anything or you’ll trigger the firewall alarm. 

you blinked. 

you’ll trigger the what? 

i’ll trigger the fucking What? 

levi’s response was the fastest one yet: the Fucking Firewall Alarm. barbatos’ design. he has no idea i know how to bypass it. just do what i said. don’t try to solve any potential issues on your own, come to me for everything.

roger that o7, you replied, thanks levi ^_^

yeah, yeah. come to my room for a hxh binge tomorrow night.

you snorted. what a fucking nerd—in the greatest way possible. 

of course bestie :] ily

ily2 normie -_- 

in his room, unbeknownst to you, levi felt like he made a mistake of some kind. it’s not that he didn’t trust you, it’s just that you had a tendency to end up in undesirable situations, even if it wasn’t always on purpose. he was probably just worried over nothing, or so he tried to tell himself, but whatever. this isn’t even about him.

you sat up once more, this time leaning against your pillows as you started setting everything up. everything went so quickly that you barely wondered if all of this—subverting hell’s firewall, personally designed by a man eerily similar to a 2D crush from when you were in middle school—was worth accessing a few silly apps from the human world. 

a few minutes later, your d.d.d. now a much, much cooler copy of your phone, any and all thoughts of regret and hesitation were absent from your mind. 

your first order of business on your upgraded d.d.d. was logging into your tiktok account, however surprising it was that you even remembered the password. you put your headphones in and adjusted your volume, going back into the dumpster fire that is your for-you page with open arms. 

after around half an hour of stifled laughter and small, offended gasps from being targeted by the algorithm, you came across a rare dancing video. the person on your screen was in casual clothes, making minor, silly dance movements as the music dwindled, only for them to drop into a squat in time with the music, suddenly dolled up. you shot forward, taken aback by their transformation and by their dancing post beat drop. did you watch it on a loop for a few minutes? well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. you clicked on the sound in hopes of finding similar videos, and much to your relief, there were plenty. about ten videos in, a smile still on your face, you got an idea. 

you slipped your headphones out, arbitrarily looking around your room, before whispering to yourself, “i could—i could do that. i could totally do that.” 

and you were right. you had nice clothes and makeup from various shopping occasions with asmo. your room had led strips, courtesy of levi ordering the wrong ones and being so kind as to give them to you. you could do it. 

levi was the only person you’d spoken to since you retreated to your room a few hours ago, and the lights have been off the entire time, which meant that if you worked quietly enough, everyone else had reason enough to assume you were asleep. good! how could you possibly explain what you were doing getting all dolled up at, like, 11:00 on a wednesday night? you couldn’t, even a little bit—not in a way that convinced anyone, anyway. 

come midnight, you were sitting cross legged on your bed, watching your final product. not to be vain or anything, but you were looking very respectfully at yourself. since when could you move like that, anyway? the wonders of being alone, you supposed. 

you didn’t post it publicly, electing to save it as a draft just so it would save to your d.d.d. maybe you’d post it once you were back in the human world, when your friends wouldn’t swarm your comments asking where the fuck you were. 

yeah, lucifer told you, “everything was taken care of,” but regardless of whether or not you believed him, you knew it wasn’t a good idea to risk finding out if he missed something. 

boredom creeping up on you again, you elected to go through the messages on your d.d.d. it would be better to make yourself laugh before you were fully bored again, right? you stood up and stretched, opening the group text with the adults. luke doesn’t know about it; he thinks the one with everyone is the main one, and everyone lets him think that so he feels included. 

walking around your room in small circles, you scrolled up to the older conversations and read through them, rolling your eyes and chuckling to yourself. very rarely did they talk about anything of importance. it was mostly diavolo, barbatos, and simeon making quips and jokes at lucifer’s expense for everyone to see. it was gold in its purest form. 

you contemplated sending one of the many cursed things sitting in your camera roll, just to keep them on their toes, but just after opening your gallery, you resigned not to, figuring it would be best to leave him alone. 

you stretched again, the hold on your d.d.d. a bit looser this time. it nearly slipped out of your hands, but you caught it, tossing it onto your bed. as soon as you resigned to start getting ready for bed, you turned back around and picked it up. 

there was no rhyme or reason to your actions; if someone in that moment were to ask you why you did it, you would’ve said, “just ‘cause.”

human intuition is a wonderful thing.

your d.d.d. was still on, still open to the group chat. you’d sent something, evidently a second ago, as indicated by the time stamp. the thumbnail was of you, in casual clothing—the casual clothing you were wearing before you got dolled up, actually. huh. 

huh. 

the weight of your mistake came crashing down on you in full force, a chill sinking into your skin and running up your spine.

you were suddenly acutely aware of the concept of time, how it was of the essence and you had absolutely none to waste.

what were you to do? it wouldn’t be long before your favorite person saw it. you had to do something. 

you could say nothing. you could tell the truth and say it was an accident and that you were embarrassed, but that was even worse than saying nothing because it meant you were set to be the target of teasing you didn’t even wanna try to imagine. you could say it was an accident and be confident about it, telling them, “enjoy!” but that was a dangerous game to play, and you knew it. 

well, i do admire you for taking time to think, but, unfortunately, there was a checkmark next to your message. oh, a number as well—eleven. you just can’t catch a break. what were they all doing up at this time, anyway? it was a school night🤨. 

[rotationalsymmetry]

Lots of good concepts here!

I don't think I have much to add to the big picture discussion, but on a personal level:

I have a complicated relationship with mental illness and have since my preteens. I am deeply uncomfortable with treatment being forced on people, forced institutionalization, etc including in cases of self-harm/suicide risk. At the same time, I'm uh not exactly 100% happy with how my brain works either, and think destigmatization of mental illness and generally people being chill about people talking about having and seeking care for mental illness, are important.

I got CFS, have for eight years now, and holy fuck it sucks. Fuck yes do I want a cure. Fuck fuck fuck. Main issue is wanting more attention from medical professionals: more research, more awareness, more sensitivity, less getting brushed off. Especially more awareness about PACING. I got told I might have CFS over a year before my first real diagnosis, and didn't hear from a medical professional that pushing myself might make things worse until over a year after that. And in the mean time, I got a visit with a cardiologist for shortness of breath who told me the exact opposite, that at my age I should make sure I stay active. Literally the bare minimum was to not make things worse and you couldn't even do that.

(And, I don't think the social model is wholly irrelevant to my CFS. Both in a very straightforward "stairs are not my friend and things like elevators and sometimes wheelchairs are" kind of way, and also in a more subtle "when most people my age work 9-5, not being able to work is pretty isolating in a way that I think not all times/places have been." In societies where more work is done at home rather than in a workplace, it's easier for people who can work a tiny bit to contribute and also be around other people, and also get care without it being a massive extra expense.)

(The debility model is brand new to me so I'll have to turn it over in my head for a while. I don't personally have a "body wearing down from physical labor" problem, but stress is also not exactly known as a positive influence on health, and who knows.)

I probably have ADHD and may some degree of autism, and my feelings there are pretty similar to my complex feelings about mental illness, as in: this is often inconvenient and also I wish society was different, and also changes should be about personal goals and not forcing yourself into a mold or being forced into a mold. Plus some additional "wow I had no idea for the longest time, and yet in retrospect it very much had an impact on my life. People should be more patient with people that they don't know are disabled, because this is common."

Like a lot of people, I wear glasses -- I am including this solely as an example of something that could be disabling without the right gear and is basically a non-issue with it. Which is maybe encouraging? I wonder what else could be a non-issue with the right supports.

(I've got a lot of privilege -- white, in a first world country, current and growing-up financial security, etc. So, not the most important voice here but I figure personal stories are a good thing and we always need more of them, not less.)

Proposing new meanings for the Disability Pride Flag stripes

I love the design of the disability pride flag made by @capricorn-0mnikorn (in consultation with many disabled people!). It’s beautiful, elegant, and distinct. I love the symbolism of the diagonal stripes.

But the more I think about the meanings of the five diagonal stripes, the more uncomfortable I am with them. So I'll explain my discomfort and then give proposed alternative meanings.

For those unfamiliar, these are the meanings that capricorn-0mnikorn gives:

The White Stripe: Invisible and Undiagnosed Disabilities

The Red Stripe: Physical Disabilities

The Gold Stripe: Neurodivergence

The Blue Stripe: Psychiatric Disabilities

The Green Stripe: Sensory Disabilities

With additional and helpful context here! 💙 Like a lot of disabled people my disabilities don't all fit neatly into these boxes, but I recognize some disabled people see themselves in these categories. I do appreciate the symbolism of it being the most common flag colours / internationalism plus the intent of representing diversity amongst the disability community.

