#and one at the center of the rib cage since it’s mirrored

[kyngsnake]

making his tiddy piece look ✨clean✨

[of-light-and-shadow]

𝓐 𝓕𝓮𝓵-𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓚𝓲𝓼𝓼 World of Warcraft OCxOC Action/Adventure/Romance/Hurt/Comfort Chapter 2

"Time only moves in one direction. Remember that. Things always change." - Moshin Hamid, The Reluctant Fundamentalist

~~

The chamber is a stark, austere space, stripped of any warmth or character. The walls is an imposing ebony wood, their richness accentuated by intricate inlays of glimmering gold that trace delicate patterns across the surface. The floor beneath is a checkerboard of obsidian tiles, their polished surfaces reflecting distorted shadows that dance and flicker to the rhythm of the sconces on the wall.

Vela stands rigidly at the room's heart, as still and as silent as a statue in an abandoned cathedral. Her eyes remain fixed on the glossy tiles below her feet, unable to meet the formidable gazes staring back at her from around the crescent moon table. It's a semi-circle of judgement filled with stern faces etched on hardened warriors - Knight Masters of the Blood Knight Order.

A single chair sits vacant at the center of this intimidating assembly, its design as unadorned and severe as everything else within these walls. Vela recognizes it instantly; it's where Lady Liadrin would preside if she deemed to attend such proceedings. But why would someone like Lady Liadrin bother with matters concerning a lowly trainee? Vela can feel her heart pounding against her ribs like a frantic bird trying to escape its cage, and she tries her best to keep herself from fidgeting.

“Vela’stae Nae’mora.”

The name burns. It's alien, uninvited. A cruel lottery at birth? Or is her birth the curse itself? Questions for a ghost of a father, long since gone and nowhere to be found. Dead, maybe? Perhaps better of, though she can’t tell if its better for him or her. The disgrace blisters, merciless and brutal. She's an errant smudge of ink, a stain upon the proud Nae'mora lineage.

Vela swallows down the bile and dips her head in acknowledgement.

In her peripheral vision, she observes a Knight Master opening a dossier, her fingers leafing through the parchment with the same disinterested air one might reserve for flicking off dust from an old shawl. The woman's lips curve up in a nonchalant hum, her emerald eyes mirroring the indifference etched on her face.

"You've been in training with us for five years, yes?" Her voice drips with casual disregard.

"Six years, Knight Master," Vela corrects, her voice barely more than a whisper. She wrestles with the urge to crumble under the weight of their icy stares, each all to eager to dissect her bit by bit.

"Ah yes, I recall now. One of our… 'special cases', wasn't it? A favor from your eldest brother. You managed to scrape through the entry trials but have yet to accomplish anything of note since."

Vela's throat tightens, a harsh swallow echoing in her ears. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes - unwanted, unshed. Dread crawls up her throat. This is it. The end. She’s always been an outsider in the Order, a charity case for the disgraced daughter of a disgraced family. And it kills her that she couldn’t even do this right - couldn’t belong properly enough not to sully the gleaming image of the Order - heroes and warriors all around her but not within her.

Another failure to add to the list. Another disappointment for her family.

She only wonders why it took the Order so long to finally make this decision.

Where will she go? What will she do? Panic flutters in her chest at the thought.

"Initiate, today must be your lucky day." The words reverberate around the room. Her mind halts abruptly, as though the universe itself has been put on hold. For the first time since entering this stark chamber, she dares to raise her gaze. Another Knight Master shoves a file across the frosty metal table. It glides towards Vela with an implicit command for her to take it. She complies, her hands quivering as they clutch onto the folder.

"I…I don't understand," she stammers out, too shocked to fully process the rapid-fire events unfolding around her.

The emerald-eyed Knight seals Vela’s dossier and reclines casually in her chair, unamused and unimpressed. "By virtue of Knight Master Summersong’s glowing endorsement," she asserts, each word ricocheting off the bare walls, louder than thunder "You are promoted to Initiate effective immediately, and given assignment befitting your rank and skills."

All Vela can muster is a stuttered response; "Me? An Initiate?"

The Knight Master, her emerald eyes flashing with stern authority, dismisses Vela with an airy flick of her hand. “I won't waste my breath repeating myself, girl. I suggest you marshal your wits about you. The task at hand will be far from easy. In your hands is all the intelligence we've gathered on a pirate named Keth’ys Felbrine. He first piqued our interest during the Fourth War and has been nothing but a nuisance to the Sin’dorei Navy's since. Your mission is to capture him, dead or alive, within a year."

Vela's heart pounds against her ribcage, its rhythm reverberating like a drum solo in her eardrums.

"I trust I’ve made the Order’s expectations clear, Initiate?"

The questions hangs heavy in the air. A determined fire sparks to life within Vela as she grips the dossier until her knuckles whiten from strain. Outwardly, she keeps a calm facade thought her heart teeters on the edge of detonation. This was it—her first chance to finally prove herself worthy. She answers with a silent nod, resolute and unwavering.

"Then do not disappoint us. Dismissed," comes the brusque dismissal.

The instant Vela crosses through the grandiose doors of the Hall of Blood, her carefully constructed mask shatters. A high-pitched squeal of elation bursts forth from deep within her while her hand instinctively clenches around the parchment until it warps out of shape. She senses judgmental stares and snarky murmurs from fellow initiates prickling at her skin but their effect is lost on her now. All she can concentrate on is this heady sensation of triumph, throbbing wildly through her veins.

"Decorum is a virtue, Initiate Vela’stae." Knight Master Concordia's voice echoes behind Vela—strict yet somehow soothing.

Vela turns on her heel, tries to curb her excitement but fails as an uncontrollable smile stretches across her face. "A promotion! My very first assignment!" she exclaims.

"You have earned this," Concordia affirms with a nod before taking on a more grave demeanor. "But take care not to let your new rank impair your judgement. This task is a testament to your proven skills, thus it will be anything but easy.”

"I will not fail you, Master Concordia." Vela says with a bow, "Everything I am, I owe to you."

Concordia scoffs, "It is you who deserves that credit. I simply offered guidance. Now go; your target is waiting, and he won't sit idly by while you track him down. Now, go pack your things, you’ll need to visit the armorer to get fitted before you leave.”

"Yes, Master," Vela bows again. "May the Light guide your path."

"And yours as well."

Vela traces the well-worn path of the corridors, her boots whispering against the cold stone floor as she heads towards the barracks. The room is empty, its usual occupants out in the training yard, their rhythmic drills echoing faintly. A sudden realization washes over as she lingers in the doorway - this room is no longer hers. No more would she have to suffer through the disdain of her peers. It's a revelation that brings a relief so immense that it nearly buckles her knees and blurs her vision with unshed tears.

But she doesn't crumble; instead, she wipes at her eyes and strides purposefully to her bunk. She reaches under it to retrieve her worn leather pack, its surface creased and faded from years of use. Vela starts packing methodically, each item finding its place within the confines of the bag with practiced ease; each of her life’s possessions s are meager enough to fit comfortably inside. Her eyes then dart around the room instinctively, checking for any lingering presence before she retrieves something more personal - a stuffed mana wyrm doll hidden beneath her mattress. Its soft fabric feels comforting against her calloused hands as she carefully nestles it among her belongings in the pack.

The sight of her barren bunk, now stripped of all its familiar clutter, settles like a pall on her shoulders. She allows herself to sink into the mattress to sit, overwhelmed with memories of her arrival nearly seven years prior. She had been a broken girl then, carrying dreams as fragmented and jagged-edged as shattered glass. And her refuge had been this humble sanctuary; this most worn-out bed in the farthest corner of the barracks that no one else desired. A wave of melancholy washes over Vela, unbidden and unexpected. How strange it is to realize how much she's going to miss this place - this dilapidated old bed in particular - despite how much she has grown to despise it over time.

Still, she loathes to leave it and so instead turns her attention to the dossier she was given. She opens it with careful hands, sifting through the immaculate documents nestled within its confines. Her eyes settle on an array of formal reports penned in succinct military jargon detailing assaults by a ship named The Sable Wing.

A quick perusal reveals that during the fourth war, this vessel had targeted Sin’dorei ships with ruthless precision: swift attacks executed with brutal efficiency leaving no room for survivors or loot before each ship was consigned to its watery grave.

Her focus then shifts to several other reports meticulously arranged chronologically post conclusion of the fourth war. Captain Felbrine appeared to have broadened his victim pool to include merchant ships. There was no discernible pattern in his selection apart from their substantial cargo laden with expensive goods. However, unlike previous attacks, these vessels were spared from sinking; he seemed content merely plundering his spoils before disappearing into oblivion. Yet there was a chilling consistency in every report involving Sin’dorei merchants and navy vessels - they all met the same ruthless end at his hands. Each account was punctuated with precise details of the attacks, marking down the scope of the captain’s brutality.

Vela's fingers brush over a final page, her pulse quickening as she tugs it into the dim glow of the room. The artist, unknown but undeniably skilled, had managed to capture every nuance of Captain Keth’ys Felbrine’s features with an uncanny precision. His face on parchment is strikingly handsome and almost lifelike. A smug grin plays lazily across his lips, one corner slightly raised to reveal a sliver of his razor-sharp teeth. From his forehead sprout a pair of majestic horns that curl back elegantly, embellished with an assortment of necklaces and trinkets that seem to demand the viewer's attention. His hair is luxuriously long, cascading well past his shoulders in dark waves that compliment his horns in an appealing frame.

A Kaldorei Illidari. Vela's eyes narrow at this revelation; it’s no wonder the Order has marked Felbrine for retribution.

She finds herself unsurprised by his vendetta against Sin’dorei ships—aa bitter retaliation for Sylvannas Windrunner’s war crimes during the fourth war. But what worries her isn't this personal grudge but the innocent merchant ships caught in crossfire, their only crime being their Sin'dorei identity. Vela leans back thoughtfully, her mind working overtime as she considers the implications of an Illidari turned pirate. She knows that the Illidari are notoriously neutral in conflicts — and they would certainly hold little qualm in turning a blind eye to Felbrine's actions simply because he is one of them. But could they ignore such flagrant disregard for innocent lives? She chews on her lower lip, musing over these questions as she stares at Felbrine’s smirking visage on the wanted poster.

His actions are a dangerous wildcard, and Vela is coming to the stark realization that she must tread carefully if she has any hope of succeeding where many others have failed.

Vela exhales softly as she tucks the dossier neatly into her pack. Her eyes sweep across the room one last time, etching every detail into memory before she leaves it behind. The door closes gently behind her, its whispering sigh lost in the bustling activity of the corridor. The once hallowed halls pulse with life now, filled with echoes of footfalls from those returning from harsh training sessions or performing other tasks. Vela navigates the crowd with ease, eyes trained to the stone floor beneath her feet as she passes by a huddled group too absorbed in their discussion to notice her.

A snippet of conversation floats towards her,

"Did you hear?"

"That she's been promoted? Absolutely. If that's true, then our Order truly has gone to shit," another voice joins in.

"It is. My Master was there at the conclave. I can't fathom how they could make such a decision. She was the worst in our regiment . Even caused her former Knight Master to quit due to her ineptitude."

Vela shakes her head; no, not today. She will not allow any shadow to darken her victory. A small smile plays on the corners of her lips, and she speeds toward the armory with newfound purpose. All in all, the entire affair lasts less than an hour, as the forgemaster merely fits an existing set of armor to suit her. It is a gorgeous work of art, a blend of crimson and gold that shimmers under the glow of the forge like liquid fire molded into a protective shell. She begins with the chest plate, fitting it over her tunic before pulling straps over her shoulders and around her waist, fastening them securely.

The gauntlets come next: intricate pieces designed for both protection and flexibility. They slide onto her arms easily enough, their weight slightly more than what she’s grown accustomed to but not uncomfortably so. After that are the greaves, their metallic hue reflecting the light as they encase her legs in an unyielding embrace.

Vela swells with pride as she double checks to make sure her gear is in place. The armor fits like a second skin; snug where it needs to be and loose where movement is necessary – a perfect balance between protection and mobility even if its heavier and more formidable than she is used to. Every aspirant to this esteemed rank trained wearing this exact form-fitting ensemble. Concordia had even subjected Vela to grueling runs while clad in it - miles upon miles until she became one with its weight and feel – an exercise she would have to repeat it seems.

With a respectful dip of her head to the armorer, Vela hoists her bag onto her shoulder, its weight familiar and reassuring. She strides purposefully away from the Hall of Blood, the clangor of metal on metal and the smell of oil and iron fading behind her. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows as she clears the imposing doors, guarded by adepts whose gazes she meets with a steely determination.

Once outside, she steps into Silvermoon City's heart. Always an awe-inspiring spectacle, it radiates opulence and grandeur. Buildings rise like monoliths, their surfaces cloaked in vibrant silks that flutter in the breeze like banners of wealth. Gold embellishments catch the dying light of day, making them shimmer with a warm glow. She navigates through throngs of people with practiced ease despite the knot tightening in her stomach. Her destination is Sunfury Spire; a portal there will transport her to Orgrimmar - a bustling epicenter for Horde activity where she hopes to find some clue on where to search for her target.

Each step towards it feels like an eternity as nervous anticipation coils tighter within her. She has never ventured beyond Silvermoon or Eversong Woods; this journey marks her first step beyond familiar territories' safe confines. Her mind races with questions as she contemplates what awaits beyond these magnificent palaces and gleaming halls. Unsure if life outside is any different than within everything she’s ever known. It’s a thrilling albeit terrifying thought, but does not deter her in the slightest; instead, it fuels the determination in her stride.

In the end, her path brings her to the grand staircase that ascends towards the towering doors of the Spire. Vela's feet barely touch each step as she bounds upwards, nearly two at a time. As she crests the final step, her heart performs a jubilant leap within her chest at the sight of a cherished face awaiting her arrival.

A man stands there, his eyes crinkling in delight as they meet hers, the smile on his face a gentle one. He takes a half-step forward, robes whispering against the stone floor in soft rustles, arms unfolding from behind him in an inviting gesture meant only for her.

"Uncle Vorian!" She can't keep the joy from bubbling up in her voice. With no second thought, she launches herself into his waiting arms, feeling their familiar strength encircle her in a hug that feels like home. The prickling sensation of joyful tears threatens at the corners of her eyes as they finally break apart and Vorian's deep chuckle echoes through the air.

"Hello, Little Vela," he greets with an affectionate rumble in his voice, playfully tousling her hair as if she were still a child. "Did you remember to eat today?"

Vela's smile flickers for just a moment before she huffs out an exasperated sigh and tosses back her head with dramatic flair. "It was one time!"

"Once is enough." Vorian wisely reminds her, pulling out a cloth-wrapped loaf of warm bread from his pack and handing it to her. A small smile returns to Vela's face as she accepts it gratefully. She glances up at him shyly and shifts nervously on her feet.

"You heard then?"

"The whole family did." Vorian confirms, gesturing for her to walk beside him as they make their way into the Sunfury Spire. "Lady Summersong saw fit to inform your brothers and I. Jiraan and Bae'ryn are bursting with pride."

Vela feels a burning question clawing at her self-control. She can't help but wonder if Vorian is proud of her. She bites down on her lower lip, trying to contain her overwhelming desire to ask him. His presence beside her, seeing her off to Orgrimmar, should be enough to assure her that he cares but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. She yearns for more than just his affection; she longs to impress him and earn his pride. Since he stepped into the void left by her absent father, this hunger has only grown stronger within her. And each footstep through the silent halls of the Spire only intensifies her craving. Sneaking a glance at Vorian, she searches for any sign of approval on his stoic face but to her disappointment she finds nothing.

After what feels like an eternity, they reach the portal room where arcane energy pulses around them like a living entity. The portal's shimmering light fills the hall with an otherworldly glow. Vela finds herself drawn to it, her stomach knotting with a persistent discomfort. Amidst this maelstrom of feelings, one desire remains unshakeable: she longs to make Vorian proud and prove his faith in her is not misplaced.

Suddenly, Vorian comes to a stop. He turns towards her, his expression serious despite the warmth in his voice as he speaks to her, "Little Vela," he starts, "I have something for you."

From his side, he unhooks a sword encased in its scabbard and extends it towards her. Her hands quiver as she accepts it, and her eyes widen as she traces the familiar symbols engraved into the scabbard's leather surface before lifting her gaze to meet Vorian’s.

"This was… it was father's - grandfather's…” Her breath hitches, “I can't take this."

"Jiraan insisted that it be given to you." Vorian responds calmly. He halts for a moment before continuing softly yet decisively, "And I'm inclined to agree with him. This sword has a history of honor and virtue, wielded by men who were true to their ideals. Your father may have tarnished its legacy, but now it has a chance to redeem itself in your hands."

Tears pool in Vela's eyes while emotion chokes off any words, she holds the blade tightly against her chest. The weight of responsibility that comes with this sword is heavy, but there’s a sense of honor she feels in carrying it. With trembling hands and a heart full of reverence for her fallen grandfather, who gave his life to protect his people and his ideals, she ties the sword to her hip and squares her shoulders with determination.

"I won't let you down, Uncle Vorian." She says resolutely, dipping her head in a reverent bow.

His expression softens as he gazes at her, filled with his pride and love. "I know you won't. You have always been the best of us."

As she turns to leave, Vela feels a pang of hesitation, but she quickly shuts it out. The unknown calls out to Vela as she steps through that portal, but instead of feeling scared, an unexpected peace wraps around her heart. She doesn't know what's waiting for her or what challenges lie ahead but deep down there’s something that tells her everything will be okay.

[leafs-lover]

“You’re going out, wearing that?”

With, of course, Freddie please.

A/N: This is from a prompt list I posted a million years ago, and I am very sorry it took so long!

Warnings: A swear word or two, alluding to sex

Freddie always loved you in red.

Bright, firetruck red was his favourite. But, really any shade worked.

If you wore red he couldn't take his eyes off you, and once home, it was his hands. Red dresses - short or long, tight or flowy - didn't matter. An all black outfit with red shoes adding a pop of colour, drove him wild. But a bright red matching set, that made him feral, a man starved for weeks.

So imagine his face when you were going out for dinner with some friends, wearing tight black pants, a matching jacket over a bright red deep plunging spaghetti strap bodysuit. As if that wasn't enough you paired it with a pair of matching heels and painted your lips in an identical shade.

Every part of you was perfect, and every part of you knew it. Giving yourself a final glance in the mirror, you run the tip of your index finger over the edge of your lips, ensuring the perfect shape.

"Hey baby," you call out, walking into the hall.

"You ready?" Fred asks mindlessly, eyes still locked on the TV, some basketball game playing loudly over the speakers.

"Yeah." Walking towards the kitchen your heels click against the polished wood floors with every step. Catching a glimpse of you from his peripheral vision, Fred's interest is piqued.

The TV is paused, and in under three seconds you feel him behind you, one hand landing high on your thigh, the other wrapping around your core. "You’re going out, wearing that?” it almost comes out as a growl.

"Hmm," you play dumb, fully aware of what your doing. Opening the clasp of your purse, you pull out your phone, clicking on the group chat with your friends.

"YN," his large frame presses you forward into the counter, an oversized hand rips the phone from your hand and places it on the counter. Trailing his finger over your stomach up towards your ribs, a shiver dances down your spine, goosebumps prickling everywhere.

"Fred," you reply, playfully pressing back to him, his dick twitching ever so slightly in his loose joggers. Wet and warm kisses find your neck, hair being brushed aside to provide further access. Rolling his tongue up your neck, he begins sucking on your lobe, fingers carving into the red fabric that covers your center. "Fred, I have to go."

"YN." Swiftly spinning you around, his large frame cages you against the counter. He stands in front of you, a pair of gray joggers and tight white shirt showcasing every curve of every muscle, his definition fully on display for you to gawk at. Hand on either side of your hip, his normally golden brown eyes ignite with fire. Ducking down his face nuzzles into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Pinpricks of arousal ripple down your spine as his warm breath fans your neck, you wrap your arms around his back. “I think you should stay home,” his voice is husky yet soft, words being punctuated between kisses. “And I can fuck you while you only wear this shirt. Twice.” A shudder wracks through you at the thought.

Hoisting you on the counter, your legs wrap around his waist. Your phone chimes and you attempt to reach for it, but Fred nips your sweet spot to halt your movements, as a hand trails up the front of your top, softly tugging on the deep cut of the red lace, beginning to reveal your hardened nipple.

“Fred,” you giggle bashfully, hearing it chime again. “I got to go.”

“Babe,” he groans, nipping even harder than before, digging his large thick digits into your hips.

You weren’t going to say the offer didn’t interest you, how could it not? The thought of his lips on you, hands wandering over your warm skin, him on you, it was enough to make you weak - especially since nights off during the hockey season can be few and far between. But your friend recently accepted a job on the other side of the country and tonight is the last time you can see her before she leaves.

“I’m going to leave,” your legs drop and you jump down, Fred reluctantly stepping backwards, creating some space. “But, stay awake and you can fuck me in this when I get home.”

“Twice,” he winks at you.

[cryonme]

𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐈𝐕

PART FOUR- “I Can’t Stop Thinking About The Way You Held Me That Night After The Boneyard And I Think I Need You To Do It Again.”

part one here

part two here

part three here

short series-- jj maybank x kook!reader

word count- 4.2k

tw- scratching, panic, description of bruises and cuts, big ol mental breakdown, swearing, self deprecation, fluff if you fuckin squint harder than you ever have in your life, mentions of blood, hints at sexual assault, mentions of wanting to throw up probably more please tell me if I missed something :( typos guaranteed

a/n- thank you for being so patient for this part! it was a busy couple days for Roxie!! again, the reader talks a lot of self deprecation, and I want to make it clear, I do not agree with her views on herself. please remember that I don't think of victims that way, I just wanted to write accurately. love you all so much!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You were basically a shell of a human being for the next week.

Your dad and Christine had told Shoupe that it was no surprise to them that Tyler had done this, and explained that they had kicked him out of the house and why. Tyler was apparently “nowhere to be found”, very convenient, considering the police were looking for him.

All you wanted was to go see your friends, you wanted to tell them everything. You wanted to apologize for the way you treated them and thank them for saving you.

But your dad and Christine had you practically locked up in your room.

You were afraid to even ask to leave, knowing they would get upset again. You avoided bringing up the situation at all, not wanting to see the sad looks on their faces.

So, you waited. You waited a week to see your friends just so you wouldn’t have to go through the awkward sadness.

“Dad?” You asked softly as you walked into his office, hands shoved in the back pockets of your blue jean shorts. He was writing at his desk, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He started working from home when he got the call from Christine about what had happened. You hadn’t told either of them what you know yet, you needed to know more before telling someone as powerful as your father.

“Hey, honey.” He turned in his chair and smiled, taking his glasses off, giving you a warm smile.

You and your dad had a good relationship. You weren’t best friends, you didn’t tell him everything, you didn’t hang out often. But, he loved you with everything he had, and would do, and has done, just about anything for you.

“Hey,” You started, fidgeting with your hands and the rings on your fingers. “I uh- I was wondering if- Everyone’s going to John B’s today and I really miss my friends and Pope and JJ and John B will all be there so they can protect me if anything happens and-”

“(Y/n),” Your dad started but you kept rambling.

“And I just think it’s really important for me to get out of the house especially-”

“You can go.”

“Because of what happened here and I just- wait, I can?”

Your dad nodded, standing up and placing his hand on your shoulders, looking straight into your eyes with his (y/c/e) eyes, sullen and misty.

“I agree, I think you should go.”

You smiled and wrapped your arms around your dad, squeezing extra tight. He let out a watery laugh and kissed your head.

“I’m really sorry kiddo. I can’t believe I wasn’t-” He stopped for a moment and let out a deep sigh, “I just can’t believe I let it go on for so long.” You frowned and just hugged your dad tighter. “You didn’t let anything go on, it’s my fault.”

Your dad's lip quivered and he rested his chin on your head, “It’s no one’s fault but his, let’s say that.

You nodded in agreement, “Let’s.”

After a couple more apologies and just a few more tears, you and your dad pulled away and you made your way back to your room, after stopping by Christine’s room to tell her you were leaving and promising 50 times to be so safe, and sent a text to Sarah.

*Can I hitch a ride to JB’s?*

It took about 15 seconds for her to reply.

OH THANK GOD

YES WTF

You smiled at your phone and shook your head, almost giddy with excitement to see your best friends. You knew Sarah was probably gonna pick you up in less than a couple minutes, so you stuck with the outfit you had on already, opting against a swimsuit. Your cuts and bruises had healed and faded immensely, but they were still there, and you’d rather skip the pity glances and sad looks. Your hands were still wrapped in compression wrap from the force of Tyler’s kick, along with your left knee and rib cage, your neck covered in red, ugly scratches from your panic attacks, and you had to be very careful with your movements so you wouldn’t worsen your concussion. You were already in a lot of pain, and having to deal with your emotional pain today would just be too much. You knew they came from a good place, and they were just concerned, but that’s not what you were there for today, you had a lot more problems in your future than just a couple injuries.

Once Sarah had texted you that she was waiting outside, you made your way downstairs, bidding your parents one last goodbye before walking out the front door and giving your best friend a wave as you made your way to her passenger seat.

“I’m not gonna hug you because I’m afraid I’ll squeeze you too tight and I know you’re injured.”

You giggled and leaned over the center console, giving her a quick kiss on top of her head and a big smile. “I would offer you my hand to squeeze but unfortunately my hands did not make it out unscathed.”

Sarah just nodded, taking in your appearance for a moment before clearing her throat and starting her car, blinking hard a couple times as she made her way out of your neighborhood.

“I didn’t tell anyone you’re coming, they’ll be so excited.” She forced a smile to her face and you returned it.

You knew she was having a really hard time having you in her car, forced to look at you and remember the day they found you nearly unconscious with Tyler’s hand around your throat.

You probably looked disgusting.

You pulled down the mirror to examine your face, your eye was still swollen and discolored, your lip as well. You had a yellowing bruise on your right cheekbone and a healing cut on your eyebrow right above it.

A sight to see.

“(Y/n/n)...”

“Please don’t, S.” You said softly, flipping the mirror back up in its place and turning to your blonde haired friend, giving her a weak smile. “Just making sure they’re healing okay. Forgot to check before we left.”

Sarah just nodded, not looking convinced by your untrue words.

+

The sound of Sarah’s tires rolling over the dirt road made your stomach flip, you weren’t ready yet. You didn’t want to see John B’s sad eyes, or Kiara’s quivering lip, or Pope’s lingering eyes on your bandages.

You didn’t wanna see JJ’s face, you’d turn to putty if you saw even an ounce of hurt in those pretty blue eyes.

You took a deep breath when Sarah finally rolled up to the Chateau, trying to calm your shaking hands, using one to steady the other, but it was no use since they were both unsteady. You mustered up all of your courage and confidence and opened the car door, immediately spotting your friends on John B’s wrap around porch, drinking beers and laughing.

They don’t miss you. You had told yourself, stopping in your tracks and raking your hands through your hair, suddenly wanting to cry. Look how much fun they’re having without you.

What you hadn’t seen was the pogues sitting in silence only moments before, sullen looks on their faces as they forced light conversation and jokes, before one finally made them laugh, bringing peace to the friends for just a moment.

“Hey,” Sarah stood in front of you, hands on your cheeks. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. Her eyes looking into yours with nothing but love and compassion was enough. “Come on.” She nodded encouragingly and grabbed your hand, pulling you behind her as she approached the screen door.

You wanted to throw up.

The door cracked open, it’s rusty hinges making a high pitched squeaking noise.

And there it was.

John B’s sad eyes.

Kiara’s quivering lip.

Pope’s eyes glued to your bandages.

You didn’t look at JJ.

“Fuck.” Kiara breathed out as she quickly stood up from her spot to hug you, but quickly stopped herself as she got closer and could see the damage more clearly. She stared at you a moment with teary eyes, not sure what to do.

“Just hug me, weirdo.” You said, grabbing her arm and pulling her in for a light hug.

“God, I just wanna squeeze you.” She muttered, her mouth pressed against your shoulder.

“Please don’t.” You said, only half joking.

You both giggled and pulled away, you gave her a small smile before squeezing her shoulders.

“Love you, Kie.”

“I love you way more, how are you doing?”

You just shook your head, “I’d rather not get into that, if that’s okay.”

Kie just nodded. She should’ve known better with you, of course you weren’t gonna answer that question.

“At least you’re not lying.” John B said, pulling you into a light hug much like the one you had with Kie moments before, his arms around your shoulders while your cheek rested on his chest, his chin on top of your head.

“Love you, bub. Glad you’re okay.” He said into your hair before leaving a slight kiss, pulling away to put his hand in Sarah’s, his gaze lingering on your broken down figure.

Pope just kept looking at you, obviously freaked out.

“Hey, Heyward.” You put your hand under his chin, bringing his eyes up to yours. You smiled at the boy and nodded, “I’m okay.”

Pope reached one hand up to grab yours, hot holding it too tight, but just enough to tell you how much he loves you. “I’m happy you’re here.”

JJ watched as you had a heartfelt moment with each of your friends, but wouldn’t spare a single glance in his direction. She had whispered his name in pain just a week ago, wanting him by her side, and now she won’t look at him.

She realized what a piece of shit you are.

The pogues sensed the tension, all of them standing up and heading inside the house to give you two a moment alone. You wanted to beg them to stay, or follow them inside even. Grab a bag of chips and flop yourself onto the couch with your head in Pope’s lap, giggling at John B and Sarah’s lovers quarrel in the kitchen.

But you had to face this head on, you had to face JJ head on. It was time.

“Why won’t you look at me?” JJ asked, trying to mask his anger, it wasn’t working.

“I-”

“After all this, I thought we were past the hatred, (Y/n).” He was trying to keep his cool, but he couldn’t. Keeping his cool was never one of his strong suits.

“JJ-”

“I’m not doing this anymore with you. You can-”

You cut him off. If he said one more angry word at you you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

“JJ, I know you hate me and I know I’m a bitch and I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. But, god, I can’t stop thinking about the way you held me that night after the boneyard and I think I need you to do it again.” Your voice shook as you finally whipped your head to look at him, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through your head from the sudden movement.

There was that hurt in his eyes, plain as day. His hair was disheveled and his eyes looked heavy and sad, dark circles hanging underneath them. He looked so beautiful.

JJ was wordless as he strode towards you, his arms out as he finally held you lightly in his arms.

“I need you to hold me tighter, Jayje, please.” “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“*Please.”

The blond responded by just holding you tighter against him, one hand around your waist and the other supporting the back of your head. You let out a choked sob at the feeling of him around you, this is all you ever wanted, all you ever needed. It was like air was finally rushing through your lungs.

“I’m sorry I was angry, I’m so sorry.”

You just shook your head, unable to speak words as you continued to cry, wordlessly telling him not to apologize, just pulling him impossibly closer.

JJ stumbled a little as you pulled him, “Okay, okay. Let’s sit down.” He said softly, leading you to the outside couch, careful not to loosen his grip on your frame. JJ sat down in the corner and pulled you with him, situating your body between his legs, your arms wrapped around his neck as your head fell to rest in the crook of his neck. JJ’s hand that wasn’t on your waist came to rest on your cheek, his thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone back and forth.

“I’m so scared.” Your voice squeaked through your sobs and hiccups and JJ’s heart shattered, scattering broken pieces at his feet.

“M’not gonna leave you. Promise.”

You didn’t respond as you held up your pinky, signalling for him to hook his around yours, and he did, leaving a sweet kiss on your fingers, then returning his hand to it’s spot on your cheek, holding onto you for dear life. He wanted to find Tyler and kill him himself, even if only for the way you were shaking in his arms, it scared him. He had never seen you this broken before, he didn’t think anybody had, not including Sarah or Kie, but even then the amount was few.

He didn’t want to shush you or tell you everything was okay, because it wasn’t, really. Your abusive step brother was nowhere to be found and he had nearly killed you. It wasn’t okay. So, he let you cry and he held you, letting out an involuntary whine every time your body would tremor and whispering sweet things in your ear, until eventually you fell asleep in his arms, your breathing finally normal.

John B came out the front door when he heard your crying stop, Pope trailing close behind him, and the two leaned on the railing across from JJ.

“I wanna kill him.” JJ said, not looking up from his gaze on you. “Look at her.”

JJ was holding back his own tears now, forcing out a couple coughs to try and cover up his cracking voice. “The way she just broke down, I- I’ve never seen her like this before, guys. She usually has something funny to say, a joke to pull even in the toughest situations but she’s so scared and sad. Fuck, I never want to see her like this again.”

John B and Pope were silent as JJ talked, just listening to their distraught friend.

“I’m not leaving her. Not ‘til that son of a bitch is dead or behind bars for the rest of his life.”

Pope nodded, “I think that’s smart, actually.”

The boys were interrupted when Sarah brought out your bag, holding it out to JJ.

“She needs to change her bandages, they look a mess.”

JJ grabbed the bag and placed it on the ground next him, then turned to you and gently shook you awake, stroking your hair and whispering softly.

“Hey, pretty girl, Gotta get up and change your bandages, okay? They’re all twisted.”

You nodded and stood up, immediately whimpering from losing the extra compression around your ribs and the pain in your head. JJ shot up, fawning over you, offering to carry you to the bathroom. You just shook your head and made your way inside, keeping your eyes on your feet so you wouldn’t make eye contact with Pope or John B.

You made it to the bathroom before JJ did, so you sat on the counter and waited, he must’ve been talking to the boys outside.

“You should’ve said something sooner, Sarah. This could’ve been avoided.” You heard Kie’s voice through the door.

“What? Do you know how mad she would be if I did? She’d never talk to me again.” “At least she’d be safe.” Kie spat.

“Look, I- I didn’t know that was gonna happen, okay-”

“Obviously.” Kie muttered.

“You don’t think I’ve been beating myself up about it all week?”

“You should be beating your-”

“Kie, lay off.” John B’s voice interrupted, followed by the slamming of a bedroom door, and silence.

You frowned at the conversation. This was no one’s fault, no one but Tyler. He’s the scum who did this to you, there was no one else to blame. Kie was angry and looking for someone to pin it on who wasn’t conveniently missing, but it wasn’t fair to Sarah.

JJ entered the room not a moment later, holding your bag with fresh compression wraps and bandages, a nervous smile plastered on his face.

“Let me see.” He said, setting down the bag on the counter next to you.

You had a hesitant look on your face, you knew he meant for you to take off your shirt, and you didn’t want to. After everything-

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” He whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear him. “I just wanna help you, okay? I need to see them so I can help you, baby.”

You nodded and he mirrored the action, slowly bringing his arms forward to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a bra and shorts. JJ didn’t bat an eye at your chest, solely focused on your injuries. He stayed silent while he carefully unwrapped the compression from your ribcage, which was now twisted from your sleeping position. He sucked in through his teeth while he looked at your ribcage, horribly discolored and red from the wrap, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your tiny heart tattoo, almost invisible from the bruising.

“Broken?” He asked.

You shrugged. You don’t pay attention when doctors talk, that was Christine’s job.

JJ didn’t acknowledge your answer, just continued his work. He pressed a kiss to each spot he unwrapped, telling you something about how it always made them heal faster.

“Kisses from a handsome man like myself make everything better.” He had said with a playful glint in his eye.

You wanted to smile and the sweetness and pureness of it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to.

JJ finished and crumpled up the old wraps and bandages before tossing them in the garbage and looking back at you. He looked at you for a moment before reaching his hand out and softly running his fingers over your red scratches. You couldn’t read his expression. You still didn’t know JJ well, having hated him the entire time you’ve known him up until just over a week ago, you were seeing him in a new light, and you couldn’t tell what he was making of all of this.

You told yourself he was probably over this, annoyed that he was having to deal with the beaten down girl in front of him instead of sticking himself into the gorgeous blonde he had wrapped around him at the Boneyard.

He thinks you're ugly and pathetic. Who the fuck scratches themselves?

“These look like they hurt, baby. You gotta stop doing this to yourself.” He said, bringing his blue eyes up to meet yours. “Not that easy.” You rasped back.

JJ sighed and nodded, he of all people knew how not easy it was to quit a coping mechanism. He always hated when Pope or Kiara would try to tell him to just “Stop drinking” or “Stop getting in fights”. It isn't easy when you feel like that’s the one thing that will help you.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said seriously, his eyes full of intensity as he looked at you, the girl he felt so strongly for that he mistook the feeling for hatred.

You scoffed.

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

JJ sighed and looked down before settling himself between your legs, his eyebrows knit together and eyes sharp on yours. “You know.”

“What kinda girl lets this happen to herself, JJ? It’s ugly, I look ugly.” Tears started to build up again and JJ didn’t know what to say.

“Baby, you didn’t let anything happen. This is not on you.”

You shook your head as more tears fell, “You don’t get it, I’m weak.”

JJ just shook his head, “No.”

“Stop disagreeing with me!” You yelled, trying to punch his chest but crying out from the pain in your hands. “I’m weak, I’m pathetic, I’m gross, I’m ugly! He did this to me! He made me this way and now he gets away with it! He gets away-”

You were inconsolable, your words were barely coherent as snot and tears ran down your face. You wanted JJ to agree, tell you you were weak and ugly, you needed to be right. It was comfortable to be right. “I’m right, JJ! Don’t fucking tell me I’m wrong! Why are you lying to me?!”

“Baby-”

“He did this to me! I’ll never feel clean again!”

If JJ’s heart wasn’t fully broken before, it was now. He felt utterly helpless for the first time in his life, completely not knowing what to do. He always had a next move. Even when his dad was beating the shit out of him, even when a kook had him pinned down, face in the sand and barely able to breathe. But now, looking at you, body broken and bruised and lips and eyes red and puffy from crying, choking on your own sobs, JJ felt fucking useless.

“(Y/n), please, breathe, angel.”

You stopped for a second and pushed your hair out of your face, looking at him confused.

“You can let it out, just remember to breathe, okay? You’re gonna panic and scratch yourself again.” His voice was so gentle as his hand lightly squeezed the back of your neck, his other hand softly caressing your thigh.

You just nodded slowly, expecting him to yell at you for your outburst or tell you you’re being childish, but you received the opposite. You began to take deep breaths for JJ, beginning to realize you’d do just about anything to get rid of the heart broken expression on his face.

He took deep breaths with you, placing your hands on his chest and covering them with his own so you could feel the rise and fall and the patter of his heart beat. He gave you a small smile when your breathing settled, and he let you fall into his chest, wrapping his arms around you. “Proud of you, pretty girl. Did so good.”

You whined and pulled away from him, you wanted to see his face, to see the way he was looking at you. JJ’s hands rested on your hips and he gave them a gentle squeeze as you stared at his ocean eyes.

“I wanna kiss you.” You whispered, your hands coming up to cradle the sides of his neck.

JJ shook his head, “Soon, I promise. Okay? But not now.” He leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. He couldn’t kiss you while you were torn apart and terrified, he wanted to see the sparkle in your eyes, that striking grin on your cherry painted lips.

He doesn’t want to kiss you.

“Not like this. Not when you feel this way, okay?”

Oh.

You could’ve sworn your heart burst and melted all the way down to your toes. This was a new JJ. Even when he hated you he probably would’ve jumped at the opportunity to do anything with you, shutting up your loud mouth with his own. But now, it’s almost like he’s afraid to break you.

You nodded but stayed silent, finally letting your body rest against his. “I need to talk to the group.”

JJ nodded, helping you off of the counter. His heart squeezed when you intertwined your fingers with his, gently holding on so you wouldn’t hurt your hand further. His heart skipped a beat when you brought your free hand up to hold onto his forearm. You were gonna give him butterflies forever.

The two of you walked outside the bathroom and you saw your friends sitting and waiting for you, and you began to feel nauseous.

Once JJ got you out of the bathroom and onto the couch comfortably, you let go of his hand and he suddenly felt empty. You ran your hands up and down your thighs with anxiety before letting out a small whimper, feeling your body begin to surge with panic as you thought about what you had to tell your friends.

“You’re safe.” JJ whispered, his hands hovering over you like he wasn’t sure what you wanted from him. You looped your arm through his and he brought his hand over to gently rest on your knee, giving you a soft kiss on your temple.