Here’s what doesn’t sit well with me:

The yellow was chosen for the neurodiversity stripe because gold = Au = autism (and also as a fuck you to autism speaks, a sentiment I agree with 💯). 

So autism is used to represent all of neurodiversity. Even though the 2018 AutisticsUK campaign to associate gold with autism was explicitly motivated by the idea that neurodiversity is larger than just autism and autistic people should have our own colour/symbol distinct from the rainbow infinity used for general neurodiversity.

One specific disability is effectively being given a whole stripe (autism) while the other four stripes are based on abstract ideas: red is associated with body -> physical disability, blue is associated with the mind (and is “opposite” to red) so -> mental disability. This is reasonable but it’s inconsistent. (And I am very much the kind of autistic who gets bothered by internal inconsistency 😅)

The Deaf community has been using cyan blue for ages (since at least 1999, probably older) and they have been so vital in disability rights history. I feel if any single disability deserves to get an entire stripe to themselves it should be them.

I appreciate the honestly that assigning green to sensory disabilities was because “that was the color that was left over” but it still feels wrong given how vital blind & deaf people have been to disability history. 

Blue for mental/emotional disabilities also misses that the Mad Pride movement has been using purple as their colour since at least 2013. 

If all five stripes were disconnected from actual disability-specific pride flags I think I’d be okay with it. What sets me off is the inconsistency: autism gets the privilege of its own chosen colour but not other disabilities? (Also: autism isn’t the only disability that uses yellow!)

My proposal for new meanings

I propose each stripe represent a different cause of disability, and the associated model(s) of disability that go with that cause:

Red: disability due to injury / the debility model of disability - e.g. injury due to armed conflicts caused by colonialism, injury due to gun violence in a country which fails to regulate gun safety, preventable illness due to sociopolitical neglect 😡🩸

Yellow: disability due to natural differences / affirmative models of disability - e.g. autistic people who lead lives that take advantage of their autistic traits, DSPS folks who are able to work night shifts and take pride in doing so 😄🌟

Blue: situational disabilities / critical models like the social model, social construction model, political/relational model, and radical model - e.g. a Deaf person who feels their only disability is that people don’t speak their signed language and don’t provide captions/etc 🗣️♿️

Green: disability due to illness / biomedical models of disability - e.g. people with conditions like ME/CFS and Long Covid who actually do want to be treated/cured 🤢🦠

White: disability caused by unknown or other factors / other models such as the human rights model - e.g. somebody with a poorly-understood and/or undiagnosed illness who is fighting for access for accommodations and medical care 👀🤍

People may relate to multiple stripes! Whether it’s for the same disability or for having multiple disabilities. Like the old meanings, the intent is to showcase our internal diversity. 🌈

It’s been my experience of disability community that attitudes about disability tend (in general) to be linked more to when/how we were disabled rather than mental/physical/sensory/etc. For example, people like me who were disabled from a young age tend to understand our disabilities differently than people who acquire disability later in life.

Colour choice justifications:

Red as disabilities caused by injury: keeping with capricorn-0mnikorn’s association of red with the body plus the common associations of red with blood, violence, and anger. I want to explicitly include the debility model of disability because a lot of white disabled people tend to forget or gloss over how disability is used as a weapon against racialized & Global South folks.

Yellow is associated with optimism and pleasure as well as enlightenment (such as in the Deaf flag) and so I connect it to the affirmation model of disability (which is the opposite of the charity/tragedy model). From there I associated it to disability due to natural differences, such as congenital neurodivergence. I want yellow to still be something that fellow autistics could still see themselves in the flag for! 💛 And I want intersex people who see their intersex variation as a disability to be able to see themselves here too because being intersex is natural 💛 

Blue as disabilities that are social/situational in nature, like Deafness being a disability in situations where signed languages are unavailable. I wanted Deafness to actually be under blue this time. 💙 

Blue has also been used for disability writ large for a long time now and so this one being the one associated with the Social Model feels most historically connected to me. I’m also including newer critical/postmodern models like the social construction model and radical model which also posit that disability is a social category rather than a deficiency of individuals’ bodyminds.

The social model is generally contrasted with the medical model - viewing disability as a medical problem. A lot of disability activism is focused on de-medicalizing our bodyminds and challenging the idea that we want to be cured. 

But there are chronic illnesses like ME/CFS, long covid, and cancer where the people who are disabled by them do actively (and vocally) want to be cured! And they belong to the disability community too.  Green was picked for illness because green has been used to symbolize sickness (e.g. the 🤮 emoji). And biomedical models like the traditional medical model and the more recent biopsychosocal model are thematically connected to disability being due to illness.

For white, I want people who are undiagnosed and/or who feel the invisibility of their disability as important to again be able to see themselves in this stripe. 🩶White is also the catch-all “other models” because of white being the sum of all colours in an additive colour model. Models like the human rights model I see as being appealing to disabled people who are feeling invisibilized by society.

For each stripe I've included both a cause of disability and a model of disability. The causes are concrete, and easy to understand. The models of disability are more abstract and not everybody will know them (especially ableds). But a flag gives us an opportunity to teach others about us and I think it's a great opportunity to increase awareness of the different views/models of disability. 🖤

Overall, I tried to keep as much of capricorn-0mnikorn’s reasoning/associations alive in my new proposed meanings as I could. 💜 I hope people who see themselves in a given stripe of the original flag will see themselves in this scheme as well. I hope people who didn’t see themselves in the original scheme find these options more inclusive. ☮️

[batsandbugs]

Help (I Need Somebody) Help

AN: Hey everyone! So I’ve got a new fic, this is inspired from an ask from @glitchon​. They wanted a “Wrong Number Daminette AU”, they gave me a couple of things they wanted to see, and so I went to town. I hope y’all enjoy! Tag list is open, and as always the pictures for the moodboard aren’t mine. 

Chapter 1 

The patter of rain outside Marinette’s window wasn’t keeping her awake, no, the creeping numbness consuming every inch of her body – a craving for oblivion and stimulation all at once – did that on its own.

But the rain certainly wasn’t helping.

On nights like these, where everything was too little and too much, she would find herself escaping to her rooftop balcony and gaze at the stars. Tikki would lie beside her whispering tales of elegance and power; the stories of miraculous holders of long ago fighting against those who would cause the world harm. Her constant companion – a voice of reason when her own brain shouted too loud – was the only reason she was doing as well as she was.

And Marinette knew herself; she wasn’t doing well.

But when the skies covered with clouds, drenching the streets, and blocking the stars it forced her to remain indoors. The hum of electricity, faint but noticeable – a noise she had been unable to ignore ever since donning her miraculous - an irritating background hum. The powers she received when untransformed existed as a blessing and a curse. It without a doubt saved her from one too many klutzy moments, but there were days she missed the ignorance about the nuances of the world around her.

Another moment of strained silence passed before she had enough. She crawled out from under her warmed covers, the cold November night chilling her. Being careful not to disturb the sleeping Kwami, Marinette stuffed her feet into a pair of slippers and descended from her loft bed, and wandered over to her chaise. Crawling under a large knitted blanket – a project from a few years ago - she glanced out her window watching the illuminated rain run down the pane.

The change in location did nothing to help the static in her brain as it wrapped its meticulous tendrils around every train of thought that tried to usher her towards coherence.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to smile.

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to care.

She wanted to feel something, anything, other than the gaping emptiness slowly consuming her.

And yet as the moments ticked by, and the rain continued to patter, nothing came.

Marinette was scared nothing ever would.

A small light flickered in the corner of her eye. She slipped off her chaise and walked over to her desk – her phone alight with a notification.

Well, at least there was the internet to help her escape from the directionless dread snapping at her heels.

Grabbing her phone, she retreated back under her knitted blanket, content to mindlessly scroll until the need for sleep won against her brain. It was a Friday night and with a weekend planned for ignoring online harassment from her classmates and completing piles of homework – and the potential ever-looming presence of an Akuma attack – Marinette felt secure in ignoring sleep.

She unlocked her phone.

And a slight shiver ran down her spine.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a normal shiver. Over the past four years, she had developed a particularly good sense at detecting between a normal physiological reaction, and a magic-induced one. This? This chill was magic.

Her fingers tapped on her messaging app with little input from her. Opening a new message, she typed in a number, seemingly random, but she knew by now each movement was laced with luck. Once finished the push driving her to such measures faded, leaving Marinette with a choice.