“I wanted to tell you guys this as soon as I knew, but I had to tell you in person and when I got here the emotions were just too much and-”

JJ pulled your hand down from your neck, softly shushing you to stop you from rambling. You hadn’t even realized you were scratching. You took a deep breath and looked at JJ again, waiting for his quick nod before you took the deepest breath of your life and said the words you had been dreading to say all week.

“Tyler killed my mom and sister.”

+

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[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 12

Chapter 12 is heeeere ! It's been a long time, but I sincerely hope you will like it 💕💕💕

Chapter 12 : Aengels are the most powerful breed Eldarya has ever known

" My angel "

My heart skipped several beats at the hearing of this unexpected nickname. I tried to regain my composure as I looked away from his, squeezing my legs a little tighter against me.

- It should not be so bad, I just need to learn to use it again. I don't want to bother Eweleïn for so little, I say more to try to convince myself.

Without a word, Lance stood up and patiently extended his hand to me. I hesitated for a moment, realizing my nakedness under the sheets I held tightly, as well as the light that now dimly lit the room, but his calm gaze finally decided me to trust him. Nervously, I let go of the thin fabric to wrap my fingers around his, still clamping an arm around my chest as he guided me to the large mirror that adorned one of the walls of my bedroom. Gently grabbing my shoulders, he turned my back to it and, taking another from the cabinet, he slid it into my palm made slightly sweaty by the anxiety that was driving me. The lump in my stomach, I inhaled several long seconds while plunging into his calm gaze, in which I saw the support I needed to finally face what terrified me. But my breath caught in my throat as my eyes drifted to the small psyche between my fingers.

With horror, I discovered that the entire center of my back was covered with bruises ranging from yellow to dark purple, running from between my shoulder blades to the end of my rib cage. My skin seemed mutilated, totally bruised. Since when had this become so alarming ? Tracing long uneven and voluminous lines, two misshapen bumps indicated the shape of my wings which had remained stuck during my nightmare.

I couldn't understand it anymore, it was as if my body categorically refused the blood of faery in it.

These marks repelled me.

A tear fell down my cheek again without my being able to control it, dark thoughts invading my foggy mind. But what the hell was I doing here? I was clearly not an Eldaryan and my body had reminded me of this every day since I woke up from the Crystal!

Lost in the murky stream of my thoughts, I didn't notice the dragon moving in my direction. With a slow gesture, he surprised me by coming to capture with his cold fingers the salty taste which descended the slope of my cheek.

- Please don't cry Andraste, he said softly before pausing briefly, his face serious. I am sincerely sorry that I did not understand everything that was happening to you, but I promise you that we will find a solution to all of this.

His eyes, not letting go of me for a moment, expressed a determination familiar to him.

- And I'm sorry if I hurt you earlier.

- You couldn't have known, it's nothing, I said with a weak smile at his sheepish look. And then, it was I who literally jumped on you.

An amused pout appeared on his face, which relaxed me slightly.

- It's true, I couldn't do anything to defend myself. I was helpless.

I burst into a frank laugh that Lance didn't seem to want to miss. Grinning broadly, he grabbed my t-shirt sent to the corner of the room and approached me before pulling the collar over my head.

- Let's go to sleep now, it's late.

I put the top wisely under his gentle gestures. Walking towards the bed, I watched curiously as he turned off the light.

Was he going to stay with me tonight ?

Slipping under the sheets, I felt him with some relief join me in the bed. Turned in his direction, I remained stoic not quite knowing what to do. Granted, we had kissed, but what about now that the moment was over ?

Answering my internal questions, Lance grabbed one of my hands and rested it on his chest, crossing his long fingers with mine.

My God, I didn't dare to move.

He then slipped an arm under his neck and lost himself for a moment in contemplating the ceiling. I took the opportunity to observe him. In the surrounding darkness, I could tell the white scar that marked his right nose. I detailed his features, both thin and hard, before dwelling on his full mouth.

I could still smell the fresh taste of his lips on mine.

Catching me off guard, he suddenly brought my hand to his face and kissed it, as light as a feather.

- Goodnight, my Angel.

I smile stupidly at the hearing of this nickname which I was already taking a liking to.

For the first time in several weeks, I think I finally fell asleep with peace of mind, slight tingling running through our palms coiled against each other.

***

Sitting on the infirmary's auscultation table, I nervously clenched and unclenched my fists on my removed garment as I guessed Eweleïn's eyes watching me quietly, her fingers tracing the same path as the dragon's for a few hours earlier. A violent shiver ran through me when she touched the sensitive part of my back, making me close my eyelids in the face of the shame that overwhelmed me due to my pitiful physical state. I couldn't stand those looks that reminded me of my alarming weakness.

Straightening up, my nurse sas silent for several long seconds, further increasing my stress level. The elf walked around the table and stood in front of me, looking serious.

- Andraste, why didn't you come to see me earlier ? she asked me, her tone both soft and bossy.

What could I answer ? That I was once again too fragile, too weak to bear the weight of my own origins ?

- I don’t know. At first it wasn't so alarming, but then...

I don’t finish my sentence. In truth, I had no excuse. I had only closed my eyes to the situation, no longer able to bear to appear so weak in the eyes of others as well as my own. It was grueling...

- You know that this is not your fault ? she said to me, reading me like an open book. You've lived as a human much longer than you did during Freezing, and all that time spent in the Crystal has completely disrupted your metabolism. It's not weakness, it's just your body trying to adjust.

- But why was it that before, I managed to use my powers and my wings naturally ? I almost got carried away. I hadn't been on Eldarya for a long time, yet it didn't hurt like it does now.

- I know my dear, she said with a sad look. You'll have to get your body used to it all again. I think your wit has a lot to do with it, too.

She pulled up a chair and sat down across from me, her slow, gentle movements decidedly appeasing me despite the circumstances.

- You just woke up after seven years of absence and you realize that people have erected you to the rank of goddess savior of their world. Isn't it quite normal to feel too much pressure from others ? The Crystal Hall, even since you both woke up, has become a hall of worship. In addition, you have experienced events that are very hard to bear psychologically speaking. You need to move forward at your own pace and I think your body is trying to make you understand it subconsciously.

I pondered her words. It was true that I felt the weight of people's gaze and that I no longer felt at all comfortable in the presence of people. I felt like something was constantly expected of me, that I had to show them that I was the one they had been praying for over the past few years. That I was worthy of their expectations.

Except that I was none of that. I had certainly fought Lance and had the blessing of the Oracle, but what more did I have as a person ?

Nothing. I had nothing more.

- Lance told me that you were able to use your powers again. It's a very good thing, soon you will be able to stick your wings out like a perfect aengel, believe me.

A gentle smile lit up her face as a result of those words. I wanted her to tell me the truth. That one day, I can feel this faery part in me as naturally as my human part.

Except that it wasn’t won.

The elf plunged her eyes into mine again and, grabbing my hands, she grabbed my attention.

- Honey, as far as we know, the aengels are the most powerful race Eldarya has ever known. You probably have a power so powerful inside you that you automatically reject it, but when you have learned to harness it, I can guarantee that you will finally feel completely yourself. I know how much you doubt yourself right now, and it's completely understandable given the reactions of your body, but I know that you will get better very quickly and learn to deal with your new condition.

She then slowly let go of my hands and stood up nimbly. Deep inside me, her words touched me more than I expected. I was amazed at how true she was about my condition and the way I see things now. Eweleïn was truly the most amazing person I knew.

- But for now, I'm going to give you a cream that will soothe your muscles and your back tension, she finally concluded.

Walking towards a table containing various creams and medicines, she grabbed a jar containing a mixture probably of her own making and, standing behind me, she spread with her delicate fingers the cold product all over the affected area of ​​my back. The elf was right, the concoction immediately relaxed my tight skin, easing the pressure pulsing on my muscles.

- Thank you Eweleïn, I breathed calmly. I don't know how I will do without you.

- Indeed, I wonder how you would do without me, she laughs sincerely. You can go now, but you'll have to come back tomorrow for me to see the healing progress.

Replacing my clothes on my back made sticky by the cream, I was about to get up when the elf stopped my gesture.

- For the resorption of your wings, I'm sorry but I can't do anything more. It will probably be a while before this phenomenon stops, but I understand that Lance has volunteered for your training. You know, he has wings too, maybe he can help you with that problem.

At the utterance of the dragon's first name, a diffused heat ran through my stomach. I could feel my heart race as a thin smile stretched the lips of my interlocutor.

I was sure she suspected something. Nothing seemed to escape this woman, especially not my emotions.

With a much lighter heart, I closed the door to the infirmary behind me and huffed loudly. Despite everything, this interview with Eweleïn had done me the greatest good. I felt relieved, as if weighed down by a weight that had choked me for days.

Walking down the hall, I heard noise coming from the side of the Council Chamber. Catching my gaze, I found Nevra standing not far from me. The vampire walked in my direction, making my heart beat even faster.

- Hello, Andraste. Are you coming out of the infirmary again ?

My teeth gritted at his remark, to say the least, out of place, I was a little too upset to argue with him today.

- Hello, Nevra, I replied defensively. What is this sudden interest in my presence worth to me ? You seemed to rather avoid me, these last few weeks.

Blown away by my answer, he exhaled loudly before visibly trying to ease the tension.

- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude.

- It's funny, I just thought that you were trying to be disagreeable. Finally, it is probably me who wins me again.

Turning on my heels, I started down the stairs when the vampire's hand grabbed my wrist.

- They weren't empty words, Andraste. I am really sorry.

I remained resolutely turned towards the hall of the room of the doors, not wishing to face his gaze when I already felt my tears ready to resurface. I really had to work on my emotional management.

- It's not the first time you've apologized, yet we're still at the same point, I said weakly. Let me go, please.

Despite my request, the young man didn’t move a millimeter. I felt he wanted to add something, but what ? He finally resolved to let go, changing his attitude yet again.

- Your bodyguard isn't with you, this time ?

I felt all the bitterness in his voice. No, he was not allowed to play it to me like that, not after all the animosity he had offered me after my waking up.

- At least, he doesn't spend his time pretending I don't exist.

Without a glance in his direction, I hurtled down the steps to the forge. I really needed to externalize all the conflicting feelings that were literally eating me up. I had to let off steam, find something to relieve myself.

Slamming the door open, I slammed into a chest that I now knew pretty well.

Lance grabbed my arm before I found myself knocked down by the force of his body.

- Everything all right, Andraste?

No, it wasn't.

Why did I want to kiss him every damn time I saw him ?

(Chapter 13)

[spynorth]

@foxtaeil : 😘 // it was international kissing day, mates ! 

There’s a poignant ache that settles like a rock behind his rib cage, neck constricted by the tie so effortlessly wrapped around it while blue eyes flicker across the slowly enlarging crowd. They stand in small circles, talking in hushed whispers like birds preening their feathers - flashes of color accompanied with the sharp sound of carefully perfected laughter that Lucas is fairly certain was rehearsed in with a bathroom mirror in anticipation of the main event. 

Hm. Could have used a bit more work.

The atmosphere weaves itself around guests and hosts alike, a heavy pattern akin to a choreographed dance inside a gilded cage and for a moment he wonders if anyone other than himself is aware of how fragile their play is,  imagines a single chess piece toppling off the board, shattering the illusion like a glass of wine falling across a plush carpet and leaving it’s red stain behind. Countries rest inside their perfectly manicured fingers, promises of better futures delivered with fake smiles - but the mi5 agent has long since lost belief in such things. His tie grows tighter, fingers tugging impatiently where it rests against his neck, and Lucas decides he’s had enough of standing in corners. Long strides take him in a slow walk through the center of the room, lithe form avoiding white clothed tables set in a way that he is almost certain would put Buckingham Palace to shame and ears attuned for any snippet of conversation that might be useful, any whisper that carries the fate of the free world upon it. 

He doesn’t notice the leader of said free world until he’s almost on top of her - maybe it’s dumb luck, or maybe it’s years of learning to turn any situation to his advantage, to ensure that any attention drawn can only help his attempts to blend in - but whatever the reason, his palms land instinctively at her waist, steadying Mellie Grant where she stands and lips tugging into a small, crooked grin of an apology. “Sorry. I’m a bit out of my element here, I’m afraid.” One palm leaves the curve of her side, fingers wrapping around the woman’s own in order to brush soft kisses across the sensitive place along the backs of her knuckles. He frees his hold, blue eyes moving slowly over her expression as if drinking it in, flashes of what might be flittering before him.

Hands grab at the lapels of his coat, a soft gasp carried to his ear as her back hits the wall in some shadowed corner and lips that press against his with a hunger that’s well matched, that frenzied need to devour, that need to anchor himself (body and soul) in a warmth that reminds him he’s still alive. 

But all Lucas offers of such a fantasy is a blink, corner of his mouth tugging up slightly yet again and words a low rumble between them. “Enjoy the party .. Mrs. President.”

[lustbile-archive]

[5:52PM]

smut

Your body squirms against the soft fabric of the bed at the warm and tacky feeling of the lipstick tugging at your skin. His dampened breath hitting your skin with every exhale adding to the sensation, making your nerves stand on end and your toes curl.

Lucas always had a habit of presenting the objects he had accumulated on his shopping trips as if they were newly discovered inventions, and with his excited puppy dog eyes, you could do nothing but give him your full attention as he showed you each trinket or new article of clothing. You usually showed excitement, or at least feigned it, but when he pulled out a cheap tube of red lipstick you could only tilt your head in confusion.

“You didn’t have to buy me lipstick,” you attempted to argue. It’s not that it wasn’t a pretty shade, but you had enough tubes holding similar if not the same shade mix into your makeup. That, and just looking at it you knew the cheaper brand would never wear long enough to excuse you wanting it in the first place.

He only grinned, all teeth displayed and a devious glint in his eyes, as his head shook slowly. The lipstick danced in his long fingers as he played with it, his eyes moving across your face and body as you sat curled at the head of the bed.

“It’s not to wear,” he slips his blunt thumb nail in the seam under the cap, the quiet click of it opening only adding your confusion, “well not on your lips at least.”

He had seen it in a porn. Of course he had, and ever since, the idea of writing whatever he wanted across your bare skin in the bright red hadn’t left his mind since. Maybe he wouldn’t write things as degrading as the ones used in the film, but he wanted to write something. The idea of decorating your skin in color outside of the dark marks he liked to leave with his mouth, made his blood rush around his body.

You agreed. How could you not? He seemed so giddy with the idea of marking you all up, and the lipstick was already purchased and opened. All you could do at this point was take off all your clothes as per his gentle request, and lay yourself bare to the adventurous boy.

He lost his shirt, mumbling something about not wanting to ruin the fabric the way he had let you in the past when the colors you’d like to wear would transfer onto his neck and inevitably the collars of his shirts. He left his jeans on, the rough fabric already tighter around the crotch as he loosely tied your hands above your head and around the posts at the head of the bed with the black tie he kept for special occasions.

“Don’t want you to hinder my artistic process,” he quipped, his nose stuck playfully in the air as he situated himself between your open thighs. You stop yourself from telling him that he could just admit he likes seeing you bound and powerless when the fingers of his empty hand brushes gently against your ribs.

His broad back hunches slightly as he leans over your body, his hand starting to gently knead at your flesh, while the other gently shakes while holding the lipstick over your body.

With a whispered reminder to not twist too much of the product out, or it might break against your skin, he makes his first mark.

You’ve felt lipstick on your skin before, a quick kiss landing on the back of your hand to take off the extra product, or a swipe against the inside of your wrist to test if the color would clash with the tone of your skin. But instances like those were nothing compared to the tentative strokes he made below directly below your collarbone. Maybe it was the idea of him marking you with something so visible, or the wet kiss he placed next to whatever he drew, but whichever made your hips stir in response. Your toes curl against the sheets of your shared bed when your small movements cause the rough fabric of his pants to dig gently into the dampening skin between your legs.

“So pretty,” he speaks almost as if he’s been hypnotized as he travels further down your torso. His marks get more confident as he moves, and his mouth gets more aggressive. Not only was he now adding heated kisses to each drawing, but also bites that were likely to bruise as his teeth sink into your skin.

Your mind is too cloudy to be able to feel exactly what he writes onto your skin, but with the time he spends with what wraps around the swell of your breast, you know he’s graduating to longer words. You almost ask what he’s written, but the words die on your tongue when his lips wrap around your nipple.

He’s always been a bit messy, and now is no exception as his drool slowly slips down the side of your chest and curls around your back to wet the sheet below you. His front teeth nipping a few times at the stiffened skin before he pulls away to blow cool air onto it. The whine you let out in response pulls a boyish laugh from his chest before he returns to his job of decorating your skin.

You can only imagine that you look like a mess as he continues to add to the collection of words on your skin. A long pull on the skin of your stomach makes your brain swim with curiosity and your lower belly warm with anticipation at what you must look like.

Your eyes had slid closed in the time he spent drawing on you, only for them to snap open at the clicking sound of the lipstick hitting the hardwood of your floor. He must have thrown in behind his back as he decided he had written everything he wanted. His now free hand moves to your side to brush his fingers against your ribs. Your back arches into the air when the flat of his warm tongue drags against the skin at the center of your rib cage and his other hand finds itself wedged between your bodies to tease the warmth between your legs.

He hums into your skin in response to every whine you let out at the feeling of his mouth moving against the span of your stomach and the feather like swipes he gives to the skin of your core that’s being made slick by your arousal.

The pleas you let out into the stuffy air of your room is his favorite sound, and the one thing that makes him tease you for longer than you're used to. He’d always seemed keen on spoiling you, but now it felt like centuries before his ring and middle fingers dip into your entrance to collect your dripping arousal onto the tips.

He presses his fingers deep inside you, thrusting a few times, before pulling out to flatten to long digits against your hypersensitive clit. His sharp teeth nip at the swell of your chest in time with the moment his fingers begin to circle the buzzing bundle of nerves.

Lucas feels like a breathing furnace as he’s pressed against your already heated skin. His unrelenting fingers and heated breath has you hurtling towards the edge far sooner than you anticipated. The way your hips jump and move in time with his fingers, paired with the high pitch of your whine is all he needs to tell that you're reaching your finish.

All at once, he lifts away from your body, his hands moving away as if you’ve suddenly become electrified. Being denied an orgasm so abruptly rips a desperate whine from your chest as your legs tense around his hips as if they won’t stop you from clamping your thighs together to gain some friction.

He has the nerve to laugh at the way you desperately squirm, a goofy grin pulling at his lips as he leans over your body to undo the knot of his tie.

“Hey now,” he shushes you while massaging the irritated skin of your wrists, “you’ll get to come don’t worry. Just want you to see how pretty you look when you do.”

He pulls you from the bed by your wrists, moving your body in front of his to walk you to the mirror he had put into the wall across from the end of your bed. ’It just makes it easier to get ready,’ he promised you and your friends when they questioned the design decision, but you knew him well enough to know watching himself fuck into you was something that sent his brain into a spiral and made his blood boil. Your friends were probably equally aware of the mirror's real purpose with how shamelessly handsy he was with you at any given time of the day.

You shuffled to stand in front of the mirror, a petulant put on your face as you move your fingers to rid them of how stiff they were from gripping the posts.

“You could have at least let me come once,” he stops you crossing your arms when he grabs your wrists again and pulls your hands to cross behind your back.

“You’ll get to come if you shut up and look,” you stop whining to look at your forms in the mirror, the sight in front of you flushes your skin with a blush as you see exactly what he’s done to you with the lipstick.

The decorations start innocently enough at the space below your collarbones, little hearts scattered across your skin and curving around the dip of your sternum. What causes the embarrassment that roars in your ears is what he wrote further down on your torso.

Sweet names like “baby” and “lover” are placed on the space below your chest and across your ribs, the hearts still making an appearance.

It’s not until you see what he’s written on your stomach, that you curl in on yourself and try to hide yourself in his chest. The word ‘mine’ is written right above your belly button in all caps, the red of the makeup making the word harsh and possessive. The idea of being claimed in such a raunchy way is enough to make you squirm, but the large arrow he’s added to point directly at the space between your thighs hits a place deep in your stomach.

“Aren’t you so pretty?” he traps your wrists in one hand, bringing the empty one to your front to pet your belly. The lipstick smudges slightly from the motion of his fingers making you whine at not only his praise but also his lingering touch.

“You’re my pretty baby aren’t you? Decorated all nice for me hm?” your blush only darkens at his words and the muscles of your thighs tense. You feel your breath pick up and become shallow at the sound of him putting his hand between you again to undo the fastening of his jeans. The rustling of fabric fills the room as he moves to pull himself from the inside of his underwear. You quietly moan when the dampened head of his cock hits against your tailbone, “my pretty baby is gonna let me fuck them deep and hard too aren’t you?”

His hand kneads roughly at the flesh of your ass as he waits for a response, the way his eyes stare intensely into yours puts your brain on slow motion and delays you from forming a coherent response.

A sharp sting against your skin and a loud smack fills the air of the room in response to your lack of answer, the burning pain makes you yelp before you're eagerly nodding your head.

He smiles widely at your response. His fingers soothe the skin he hit, before he returns to hold himself in a fist. He slowly pumps himself between his fingers before he’s dragging the tip against your skin.

You can’t help but jump every time the head digs into your clit, your hips stirring when he presses only a inch or two into you.

“Xuxi please,” you beg, your fingers flexing around nothing making your nails scrape against his wrist. A rumbling laugh shakes his chest at your neediness.

You quietly gasp in unison when he finally begins to press into you. The size of him never failing to knock the air from your lungs as he stretches you and presses against every nerve inside you.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he releases himself and lifts his hand to wrap around your neck. Your head falls back onto his shoulder when his fingers dig into your jaw and he slowly starts to thrust into you.

The pace of his hips are rhythmic and sharp as he focuses on reaching as deep inside of you as possible. If it wasn’t for the grip he had on your neck, your legs would have buckled and you would collapse on the floor.

“All mine,” he speaks sharply through his gritting teeth, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, before he turns your head to press your mouth tightly together.

A deep rumbling moan leaves your mouth and invades the space of his, when he dips his tongue in to lick at the back of your teeth.

His hips don’t falter once as he pulls away from the kiss to look into your eyes. An uncharacteristically mean look dances in his eyes as he holds your mouth open with his fingers.

“Open wide sweetheart,” his hips begin to move faster, the vulgar sound of your skin smacking against each other fills the empty space around you as you look up at him with innocent and desperate eyes. The look of confusion that flashes across your face makes the corner of his lip lift with a grin as you watch his tongue move across his top teeth as his mouth stays closed.

The devious wink he offers is the only warning he gives you before his lips pucker softly, and he harshly spits into your open mouth.

He quickly moves his hand to close your mouth and press his palm flat against it. Your head is pressed harshly against his shoulder once again, as the hand that was holding your wrists let’s go to move back to between your legs.

His fingers immediately find your sensitive clit, rubbing harshly as he laughs at you again. He thrusts slow to harsh deep presses. He barely moves out of you and grinds against the sensitive spot deep inside of you.

Your thighs clamp around his hand as he forces you to your end faster than your body is ready. If it wasn’t for the hand pressing against your mouth, the sound of his thrusts would be covered by your wails of pleasure.

“You get to come this time okay? Can you come for me?” the deep rattling voice in your ear is almost unrecognizable. The dark commanding tone it holds pushes you even closer to your orgasm and your toes begin to curl into the wood of the floor, “look at my baby going dumb just from a good fucking? Why don’t you come?”

Big tears roll down your face as your orgasm begins to slowly bite at you. It feels like pleasure crawls from between your legs and up the length of your spine before your eyes are rolling back and your groaning into his open hand.

His fingers never move from your clit as the way you clench harshly against him throws him into his own orgasm. Harsh grunts hit your ear and incoherent mumbles about how tight you feel and how wet your cunt is for him fill your muddled brain. The warm feeling of him spilling deep inside you makes your legs shake and your nails claw into his pulsing hips.

It feels like years that you two are stood there pulling aftershocks from the others bones, and it’s not until you scratch at his wrists that he releases you.

You would have undoubtedly landed flat on your face if his long arms hadn’t wrapped around your waist to pull you into his chest. He’s still seated inside you as he sit down on the end of your bed, holding you in his lap as he rests his forehead between your shoulder blades.

You hum quietly as you lean back into him, once again getting to look at the words he’s written onto your skin. The marks are now smudged and unreadable, the only thing still visible is the large ‘mine’ that points to the space that he’s pressed into.

You two sit there absorbing the warmth from the other's body, your nails gently scratching at his arm as he rocks you back and forth.

A petulant and grumpy grunt is heard from the boy below you as you stand on shaky legs. The feeling of his softening length slipping from you and his come rolling down the inside of your thigh makes you gasp, but you continue to walk a few steps to grab the object that has caught your eye.

He’s leaning back on the palms of his hands when you turn back around, an arrogant smile on his stupidly pretty face when he sees the way the evidence of his orgasm starts to dry against you.

“Don’t look so happy Lucas,” you offer him a tired smile as you straddle his lap. His eyes grow wide when you open the lipstick and begin applying it to you chapped lips, “cause I think it’s your turn to get decorated nice and pretty hm?”

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Handyman.

Pairing: Zac x Reader

Warning: A grain of smut (but seriously, that’s how non-existent it is)

A/N: Y’all have opened the floodgates on requests for this cutie pie. Here’s the first.

Request: “Are you sure it’s not supposed to go here?”

“I’m positive it’s not supposed to go there!”

Summary: With a recent move, Zac takes it upon himself to set up your bed. He quickly learns he hasn’t quite earned the title of “handyman.” 

Words: 1.6k

“Are you sure it’s not supposed to go here?”

“I’m positive it’s not supposed to go there!”

You lower the manual, in your hands, just enough to put your boyfriend back in focus.

Zac is across the room. Still wearing his sweatpants and white t-shirt from the night before, he is more wide awake than you are. It's nearly seven in the morning, and you're in no rush to shake away the sleep still bogging down your mind.

It's Saturday morning, and your excitement of purchasing your first place together was enough to convince Zac to set up your bed bright and early. You’re still not sure why he didn’t just have it delivered and assembled.

You impatiently check the time on your watch. The movers aren't set to come for another three hours. Zac has been working on the bed for nearly forty-five minutes. You offered to help, but he swore he didn't need it.

Or the manual. 

You scan the discarded plastic and boxes, a tiny smile spreading across your lips as Zac studied the pieces laid out across the room. 

"It looks like it should fit." 

Your gaze returns to the manual, your brow furrowing. 

"I'm pretty sure you’re gonna need these screws." You lean forward picking up the untouched bag of screws. Zac steals a glance in your direction before glancing back at the board in his hand. "Babe, just look at the instructions."

Zac glances over at you, his eyes rolling.

"I don't need the instructions," he grins. "It's just a bed. How hard can it be?"

Apparently, extremely difficult. 

Stepping over a discarded box, Zac tries for a second time to push the board into the slot. And for a second time, it doesn't fit.

"The boards should just slide into place-besides, I'm pretty sure it goes here," he grunts, a soft smile finding your lips at his stubbornness. He waves his hand towards the tiny portion of the bed he has managed to successfully assemble over the last forty-five minutes. "I've made it this far without that book, Y/N. I got this."

"It's called a manual for a reason. What is it with boys and directions? If it was supposed to fit it'd slide it much easier. We also wouldn’t need these-"

Pushing yourself off the ground, you sigh as Zac applies more pressure than the two previous times. Just as you're about to swat him out the way, Zac releases a grunt before shifting the board deeper into the notch. A triumphant “got it” follows as the board is forced into place.

You catch sight of his playful blue eyes, and boyish grin, as he admires his handiwork.

He places a quick kiss against your lips before shifting you aside. 

"Told you it would fit."

Zac gathers the second board, shifting it into place to form the second half of the bed frame. Each board that slides into place lets off a satisfying click, each a pat on Zac's back.

Once's he's assembled the bed frame, Zac turns to face you a triumphant grin on his face. 

"Piece of cake." He grins as his hands find your waist.

Guiding you back, he moves you towards the center of the room. Once he feels you're in a position adequate for admiring his handiwork, he wraps his arms around you.

With the mattress placed on top of the frames, the bed does seem pretty stable. But you could have sworn it looked crooked a few seconds earlier.

Your eyes narrow as Zac's chin rests against your shoulder.

"Babe, just because it's standing doesn't mean it was set upright." You use your foot to point towards the abandoned screws on the floor. "I'm pretty sure those were supposed to be used."

"They were spares."

"Spares? Did you even use any screws? There have to be fifteen screws on the floor-"

"You're just mad because I did it without your manual," he chuckles as he slips the book out of your hand. Tossing it the floor, he playfully squeezes your hips. "Just look at it, for a minute, and tell me that's not the best damn bed you've ever seen."

Your head tilts to the side. 

"I swear it's crooked."

Mirroring your actions, Zac studies the king-sized bed before shrugging his shoulders. 

"Looks good to me."

"Then by all means, maybe you should quit your day job," you giggle as he steps around you, the grin on his face growing as he studies the bed. "Become a handyman." 

"The first piece of furniture up in our new place, courtesy of me," Zac lifts his hand in the air, his brow furrowing as you make no move to meet the action. 

"Is it?" The skepticism in your voice causing Zac's eyes to roll. You do the same before lifting your hand to meet his, which is still waiting in the air. "How do we know it’s stable?"

Zac's hand runs over his beard, his brows furrowing in deep mock thought. He glances over at you, a sigh leaving his lips.

"Good question...Only one way to find out."

Your hands go up defensively but before you can take a step back, the air is pulled from your lungs. The blood instantly begins rushing to your head as your feet are swept from under you. He effortlessly brunts your weight against his shoulder, as he lifts you off the ground, your giggles making it impossible for you to catch your breath.

"Stop before you drop me-” Zac's grip tightens securely along the back of your thighs, his chuckle filling the air as you attempt to push yourself up. Your heart flutters in your chest as he turns towards the bed. "Do not throw me on to that safety hazard." 

Zac's weight teeters forward the shifting of balance causing you to squeal. Just before you hit the mattress, he returns to normal. 

Gently lowering you onto the bed, he smiles as your arms wrap around his neck. Although you are back on a solid foundation, you find yourself glancing around to check that it hasn't shifted.

Lowering himself down on top of you, Zac places a kiss against your lips.  

"See. It’s all about having a little faith."

"I have faith in you," you counter. Noting his raised brow you giggle. “I don’t have faith in this bed."

“Scale 1 to 100?” His brow piques as he pulls back to get a good look at your face.

“Since it didn’t instantly collapse? I’d say it went up-”

"To at least 90." Zac finishes your sentence with ease, the confidence in his voice pulling a giggle from your lips.

Your nose scrunches as you shake your head.

"A solid fifty."

“Unacceptable,” he smiles. “We’re not leaving this bed till it’s at least 100.” 

“It’s only right.”

"Besides," Zac mumbles as his lips find yours. Stealing a kiss, he smiles before shifting for better access to your neck. A smile pressed against your collar bone. “We gotta break it in. That’ll be the true test.”

"Naturally." You giggle, the warm fingers massaging your rib cage pulling a soft moan from your lips.

Shifting his weight, Zac presses a kiss against your hip. His mouth is warm soft against your stomach, passing over your ribs as he guides your t-shirt towards your chest. 

“Let the neighbors know we finally moved in.”

The kiss you place against his lips is all the confirmation Zac needs. 

Soon you’re both undressed, your fingers lost in his hair, his hips pressing into yours. It’s not until you swear you feel the bed shift, the boards releasing a groan, that your hands press against Zac’s chest causing his movements to halt. 

He lifts his head from your neck, his eyes finding your face.

“What?”

Placing your hand over his mouth, you ignore the rolling of his eyes. You listen, but the only thing you can hear is you and Zac’s breathing. 

“You didn’t hear that?” 

“No,” he chuckles, his lips pressing a series of very distracting kisses along your wrist. “I was kinda busy.”

"Babe, I think-”

“It’s fine,” Zac grunts you as he ducks down to kiss you. “Relax.”

Although his words may not have been the most reassuring, you find that your mind quickly abandons the thought as he starts to move again. Neither of you registers the groan from the bed once it initially bounces off the walls. The shallow breaths and giggles flooding your senses.

But the jerking of the mattress registers perfectly. 

Zac’s grip tightens around your as your scream fills the air. The right post shifts beneath your weight, knocking the entire frame balance off. The mattress shifts right, sliding towards the ground. The unstable balance kicks the other post out of its post causing the entire frame to collapse pulling you both, and the mattress, down to the floor with a loud thud. 

The slamming of it echoes throughout the empty house.

Zac's grip around your waist relaxes as your eyes meet his. The smile spreading slowly across his lips grows as your hands cover your face. His face drops into your shoulder, his body relaxing against yours as you attempt to steady the hammering of your heart.

Zac’s laughs make it impossible for you not to do the same. 

“I’m not even going to say it,” you giggle as you reach up to brush your fingers against his hair. 

“Good,” he chuckles as his lips press against your palm. “Because we both know what really broke the bed.”

“Shut up,” you giggle as he shoots you a sheepish grin. “It wasn’t even fixed to begin with!”

"You wanna finish?" He teases, the kiss he presses against the corner of your mouth pulling a giggle from you. Placing a second kiss against the same spot, Zac chuckles as you shake your head. "I can just shift the mattress a bit."   

[virgostann]

What a feeling

Lee Bodecker Series (1)

Warnings- No spoilers for “the devil all the time”, 18+ topics, language, smut, angst, sensitive topics, abuse, sexual assault, Slow-ish burn

(if you’re not comfortable with any of these please do not read)

Summary- A women, Scarlett Clare, is running away from her past and the danger that she is connected to. She wasn’t planning on coming across the town of Knockemstiff nor meeting the Sheriff and getting on his radar.

BAM!

I threw down the baking pan as it collided with his temple.

My heartbeat in my ears as I rushed to grab clothes in a small duffle bag. I stepped over the man on the floor and made a run for the kitchen door. Tears streamed down my face as I ran down the street, I prayed there were still buses available at the center. As I entered the building after I composed myself to not attract any attention to myself, I scanned the bus arrival/departure boards. I bought the last ticket going northwest and quickly boarded without looking back, I settled into an open seat. My nerves slowly started to calm as I felt the bus leave the station.

My eyes slowly opened as I stared out at a sign reading “Welcome to Ohio” I looked around as people began to get off the bus. I followed suit; I wasn’t quite ready to abandon the bus. I needed to find a small enough town where I’d be safe.

 “Knockemstiff” I read in a whisper as I eyed the flyer. This had to be our sixth stop since getting on the bus and would be final for me. As everyone boarded the bus, I walked across the street to a small café. “Hi welcome to Barry’s, how can I start you off?” the brunette waitress smiled at me, “A coffee and..” my eyes scanned the menu “a breakfast sandwich” I spoke, giving her a soft smile.

“You’re not from around here” She spoke as she set my order down. “It’s a small town we basically know everyone and you I have never seen stop by” She spoke in a slight country accent, but not heavy where I couldn’t understand her. I nodded my head, “yes, looking for a new start and I was passing by and figured I’d stay a while” I took a sip of the coffee. “I’m Lilah, if you need a friend here..” She said setting down a card with her number on it. “Thank you, I’m Scarlett.”

I had asked Lilah of any near by motels and she gave me directions to one not too far from the café and conveniently a market too. I got myself a room, prepaying it for at least a 2 weeks until I found something more permanent. I made sure to pay with cash to not leave any trails of myself. 

I unlocked the door to the room, immediately the smell of linen and cigars hit me. It wasn’t too shabby of a place, a queen sized bed in the center of the room, a tv, side table, and what looked to be a bathroom. I made a note to go to the market tomorrow and get some food for myself. I put whatever clothing I had in my bag into the closet and sat down on the edge of the bed.

I had decided to shower and then rest. I probably had been up for longer than I should have been. It was nearly 11pm and I looked tired as ever. If this was a new start for me I needed to change how I looked. I stared at my long brown hair in the mirror, knowing what I needed to do. I found a pair of scissors in a drawer and snipped little by little. When I was done my hair was just above my rib cage and I had given myself slight bangs that I could style by putting behind my ears.

Once the shower had warmed up, I stepped into it and let the water wash away all feeling of the previous days.

-End of chapter 1.

Taglist: @melli0112 @charmed-asylum​

[humanmoodring-retired]

Feline A Little Clawstrophobic ||Nicole & Nadia

TIMING: Back in April  PARTIES: @nicsalazar & @humanmoodring SUMMARY: Two cat ladies walk into an elevator CONTENT: Drug manipulation (balam ingesting catnip)

Lack of focus was always a problem for Nicole, but it was safe to say things took a turn for the worst in the past weeks. She was hardly present anymore. To the point where she jumped on her truck and drove aimlessly for hours. Like sleepwalking but conscious, she mused. It was better to drive than to walk, though. Not only because she was forced to do light activity after breaking her ribs, but it was better for her if she put her mental energy into an easy task. Walking used to be how she processed things, and she wasn’t ready for it. She couldn’t think about that night without fear constricting her throat.

Wandering around the shopping center was manageable. It would take real bad luck to break her bones again. Nicole held onto a bag items she didn’t recall buying, and tired of just circling around the same places, she headed towards the elevator. She pushed the button for the first floor, but as the doors were closing, another person entered. The eye contact was minimum before she lowered her gaze, shoulders tensing at the presence. Her lips pressed into a thin line. The woman would be able to tell it was meant to be a smile, right? It didn’t matter, in a few seconds she would never see that stranger again.  

With the weather getting less shitty, and with her body healing more and more each day, Nadia was slowly but surely getting more comfortable with going out and doing things. And, seeing as she hadn’t done shit for her own birthday but it was well over a year since she’d found and rescued her cat, Rhiannon, Nadia decided she was going to do something nice for the little fucker. She was grateful to have the cat back in her apartment, even if she woke up with a giant mound of fur crushing her. It was a good reminder that she was still alive. She’d gone to the store and bought a few cat toys with her groceries, ended up snagging a thing of catnip before she was starting to feel fatigued and decided it was time to head out.

The woman in the elevator with Nadia felt like grief and fear and something numb, familiar and numb. Even if it was probably not as overwhelming as it could be, something that she was beginning to expect from many of the residents in White Crest, it was still a lot, and she felt herself tensing up in response. Still, she managed to give the woman a tired smile of her own and a murmured “thank you” before she shifted her weight a bit and waited for the elevator to take them down. Except there was a grinding noise, a jerk as the elevator came to a violent stop. Nadia grabbed at her side instinctively, even though she wasn’t at risk of stitches popping open this late in the game. “Shit,” she hissed, looking around, trying to figure out what was going on.

Nicole lifted her head when the elevator came to an unexpected stop. For a split second she expected the doors to open for another person, but the woman’s reaction made her realize what was happening. The elevator malfunctioned. They were trapped. “Uh—” she swallowed, slowly processing the situation. The feeling of being caged wasn’t exactly one she was fond of, and she fought to keep her rising anxiety in line.  She let out a nervous breath, eyes fixing on the emergency button. “It— it should be fine” she shrugged, leaving her bag on the floor. The less effort she made carrying extra weight the less oxygen she took out of the room, right? “Un— less...unless there’s a blackout or some— some shit like that” She pulled at the extra hair tie on her wrist, absently playing with it. What could be worse than being in a confined space with a stranger? Even her nightmares were nicer than that. “But... it’ll be fine” she met the woman’s gaze through the mirror on the wall, before pushing the button a few times. When she took a deep breath in, something tickled the back of her throat. Brow furrowed, she glanced at the woman again, trying to decipher her scent. Nothing was particularly strong, yet— she licked her lips, trying to concentrate on the smell.

This was cool, this was fine, Nadia thought as she felt her own nerves mingle with the stranger’s. She wasn’t a fan of tight spaces, she was learning, the way it reminded her of being able to look out her own eyes but not move as she lacked control of her own body. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands, the gesture grounding. She was real. It was a shitty situation, but she was real, and she was fine. She almost wished she could walk through the fucking wall like she was still a ghost. Almost. She never wanted to be like that again. “It’s totally fine. Someone’s gonna come, and, yeah, it’ll be fine.” The other woman just really kind of radiated a sense of anxiety that Nadia couldn’t quite get over. This was great. This was why she didn’t get out much. “Just my fucking luck,” she muttered. “Go to the store and get stuck in a damn elevator.” She leaned against the wall and slumped a bit, her bags hanging by her side. When she met the stranger’s eye, she tried to give a half-hearted smile. The other woman’s emotions had changed a bit as her brow furrowed, though Nadia couldn’t quite tell what it was. “Is the, uh, the help button working, or are we in a dead zone?”