Tikki did her best to explain the phenomena several years ago when it first appeared. As Ladybug she tapped into the Strings of the universe, where her powers of creation and luck came from. When dealing with luck she subtly manipulated the flow of events around her. At first, only when transformed, and only able to rise to the surface when calling for her Lucky Charm. Eventually, the manipulation became unconscious but continuously present, unable to be directed, but still there, helping in subtle ways. And on occasion, when she wished hard enough – a little push there and a little shove there – and who knew how many blows it took to break a lamppost, and maybe she had hit it a little harder than normal?

But the older she grew, and the longer she wielded the Miraculous of Luck and Creation, the more powerful she grew outside of her transformations. And, on occasion, unconsciously tapped into the probabilities of the universe. The little nudges caused her to make and take decisions and actions she never would. But every time it did a minor problem would be solved, or an opportunity would arise, or a good thing happened that would make a normal person smile at the universe and comment on how luck favored them today.

Marinette knew better.

It was a side effect of her existence mingling with the powers of the universe. Tikki told her, within time, she would feel for the Strings herself and be able not only to manipulate her own but others’ too.

It was not the first time Marinette experienced a panic attack over her powers, and it certainly would not be the last.

Which brought her to her choice; and suddenly, sitting in her darkened room at two in the morning staring at her phone with a random number on the screen, resembled being perched on top of the Eiffel Tower, feet dangling over the edge, the l’appel du vide – the call of the void – twisted around her, caressing her like a friend and urging her to just… fall.

A random number, a string of electricity running into the darkness, unknown and unknowable. Like shouting into the wind at the beach, the water stretching far as the eye could see, the words would take to the sky and disappear.

Only, a text would go… somewhere.

To… someone.

And they might, just maybe, respond.

A shiver, this time her own, rolled through her.

Marinette glanced up at her loft bed, a small red glow, barely perceptible to the human eye, lingering in the air.

Tikki wouldn’t be pleased.

The tiny Kwami always urged Marinette to caution when it came to taking risks like these. Even the goddess herself had a tough time figuring out where actions prompted from the Strings would lead. And this… this had the potential to go very, very, wrong.

But…

Every time Marinette followed the urgings of the universe, she had never been disappointed. True, its effects could be small, barely noticeable at times, but not always. The effect could be much larger. Marinette was always pleased whatever the outcome.

Even if the responsibility of the rest of the power laid heavier on her shoulders with each passing day.

Everywhere Marinette turned she stood alone. Cut off from her parents by necessity; the overwhelming urge to keep them safe, to keep them out of danger forced her to remain silent and ready lie at the drop of a hat. Cut off from her friends and classmates by manipulation; Lila succeeded in twisting them to her whims – the girl had no mercy to stay her vicious tongue, no morals to limit the stories her mind twisted into being. Cut off from mentorship by a quirk of magic; Master Fu deserved to live the rest of his life without guilt, but for his guiding influence to be taken away meant floundering on what to do next. Cut off even from her own partner; Chat flipped between hot and cold, flirtatious and disinterested, reliable and fickle. The days where they could talk about everything and nothing during evening patrols had faded away into uncomfortable silences.

That left Luka… sweet, sweet Luka.

Marinette sighed.

Holding herself together on a good day was hard enough. What good would she be as a girlfriend? Flighty and closed off, unable to open up, constantly in fear of when Hawkmoth would strike next.

No. She had made the right choice, telling the budding musician they were better off as friends.

Glancing down at her phone, the screen locked once more – a group photo of her, Adrian, Kagami, and Luka lit up behind cracked glass – she smiled, tinged with bittersweetness though it was. At least Adrian, who stuck by her side through it all, found happiness. And Kagami had proven to be a stalwart friend. Marinette still wished now and again for different circumstances, but she would never begrudge two of her closest friends for finding comfort together.

And Tikki, while a constant presence, and a needed voice of reason was still a goddess, a creature unfathomably old. Still sweet, caring, and understanding, but detached from the constant stress and pressures of human existence. She was unable to truly be an outlet for Marinette to confide in.

With everything laid out before her culminating together in a bleak understanding of her isolation, it appeared obvious her actions, driven by the luck of the universe, seemed like sanctioned permission.

She unlocked her phone once more. 

Taking a quick breath, the wind whipping smugly beneath her dangling feet, she began to type.

[bakugohoex]

I know we all love the monkey man and hes sexy and everything...but maybe Zeke for number 1 or your 1k fluff prompts? Theres never anything for him that's fluff...🥺🙏

“you’ll be mine one day”

pairing: zeke yeager x female reader

cw: language, mentions of weed and alcohol, fluff, reader cheating with zeke, mutual pining

word count: ​2500+

a/n: yes i all monkey man sm and of course this fluff has a bit of a weird theme to it but i hope you still liked it

summary: in which after meeting zeke multiple times throughout the month, every time saying the same thing, the only problem being that you have a drunken boyfriend in his way

1k event masterlist

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

Zeke loved coffee, everyday for the past month he’d walk right into the coffee shop right before work started, ordering his favourite coffee and waiting in the seat right beside the window. The atmosphere smelled of crushed coffee beans, the cakes and desserts that were behind glass. Zeke loved coffee especially when the pretty barista with locks that framed her face perfectly was the one to take his order and give him the coffee cup with the perfect heart in it. He loved coffee like an addict does opium, he loved the way it sat on his tongue, the way it looked at him with such lust. The way it’d be gone in a matter of seconds in one rash blink.

You knew the man’s routine so often that when he’d be running late a hurt was felt through your body. Zeke and you both knew that the constant glances in the half an hour he stayed at the window seat, the lingering touches as you grabbed the empty coffee cup to get him another was wrong. But even then how could he resist you, the way your eyes spoke so much in just a mere glance. He felt infatuated beyond belief but there was one thing in his way of pursuing anything with you, your boyfriend.

With his unkempt hair and smell of weed always around him, Zeke didn’t understand why someone as delightful and pretty as you would go for someone who looked off his head. He was unemployed from what Zeke had gathered; he knew if you were with him you wouldn’t have to work this job. You could stay at home and be his, you wouldn’t have to worry about making ends meet as long as you stayed by his side.

Even with your boyfriend being a minor factor in his mission to get you, he left the same words on the napkin each day, he always left as soon as you went into the back to restock the cupcakes and savoury desserts. The napkin placed on top of the empty mug, you hated how much influence the man had on you.

You had had many conversations with him when work got slow which occurred a lot when he came in the early mornings. But even then his insistence that you’d come to him was prevalent, maybe you did have a crush on the man, he was older by a couple years, established in life, had the stability and security you and your boyfriend never had and worst of all. He had the ability to flirt with you so easily even with the risk of your boyfriend around, Zeke may have respected the position of your relationship with another, but he would never give up on you as easily as you had expected him too.

It was another early morning, you stood behind the counter, watching Zeke in his tight suit, the white shirt unbuttoned as his suit jacket swayed with the wind. The cigarette that he had in his mouth being chucked to the ground as he stepped on it putting it out. The sound of the door jingling made you plaster on a smile at the blond boy who came with a small smirk on his face. “Hello, what can I get for you today, Zeke?” The place was pretty much empty, it hadn’t hit the morning shifts yet and you assumed Zeke started working a lot earlier than the rest of the city. You were the only one at the counter as your colleague had gone to make some food for when the breakfast rush came.

“Morning Y/n, can I have a white coffee and your number on the side?” He spoke the last part confidently with his lip twitching upwards at how you shook your head.

“Nice try Zeke, anything else you need?”

He paused thinking as he stared at you, you looked so delicate and pretty, all the things he could do to you flashed through his head. Maybe it was sleazy to think such crude thoughts but what you didn’t know didn’t harm you, right? “You, if possible.”

“I’ll have your drink made in a couple minutes, Zeke.” You chuckled out, he loved the way you said his name, the way you gave that soft touch as he passed you the money. Your fingers gliding against his own, he took his normal seat watching you pour the hot liquid into the cup, he knew you’d give him another heart like you normally did. You always did concentrate too much on the finer details, you took the cup and plate that went under it bringing it to the man. Placing it down, Zeke saw the heart as you gave him a soft smile, “what you working on now?” You questioned knowing nobody else was going to come in.

You took the seat opposite him, the papers in his hand that looked really important, “foreign affairs, all hush hush, but for a pretty girl like you I could tell you the details.”