Right. It was a good thing they were both staying level headed considering the situation, Nicole thought. Everything would suck so much more if one of them started panicking and sucked all the air in the small elevator. She looked down, hiding a smile at the woman’s words. It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one annoyed by the situation. Had she been better at conversations, she would’ve enjoyed spending the time complaining about shitty luck and poorly maintained machines with her. That was a thing adult women bonded over, right? “No… don’t think it’s working” very slowly, she lowered her hand, as if she still held a glimmer of hope that something would happen. She retreated back to the opposite wall, licking her lips again. What was in the air? It was familiar, yet she couldn’t place it yet. Some sort of plant. Nicole blinked once, twice, tongue poking between her teeth. Wide brown eyes stared intensely at the other woman. Searching, assessing. And then— She took a bite of air. Oh, no. Her heartbeat raced. In the back of her mind she was aware of what was happening, but she didn’t think she’d be able to stop it. Fuck. Still conscious, she tried to pass off the odd movement as a yawn. Good, quick thinking and — Oh, it was creeping on her so, so fast. Premium shit, it had to be. She didn’t think she’d care for long.  “I’m— I’m...do you—” poor woman, Nicole smiled lazily. “Have...cat?”

“Oh, good. Hey, I was worried this would be resolved quickly, right?” Nadia sighed, running a hand through her hair and hoping she wasn’t coming off as an ass. It was just, fuck, being stuck in an elevator wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined to spend the day, and at least she wasn’t alone, but she also wasn’t alone, which meant she had to deal with herself as well as someone else. Normally, she preferred that, preferred that she could focus on someone else instead of herself for just a bit, just a fucking bit, but maybe not while both of them were stressed over being stuck in a goddamn elevator. Nadia liked being able to focus on positive emotions, or even fun emotions like anger. Not anxiety. She had enough of that on her own. There was no need for anymore, thank you. She checked her phone. Yep, yeah, that seemed about right. No fucking service. She bit at the inside of her cheek before she felt a wave of just… mellow wash over her. She looked up at the other woman, the smile on her face and the look in her eyes, and Nadia raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’ve got a cat. She’s a total asshole. I actually came to the store to get her a few things and…” she trailed off. “Do you… like cats?”

Nicole inhaled deeply, enjoying the absence of stiffness on the side of her chest. She took in as much of the scent as her lungs allowed. The cast on her wrist was forgotten. The effect was much stronger now that her brain recognized the minty fragrance. She tilted her head back against the wall, transfixed by the emergency lights. “Fuck” she let out a breathy laugh. “I’m so so—” she wanted to apologize, knowing she would embarrass herself, but the words faded from her brain. Nice. “Mmm...I’m cats” She closed her eyes, a blissful smile plastered on her face. It was hot inside the elevator, Nicole registered. But for a few seconds there was nothing to worry about. No dreamscape, no cliff, no anger getting out of control. Just the fast beat of her heart to focus on. Not quite euphoric yet. She needed—  craved more. The scent just wasn’t enough. Her mouth was watering. Pupils were blown when she opened her eyes again. She got off the wall, taking a few clumsy steps towards the human. She offered a mischievous smile, nodding at the bag. “Hey... c’mon” she pleaded softly, before getting close enough to peek inside. Her prize. It was driving her wild. She gripped the human’s wrist, forcing her to lift the bag, before rubbing her face against it. Almost. Her patience ran out quickly, the human was so slow that she smacked the bag out of her hands, content spilling on the floor. She dropped to her knees, trying to rip the catnip bags open.

“What the fuck do you mean, you’re cats?” This was a little weird, even for Nadia, but she couldn’t deny that this chick’s emotions? They felt so much better than her own. Pure fucking contentment and happiness and relaxation. It’d been awhile since she’d felt that, and, sure, maybe it wasn’t full-throttle, but, god, it felt nice. It was weird as hell though. Nadia backed a bit into the wall, pushing herself against it. The woman grabbed Nadia’s wrist, the one that had been snapped sometime during or before the exorcism, and Nadia winced. “Hey, hey, no grabbing, let’s not-- let’s not grab, okay?” Nadia… knew this feeling, sort of. She recognized it from the few college parties she’d been dragged to, the way she’d felt it coming off of people from the crowd and filling her, making her want to go back for more. “Dude, are you-- are you fucking high right now? How? We’re in the-- you just spilled my shit, holy fuck.” She watched as the bag of catnip and toys spilled out on the elevator floor and the woman went down to the ground. “I just bought that. Fuck. Wait-- you’re cats. You… you want the catnip.” Okay, cats. Cat people? Cats. This was fine. This was totally normal. “I’m stuck in an elevator with a high cat lady. I wish I was a high cat lady,” she muttered, and she slid down the wall to sit, shooting the woman a tired look. But, hey, at least she was relaxing.

Nicole heard the sounds. Words, she knew. Vaguely. Not that it was ever her strength, but she couldn’t exactly form a coherent sentence at the moment. Her head bobbed without a clear direction, attempting to nod. A cat lady. Curious eyes observed the woman for a moment, waiting for some sort of reaction, any reaction to her trying to tear the bags opens. She was rude but not that rude. It confused her, tilting her head as the woman quietly slid down the wall, but it was the permission she wanted.

She crushed the catnip between her fingertips, nostrils flaring when more scent was released. All tension left her body. Nicole was weightless. She brought the catnip to her mouth, getting a taste of it. A hoarse grunt escaped her mouth. Shit. Shit. Her body tilted forward in slow motion, until she couldn't keep her balance and face planted on the ground. She rolled on her side, letting out a strangled laugh. Something out of the corner of her eye made her jump. She was ready to pounce when she realized— Oh right, the forgotten human. She could enjoy the catnip too, otherwise why did she buy it? Nicole wasn’t selfish. She pawed the air, until she got a hold of her sleeve and pulled her down to the floor. She laughed at that, before breaking down some catnip.  “Here…” she mumbled, her clumsy hand rubbed it in the woman’s face.

There was a woman getting high off of catnip, and Nadia was stuck in an elevator with her. That was what was happening. That was her life now. At least the woman seemed to be enjoying herself. Nadia could feel the relaxation and ease that was working its way through the woman, and it was nice to hear a laugh. Nadia managed a small one herself as she watched the woman struggle with movement. It was funny. It was enjoyable. It almost made being stuck in an elevator for the near future something that was almost tolerable.

Or, at least, Nadia could have believed that it was tolerable until she was pulled over and down to the floor with a groan. “Hey, no, no-- fuck.” She was on the floor with a woman that was high on catnip, and that woman was dragging her down and rubbing catnip in Nadia’s face. Sure, it smelled alright, but it wasn’t, like, weed or shit. “That was for my cat,” Nadia said, her tone dry as she plucked a piece of the catnip out of her hair. “But, hey, glad you’re enjoying it, you know?” It was hard to stay mad with the good vibes.

Nicole gave the woman a blank stare. She wanted to understand what she was saying, she really did. The words were floating above her, but they sounded like a foreign language as they reached her ears. She hummed in response, trying to keep a serious face. Whatever she was saying sounded important. Her cat, something about her cat. Her smile kept growing however, stretching until it hurt her cheeks. She buried her face in the bag again, taking as much as she could before discarding it somewhere on the floor. She allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment, eyelids heavy as warmth swept her body. The sensation was barely familiar. But it wasn’t new, just long forgotten. Like feeling loved or cared for. Being safe on her mother’s lap. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything similar.  

Jealousy filled her chest. The human had to be a great cat owner. How come no one was doing that for her? She turned her head to see the woman, watched her remove the catnip from her hair and while confusing, the message was understood. “Oooh” Nicole would’ve been embarrassed by what she was doing. So embarrassed that she would’ve considered moving out of town. But when the scent of catnip was impregnated in every corner of the elevator, shame was hard to register. A clumsy hand reached out to help, patting her head with no delicacy and tousling her hair in the process. Her human brain still pushed to communicate, thank the woman for bringing such a nice gift to her. Making her feel safe. But words kept failing. Instead, she settled by her side, gently pressing her forehead against the woman’s shoulder. Her breath slowing down.

The cat lady, who was a different kind of cat lady than Nadia’s type of cat lady, was well and truly high on catnip. Of all the things that she expected to happen when she came to the store, this just wasn’t it. Maybe, like, getting attacked by one of those fucking mime creatures. She could have seen that happening. Or maybe the sky raining fish. She’d been there, done that, even if she didn’t get the t-shirt. But this was… a little weird. Not the worst thing in the world, but a little weird. It was hard to be too mad, though, when the woman was smiling and felt genuinely content. It was weird as hell, but she wasn’t, like, malevolent. Nadia had been in worse situations.

“Shit, fuck, ow, yes, thank you, thank you, that’s very nice,” Nadia said as the woman swattered at her head. It was just like dealing with Rhiannon. If Rhiannon was a grown ass woman that was swatting at Nadia’s head. Really, it was practically the same thing. She reached up to fix her hair before giving up and resigning herself to it. Then, the woman leaned against her, calm and relaxed and, yeah, okay, maybe Nadia relaxed a little bit, too. Despite being locked in a fucking elevator, this really, really wasn’t the worst. “Maybe don’t, like, fall asleep. Just in case someone comes to get us out of here, soon.” But she was also a little tired. Just a bit. Not much. But Nadia was always tired. Always. But this was kind of relaxing.

Nicole could hardly remember what her life was before she was on the elevator floor cuddling with a stranger. Nothing extraordinary, surely. But she couldn’t care less. The back of her head was tingling pleasantly and that was all that mattered. She had a moment of utter relaxation and she was going to make the best of it. The human beside her wasn’t too bad either. She made a decent cushion compared to other human cushions, and some of the catnip scent had impregnated on her clothes, making her perfectly comfortable. She barely registered what the woman said, because it was time for a nap. And what was more important than that? So she hummed, letting silence fall on them as she enjoyed the best moment in her miserable 27 years of life. Nothing was going to ruin it.

The floor underneath them shook abruptly. The metallic sounds so jarring to her sensitive ears that her body jumped, suddenly on high alert. Nicole was on her feet faster than it was humanly possible, taking her surroundings in. Her brain was foggy, and though it felt like she should’ve been worried about the source of the sound, all she felt was confused. Not yet conscious, but the sensations gradually subsiding. She narrowed her eyes, staring at the woman on the floor with a puzzled expression. “Wha—?” she let out a big laugh, trying to understand why a woman would be lying on the elevator floor in a mess of bags and herbs.

Nadia was resigned to this. This was her life. She lived in this elevator now. She’d never get home. Her only hope was that Ms. Carmody would see about Rhiannon when it appeared that Nadia wasn’t going to go home. She’d never leave this elevator, and she’d die being essentially cuddled by a stranger that was high on catnip. Her saving grace was the second-hand relaxation that poured off the woman in waves, making Nadia not totally perturbed by her situation. Really, it could be worse. There were more tragic ways to go out. More terrifying ways. More nightmare inducing, memory tugging ways that she thought about all the time. This? This was fucking peaceful. Nadia could allow this, even if she’d miss her friends, her people. She was relaxed. She was chill. She was--

She was jolted away when the elevator started moving again, as well as when the woman moved. Nadia sat up, brushing the catnip out of her hair for real this time as she looked around them. The elevator door opened up, and she stood, grabbing her things. There was a guy that opened the door.

“You ladies alright?” he asked.

“Fine, totally, appreciate it,” Nadia said. She looked at the other woman who was still dazed. “We, uh, we should get off.” Nadia couldn’t tell what happened, but she’d gone from high to coming down relatively quickly, and that seemed to have left a lot of confusion in its wake. She didn’t even mind being laughed at. “Unless you wanna stick around the elevator, that is.”

The rumbling continued, and the elevator began to descend. Nicole felt as if she was being pulled in two drastically different directions. On one side, she tried to navigate the thick fog in her brain, recall important information, like who the fuck was the woman with her and why was she suddenly fond of her. On the other, she gripped the sidebar, her stomach filling with the primal urge to hunt down whatever monster was causing those awful sounds. It didn’t make any fucking sense. She gritted her teeth, but it wasn’t enough to contain the hiss she directed at the emergency lights. Her cheeks flushed, embarrassed. Great. Her awareness grew, but somehow so did the grogginess. Part of her was falling asleep while the other was waking up. And no one seemed to agree on who was going to take control yet.

When she looked down again ,her companion was sitting, brushing off whatever it was she had on her. Cat...nip, she read on the bags. Catnip. The wheels began turning faster. She breathed out, relieved to be able to read. The scent was still floating in the elevator, but it had no effect on her anymore.

The smile still playing on Nicole’s lips faltered, and as the door opened, everything clicked. Well, fuck. The woman’s voice came, and she saw part of her confusion reflected on her face. Nothing but babbling sounds came out as she tried to speak. God dammit, what did she do? And why did she still want to laugh? She nodded curtly at the suggestion, picking up her bags and following the woman. She clenched her jaw, wondering if she could spontaneously combust due to the humiliation. The doors closed behind them and there was silence. “Yeah, uh— sorry about...” she shook her head, pointing in the direction she was about to go. Making a mental note to never leave her house again. “Know what? we...we don’t have to,” they didn’t need to talk. Ever. Why bother? “We’re just not gonna...never” she continued to nod, gripping her bag with sweaty palms. Yeah, that was perfect. She turned around, too scared to wait for the woman to add anything. Eyes fixed on the ground, she bolted towards the nearest exit.

[emachinescat]

That I Could Fear a Door

A Tales of Arcadia: Trollhunters Fan-Fiction

By @emachinescat

Summary: Jim had thought that going back home, back to the real world, would be an easy and painless process. He thought it would be simple - it should have been simple. It wasn’t. A reimagining of Jim’s return from the Darklands, where he quickly finds that adjusting to real life after so much trauma isn’t as easy as one might think. 

Words: 5,639

TW: PTSD, depression, panic attacks

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

Years I had been from home,

And now, before the door

I dared not open, lest a face

I never saw before …

I laughed a wooden laugh

That I could fear a door,

Who danger and the dead had faced,

But never quaked before.

- From "Home" by Emily Dickinson

Jim had thought that going back home, back to the real world, would be an easy and painless process. After all, during his weeks in the Darklands, first alone and searching the endless shadows, then hunted like an animal, then captured and beaten and forced to fight for the sport of others, hadn't he dreamed endlessly of just that? Of seeing the sun again, of seeing his friends, of hugging his mom, of cooking and eating and training and playing video games and slacking off on homework? He thought it would be simple - it should have been simple.

It wasn't.

The first few moments after crashing back into the over world were indeed euphoric. There was the sun, filtering in through the branches of the trees. It took all of his self-control not to stare straight into it. Even in the evening breeze, there was a warmth in the air that he hadn't felt in so long that it seemed more like a memory. He lay there, flat on his back in the grass, wishing he could feel the soft tickle of the blades on his skin, but trapped in his Eclipse armor. Still, he was free.

Much of the next hour was a blur. He later would recall a few hazy moments - hugging his friends, receiving the amulet from Blinky and finally - finally - shedding the stifling second skin of the Eclipse armor, trying to convince Nomura to stick around, Claire semi-joking about how bad he smelled, and the word free chasing itself around in his head like a dog after its own tail. Free, free, free!

He would always remember in perfect clarity the moment he hugged his mother again, but that hadn't come until later the next week. He wanted more than anything to go to her immediately upon his escape, but Toby and Claire convinced him otherwise.

"What's she going to think if you come home looking like … well, looking like… that?" Toby demanded, gesturing unhelpfully to Jim as a whole.

"And the smell…" Claire added, also unhelpfully.

"You have been through a great ordeal, Master Jim," Blinky reminded him gently. "If you go home now, there will be questions you cannot answer and not the rest you need."

And so Jim reluctantly agreed to go home in Toby's stead with Aaarrrgghh while Toby covered for him at home once more.

It was surreal, Jim found himself thinking as he stood in the Domzalski household's upstairs bathroom, shower already running hot behind him and Aaarrrgghh just across the hall, waiting for him in Toby's room. Just this morning, he had woken up in a cage on cold stone, in a state of perpetual, gnawing hunger that had become the norm, hanging on to the tiniest thread of hope that today might be the day he was finally rescued - but knowing deep down that it was much more likely to be the day he finally died. Now, he had a full stomach for the first time in nearly a month. He was with his friends, safe, electric lights warding off the darkness that had been his hell for so long. Hot water waited for him, beckoned for him. He could be warm and clean again. Just a few days ago he had said something about how much he missed soap. He should have been happy, he thought miserably. Maybe happy wasn't the right word. He was very happy to be away from the Darklands, from Gunmar and Dictatious and goblins and monsters. But he wasn't content.

He also couldn't bring himself to undress. He had been standing in front of the mirror for a good five minutes now, as steam billowed out from behind the curtain and fogged the glass, obscuring the face he'd barely recognized anyway. Good riddance, he thought half-madly, for the boy in the mirror was a warped doppelganger, touched by death and despair, with his sunken eyes, wan skin stretched too tight over abnormally prominent cheekbones, dark, puffy bags under his eyes, and a smattering of bruises and cuts pulling the whole package together with a sickly little bow. His hair was a bit longer than he usually kept it, matted and caked with dirt and blood. It felt crusty to the touch, and brittle somehow, as if it would crumble to dust if he tried to brush it.

He looked bad enough as it was from the neck up. He had no desire to see what awaited him beneath his filthy clothes. He wondered blearily how they had gotten so disgusting when they had been underneath his armor the whole time. Sweat and revoked shower privileges would do that to a person, he finally reasoned, and at once he found he couldn't get in the shower quickly enough.

He stripped off the offending garments with an urgency he hadn't felt even at his most desperate moments in the Darklands, nearly tripping over the edge of the tub in his haste to get in. He was relieved that the mirror had fogged, but he still avoided making eye contact with it just in case.

The water burned his skin, but he turned it hotter, attacking his hair first with nearly half a bottle of shampoo, applying and rinsing, applying and rinsing, until he couldn't see from the suds cascading down his face and the murky water ran clear. He conditioned once, something he'd never done before. He didn't know if it did anything, but it made him feel cleaner.

And then he was scrubbing himself all over, the water reddening the skin on his arms (he studiously avoided looking anywhere else), again and again, as if trying to peel his very skin off. Dirt and sweat and blood poured off of his battered body and he watched it meander toward the drain in a detached sort of way before resuming his frantic washing.

It wasn't until his skin was so raw that he felt like he was an onion peeled of its top few layers that he stopped, breathing heavily, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him, nausea roiling as he regretted the deli sandwich he'd scarfed down earlier. Knees weak, he found himself sinking to the floor of the tub, knees drawn up awkwardly to his chest. The water pounded on his head, back, shoulders, and he let it, slipping into a kind of sleep-trance, watching the water swirl around his feet before making its relentless way to the drain. He thought of nothing, felt nothing, and only broke out of the haze when the water grew cold and panic lanced through him at the loss of warmth. He turned off the water, more tired than he could ever remember being in his life, somehow managed to stand up on wobbly legs, wearily slid back the shower curtain - and froze.

Since he'd been in the shower so long that the water had gone cold, the mirror had also de-fogged, and he found himself unwillingly confronted with the specter that he had been hoping to avoid - his reflection.

Before he'd been captured, he'd scavenged for food and found himself eating something mostly every day, so he'd been nourished but always hungry. After he'd been taken, however, any meals - and he used that word lightly - were few and far between. They'd fed him just enough to keep him alive. He could see now from his emaciated frame that they had still essentially starved him. He'd been Gunmar's prisoner for what felt like years, but it had to have been a week at most.