“Wouldn’t that be a national security issue?” You folded your arms raising an eye at the man, he gave off this presence of confidence and knew exactly what he was doing with his life. A stability that seemed ever so far away from you, you had often imagined what dating a man like Zeke would be like, how you could work full time at university instead of part time, how you could come home to warmth rather than weed. “Tell me more about what you do.”

You leant your head against your arm as you often spent mornings listening to him ramble on about his career, nodding and humming along whenever the time came. He seemed to enjoy speaking about his work, you could listen to it forever, you nodded almost love struck as the man spoke. Your work colleagues often saying you looked like a girl who was talking to her first crush. “One day I’ll show you what we’re working on.” You nodded at the false promise, one day he’d forget about the barista, he'd become too big, too important for a girl who had nothing going for her than an alcoholic weed smoking loser.

“Promise.” You hadn’t meant to whisper the words, but Zeke gave a soft smile.

He watched how you put your hands out, away from your chin as you leant backwards, grabbing your hands he looked you dead in the eye, “I don’t lie to pretty girls.”

You gave another chuckle, seeing how your eyes went to the arriving customers, the rush about to occur. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You walked away without another word, he watched you go into the back to help bring some of the new produce. Quickly bringing his pen out as he wrote the words onto the napkin, you’ll be mine one day, in his cursive handwriting, his initials were underneath before leaving it beside the empty coffee. Grabbing his stuff as he left just as customers began to barge past to get their morning fix, he took one last look inside seeing you happily smile and take their money, before finally walking away.

You had managed to hand out the coffee cups to those in a hurry before starting to clear tables, taking the napkin Zeke left, the same words every day. Maybe if you had outright told him to stop he would, but the excitement each day you got from the romantic gesture filled your heart. You didn’t know what had gone wrong in your relationship with your boyfriend, maybe it was the drugs or his loss of job. Maybe you had fallen out of love and he had notices, his lying and pleas to make you stay by him. The manipulation and deceit something you wouldn’t get from Zeke; you stuffed the napkin in your pocket ready to put it with the 28 other napkins you had.

Keeping all safe within a box in your bedroom, the fear that arose from being caught with it all. Maybe it was emotional cheating but in a relationship like your own maybe you deserved better, you wiped your hands on your apron. Everything has subsided as you and your colleague went on your break as your manager took over.

“I see how you look at Zeke, just break up with your shitty boyfriend.” She said taking a sip of her coffee, you had your own in your hand thinking about the man.

“I can’t, he needs me.”

She raised her eyebrow at the comment, “he needs a fix and therapy, Y/n, I might sound like an ass right now, but all your boyfriend thinks about is getting his dick wet, getting high and getting drunk.”

There was truth in your friends words and as your break ended, you gripped the napkin tighter than you had imagined. Staring at the eloquent writing, the way he wrote Z and Y, even his handwriting seemed perfect. You took a sharp breath realising that in the 29 days you had known Zeke, he had provided more love and warmth than the man you had been dating for years now. You needed to break up with him, needed to confess to Zeke that his crush wasn’t one sided.

Just as the café closed up, you nimbly parted ways from your friend as you began to walk to your apartment. You knew what was to occur, your boyfriend on the couch high with his friends beside him, you really didn’t want to go back. You felt your phone begin to ring as you answered it to hear the drunken shouting of your boyfriend, you didn’t even bother with the words instead hanging up. Clinging the napkin between your fingers, you walked a different direction, towards the offices that Zeke had so often told you about.

You didn’t know what you would do once you arrived but the glass doors with the frosted words of Marley led you to walk inside. The yellow lights bringing warmth as you walked towards the front desk, you didn’t look like you belonged, looked like some stray. You tapped your fingers against the white marble as the woman finally turned to meet you, “hi, what can I help you with?”

She smiled at you as you really had no idea what to say, “Zeke.”

“Zeke?” She paused, “like Mr. Yeager, one of the partners here.” You nodded as she gave a confused look at you. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of his, do you know where I…I can find him.” She looked at you hesitantly.

She tapped on the keyboard, the only sound being her taps, “I can call him down if he’s a friend, we have a security measure so I can’t send you up, but if you wait on those chairs he’ll be down shortly.”

You nodded quickly turning on your heels as you moved to the white chairs, it looked empty, the staff probably having left hours ago. You hadn’t realised Zeke to have been a partner of this place, it seemed way above your standards. You felt the need to leave and never come back, to apologise for wasting the woman’s time but just as you were about to get up. The ding of the elevator made you stop, Zeke coming out with a brunette-haired woman, she smiled at the man as he walked beside her speaking on some matters.

He went to the front office lady and he pointed to you as both him and the woman looked at you. Zeke confused before beginning to walk up to you, “Y/n, what happened?”

“I…I…don’t know why I came here?” You paused taking a sharp breath, “so…sorry I should go, I…” You were ready to run away, embarrassment across your face at the fear of feeling vulnerable in front of this man.

He grabs your wrist stopping you from leaving, bringing you to face him again, “Pieck, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The woman he had been with nodded saying a goodbye before she left herself, “come on, you can explain everything in my office.”

You didn’t know how you had agreed to go with him, your other hand had been clutching the napkin out of instinct, he guided you up the elevator, his taller frame against your own as his hand was on your back. He shuffled you along past the many smaller offices before his name was frosted onto the door, opening the glass as he let you into the much larger area.

“Take a seat.” He gestured to the couch that had a coffee table in front of it, he got out some alcohol putting it on the table as he poured two glasses out for the two of you. “What happened?”

“I…I…I’m sorry, I interrupted your meeting, and I shouldn’t have come here.” You were ready to get up again, but Zeke moved to sit beside you. His discarded suit jacket on his desk as he had rolled up his sleeves, his glasses sitting perfectly across his face.

He brought his hands to your one shaky ones, it seemed to have calmed you down, but he noticed the napkin scrunched up in your hands. “Shoosh it’s okay, take your time.”

You nodded taking a sharp breath as you explained how your boyfriend had shouted at you and how you really didn’t want to go back to your apartment. “I just can’t do this anymore Zeke, I…I deserve happiness right, I do don’t I?”

Zeke had noticed the tears form in your eyes, it cascaded down your perfect face as he wiped them away softly. He was frustrated, frustrated at your arrogant dickhead of a boyfriend, frustrated at the world for making his girl cry.

“You deserve happiness.” You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but at his tender sweet words you moved your hand onto his thigh, crashing your lips onto his own. You felt no guilt, nothing as you kissed the man, your other man moving to his blonde beard as you cupped his face. He knew it was wrong, you had a boyfriend, you were cheating but he couldn’t resist you. He felt you crawl onto his lap, pushing him against the couch as you deepened the kiss. His tongue gliding inside your own as you gave a soft moan of his name, it sent him into an overload as he gripped your waist with one hand and the other to caress your cheek.

He watched as a string of saliva stayed between the two mouths as you both parted, “I…shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t go back on me now, doll.” He teased, laying underneath you, he brought his hand to touch your hair, his touch making you go soft inside. “I told you…”

“Told me what?” You questioned still on his lap; he brought his head closer again to your mouth.

Through every kiss he gave you, he said the four words, “that you’d be mine someday” In a matter of seconds you realised the implications of his words, you were his, you were everything he had dreamt about. You would leave that disgusting man and be Zeke’s forever.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Taking the Cake (Rated G)

Summary: When Aziraphale decides to host Warlock and Adam's 12th birthday down at his shop, he tells Crowley they'll be doing it without magic. That's all well and good until Crowley is called upon to finish decorating the cake... (1551 words)

Read on AO3.

“Ho there! Mmph... angel? Ngk... ” Crowley grunts, stuffing himself through one door of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the other holding stubbornly to its frame. He barely makes it through, lugging copious bags bulging with party gear, his long fingers curled around handles strained thin by the weight.

"In here, dear," Aziraphale replies, giving no indication that he's coming to help. Crowley picks an aisle and starts walking, navigating the narrow expanse between late 18th century classics and Roman philosophy. 

“I got everything on your list," Crowley says when he spots his husband. "Goodie bags, balloons, streamers, poppers… “ He pauses inventorying when he comes up behind Aziraphale, deeply engaged in the creation of a buttercream rosette.

By hand, no less. 

Aziraphale insisted they throw together this entire party like natives, and that meant no magic whatsoever. Crowley couldn’t understand why. Miracling together a party is literally a snap. They'd done it hundreds of times over the years. It's how they hosted their wedding. 

With a snap.

That did, however, create a mountain of paperwork, which led to Gabriel and his henchmen finding out about their shindig and showing up uninvited. Surprisingly, they didn't cause much in the way of trouble. They snickered a little, made a few snide remarks, but they mostly spent their time "observing" from a table in a far corner, mingling with no one as if above it all. 

Crowley tensed when they arrived, but having a few party crashers didn't go too badly... until the karaoke began. 

“Is that the cake then?”

“Yes. I’m almost done.“ Aziraphale pinches his tongue between his teeth, steadying his hand as he adds a peony this time.

"It's gorgeous," Crowley says in awe. "Truly stunning."

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says, glowing from his husband's praise.

"But... " 

Aziraphale's shoulders instantly go rigid. 

Crowley hates to do this to him. The cake really is a masterpiece of confectionary construction. But it needs to be said. "Warlock and Adam are turning twelve."

"And... ?" 

"Don't you think they might appreciate something a bit more... I don't know.... befitting of a pair of former antichrists? Like a zombie with bleeding eyes? Or a raven with sharp, pointy teeth?"

Aziraphale glares over his shoulder at Crowley as if insanity has finally set in. "Ravens don't have teeth!"

"I know! That's why it would be terrifying! Right up their alleys!"

Aziraphale shakes his head, going back to his peonies. "This is a birthday cake! Not a Halloween cake! Besides, I only know how to make flowers. Anything else would require magic, and you know how I feel about that. Besides, I'm certain they only care about the insides anyway, and it's crammed full of chocolate. I don't think they'll mind a crocus or two."

"Fair enough," Crowley concedes.

The clock in the corner chimes, and Aziraphale sighs. He looks over at it, then double-checks the time on his pocket watch. Crowley checks the time on his watch, too, although he doesn't know what for.

"Three o'clock," Aziraphale observes. "Damn."

"Wot's wrong?"

"I’m afraid I’m running a bit behind.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Crowley asks, piling his sacks on a nearby chair.

“As a matter of fact, I have to pop out for a few," Aziraphale says, handing Crowley the piping bag, "but this cake needs one final touch.”

“And that is?” Crowley holds the bag between his fingers the way he would a dead rat, wary that he might be called upon to construct the same delicate flowers Aziraphale has. Without his magic, Crowley doesn't have anything near Aziraphale's talent with icing. 

Warlock and Adam may just get a gruesome cake after all.  

“I just need it to say 'Happy Birthday Warlock and Adam'.” Aziraphale bustles about, grabbing his coat off the tree and throwing it on. “The handwriting doesn't need to be immaculate, just legible. Could you do that for me?”

“Pfft. No problem," Crowley says, secretly perceiving a problem. "Piece of… “ 

Aziraphale stops on his way out the door to give his husband an exasperated look. Crowley snickers. 

“Well, you know,” Crowley finishes, shooing Aziraphale out the door. "Ta-ta now. Mind how you go."

***

"Damned antique dealers and their damned negotiations! Ignorant bast---" Aziraphale stops short of cursing. It doesn't matter what happened, which was extremely upsetting. There is no need for bad language. He hurries down the crowded sidewalk, going over the details of the past hour-and-thirty in his head. "I was doing them a favor, and look how I'm repaid! I'm late to the party I'm hosting! There's a fine how-do-you-do! Ungrateful humans! See if I stop another Apocalypse for you, in your tacky grey suits and your cheap pointy shoes... "

Aziraphale stomps up to his door, keys in hand, but stops outside when he hears laughter on the other side. He peeks through the dusty glass, and his shoulders sag. 

The party is for the kids. He knows. But he was so looking forward to celebrating with everyone from start to finish. That and he didn't think he'd take this long, so he neglected to relocate his first editions somewhere secure. 

He fears for their safety.

Icing is notoriously difficult to get out of parchment and ligament, even through the use of miracles.

He should have never taken that stupid meeting to begin with. He had a feeling it wouldn't pan out.

Oh well. 

No need wasting any more time on that than already has, he thinks, bucking up and unlocking the door. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start celebrating while I still have the chance...

Aziraphale takes a step in, ready to announce his arrival, but stops dead when he hears jazzy scatting in a sonorous voice. 

A voice that doesn’t belong to anyone he knows.

Aziraphale walks in further, scanning those gathered, and makes a minor correction to his original assessment - doesn’t belong to any human that he knows. His eyes blow wide, his cheeks burn red, and his husband's name explodes off his tongue before he even opens his mouth.

"Anthony J. Crowley-Fell!"

Aziraphale doesn't say anything other than his name and Crowley starts apologizing. "I'm sorry, angel!" he says, running across the shop to greet him, but not looking the least bit sorry. 

"I gave you one task!" Aziraphale bellows, snapping his fingers and slamming the door shut, his no-magic edict flying out the window. "Just one little thing! And you couldn't do it!"

"I'm no good at writing!" Crowley defends with the shadows of an infuriating grin on his face. "My hand gets all wobbly! I didn't want to risk ruining any of your lovely flowers!"

Aziraphale, splotchy-faced and buggy-eyed, glowers. "You couldn't write a simple Happy Birthday, so you enchanted the entire cake!? That was your brilliant plan!?"

"I'm a demon! Of course, that was my plan!"

"Crowley!"

"They showed up right after you left! I had no time! I panicked!"

Aziraphale drops his head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. Crowley reaches out to put a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder until he hears him counting backward from one hundred... in Akkadian. Then he creeps his hand to his side and quietly steps off. 

Aziraphale breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to ground himself. He has no one to blame but himself. That's the painful part. In the back of his mind, he knew something like this might happen. 

He's impressed it isn't worse. 

He should have never left his husband alone.

Next time, he'll hire a sitter.

Aziraphale continues counting, continues breathing, and as he does, he pays more attention to the goings-on around him.

The cake singing is quite unsettling, but the children are gleeful, the adults joyful. Joking, teasing, and enthusiastic conversation fill the spaces in between. 

Much like their wedding reception, except there isn't an archangel in sight. 

And Crowley's magic was instrumental in making that day memorable.

Maybe Aziraphale overreacted with that 'no magic' rule. Crowley's face fell when Aziraphale told him they'd be hosting the boys' birthday at his bookshop sans magic, but he'd recovered quickly. The streamers and balloons Crowley managed to toss on the walls look plenty festive, but they don't compare to what could have been had Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tap into his imagination.

Their guests are having a grand time despite the modest decor, but it could have been so much more. They are an angel and a demon! Between the pair of them, they could have whipped up a true spectacle, if for no other reason than they still owe poor Warlock after last year's fiasco. 

What would have been the harm of calling upon a little divine intervention? 

An alarming thought pops into Aziraphale's brain, and his head snaps up. “They’re going to cut into that, you know. Is that when the enchantment ends?”

“Nope.” Crowley rubs his palms together. “That’s when the fun begins.”

"Uh... "Aziraphale's jaw drops. "Good Lord," he moans, Crowley cackling when Adam runs to fetch the cake cutter. Aziraphale's mind whirls with thoughts of what fun could imply, but there's no time to ask. While Crowley starts laying a drop cloth, Aziraphale puts his coat away and relocates his favorite books into his back room for safekeeping.

[wolfish-trickster]

Liar

Part 3

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1,7K

Warnings: angst, typos, everything sad besides doggo

Tag list:@gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld @belovedadam @mascaracoffee @serebrum @myworldgoesboomz

Loki felt miserable. If only he knew what would he start with that lie. Why couldn't he tell her Y/N is his cousin or something? She and her golden-fish-like IQ would've believed him. Damn him! Damn him and Tony for making him do this! Why couldn't Stark do it himself! It was his idea afterall!

Loki was lying on a rug in his bedroom. He didn't feel like he deserved the luxury of a warm soft bed. He was looking through photos and selfies of Y/N in his phone. Her happy smile, her arms wrapped around him in a hug in his favourite selfie of you (his wallpaper), her two fingers giving him horns from behind his back and him doing it back to her. He counted, he had only 7 pictures of her in total. 'I should've taken pictures of her more often,' he thought to himself and wiped his eyes to get clearer view. He should've took a picture of her doing the most mundane things. Reading a book, drawing on a windowsill, chatting with someone. She always had this spark in her eyes whenever she talked about some of her interests. He wanted to see that spark again.

Loki caught himself dreaming of you again. 'Let her go,' he told himself. 'It will be better for her and you.'

But he didn't want to get better. Not without her. But he fucked up big time. He apologized. He showed her a proof of his innocense. She chose to put space between you two. And that was okay, right? He's already used to it, right?