Still, close to a month without a reliable food source had done its work: He'd always been skinny, but now he could see, fully defined, every rib. Any muscle mass, lean though it might have been, that he'd gained during his training was gone, his arms weak and frail looking. His armor had protected him from extensive physical damage all the times that he had been beaten or tossed around like a soccer ball, but his whole torso was mottled with bruises of all colors, shapes, and sizes, all in different stages of healing. A good deal of them were centered over his ribs, and he winced as the pain that had been his constant companion flared up. He wondered vaguely if he needed to see a doctor. He wouldn't be surprised if Gunmar had cracked a few in one of his rages. He cast the thought aside - how would he explain the state he was in? - and turned abruptly from the horrible, somehow shameful image of his battered body and quickly dressed in the pair of pajamas Toby had let him borrow. They would have swallowed him whole on a normal day, but now they made him feel tiny and breakable and pathetic and weak, and he only kept them on because he hated the way he looked underneath even more.

He offered a simple "G'night," to Aaarrgghh before falling into Toby's bed, expecting to fall asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

To his surprise, and to his irritation, sleep refused to come. He couldn't get comfortable. The bed was too soft, the blankets too warm, and the moonlight making its way in between the cracks in the curtains toyed with him, tickling his eyelids with the suggestion of light and making it impossible to fall asleep. There were none of the noises he'd come to grow accustomed to, either - no faint buzzing of the magically reinforced bars holding him in, no tromping footsteps of the guards, no click-clacking of goblin claws or snorts or whistled operas or snarls or distant, echoing screams…

In the end, Jim tossed and turned, sick with fatigue and enraged at how cruelly sleep evaded him. He finally, mercifully fell into a restless, nightmare-filled slumber around five in the morning, but even the worst of the dreams didn't wake him, exhausted as he was, and he was trapped back in the Darklands, suffering torture after torture at Gunmar's hands, until he woke again eighteen hours later, on a cot in Troll Market.

He had been moved there at dusk the next day when his coma-like slumber pressed on and his friends, who had not realized the extent of his injuries or exhaustion, grew worried. Vendel had examined him while he slept, expertly bound ribs that had indeed been cracked, and performed all the healing rituals and magic he knew to be safe for a human. Even so, he'd warned Jim, who felt numb and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, it would be a week before he could even begin to regain his strength and pass as his old self, and longer for him to truly be back to the same physical shape he had been in before he'd gone to the Darklands.

And so Jim stayed in Troll Market, under Vendel's care, for another eight days, while Toby got to put on a magical mask and pretend to be him and have his life and hug his mom. Jim tried not to be bitter about it, but it was hard. Blinky and Aaarrrgghh spent all their spare time with him, and Claire and Toby came to Troll Market after school every day and kept him company until they were expected home. Jim talked to them, laughed hollowly, took the homework they gave him, and then retreated within himself as soon as they had disappeared out of sight.

It will be better soon, he kept telling himself desperately. I just need to get out of Troll Market, go back home, get back to my normal life. Once I'm feeling better and things are back to the way they were, it will be like I never left.

Once again, he was very wrong.

***

In the weeks that followed his re-emergence into his real life, Jim discovered very quickly that the life he had left was either very different than he had remembered it to be, or that he himself was very different than he had once been. He supposed both might be a little true.

Being in his mother's embrace was the only thing that felt completely safe and normal after his return. He didn't care that she had just grounded him; when he finally saw her again, he hugged harder and longer than he could ever remember doing, and he had felt better, more like himself, until he'd tried to go to sleep that night and the cold returned. The next morning, he had attempted to do his usual routine like nothing had ever happened, but even that familiar motion felt hollow and the smile he flashed his mom before leaving for school barely concealed the emptiness just beneath the surface.

Other than that first hug, everything else around him, including his friends, school, good food, trolls, even his mom - all things he had coveted during his time in the Darklands - were strange and foreign to him.

Claire and Toby, though they did their best to be understanding and supportive, were obviously thrown off by his sudden mood swings and sullen attitude. They seemed distant and somehow unfamiliar, and Jim found himself feeling awkward around them, unable to figure out what to talk about or why he should laugh at the joke Toby had just made. Didn't they understand that none of this really mattered? There was so much darkness and pain and fear just beneath the skin of this world, and if they scratched the surface just a little too deeply, it could break loose and destroy them all. So he did what he could to avoid these awkward moments all together, and barely noticed the hurt and disappointment blooming in their eyes as he shut them out and walked away.

He'd thought school would be a great return to normalcy, but everything about it grated on his nerves. Even the cheers as he returned to campus - Congrats on beating Jim Lake Disease! - made him feel claustrophobic. He barely held it together anytime Steve cornered him, his heart racing madly in his chest like it wanted to escape, with or without him. The teachers were demanding, the sound of the lockers made his head ache and reminded him too much of the sound of a cage door slamming shut, and once, when Coach had grabbed his arm to show the class proper movement for a volleyball serve, raw, animal fear had overtaken him, and he'd flipped the teacher onto his back and scurried, terrified, under the bleachers. He barely remembered it, except for the pain in his chest, the short, insufficient puffs of breath, and Claire finally coaxing him out after class dismissed and herding him to the nurse. It was a panic attack, she'd said, eyeing him with concern, and had he had any drastic life changes, any unusual stressors? He lied, because he couldn't do anything else, and she told him to consider seeing a counselor anyway.

"Maybe the nurse is right," Claire said on their way to Troll Market that evening. "You're obviously struggling with this. Maybe you should go to counseling, or something." Her voice was soft and soothing, like she was talking to a wounded beast. Perhaps she was.

Jim laughed, a harsh, cold sound that stopped his best friends in their tracks. "Oh, sure, I'll just do that," he said sarcastically, hating himself as the bitterness dripped from his lips like an overflowing witch's brew but unable to stop the words or the emotions that spawned them. "I'm sure there's plenty of shrinks out there that can help me with my troll-induced trauma."

One of the things he'd missed the most was food - good food, not soupy nightmare-creature eggs or slimy soup made from monster meat that was probably not good for humans but that he had scarfed down on the rare occasion that Gunmar had deigned to feed him. Now, he ate because it was expected of him, but he barely tasted the food. Even his favorite recipes were like ash in his mouth, and cooking didn't bring him the pleasure it once had.

If Claire and Toby were baffled by his behavior, their confusion was nothing compared to that of Blinky and Aaarrrgghh, his two closest friends and trainers in Troll Market. Blinky had fretted on more than one occasion that perhaps they had brought home a changeling Jim somehow, not the real one. After all, Jim Lake, Jr. was kind and funny and fun to be around, and this new Jim was brooding and dull and never truly present. Jim saw the worry in Blinky's six eyes and in the anxious set of Aaarrrgghh's jaw, and it saddened him - just not enough to shake him from the waking hell his life had become. Training was a monotonous routine as he gradually built his strength back up, and even Draal, perhaps the least emotionally-inclined of the trolls save for Vendel, found himself hesitantly asking the young Trollhunter if he was okay, if there was anything he needed that might help him feel better. Jim gave him a half-hearted smile, truly touched, but said no. He wasn't sure anything could fix this hole that had been drilled inside of him. It was too dark, too empty, and it hurt too damn much.

His mom had noticed a difference in him too, but she was at a complete loss. Jim tried his hardest to be his old self when he was with her, and being in her company did bring back a spark of his personality, but even so, he saw the concern in her bright blue eyes whenever she looked at him, and he'd seen her at school in conference with Seňor Uhl, and knew that she was trying to get any inkling of what was eating away at her son. Claire and Toby were no help to her, either, for after she had cornered them after school one day, demanding to know what had happened and why Jim was behaving so uncharacteristically, they had taken extra care to avoid her, unable to say or do anything to ease her worry.

***

And so this went on for nearly two weeks before Toby, Claire, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, and Draal met up with the sole intention of finding a way to bring their friend back. He was suffering so much, and no one could truly understand what he had gone through.

"He clearly has signs of PTSD," Claire said heavily, clarifying for a befuddled Aaarrrgghh: "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"This… order?" Aaarrrgghh drawled, eyes wide in concern.

"Disorder, big guy," Toby corrected, heaving a weary sigh. "It means he's been through something traumatic, and he can't deal with it."

"Well, how do humans usually deal with their trauma and stress?" Blinky asked, always straight to business.

Claire and Toby exchanged knowing glances. "Most of the time, we don't. We just avoid it all together," Claire admitted. "But when someone has been through something like Jim has - extended periods of isolation, being a prisoner, abuse - it's not enough to pretend it doesn't exist." A tear rolled down her cheek and she brushed it away with the heel of her hand angrily. "I knew he'd be in bad shape when he came back," she admitted. "But he was so happy to see us when we rescued him that I thought that maybe he would be okay."

"What do humans do if they cannot ignore this trah-mah?" Draal enunciated the unfamiliar word. It was quite endearing to see such a hulk of a beast with so much concern in his dark eyes.

"Usually, they see a therapist," Toby supplied.

Aaarrrgghh frowned. "There - I - pissed?"

Toby snorted in almost manic laughter. "Therapist," he repeated, still chuckling. "A person who goes to school to know how to help people with their problems and stuff."

"Well," Blinky said, a new light in his eyes, "we shall venture forth and find Master Jim one of these therapists! Then he'll be back to his old self in no time!" He noticed the dubious expressions on the humans' faces. "What? Are the therapists extinct?"

"No," Claire replied. "But Jim was right - he can't talk to anyone but us about what has happened, and he obviously has no interest in talking to us!"

"Yeah," Toby chimed in, "if he went up to a shrink and told them that he had been stranded in a dark, forbidden hellscape searching for a lost child and then was the prisoner of a crazy troll that wants to escape his eternal prison and conquer the overworld… he'd be thrown in the loony bin for sure."

"So it's hopeless." Blinky's arms fell limp at his sides. "We can do nothing to help Master Jim escape the clutches of PDSC." Neither Toby nor Claire bothered to correct him. Blinky continued, "Is there anything else that might help Master Jim? Anyone else that he might talk to that would not throw him in this 'loony bin'?"

Claire opened her mouth to say no, but shut it abruptly, the light of an idea sparking in her eyes. "Actually," she said, the hint of a real smile making an appearance for the first time in a very long time, "I think I have an idea." When six pairs of eyes locked onto her hopefully, she added, "And it might even be a good one!"

***

When Jim got home from school two days after the secret meeting between his friends he was surprised to hear someone bustling about in the kitchen when he opened the front door. His mom worked late on Tuesdays, and anyway, her car wasn't in the drive. He reached his hand into his bag, paranoia growing, and his fingertips had just brushed the curve of his amulet when a tall Asian woman wearing a smart pantsuit limped into sight. His bag fell to the floor.

"Nomura?"

It was odd seeing her in her human form; after spending so much time around her changeling form in the Darklands, he had forgotten that she was quite pretty as a human. "Hello, Little Gynt." Her voice was also much less grating in this shape, but he found he didn't like the softer tones as much anymore.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, picking his bag up and hanging it on the stair rail, though he closed his hand around the amulet first, clutching it tightly in one fist. It wasn't that he didn't trust Nomura - she had proven herself to be a loyal, if reluctant friend - but because he had come to associate her presence in general with danger. If she noticed his cautionary measure, she didn't mention it. "I thought you left," he added as an afterthought.

"I did, but I came back," she replied vaguely. A stab of annoyance shot through Jim, and even the negative emotion came as a relief - he had felt nothing but fear and numbness since returning home. The change was nice, even if it was fleeting.

"Why?" His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you were worried about me?"

She studied him with dark, serious eyes for a long moment. "I don't worry about anyone," she finally responded.

Jim felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. She said this, but he could see beneath the surface now. Their time as prisoners of Gunmar had shown him that there was much more to the changeling than met the eye. He waited for the consuming awkwardness that always set in when he was around his friends to descend, but to his surprise, he continued to feel relatively comfortable around Nomura, more at home than he had in a long while.

"Shouldn't you be in a wheelchair or on crutches or something?" he asked, gesturing to her legs. Normally she wore dresses, so he could only assume that the legs of the pantsuit hid some spectacular bruises. "I thought your legs were really hurt."

"They were broken," she agreed. "But my kind heals quickly." She moved forward slowly, then sat on the couch. "They still need a bit of rest to recover fully, though."

Jim sat down across from her in an armchair. "I can't remember if I ever said - thank you, for believing me, for helping me escape." He paused, eyes on his fidgeting hands in his lap. "For being kind."

"Well, I'm more than just a pretty face," Nomura said, and it was impossible to tell if she were joking or not. After a companionable silence, she asked, "So how have you been holding up, Little Gynt?"

Jim didn't know what it was about her, but something made him want to tell Nomura about sleepless night after sleepless night, about the nightmares that plagued him whenever he finally collapsed from exhaustion, about the cavern that had been dug seemingly overnight between himself and his friends, about how he either felt nothing or everything at every moment, about how loud footsteps made him anxious and how physical touch - except hugs from his mom - made him want to wither into himself or run away screaming, about how he had had all these expectations about what life would be like on the other side of Killahead Bridge, and how none of them had come through. He gave her a weak smile, and said, "I'm fine."

An undefinable expression flitted across the changeling's features. "Yeah, kid," she said finally. "I'm fine, too."

***

After that, Jim came home on Tuesdays and Thursdays, his mom's late days, expecting Nomura to be there, because she always was. Sometimes they'd have a cup of tea and sit in silence. Often they'd talk about mundane things - Jim would talk to her about school and his mom, and Nomura would talk about anything from opera to history to art to the strange old man who had flirted with her at the laundry mat Sunday night.

These visits, as ordinary as they were considering she was a changeling and he the Trollhunter, slowly seemed to draw more of the old Jim back out into the light. Talking to Nomura was different than talking with his friends; perhaps it was because she had been there with him in the Darklands, had suffered alongside him at the hand of Gunmar. And the more he talked to Nomura, the easier it was to talk to his friends, too. Slowly, the cavern that had been dug between him and his friends, troll and human alike, began to shrink, and he laughed aloud at a stupid pun Toby made at lunch, and he didn't retreat into himself every time a locker slammed. Still, there was a barrier between himself and his real life, the one he wanted back more than he could express but that was always just out of reach.

He found himself actually complaining to Nomura about this three Tuesdays after he had first found her waiting for him in his home. "Toby spent weeks wearing a magical mask and pretending to be me and to have my life," he said. "Sometimes I just wish that I could put that mask on and be me again too."

Nomura was quiet for several seconds, and then she told a story that seemed to be very much off topic: "When I was a child, I was told stories of the human world. It was a wonderful place, full of light and life and the sun…"

"What does this have to do with-?"

"Shut up and let me talk." When Nomura told you to do something, you did it or risked life and limb. So Jim wisely shut up and let her continue. "I grew up longing to go to that world, to see the sun and to feel the warmth and the light. The surface world was a fairy tale, and I was a little girl who grew up in the dark. Nothing else could have spoken to me more.

"But when I was finally given my chance to come into the world, to take the place of a little Asian-American girl named Zelda Namura, I was separated from my parents and my home, all alone in a world I did not understand, and it didn't matter how much I had dreamed of the sun, it wasn't what I had expected at all.

"Adjusting was… difficult. It was not until the human body I had replaced had grown older and was taken by her family to the opera that I found something that connected me to this world, something to enjoy, something of beauty. But it wasn't until I met another one like me, here in Arcadia, while under the employ of Bular, that I truly felt at home."

"Mr. Strickler," Jim realized.

"Yes. There's something very special about talking with someone - even if it's someone you're not crazy about - that understands you, where you've come from, and what you've been through."

"Is that the moral of this story?" Jim asked, partially touched, partially exasperated. "Are you trying to tell me that talking to you is going to make all of this go away because we've been through the same thing?"

Nomura shrugged. "Who knows? I just think it's a good story. You can take what you want from it."

Jim smiled.

And then everything, like water pushing relentlessly at a weakening dam, broke.

***

Jim could never remember crying the way that he did that evening. He didn't think he was sad, exactly, or hurt, or even angry anymore - he was just exhausted and overwhelmed with everything that he had gone through but kept to himself. The fear and humiliation of his capture, the paranoia that his friends were never going to trust him after he betrayed their them and went to look for Enrique without them, anxiety about Gunmar and the paralyzing horror every time he wondered if there was any way he could have followed them out of the Darklands, how he was having trouble connecting with the world he'd always known, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the numbness and terror that followed him interchangeably, the way that every touch to his arms sent him back to his prison, being dragged painfully between two trolls strong enough to rip him in half with one swift yank…

He talked and cried and had no fewer than two panic attacks, and Nomura just sat there quietly all the while, watching with an unreadable cocktail of emotions in her eyes. When he had finally quieted, his heart feeling both emptier and lighter than it had since before he had made his journey to the Darklands, she simply handed him a packet of tissues she had packed in her purse and asked, "Better?"

He offered her a sniffle and a watery smile, unable to speak anymore, too stunned to fully process what had just happened. She stayed by his side, just being there, until his mom's headlights shone through the blinds. She would climb out the bathroom window and into the night.

Jim slept peacefully that night. If he had bad dreams, he didn't remember them.

***

It was a slow process, even after the cathartic conversation with Nomura. Jim slowly found himself acclimating more and more to his old life, with friends, school, home life, and even troll hunting becoming things to look forward to rather than dread. Loud noises and unexpected touch still startled him, but he was able to ground himself more easily now. He fell into a routine very similar to the one he'd had before, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Cracked ribs, bruises, and cuts healed much faster than emotional scars, but at least he knew, in time, he would be okay. He was acutely aware that nothing would ever be exactly the same as it had always been, though. What he had gone through was something no person, no teenager especially, should have to experience. And while he had entered the Darklands of his own volition, none of what had happened to him there was his fault (at least that's what they told him; it would take a long while to truly believe that himself, but that knowledge, like everything else, would come in time). He had been isolated in the dark, on the run, hunted, captured and held in deplorable conditions, starved and beaten, forced to fight for his life, and nearly broken beyond repair, but he had made it this far.

Things might never be as they were, but he could forge a new path from here. He could grow stronger, adapt, overcome, and prove to Gumnar, to his friends, to troll kind, and to himself that he was more than what had been done to him. He was more than pain and trauma and helplessness and fear and rage.

He was James Lake, Jr., Jim to his friends, the first ever human Trollhunter, the son of Barbara and student of Blinky, Little Gynt, and even, he supposed, Buttsnack. Some days he would only feel like some of these things. On bad days, he wouldn't feel like any of them.

But he wouldn't forget the truth. He wouldn't lose sight of who he was so completely, not again. And, if by some horrible twist of fate he did, he knew now that he had an odd but utterly complete assortment of friends - humans, trolls, and even a couple of changelings - who would help him fight his way out. Out of the Darklands. Out of the past and pain and dark recesses of his own mind.

And into, as cliche as he knew it was, the light.

[failedfirebender]

Distance - ZUTARA

Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender Genre: Drama, Romance. Words: 2482 Paring: Zutara - Zuko & Katara

________________________________________

Zuko approached Katara; it was late and she had fallen asleep reading on the couch. No, not reading, he realized, writing. The notebook was going up and down, over her chest.

For the last year and a half, she’d been studying and collecting data of all kinds of healing. From traditional ways – including herbs and potions –, to bending ones, with the objective of putting it all together in a massive “healing encyclopedia”, as Zuko liked to call it. She was almost done with it, and had been pulling preoccupying all-nighters for the last week, excited by the view of the finish line. Even when her passion was one of the many things that’d made Zuko fall for her, he was trying to help her get it under control. It was not healthy when it took control of her like that.  

He woke her up tenderly, kneeling in front of her and brushing the stands of hair that had fallen over her face. Her nose frowned and a grumble left her mouth. The tips of his lips curled and a rough chuckle slid past his lips. It was such a Katara thing to do.

As she softly awakened, he took a hairband from her wrist, proceeding to stand and make his way behind her. With all the calm in the world, he accommodated her wild curls into a bun and tied it up. His hands fell to her shoulders, helping her sit up, and massaging them kindly.

His girlfriend looked up at him and yawned, stretching her limbs as far as she could. Her hands reached up to the sides of his cheeks and squished them.

“Oh, my hero!” She giggled, her voice still dormant and low. “You saved me from the terrible fate of a back contracture!” He knew she only got all touchy and silly when sleep deprived. If any other human dared touch him like that, he’d burn their hands off. But this was Katara, and thus, her childish behavior only made his grin wider.

He kissed her forehead.

“Let's get you to bed.”