His eyes were staring outside the window the whole night, but he wasn't watching anything. He needed them open, for whenever he closed them he saw you. Either crying and screaming like you did few day ago, or sad smile you gave him few hours ago, or your happy grin you have worn what seemed like ages ago.

Sky changed its shades of blue from dark to light. The morning sun made him realize that no, he isn't used to it.

*

The need to walk to your room was big. But he couldn't. He promised to leave you alone if you wanted. And you did.

So instead he hid in one of the old rooms everyone forgot about and never really used. He needed to be alone.

No one came looking for him yet. The only sign of someone remembering his existence was one message from Tony. Something about the info Loki got from that woman being useless and agents are taking the lead from the Avengers. Good to know he unknowingly destroyed his whole relationship with Y/N for nothing.

When he read those words the first time he wanted to smash the phone on nearest wall, but that meant losing all the pictures with you and he simply couldn't do that.

Loki wandered where where you. If you were safe. Maybe you took your dog out. Or made someone do it, so you didn't have to risk meeting him in the halls. Thought of you still avoiding him sickened him.

His lower back started to ache from sitting in pragraph position for too long. He decided to stretch and walk a little, clear his head. The plan was to go to kitchen, steal something small to eat (not because he was hungry, he needed a distraction) and go back to his secret room. Or the roof. What will came first.

With a glass of water and pockets filled with chocolate he started walking towards the exit.

Suddenly he heard small clawed paws hitting the floor making soft clicking noises. He followed the distand sound to find your little pup, Rex, walking around as if he owned the place. If he was here then you'll be nearby. Loki looked around the room, but besides the small dog and him it was empty.

When the little guy got his sent into his nose, he turned and sprinted towards Loki. He expected the pup to bite him, just like you promise you will train him, and mentally prepared himself for attack of small dull needles on his ankles.

To his surprise Rex started jumping on his leg, trying to reach his hand. When Loki lowered it to his level he started to lick it, his tail wagging wildly. Good to know at least he doesn't hate him.

"Did you escape her and went on an adventure, little guy?" he asked scratching behind his ears. Rex rolled on his belly and silently asked for scratches. Loki was more than happy to provide.

"Well, we can't leave it like that now, can we? She'll be worried sick if she doesn't find you in her room. Like this one time when she couldn't find her favourite plushie from childhood. We turned her whole room upside down just to find it. Later that day she realized she accidentally left it in my bedroom," he smiled sadly at the fond memory. "We laughed a lot afterwards. I fear she'll never laugh in my presence again," he stopped scratching.

Rex sat up and tilted his head at him.

"I know, I know, it's basically my fault. And I understand why she feels like that. Who wouldn't after their best... ex best friend said those things about them. I just wish I could turn back time and change everything."

"And why would you do that?" loki turned around to be met with face of none other than Tony Stark.

"You would never understand," he looked away.

"I'm capable of undertanding a lot of things, don't underestimate me."

Rex found new sent in the room and ran up to Tony. "Aaaw, is he yours? I never thought you'll be a dog person," Tony picked him up and got a good look on him, while Rex was trying to reach his face with his tongue.

"No, he's Y/N's. He must've escaped from her bedroom. Please, take him to her," he started walking away.

"No way, your friend, your problem. I'm already a very busy man even without pets," he put Rex on the floor and gently nudged him towards Loki.

"Here's the thing, I can't. I can't face her. And I am more than sure she doesn't want to face me."

"What happened? Don't tell me it's some petty reason like 'you picked the wrong movie' or 'those flowers don't go with ma vase'."

Loki rolled his eyes and took Rex to his hands. "No. She heard me telling lies to that woman we needed for those informations and now she doesn't trust me. I doubt she ever will."

"Just tell her how it was. How hard can that be?"

"Don't you think I already thought of that? I showed her the video from security cameras yesterday and she still doesn't want to go back to being my friend. And I understand why," he stared deeply into Rex's puppy eyes. As if the little dog felt his sadnes he tried to cuddle up to his chest.

"Then pray tell, cuz I could never understand women's logic."

Loki played with Rex's soft fur. "She knows I'm a great liar. She might think if that was a lie and she couldn't tell, then might be wondering how much of other things I told her were lies," Rex started chewing on Loki's thumb. "The truth is I never told her a single lie. Only that one time when she asked me if I'm smiling because I saw Thor fall down the stairs," he chuckled.

"Then tell her you never lied to her," Tony suggested.

"I can't. She won't believe me. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I did. But listen, life is complicated enough already, why making it more miserable by not talking each other's issues out? Just go to her, return her dog and ask to talk to her."

"What if she slams the door in my face just like the last time? Then what genious?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. Write her a letter and slide it down her door?"

Loki rolled eyes and started walking in the direction of your bedroom. "Your advices suck," he called behind his back.

Here he was. Standing in front of your door, which was slightly ajar. Explaining how Rex got out. Behind those doors he laughed with you, played games with you, watched movies while cuddling with you. So many pleasant memories. Scarred by the freshest one.

He remembered the fear and panic he felt when you started shouting at him. He remembered every last word you told him. Those kinds of words only left your mouth in his worst nightmares. He never thought he'll hear them in real life.

Tiny bites along his wrist brought him back to present. He didn't know what to do. Should he stand there and wait until you come out? Or should he knock? Call out for you?

His questions got answered sooner than he thought. "What are you doing here?" he heard her voice coming from the opposite end of the hallway.

He quickly looked down at Rex in his arms, the opened doorand realized how it must look to you. "I'm not stealing him, I swear. I found him wandering around the Tower," he held him out to you.

You took him, your fingers brushed his for a moment. You coughed. "Ehm, thank you. For bringing him back, I mean."

"No problem," he stood there awkwardly, hamd behind his back.

He figured you didn't want to say anything more and he took a step to walk around you.

"Hey," you called out.

"Yes?" he asked hopefully, waiting for your next words.

"I...... uhm," you bit your lip nervously.

He saw her wilingness to talk as his chance. "Can I speak with you? About all of what happened? Please?"

You looked up at him, a small relief in your eyes. "Actually, that's what I wanted to ask you."

"Oh, okay," he felt like an awkward teen rather than over century old man.

Both of you stood in the hallway. Until you broke the silence. "Well, do you want to come in?" you pointed at your door.

"Yeah, okay. Why not? Your bedroom is nice for talking," Loki mentally slaped himself across the face for saying such stupidity.

"Yes. I suppose it is," you gave him a small smile and closed the door behind the two of you.

[bella-caecilia]

#12 – power, please? 😊

Thank you for the prompt <3 I hope you like what I made of it (I only realised when I had already finished it that Robert basically isn’t in it but it does contain little hints of Cobert so I decided to go with it anyway). This is set in s1e1. Parts of the dialogue belong to JF.

Black – Power

The sun was high up in the sky and spent its heat with all its might. The brim of her hat gave Cora some protection from the burning light but it didn’t really make up for the stuffiness that was trapped under all the layers of heavy dark garments she was wrapped in. She hurried to take the few steps to the motor that waited patiently in front of the Abbey’s stately entrance.

Cora was on her way to her mother-in-law. Even in the summer’s heat, it was better to pay the Dowager Countess a visit instead of having her over and having her inviting herself for dinner when she was already there for tea. Mama might be an ally in the whole Mary business, from the entail to finding appropriate suitors, but the amount of time Cora could bear to be in her company until her snappiness bothered her too much was still limited. So, driving by the Dower House in her heavy mourning attire was without question the way to go.

Cora settled in the backseat of the motor and gathered her skirts around her legs before Thomas closed the door and the chauffeur started the engine. Her gloved hands ran over the extent of black material. Yes, they were in mourning because of James’ and Patrick’s unexpected death but Cora thought to make the best of the obligatory dress code. Today’s attire was very obviously one of complete mourning. Her gown and coat were high-closed, all she wore on her body was pitch black even the feather on her hat, there weren’t any coquettish accessories. But she somehow liked it and she had no problem posing confidently and gracefully in it. Her daughters didn’t share her attitude towards the mourning’s dressing. Edith was fully convinced that going into full mourning like that was the least they could do but Cora didn’t think her middle daughter enjoyed wearing black. Mary didn’t hide her aversion, and Sybil didn’t protest but as the sweet little sunshine she was, black wasn’t right for her either.

Cora didn’t despise the mourning’s black as the girls did, Mary especially. There was no question in wearing it the next months, and she wasn’t counting the days until the colours could return to her daily closet. Cora even liked how she looked in black. There were striking black gowns that did perfectly well on all kinds of dinner occasions, and they pulled Robert’s gaze to her exposed shoulders, arms, and cleavage in a slightly different way than her lighter gowns did. The effect of black was strong, and sometimes it felt to Cora as if this strength was something she absorbed when Robert watched her in her black dresses. When she had been much younger, she had thought at first (and maybe it had been like this in the very first years) that black made her – or any young woman for that matter – unapproachable; if it was mourning’s black or not. Though, it sometimes managed to give the wearer a strong appearance most often it was perceived as not very welcoming. Robert also had to learn that this hadn’t had to be the case. It certainly wasn’t anymore.

Now when she wore black evening gowns, she felt less like the young inferior bride but nearly like an equal to the men with might. Her power, though, was a wholly different one than the power of these men. But she liked being a bit more at eye’s level with the gentlemen and making Robert aware of the power she had over him and in their marriage.

When her thoughts started wandering into fields less grave and too pleasurable for times of mourning, the motor neared its destination and Cora tried to shake off the memories that intensified the heat under her high-neck gown.

Clouds covered the sky and the short moment of the real summer sun was gone already as she arrived in front of the Dower House.

Cora had asked her mother-in-law for an invitation because there was a letter she had received and wanted to discuss with the older lady. The letter had excited her but because it was a rather delicate matter, she had decided to approach her ally, her partner in crime, to make a real decision about it.

As soon as she walked up the way towards the front door the Dowager’s butler opened it and greeted her as obligingly as ever. With a small nod and a smile, Cora appreciated his silent effort to take care of her coat. The quietly muttered “Milady” was less talking than a necessary addition to moving around her busily, acknowledging her presence. When Cora touched her hat a little to make sure it was still in place, the knocking sound of the cane announced Mama’s arrival.

“It is nice of you to come, my dear,” she greeted. The form of endearment towards Cora was something she had used nearly since the beginning of Robert’s and her marriage but it never had anything affectionate about it primarily. It sometimes could be a way of showing a bit of empathy but that wasn’t the norm.

The Dowager Countess was in one of her all-black gowns as well. Mourning and all that came with it was something she knew better than anyone living at the Abbey. She didn't bother how it made her look as long as everything about the gown was proper. Cora thought the black attire perhaps made her mother-in-law look even more intimidating.

Cora followed her into the sitting room. She sat down slightly sideways on the armchair the Dowager offered with a rather impatient gesture of her right hand. Cora tried to adjust her skirts a little that strained slightly in the position the seat forced her to adopt. Violet repeated the nervous shake of her hand towards the butler.

“The tea,” she muttered before sitting down as well. Cora slipped her gloved hand between the folds of her skirts and brought out the reason for her visit. She handed the letter to Mama.

“Here, this arrived yesterday with the afternoon mail. Have a look at it.”

Violet grabbed her reading glasses from the small table next to her. As she unfolded the paper, she sent a short gauging look at Cora over the rim of her small glasses. All the while Violet skimmed the letter and the butler brought the tea, Cora tried to make herself a bit more comfortable on the antique seat. She was still warm in her clothes. For a moment she thought about slipping off her gloves but she wouldn’t stay long anyway. So, she just leaned back as much as possible (more would also have been improper) and held on to the cushion at her left. She enjoyed the slightest of breezes that brushed through the curls at her neck when the butler opened the door to serve the tea.

“So, the young Duke of Crowborough is asking himself to stay.” Mama had finished reading the letter.

“And we know why,” Cora inserted instantly, opening the conversation to the topic that had defined all their latest talks.

Mama provided her with a wary expression. “You hope you know why. That is not at all the same. You realise the Duke thinks Mary’s prospects have altered.” She took off her glasses and emphasised her statement by pointing to the letter with the folded pair of glasses.

“I suppose so,” Cora admitted. She had hoped Mama wouldn’t come to the same conclusion. It would all be much easier if the Duke was interested in Mary no matter what. But Cora knew best that this wasn’t how marriage and courting worked in the English aristocracy. When would a gentleman be interested in a lady just for herself first before securing his family and estate could benefit from her? Was it really always the same? No matter how rosy she managed to have made things work with her dear husband she was aware of the brutal and heartless business of marrying off one’s children, particularly daughters. She wanted her three girls to have good prospects for the lives ahead of them and apparently this meant she had to play this game of matchmaking the best she could. She would always do the best she could for her daughters even if this meant engaging in customs of the peerage that went against her beliefs. Her girls would be dependent on husbands that could and would secure them a safe and happy future. Safety and happiness were closely tied to position according to English nobility, and Cora knew that sadly there was a kernel of truth to it in this society.

“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it,” the Dowager countered with a short shake of her head. “Of course, this is exactly the sort of opportunity that will come to Mary if we can only get things settled in her favour.” She threw another short glance at the lines on the letter before she asked, “Is Robert coming round?” with a circling gesture of her hand.

“Not yet. To him, the risk is we succeed in saving my money but not the estate. He feels he’d be betraying his duty if Downton were lost because of him,” Cora explained calmly. The matter of the entail has bothered Mama, Robert, and her continuously over the last weeks, and Cora knew it wouldn’t help anyone if it was discussed with overbearing emotions.

“Well, I’m going to write to Murray.” Violet’s answer was resolute. She had made a plan with Cora and was determined to make it happen.

“He won’t say anything different.” Cora shook her head. It seemed like there were treading water and everything that had been decided for them – for her (years ago when she had to sign this stupid contract) – was out of reach to change.

“Well, we have to start somewhere. Our duty is to Mary.”

Cora was slightly baffled at her mother-in-law’s resilience. She had never thought that there was someone who would fight more for her daughters than Cora herself. Robert was very close but as became apparent once again (and Cora didn’t hold it against him) Downton was a very high concurrence to the girls. Violet, however, had a determination as fuelled as Cora’s when it came to securing what was right for Mary.

The Dowager Countess sighed, “Well, give him a date for when Mary is out of mourning.” She handed the letter back to Cora who took it with a smile. When Mama was thinking there was still something to fight for, Cora would certainly go with it. She really hoped there were good prospects for Mary. Maybe Mama and she could really achieve something if they continued putting their abilities together for good use. Cora had never thought she would be so powerful with Mama by her side when she had been the young bride she once was. That Mama and she were such a great team ironically was only one of the nice surprises the years had brought.

“No one wants to kiss a girl in black,” Mama said slightly theatrically before they started sipping their teas. Their conversation left them both with a lot to think and so they were mostly silent while drinking the warm tea. Cora was happy Violet seemed to have no other topics she wanted to discuss. She was glad to make her way home again and think about what could still be done about Mary’s situation. Dear strong Mary who shouldn’t be restricted in all her great abilities to form a promising future herself. Things didn’t seem right that way, to rob a girl of what could very well belong to her and could assure her great conditions for her future life. It just didn’t seem fair.

Cora sighed as the door of the Dower House closed behind her not much later. The challenge Mama and she had taken on wasn’t easy but Cora was sure if there was someone at the moment who could achieve something on that score it was the ally she and Mama had formed.

She walked back to the motor. The sun still hid behind a cloud but it was warm nevertheless. Cora moved sparsely therefore and gave a short nod to the chauffeur who held the car door open for her. She had power; she knew it. Strange only that out of all Mama was the one to remind her of that.

On the slightly bumpy road back to the Abbey Cora remembered a particular thing Mama had said earlier.

No one wants to kiss a girl in black.

Even if she shouldn’t, Cora had to smile remembering Mama’s words. She knew someone who didn’t object to kissing a certain girl in black. A girl that has already been kissed in black quite a lot of times.

[rowan-underthehouse]

Shot Glasses and Shadows

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,011

Warnings: slight self-harm, mention of blood

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Abandon All Hope Coda, Mentioned Jo Harvelle, grief/ mourning

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of Abandon All Hope. Castiel is there to help.

Read it on Ao3 here

It’s the moments between hunts where Dean starts to lose his balance. When there’s no monster to fight, and the adrenaline pounding through his limbs fades away.

There are things he can do to stop it. He can make dinner runs while he tries to list the name of every song he’s ever put on a mixtape, or blast the radio until the speakers crackle, or sprint until his lungs burn. As long as he keeps moving he can fight it off. But as flames lick the glossy edges of the closest thing to a send-off they can give Jo and Ellen, all Dean can do is root his feet to the ground and watch.

He doesn't walk away from the fire until the photograph is reduced to ash. The crumbling of Jo’s gentle features is almost beautiful here. He wonders if Jo could feel the flames in her last moments. If she still believed her death meant something. If it felt beautiful.

“I’m going to clean up.”