“No, no!” She whisper-shouted, shaking her head, “I am about to finish, just one more paragraph.” He raised an eyebrow. “Ok, ok maybe it’s another chapter, but who cares?”

“I do.” To these words, her sleepy eyes lit up. “Come on, you can finish tomorrow.”

He’d been meaning to talk to her forever. But between his duty as Fire Lord and the encyclopedia project, time had been a luxury they couldn’t afford. Which was good- kind of. Zuko had had more than enough time to think exactly of what he wanted to say, and practice it eternally looking at himself in the mirror. Not that he did, of course. Anyways – and just like he suspected –, all the practice in the world made him feel no closer to confident now the time came.  

Perhaps it was the timing. After all, four in the morning was not the best moment to have the conversation that had been haunting him the last two months. Maybe he shouldn’t... But he couldn’t back down now. He knew that if he did, the courage he’d been gathering would be lost for good.  

His fingers sunk deeper into her muscles, tracing calming circles and she sighed. But before he could tell, she was pulling away.  

“I know...” a yawn interrupted her words, her hand covering her mouth. She was terribly adorable. “...your tricks, and I won’t fall for them.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shot him what was supposed to be a death glare over her shoulder.  

He repressed a laugh, knowing it wouldn’t help his cause, and instead lead his hands back to her nape. This time, she didn’t move.

“How is this fair?” he mocked, “The one time she visits, I have to beg my girlfriend for attention.”  

Katara, who now had her notebook open over her crossed legs, tilted her head back; her features tainted with guilt.  

“I know, I know... I’ve been travelling a lot, but as soon as I finish the book, I’ll settle back in the Water Tribe and we’ll see each other more often.”

The thing was, Zuko’s plans did not include a long-distance relationship.  

“The book can wait a few more hours.”  

“And you can’t?” Katara’s words were meant to be a joke, a playful smirk was plastered on her face, yet Zuko’s reply was overwhelmingly honest.  

“I think I’ve waited long enough.”  

Just like that, the waterbender tensed under his touch. With cautioned movements, she placed the book in the small table in front of her and stood up. They looked into each other’s eyes with the couch between them. Katara’s eyes flickered with fear, no trace of the previous sleepiness on her face. Zuko, instead, wondered what he did to deserve the love of such a beautiful creature.

“What’s wrong?” her voice quavered with concern. She knew him too well, how did he even expect her not to realize something was up?

He extended his arm over the couch – her hand grabbed his with hesitation – and led her around the piece of furniture and to his side. Unable to hold back his impulses, he tugged her in, trapping her in his arms. A surprised shriek was suffocated half way out her mouth, as their bodies collided and she melted into him.  

They’d been together for four years, and she still had the perfume of fresh winter breeze impregnated in her hair. She still had the same freezing touch that drove him crazy, the same stubbornness and capability of arguing till death, the desperate need to help others and make this world better. He’d never get tired of loving her.  

He squeezed her tight once more before letting go, and looked down to her eyes. When moonlight hit them in just the right angle, like it was doing now, their oceans seemed to shine like mercury had been melted in them, like the silver light of a thousand stars was held within.

His hand traced his way down the length of her arm and his fingers intertwined with hers. Katara’s worried frown relaxed as she realized the tips of his lips were struggling to contain a smile.

In that same silence, overflowed with both questions and expectations, Zuko guided them both to the bed in the center of the room. He sat over it with his legs crossed and invited Katara to do the same.  

“I am getting really scared over here. What’s going on?” she said, fidgeting with his fingers, “I won’t do anything until you say something.” He shook his head no and chuckled, uncapable of forming any coherent sentence. His eyes went from the girl, to the bed, and back, insisting.  

Few were the times he’d been as nervous as he was at that moment. He could feel his caged heart bouncing against his ribs, desperate to come out and fall into Katara’s hands. It was a tired heart, beaten up and somehow strong enough to love harder every day. Zuko hated it when she was away, his heart so passive, his head so cold and calculative. No one had ever turned his world upside down the way Katara did, and he cherished every second of it.  

Once she was in front of him, he let go of her hand.

“Say something. Anything.” She begged. “You’ve been weird ever since I got here, you think I didn’t realize?” Her eyes were determined, but also flooded with worry.  

He brushed the palms of his hands anxiously against his knees, not finding a good answer for any of the things that she’d said. He was feeling something he thought long lost; his blood boiling as it sprinted through his veins, his temperature way higher than usual, his cheeks blushing and his lips stuck in a smile. He hadn’t felt this nervous around Katara in a really long time. Their first couple months dating made him feel just like that; uneasy, scared to ruin it all by being the confused little boy he was. But he was a man now, and the woman in front of him was no longer a child. They’d both grown, and they’d done it right next to each other.  

“You do know the first time we met I thought you were pretty?”  

Katara’s eyes widened.

“This is what you wanted to talk to me about? I mean I’m glad to-”

“No, no,” he calmed her down, rising his palms. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath, barely believing this was the real deal, not himself repeating the words over and over in front of the mirror. “You were just this pretty girl that was making my life impossible by pairing up with the Avatar. You always found a way to mess up my plans. Damn, till today I remember how I hated you after our fight in the Northern Water Tribe.” The memory made them both smile. They’d come so far from where they started.  

“To be fair, you kind of wan the spar.”

“But you did save Aang in the end... and you saved me, too.” He swallowed. “You could’ve left me there to die, but you made sure I was safe. At that time... I don’t know if I would’ve done the same.”  Zuko could see the engines in her head turning like crazy. They’d been over the events of that night plenty of times and of course, she had no idea of where he was trying to get. “Then there was that day in which we all team up against Azula, remember?” She nodded, patiently, “And my uncle...” the memory made him shiver “When my sister hit him you tried to help me, but I pushed you away. Back in those days, I knew nothing better than fighting alone.” An apology was written in his eyes. “And the catacombs... it’s true, you know? What you said.”  

“I mean most of the things I say are, but specifically about what?” The waterbender continued to look completely puzzled.

Zuko bit his lip to repress his laugh. “Show off,” he accused her.  

Katara shrugged and the hint of a smile appeared on her face.  

“You told me a long time ago that you were the first one to trust me, and still, I betrayed you.” They were long past that, but Katara’s smile flickered. He knew how hard it had been on her to watch him pair with Azula after... well, after everything. “And you were talking about the guys, but you were the first one to trust me ever. Besides my uncle, no one had ever seen anything worth saving within me, anything worth healing... not even myself.” His hand had drifted to his scar, and Katara reached out to it, cupping it in her own. His eyes closed and he leaned towards her touch. “I’ll never ever forgive myself for that day-” She opened her mouth to speak, but he gave her that look that said ‘I’ve been putting my guts together the last two days to say this so please don’t interrupt’, and she shut it. “Not even knowing you did. And last, there was Azula’s Agni Kai.”  

There was a pause after those words. Even when the scars that marked his skin healed, the ones in his soul hadn’t completely. Katara took his hand between both of hers and left an encouraging kiss over it.  

“I think even when I didn’t realize it back then, I already loved you.” To these words, that had never been spoken before, a million feelings shadowed Katara’s features. “I’ve spent all this time loving you and I can’t do it anymore, not like this.” The grip of her fingers loosened around his hands, and when his eyes met hers, the life seemed to have been ripped out of them. Still, he didn’t let go of her. “I am tired of missing you every single day, tired of waiting for your letters, not knowing if you are ok... I can’t do that anymore.” With every word, her eyes watered up, and he forgot completely about the other one hundred things he wanted to say. He just couldn’t bare it any more. “Move in with me. Come live here, in the Fire Nation, in the palace, with me.”  

The words fell out of his mouth gracelessly, way too fast and tipsy, not at all like he’d wanted them to. But it was done, and deafening expectation was now overflowing his body. The feeling was erratic, his every cell on edge, like he’d just shot a question way more dangerous than lightning. Katara’s state couldn’t be described with any other word but shock. Her eyes were about to fall from her face, her lips were parted and, except for one sneaky tear sliding down her cheek, she remained impossibly still.

And then, just when Zuko was about to apologize and take it all back for rushing things, his girlfriend’s hand struck him across the face with strength worthy of a Master waterbender. His hand flew to his cheek as he turned to her in disbelief.  

“That’s for making me believe you were breaking up with me!” Her chest was going up and down agitated, another tear fell from her left eye.  

Zuko was in absolute shock. He hadn’t realized his words could be interpreted that way. Why did he always have to screw everything up? Couldn’t he be a romantic average boyfriend for once? The moment he opened his mouth to try and fix the mess he’d made, her lips met his.  

It was an urgent kiss, fiery and passionate, that made him fall back on the bed, Katara over him. His hands dug deep into her hair and pulled back, the messy curls being freed and falling like an endless river behind her. He loved her, spirits he loved her so much the feelings could barely be held within his body, it was as if though they were trying to escape through every touch, through the bridge between their lips.  

Her hands were tangled in his mane and he took the opportunity to shift them, trapping her between him and the bed. Their lips finally separated, but as for the rest of their bodies, he couldn’t say the same.  

“And what...” he was completely out of breath, his shaken words got mixed with Katara’s minted breath. Their eyes collided, burning amber against ocean blue. Hers glowed like beacons in the darkest night. “What was that for?”  

“That?” a smirk took over her face “That was for all the rest.”

This time, he was the one to close the distance that held them apart. They had had more than enough distance for a lifetime, and from now on, he’d make sure to make up for every second of it.  

[kalypsichor]

five’s a crowd [ beatles x reader ] part five

chapter summary: It’s time for some apologies (aPAULogies!). You and Paul have a chat about student debt, Parliament, and showers. John tries to convince everyone that he won’t break the telly (again), Ringo tries to convince everyone that he’s NOT an old man, and you just wish George would drop that goddamn towel. 

warnings: george is almost naked but not naked enough (sigh)

masterlist and parts one | two | three | four

these chapters are just getting longer, huh. also, queen makes a more... definitive appearance.

Paul’s chosen the corner booth. It’s the spot that you all usually cram into, obnoxious and loud and always on the verge of being kicked out. Sitting there all by himself with nothing but a cup of coffee, he looks very small and lonely and you feel a pang of guilt.

He glances up when you sit down next to him. “Back for round two?” Paul says, and despite this he still scoots over to give you more room.

“No.” Sighing, you resist your fight-or-flight instinct. You’ve always hated confrontation. “I just wanted to apologize. I probably overreacted today and I shouldn’t have, um… ”

“Ripped me a new one?”

You laugh. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’ve just been so stressed about midterms and all that--which isn’t an excuse for being an asshole, I know. It’s been such a long day, with Ringo having to go to the hospital and John almost killing us in your car and George, uh… actually, George hasn’t done anything. But… forgive me?” You try your best puppy eyes, although that’s more of Paul’s forte.

He pretends to think about it, but he’s already got that smile on his face. It’s soft and accentuates the roundness of his cheeks and you can see what John fell in love with.

“Of course I do. I could never stay angry at you for too long.” You let out a sigh that you didn’t know you were holding. “And I’m sorry, as well. I hope some of your papers were salvageable? I’ll pay for your textbooks, really--”

“With the thousands of pounds of student debt you’ve got? No way.” You nudge Paul teasingly. “No, it wasn’t that bad. Besides, if I don’t have most of that stuff memorized by now I’ll be fucked for midterms.”

“It’s the damn Tories, I tell you!” A businessman at the table over shoots him a dirty look and you have to muffle your snort behind your hands. “Anyway, we’re not here to talk politics. How’s George?” At the last bit, Paul leans in, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially.

Just great, still want to snog him senseless. Nothing new. “Why don’t you ask George yourself, you live with him. He’s still pretty pissed about having to take cold showers in the morning.”

“Please, no more. I’ve gotten yelled at about it enough already.” He throws his hands up in mock surrender and you’re reminded uncannily of John. They really are two sides of the same coin… “Morning’s the only time I can shower, anyway. It’s not fun waking up early, you know, but I do have to get the studio time. I’ve got, like, a million art pieces to turn in next week. It’s killing me.”

Though he says this with a rueful grin, you can see there’s bags under his eyes. With all the drama going on, you hadn’t stopped to think about what Paul must be going through. You internally scold yourself not to be so wrapped in your own concerns next time.

“I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, well. The woes of an art major. But when I asked about George, I wasn’t talking about our little row.”

You ignore that. “Showering every day is bad for your skin, y’know.”

“First off, that’s my phrase. Secondly, you’re changing the subject.”

“You’re the one changing the subject!” Don’t blush don’t blush don’t blush. “Look, can’t you try and compromise with him? Like, taking turns or something. You can have the first shower every other day and ditto for George!” You smack the table excitedly. “Damn, I’m a genius.”

Paul laughs and downs the rest of his coffee. “Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him about it.” Standing, he stretches and tosses the cup into the trash. “You think the flat is safe enough to go back?”

You mirror his actions, donning your fleece jacket. “Probably. I’ll protect you, though, don’t worry.”

“My hero!” He swoons and loops his arm through yours as you step out of the cafe. The rest of the walk back, he doesn’t mention George again and you think he’s forgotten all about it. That is, until you reach the apartment. Paul unlocks the door and gestures for you to go first. When you brush by him, he leans down to your ear and says it so casually you don’t even register the meaning at first.

“I’ll get the truth out of you one of these days, y’know.”

Paul winks and though he doesn’t say exactly what the ‘truth’ is, you think you have a pretty good idea what he’s talking about.

***

The next day, you’re sat at the kitchen table over a bowl of cereal and some salvaged papers, not unlike yesterday morning. John is once again swiping through his phone. Ringo’s there, too, having scrutinized the entire kitchen floor this time before sitting down.

“TikTok is a load of shit,” John announces, throwing his cell down.

“Yet that doesn’t stop you from being on it for hours on end.”

“It’s addicting! All that… hitting the woah and- and grenade stuff.”

“You mean renegade.”

You both shoot a surprised look at Ringo, who pouts. “What? I can be hip too.”

“Okay, the fact that you said ‘hip’ kinda contradicts that.”

Ringo sticks his tongue out at you and you snicker. John clears his throat, steering the conversation back to him. Attention whore.

“Aaaanyway. As I was saying. Our phones are all the government’s rubbish way of brainwashing us. And that’s why I propose… drum roll, please.”

Ringo obliges. You note that he keeps a rather good tempo.

“Game Night Part Two!”

He’s met with silence.

“Uh, let me think about it-- no.”

“What? Why not!”

You tap your finger to your chin. “Did you already forget getting piss-drunk and missing your American Lit quiz the next day? Or spilling Fanta all over my /nice/ white tee? Or doing that?” John’s gaze follows your gesture to the tv in the living room with a great crack down the middle.

“And you’re a sore loser,” Ringo adds. John frowns and throws a cornflake at him.

“George was definitely cheating-”

“Abupbupbup! I’m not done.” You point at his sour expression. “Don’t you remember the noise complaint we got from our neighbor?”

John actually pauses at this. “You mean Paul’s classmate? The one that does graphic design? Not that you’d know it from the way he dresses like a fashion major.”

“His name is Freddie.” Ringo supplies helpfully. Ringo was always good at names.

“Yeah, he actually knocked on our door and everything. That was embarrassing, John.”

A scoff makes its way through John’s pursed lips. “He’s got no right telling us to keep the noise down when his bloody flat houses an entire fucking band. I can hear them going at it until two am sometimes and I don’t call the police on them.”

“They’re quite good.” As if to accentuate his point, Ringo taps a familiar rhythm with his spoon. Must be from one of their latest songs.

John inhales and you can tell that this’ll turn into a scuffle if you don’t steer the conversation away soon.

“Anyway! We don’t want another repeat of last month’s shenanigans. I’d like to be able to keep watching Netflix on a functioning telly, thank you very much. You’re outnumbered, Johnny.”

“Well, actually.”

You both swivel to look at Ringo: you in horror and John with glee. The oldest boy is usually the tie breaker, the swing-state if you want to be American about it. If he throws his weight behind John, it’ll be over.

“I think it would be a good idea. For morale, you know. We’ve been at each other’s throats all of yesterday, and havin’ another Game Night might get everyone on good terms again.” Damn you, Ringo, you think, damn you and your altruism. John, in every sense of the saying, looks exactly like the cat that’s got the canary. He swings to you with the stupidly smug look on his face.

“The match goes to Lennon! Take that,” he gloats, and you fight the urge to strangle him across the table.

“When you fail Professor Ono’s midterms because you’re too hungover to tell Walt Whitman from Langston Hughes, don’t go crawling to me,” you hiss.

John makes to retort but he’s cut short by the sound of footsteps running down the hall. Your brain barely has time to conjure up the weird feeling of deja vu before George skids into the kitchen.

He’s wearing nothing but a towel. Again. But this time, he’s smiling, and the brilliance of it cuts through your sleep-addled brain and curls up somewhere below your rib cage.

“I just took a shower!”

“Good for you, mate,” John snarks, staring ruefully at the phone in the center of the table--did he change his phone case or something? It looks different, somehow. You can see his fingers twitching toward it.

George ignores him. “I just took a warm shower. A real shower with warm water.”

Yes, you can see that from the bit of steam still rising from his shoulders and his hair, which is now curling slightly in the colder temperature. There’s a droplet of water making its way from George’s very naked chest down to his very fit stomach--how he has abs, you have no idea, since the boy inhales food like Kirby--and you look away sharply before your gaze can wander any further.

“A warm water shower,” he repeats.

Ringo nods. “Ah, yes. The poison. The poison for Kuzco. The poison chosen specifically to kill Kuzco.” He pauses, looking you in the eye rather seriously, and you say the next bit together.

“Kuzco’s poison.”

The two of you double over, giggling like schoolgirls. George, however, looks confused.

“What are they on about?”

“Some American film.” John finally gives in and snatches up the phone laying on the table. Something flashes across his face. You know that look, and nothing good ever follows it. “Smile, Georgie.”

There’s the click of a photo being taken.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Nothing.” John pushes his chair from the table and stands up rather abruptly. The look on his face is growing into something… wicked. “Nothing at all. I will be in Paul and I’s room. Doing nothing.” He surveys you all once more with that good-for-nothing grin, cradles the phone to his chest, and then sprints down the hall past an even more confused George. The door closes and locks with a decisive click.

The three of you look at each other questioningly. Ringo grunts something unintelligible and shovels more cornflakes into his mouth. George shrugs and turns to head back to the bathroom.

He’s already halfway down the hall before he freezes.

“Wait a minute. Was that my phone?”

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  Hi! I just read your 9-1-1 fic and it was fantastic. I was wondering if you'd be interested in writing a fic where Buck (being the absolute disaster that he is) cuts himself on something while he's on blood thinners and doesn't realize he's bleeding until he gives Eddie an absolute heart attack when Eddie sees him, like covered in blood, casually doing something.

Established Buddie :)

Adrenaline is Buck’s drug, and he chases the pushing sensation with narrow, hungry eyes. He’s racing up a ladder to save an expecting mother from a house fire, hands and feet moving in perfect sync, leaving no room for error. Even in the dark, with only a flashlight and the street light below, he’s moving effortlessly, and he doesn’t blink, doesn’t even hesitate when he reaches the window.

He orders the woman to stand back, and the second she’s out of his line of sight, he slams his elbow into the glass, two, three times until the window spiderwebs against the force. One more hit, and the window shatters. He knocks jutting shards of glass free, not even feeling the small scrape that sneaks past the sleeve of his jacket, and then he’s hopping into the room.

Smoke is billowing from below the closed door, coating the room in a grayish, dark haze, and he gestures to the woman who’s speaking rapid, panicked Spanish.

“Uh,” he drags out, glancing from the woman to the window. “Es...” He tilts his head, jerking his brain through the brief Spanish lessons Eddie’s been giving him, “escapamos?”

The woman jerks her head into a tight nod and starts to the window, and Buck’s close behind her, raking through his incredibly small Spanish vocabulary. He can’t think of the proper way to tell the woman to take it slow and steady, so he radios Eddie, and he can practically hear the eye roll.

“ Señora,” Eddie starts, grabbing the woman’s attention, “tenga mucho cuidado cuando baje.”

The woman nods and slows her pace as she carefully starts out the window. Buck follows, watching her climb down a few rungs. “What did you say to her?” he asks Eddie through the radio, and Eddie scoffs, voice crackling through the radio slightly.

“Something you should already know from our lessons.”