“Dean you don’t-” Sam follows his gaze to the cluster of shot glasses still spread across the table, not finding the right words until his brother is already gone. Sam knows better than to follow.

It shouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to finish the kitchen, but Dean’s limbs are heavy with guilt and the half bottle of whiskey he’s already downed. He’d expected it to feel different to be back here. Everything warm and homey and right should have burned up with Ellen and Jo, but Bobby’s kitchen somehow missed the memo. This is still the same place they’d laughed and drank and squeezed out smiles around the dread no amount of alcohol could quite wash away just the night before. It’s Dean who’s out of place. He shouldn’t be here, surrounded by a past already so long gone it aches. It’s going to collapse in on him at any second.

The first shot glass that shatters against the hardwood floor is an honest-to-god accident. Dean lets the second roll out of the crook of his elbow, watching with the closest thing to satisfaction he can muster as broken glass dusts his boots. The third, he smashes into the worn countertop. He feels the blood pooling under his palm before he registers the glass wedged there. It brings a sick, bubbling laugh to the back of his throat.

He’s watching the blood run along the edge of a fourth glass, rolling it over in his palm when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Dean,” The unmistakable crunching of dress shoes on glass pulls Dean back to reality. “You’re injured.”

Dean tosses the shot glass in his hands into the sink, almost disappointed when it doesn’t shatter. He shrugs Castiel’s hand off his shoulder, doing his damn best to ignore how cold he feels at the tiny loss of contact. Cas has that effect on people. That warm sort of feeling that starts deep in your chest and spreads to your fingertips until it feels like everything might be alright. Sam feels it too, Dean’s sure, but it doesn’t seem to be burning him up from the inside the way it does Dean. The relief he feels when Cas grabs his shoulder again is humiliating. He wipes it clean off his face before Cas can turn him around.

“You’re bleeding, Dean,” there’s more force to it this time. Dean stares expectantly, waiting for the feeling of grace stitching the fibres of his hand together, but nothing comes. Cas’s eyes fall to the floor. “I’m...going to get the first-aid kit.”

“So, what? Not going to mojo me back together? Cas, is there something you want to tell me?” He squares his shoulders, taking a step toward Cas. Of course something’s wrong. Not even an angel of the lord could get that close to Lucifer and come out unscathed.

“Because if something happened, something that we should know about, you better spit it out before it gets someone killed,” Dean closes the distance between him and Cas, staring down with what he hopes reads as more malice than concern and waits. Cas should be snapping back at him or threatening to throw him back to hell or something but he’s just standing there, gaze cast at the floor.

“It’s not important. It won’t affect my ability to help in your fight against the devil,” Dean turns away with a scoff just loud enough for Cas to hear. Somewhere deep beneath two hours worth of whiskey he knows he’s trying to start a fight, but he doesn’t care.

Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze burning into his back. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something useful?” He nods in the direction of the library where every piece of lore they could find is still strewn out on the desk. The words taste bitter on Dean’s tongue, but if it gets Cas to do something, anything, other than stand there and stare straight into Dean’s soul (Maybe literally. Dean hopes not) it will be worth it.

Dean doesn’t turn around until the footsteps have faded from the kitchen. He drops the remaining shot glasses into the sink and kicks Jo’s chair in as an afterthought on his way out the door.

Sam and Bobby are nowhere to be seen, no doubt already tucked away in their respective rooms trying to figure out how to get through the night. Dean doesn't bother asking how they got Bobby up to his old room now that the sofa has been temporarily dragged back to its place in the library. He suspects Cas had something to do with it.

The fire is little more than embers when Cas comes back around the corner, battered first-aid kit in hand. Dean’s stomach churns. He should apologize.

“Throw another log on.”

Again, Castiel fixes him with that stupid, sympathetic, stare and does as he’s asked.

“You’re grieving.”

Dean almost laughs. “Really, Cas? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You shouldn’t try to stop it. It won’t help,” Cas settles on the sofa and unpacks the kit, examining the contents carefully while he lays them out on the end table.

That old rage bubbles up in Dean's chest again. “So what am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit here and moan about it in the middle of the friggin’ apocalypse? We have work to do, Cas. Stow the Vincent Grey crap.”

“Give me your hand.”

He thinks about arguing. About trying again to stir up some kind of fight just to feel something other than hollow for a few seconds. Angry is easier. Safer. But then, this is Cas. He knows every atom of Dean’s body and can recite his earliest memories like the goddamn pledge of allegiance. There’s no point hiding. He lets some of the tension holding up his body seep back into the floor.

Cas is more gentle than Dean can handle. All calloused hands and careful touches that are anything but clinical. Letting him in is frighteningly easy. It’ll be letting him go when he finally realizes the Winchesters and all their problems aren't worth the effort that will be like pulling stitches.

“They trusted me,” It’s barely a whisper, but Dean’s throat closes around the words. “They trusted me, and I led them to their deaths.”

“You did the best you could. They knew the risks,” There’s a strain in Cas’ voice Dean has never heard before.

Dean’s eyes are burning. He can’t bring himself to meet Cas’ gaze until a thumb swipes across his cheek, brushing away the tears there. For once he finds himself thanking god in all his infinite absence that Cas doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture “You did the right thing, Dean. You tried.”

There’s a weight to his words that Dean can’t quite pin down, the teary smile plastered on his face making Dean want to either wrap his arms around Cas or make a break for it. He shoots for somewhere near a more reasonable middle.

“Are you uh…” Dean is struck very suddenly by just how bad he is at this, But he has to try. It’s Cas. “Are you holding out okay?”

“Human grief is different. It’s...heavier”

If tearing down heaven brick by brick could pull that weight off Cas, Dean would do it in a second. It terrifies him how far he’s willing to go.

“Yeah.”

The mess of bandages Cas eventually manages to secure around Dean’s hand isn’t pretty, but it’s a relief. He tosses the bloody glass in a trash bin and dries his now clean hands on an embroidered dish towel that may have been colourful twenty years ago. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He’s halfway to the door by the time Dean swallows his pride enough to say something. “Cas, wait. Have you - eaten anything? It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t eat.”

Dean spends the longest ten seconds of silence in his life wondering if he could bore a hole through the floor with his eyes to crawl into. This may be the dumbest excuse he’s ever come up with, which is not an easy title to win.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

Maybe it’s the whiskey clouding his mind or the idea of spending the rest of the night drinking his way through whatever’s left of his liver alone that finally snaps a cord in Dean. He sinks back into the couch, exhaustion taking over.

“Please.”

With a creak of old springs and cushions creasing just enough for Dean to slide, Cas is back on the couch, a good few inches closer than the last time. Of course, it doesn't mean anything. Cas is an angel. He can’t understand the way the closeness makes Dean’s heart leap out of his chest. But the way he presses his shoulder against Dean’s is distinctly and undeniably human. He doesn’t want to be alone either.

The next few hours drift by in near silence, broken only by offers of whiskey and the occasional non-committal remark. When Dean’s eyes slip closed, his head lolling against Cas’ shoulder, Cas doesn’t try to wake him.

Once Dean does finally open his eyes, it’s with a pounding headache, and his face pressed against the rough fabric of Cas’ shirt. Through the fog of sleep Dean slowly becomes aware of his limbs tangled with Cas’ where they’ve sprawled across the sofa. He’s a split second away from launching himself onto the floor when he registers Cas’ hand resting loosely against Dean’s back. The slow tide of his breathing. He can’t be asleep but Dean’s never seen him this relaxed. His hair is a disaster where it’s rubbed against the arm of the sofa and his coat is more on the floor than his body. He must be meditating or praying or whatever the hell angels do to recharge their heavenly batteries. It would be rude to interrupt him, Dean reasons, and he’ll be awake again within a few hours. There’s still plenty of time before sunrise. A few hours can’t hurt. In the moment before he’s pulled back to a dreamless sleep, Dean swears he catches the shadow of wings cast against the wall, curled around his body.

…

It’s not unusual for Sam to be awake before his brother. He rolls out of bed some time after sunrise, stumbling toward the kitchen before he’s even finished rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He very nearly walks past the tangle of limbs on the couch before Bobby rolls into the room, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

“They haven’t moved since Cas brought me back down here. Let them rest. They need it.”

And they do.

When Dean finally stumbles into the kitchen, Cas having disappeared mere seconds before he woke up, Sam doesn’t say a word about it, just smiles into his coffee mug. It’s good to see someone keeping Dean steady for once, and if Dean isn't ready to admit it yet, that’s a problem for another day.