“Oh, sorry,” Buck draws out, sarcasm mixing in his tone. “It’s a little hard to remember this shit when you’re out saving lives.” He starts on the ladder, fingers easily gripping the sides.

“I told you to let me get her.”

“Fuck off,” Buck mutters under his breath, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. He spares another glance below to see Eddie and Hen helping the woman off the ladder, and a brief bout of relief swells in his chest as he easily makes his way down, bypassing the last few runs with a small jump.

A loud crack of thunder over head has him pulling a quick gaze toward the dark sky just as it splits open, bringing sheets and sheets of rain. It’s helping with the fire, but he still needs to work, and when Bobby shouts “let’s wrap this up,” he moves back to the truck to help put out the remaining flames while Eddie, Hen, and Chimney tend to the woman.

Buck’s focused on the hose, on the strategic aim of the water, when Eddie comes up to him, shouting over the wall of rain.

“She wants me to ride with them to the hospital!”

Buck spares a brief gaze to Eddie, and Eddie takes his moment, leaning forward to plant quick kiss to Buck’s lips, their helmets knocking together.

“I’ll meet you back at the station!” 

Buck nods, smiling at the faint tingle clinging to his lips, and he struggles to rip his gaze away from Eddie racing to the back of the ambulance.

“Focus, Buck.”

Bobby’s voice, suddenly a hot breath at his ear, as him whipping his gaze back to the lingering flames, and together, they douse the remaining fire within minutes.

When they make it back to the truck, both thoroughly drenched through, Buck sighs, ripping his helmet off and running a hand through his dripping hair.

“I’m glad it rained, but a little warning would have been nice.”

“If you had spent a little more time looking at the TV instead of Eddie’s ass, you would have seen the weather report that predicted this storm--”

“--I wasn’t staring at his ass!” Buck’s voice is defensive, yet heat creeps up his neck to his cheeks until they’re glowing red.

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Bobby says around a hearty laugh that Buck scoffs at, slumping in his seat and crossing his arms as Bobby pulls away from the scene and heads back to the station.

Bobby and Buck make it back first, and Bobby waves a tired hand to Buck as he starts up the steps. “Go shower. You stink.”

If exhaustion wasn’t pushing down on Buck’s shoulders, he would spit out a sharp retort, but it’s been a long day for all of them, more calls than usual, so he shuffles to the showers, shedding his clothes with half-lidded eyes.

The warm water is heavenly against his skin, and he tilts his his head up, eyes fluttering closed as the heated spray pours over him, washing away the dirt and grime built up from an incredibly long day. He’s quick with the soap, not really paying attention for his mind is focused on being in bed with Eddie, and he wraps a towel around his hips when he’s finished, stepping out of the shower with a slight shiver.

He bypasses the mirrors and steps into the locker room, his left hand keeping the towel clasped at his hips while his right hand digs around his bag for his clothes.

Faintly, he can hear the others return, and shortly after, he can just make out Bobby telling Eddie where he is. Smiling, he turns to the door just as Eddie pulls it open, but the matching smile Eddie’s sporting drops in the blink of an eye, curling into a deep frown that plays off the concern etched across his paling face.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” Buck asks, but Eddie’s eyes are cast downward, and Buck slowly follows his gaze until he, too, pales at the sudden sight of blood pouring from a small cut on his arm, drenching his towel in a sea of red and pooling at the floor just by his feet.

“Shit.”

Eddie’s at his side in seconds, breathing fast, heart hammering against his rib cage, and he reaches in Buck’s bag for a loose shirt, pressing it to the wound. Buck winces slightly, but he’s more focused on Eddie’s heaving chest.

“How long have you been bleeding?” Eddie asks quickly, words spilling from his tongue. He leaves Buck’s side, following the trail of blood all the way to the shower where the remaining puddle of water on the shower floor is painted a faint red. He makes his way back to see Buck drop down heavily onto a bench, frowning at the white shirt that’s quickly fading to a pinkish red.

“How did you not notice?” Eddie presses, taking quick note of Buck’s normally healthy skin taking to a pale tone. “Even in the shower?”

“I don’t know,” Buck admits. “I think I was half-asleep in the shower--”

“--Jesus Christ,” Eddie spits out, though worry takes center hold of his tone. “I’m going to get some bandages from the ambulance, so keep applying pressure to that.”

Buck’s eyes follow Eddie’s almost erratic movements until he’s out of sight, and only then does he allow his shoulders to slump. He’s beginning to grow dizzy, and a little cold, but then Eddie’s busting back into the room, and he can see the others hovering at the door.

“I told them you’re naked,” Eddie says, crouching down in front of Buck. He carefully moves the shirt away, frown deepening at the amount of blood gushing from a cut that’s not even that big or that deep for that matter.

“These fucking blood thinners are going to be the death of me,” Eddie mutters under his breath as he starts wrapping the bandage around Buck’s arm.

“I’m pretty sure they’ll actually be the death of me,” Buck tries for a light joke, but the sharp, almost desperate gaze Eddie shoots him has Buck dropping his small smile, eyes cast in concern.

“Hey, Eddie, I was kidding, okay? I’ll be fine. I must have cut my arm when I broke the window earlier.”

Eddie’s muscles tense with each of Buck’s words. Buck takes quiet note of the rigid motions, cupping his free hand to Eddie’s chin to pull Eddie’s gaze up to his. “You know I’m going to be fine, right?”

Eddie only offers a curt nod, not trusting his voice to work in sync with his racing heart, and Buck sighs, frown matching Eddie’s.

“Then breathe, Eddie. I’m pretty sure you haven’t taken in a solid breath since you walked in.”

Eddie’s exhale is deep, shaking. “You’d be the same way if you saw what I saw.” He keeps his voice quiet, moving away from Buck’s hand to turn his gaze back to Buck’s arm. Already, blood is pressing against the bandage, but he keeps working it around Buck’s arm, just until he can get Buck to the hospital.

Buck’s not sure that any reply will ease Eddie’s tense fear, so he opts to remain quiet, allowing Eddie to finish bandaging his arm, to help him into underwear, jeans, and his jacket, his shirt bunched up in a bloody pile on the floor, and to help him to the truck for the quick drive to the hospital.

Buck offers his doctor a sheepish grin when the two walk into the hospital, and his doctor is quick to scold him for the unnecessary risks he keeps taking. He’s taken into a back room for an hour, and Eddie remains tense and quiet at his side, working through his emotions slowly while Buck gets stitched up.

By the time they make it back to Eddie’s place, Buck is thoroughly exhausted, and Eddie looks every bit uncomfortable still in his damp, dirty clothes from work.

“Christopher?” Buck asks, eyeing the empty bedroom as Eddie begins shedding his clothes.

“Staying at abuela’s tonight.” Eddie’s voice is a little clipped, tired, but there’s a faint, muted heat that’s got Buck frowning.

“How long are you going to be mad at me?” He asks, following Eddie into his bedroom.

“I’m not mad,” Eddie grumbles, flopping onto his bed in only his boxers, his hair a mess from the rain and stress-induced pulling.

Buck slips his boots and jeans off before shrugging off his jacket. “That’s exactly what someone who’s mad would say.” He drops onto the bed beside Eddie, head rolling to the side to meet Eddie’s tired, drawn gaze.

“Seeing you literally bleeding out is fucking scary, okay? I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

Buck reaches out, resting one hand to Eddie’s chest to feel the steady thump of Eddie’s heart. He considers his next words, digging through his tired brain. “Lo... lo siento.”

“ Lo sé, por favor deja de asustarme así,” Eddie’s voice is barely above a whisper, mirroring the emotional toll that’s the night’s event have taken on his body, but he manages a hint of a smile, a breath of a laugh, at the clear confusion taking over Buck’s face.

“Uh, yeah, what you said.”

[prettyboy-parker]

i’ll be waiting for you in san junipero (but only if you want me to)

if you haven’t seen the black mirror episode, read on AO3 for a short introduction. if you have, continue!

words: 6.5k

warnings: nff, drinking, smoking, terminal illness, past stony, character death (not detailed), and semi-public sex

spotify playlist

1987

Pink and purple light floods over the hot mass of bodies in the center of the club, shouts of laughter filling the stuffy air. Bananarama’s one-hit-wonder “Venus” blares from the speakers, the bass giving the club its own heartbeat. The flashing Tucker’s sign makes Peter flinch as he slips inside. Someone blows cigarette smoke into the open, which makes him cough and wave the smoke away.

“S’cuse me,” He squeaks, pushing past a preppy-dressed man talking lowly to a bubble gum popping woman. They both look up at him in annoyance before turning back to their conversation. Peter grimaces and wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. He weaves his way around the people mulling about and slips over to the bar.

The bartender doesn’t see him at first, too busy fixing a drink for another patron. But the blonde eventually notices him, and Peter gives him a shy smile.

“What can I get for you?” The man asks, his smile tight. There’s a tired lilt to his voice, and Peter nearly feels bad for him. 

“Um, just a Coke, please,” He squeaks, nervously resting his hands on the bar counter. He yanks them away right after, settling on hanging them by his sides.

“Just a Coke? Not like, a rum and Coke?” The bartender asks; his face twisted sourly.

“Just a Coke,” Peter repeats with a nod. The man grimaces and pulls out a chilled glass of Coca Cola.

“Thanks,” Peter says, but the bartender is already out of earshot.

“Fuck off, dude! I sucked you off last week!”

Peter’s heart jumps and he spins around, pressing his back against the wood of the bar.

A man is heading towards him, and he’s moving very quickly.

He has a disgruntled look on his face, and his big brown eyes are narrowed in annoyance. Peter feels the moisture leaves his mouth when he sees the man’s sharp collarbones peeking out from the collar of his printed shirt. The man stops short next to Peter and slings his arm around the shorter’s shoulders.

“Pretend like you know me,” The man murmurs into Peter’s ear, sending shivers down the boy’s spine.

“Tony! What are we, kindergarteners? Talk to me!”

Another man, a little younger (yet taller) than Tony, emerges from the crowd of people.

“Leave me alone, Stephen. I don’t do seconds.” Tony grumbles, rolling his eyes. His arm is heavy on Peter’s shoulders, and the brunette is woozy at the feeling of Tony’s side pressed against his.

“You don’t do seconds?” Stephen scoffs, stopping in front of the two. “I think Maya would beg to differ.”

Peter can feel Tony tense up against him.

“Go away, Stephen. I’m trying to have a conversation,” The man spits, tucking his free hand in the back pocket of his jeans. Stephen looks at Peter warily.

“Oh, really? Or are you just looking for another fuck?”

Peter can feel heat creep onto his cheeks.  Tony throws his head back and laughs.

“Fuck off. He’s an old friend from college,” Tony tells Stephen, giving Peter a pat on the bicep. Stephen looks like he doesn’t believe a word that came out of Tony’s mouth, but he still walks away with a huff.

“Jesus, a guy can never get a break around here,” Tony mutters angrily, slipping his arm off of Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry he was being an ass,” Peter says softly, anxiously rocking on his heels. Tony shrugs.

“I can’t blame him. Who wouldn’t want piece of this?” Tony jokes, a goofy smile on his face as he gestures to himself. Peter chuckles and shakes his head.

“Anyways, I’m Tony,” The other man says, sticking out his hand. Peter takes it and gives it a loose shake. “And you are?”

“Peter,” The brunette replies before dropping Tony’s hand.

“ Peter ,” He repeats, and Peter melts at the sound of his name coming from those plump lips. Tony’s eyes flick down to his glass.

“Rum and Coke?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“Just a Coke,” Peter says bashfully. Tony gives him a funny look, but still smiles.

“You’re cute,” He purrs, voice quiet under the music of the club. Peter’s stomach churns and he lets out a breathy laugh. The smaller man puts his drink on the counter. “Let’s dance. You wanna dance?”

“Oh, I don’t-“

Tony grabs his hand before he can finish and pulls him into the throng of dancing people. Peter yelps in surprise, but allows the man to whisk him away. Tony’s hand is warm and a little bit sweaty, yet Peter doesn’t mind.

“I love this song!” Tony shouts when “She Blinded Me With Science” by Thomas Dolby plays from the speakers. The crowd cheers and Tony grabs Peter’s other hand.

It's poetry in motion

She turned her tender eyes to me

As deep as any ocean

As sweet as any harmony

Tony sways his hips back and forth in time with the music. Peter laughs softly, standing stiffly.

“Come on, loosen up!” Tony tells him, grinning wildly. Peter tries to sway his body like Tony, but he just feels stupid. The other man doesn’t seem to notice, because he moves closer to Peter.

Mm, but she blinded me with science

She blinded me with science

And failed me in biology, yeh yeh

“There you go! Don’t ever say you can’t dance,” Tony yells over the music, running his tongue over his bottom lip. A giggle bubbles from Peter’s throat.

Now uh, huh huh

When I'm dancing close to her

Blinding me with science, science

Science

“I think we should go get some air,” Peter calls out, swinging him and Tony’s hands side to side. “It’s really hot!”

Tony finds that funny and laughs. As the song comes to an end, the two weave their way back through the crowd. Tony steers him past the arcade machines and to the peeling back door.

“Fuck, it’s like an oven in there,” Tony groans once they get outside, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud. Peter watches him slip a cigarette and a lighter out of his back pocket.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it to be so hot in there,” Peter says, leaning against the brick wall of the club. Tony places the end of the cigarette in his mouth.

“Expect?” Tony asks, giving him a funny look. “Is this your first time here?”

Peter avoids Tony’s gaze and looks at his Vans.

“Yup,” He murmurs, awkwardly fiddling with his belt. Tony reaches out and encases Peter’s wrist with his fingers. The brunette holds his breath as Tony runs his thumb over his wrist.

“How about we head to mine?”

Peter’s heart stops in his chest.

And then, he yanks his hand away.

“No!” He exclaims, but immediately regrets it when he sees the look on Tony’s face. “I mean, I would, but-“

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Tony says coolly. He flicks the lighter and brings the flame to his lips. “It’s almost midnight, anyways.”

***

One Week Later- 1987

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Bright smile. Honey-smooth voice.

Peter scans the crowd for Tony, eyes flicking over the sweaty bodies. He doesn’t see him right away, and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Tony has been on Peter’s mind all week since their first meeting. Over much thinking (and internal bickering), he’s decided to find Tony again.

He hasn’t fucked anyone since his 20’s, okay?

San Junipero is advertised as a getaway, a place where you can do whatever you want-without repercussion. He would have waited to get to know Tony more before even kissing him, but Peter quickly learned that’s not how they roll here.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he shuffles around the edge of the dance floor. Half of him wants to run and find somewhere on the beach to sit and mull, but the other half yearns to find Tony.

And there he is.

Peter stops in his tracks, right next to the cluster of arcade games. He spots Tony nestled on one of the pink vinyl seats, looking bored as a girl with big hair talks to him. He looks good, his hair slicked back and a cherry red letterman jacket wrapped around his broad frame.

Tony looks up.

Peter’s breath catches in his throat when their eyes meet. Tony’s doe eyes go wide, and Peter gives him a shy wave. The older man says something to the girl next to him before getting up and weaving his way around the crowd.

There’s a small smirk on Tony’s face when he approaches Peter.

“I’ve changed my mind,” The smaller man says. “I-I want you.”

Tony grins like the cat that got the cream.

“I knew it,” He murmurs, stepping closer to Peter. He reaches out and gently brushes Peter’s bicep with his hand. “Everyone gets the first day jitters.”

Peter laughs, but his heart pounds against his rib cage. Are there the second day jitters, too? Tony shuffles a little closer and wraps one arm around his waist.

“I’ve got a little place next to the ocean. You ready to go?”

Poor old Johnny Ray

Sounded sad upon the radio

But he moved a million hearts in mono

Our mothers cried, sang along, who'd blame them

Peter smiles as the wind tousles his curls, glancing over to Tony. The older man winks and revs the engine of his Mustang. ( “1983 Ford Mustang Convertible, baby. The best out there,” Tony had said, but Peter was too lost in his eyes.)

“Almost there, sugar!” Tony shouts over the wind, taking a particularly sharp left. Peter shrieks as they lean to the side.

You're grown (so grown up)

So grown (so grown up)

Now I must say more than ever

(Come on, Eileen)

Too ra loo ra too ra loo rye aye

And we can sing just like our fathers

“Holy shit, be careful!” Peter yells, but there’s no fear in his voice. Tony laughs, loud and bright and warm . He reaches to the side and tucks his hand over Peter’s thigh.

Come on, Eileen, oh I swear (what he means)

At this moment, you mean everything

You in that dress, my thoughts I confess

Verge on dirty

Ah, come on, Eileen

Tony eventually slows his speed when they reach the beach, passing the clumps of twirling sea grass and sand dunes.

His house is very cute.

It reminds him of the old beach house they would rent on the shores of Long Island, a desperate attempt at a picture perfect vacation while his mother was dying. The house is a watered down blue color, weathered from the sun and the sand. There’s no decorations, no plastic flamingoes, no welcome mat. But it’s cute.

“Home sweet home,”  Tony sings once he shuts off the car. Peter laughs softly before unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Oh, you might want to take your shoes off now. The sand can be a bitch.”

“True,” Peter replies, undoing the laces of his sneakers with shaky hands. Tony does the same, then swings open the car door. Peter tucks his socks into his shoes and climbs out the car. The sand feels nice between his toes; soft and smooth.

Peter follows Tony into his house, glancing over his shoulder when they clamber up the porch steps. The city glows behind them, tiny lights dotting the landscape.

“Slow poke!” Tony laughs, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. He wraps his hands around the younger’s waist and pulls him inside. Tony kicks the door closed and Peter drops his shoes on the ground. With a flash of bravery, he rests his hands on Tony’s chest. The older man lets out a breath, and their lips are so close that the air hits Peter’s.

“I wanna kiss you,” Peter blurts, leaning closer into Tony’s touch. The corner of the man‘s mouth twitches.

“Then kiss me.”

Peter presses his lips to Tony’s. He does it a little too forcefully, too enthusiastically, because Tony stumbles backwards. He regains his footing though, and kisses back happily. Peter squeaks when Tony squeezes his ass.

“ Tony ,” Peter breathes as Tony moves his wet lips down his cheek and to his jaw.

“I’ve been thinking about getting my hands on you,” Tony grumbles against his warm skin. The feeling of his teeth makes Peter shudder. “When I saw you at the bar, I needed to get you in my bed.”

Peter lets out a shaky moan at Tony’s words, hips stuttering when he sucks a bruise onto his neck. Peter can feel the hard outline of Tony’s dick against his thigh.

“S-Speaking of that bed,” The smaller man stutters, tangling his fingers in Tony’s hair.

“Right over there,” He replies, gently grabbing Peter’s hands and removing them from his hair. The brunette giggles as Tony guides him to the bed, the bed that’s, for some reason, pushed against the living room windows. When Tony sees the look on his face, he smirks.

“I like everything in one room, baby. Except the toilet.” He explains while he gets Peter onto the bed. Peter laughs and kisses Tony again, letting the older man push him so he’s lying down. The pressure of his crotch against Peter’s makes the younger man moan against Tony’s lips. He tries to grind upwards, searching for relief against his aching cock.

“Get this fuckin-this shirt off,” Tony growls, yanking at the hem of Peter’s shirt and pulling it over his head. Tony sits upwards, shucks off his jacket, and takes off his own shirt, throwing it onto the ground. Peter’s mouth goes dry as he eyes the trail of dark hair that leads to Tony’s... yeah . Peter reaches out and touches his navel.

“Ngh, fuck,” Tony groans, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and pulling it from the loops. Peter’s chest heaves as he undoes his belt. Tony rolls to the side, unfortunately off of Peter, and starts to take off his shoes. Peter shimmies out of his jeans awkwardly, whimpering when his hand brushes over his rock hard cock. 

“Pete,” Tony breathes after he takes off his jeans.

Peter pulls Tony into a kiss by his neck. The older man groans and cups both of Peter’s cheeks. The brunette reaches down and gently squeezes Tony’s dick through his cotton boxers.

“Shit!” He hisses, and in a sudden move he pulls Peter’s boxers down his pale thighs. Peter sighs when his cock is finally freed, bobbing in the cool air. It’s still the same smaller-than-average size as real life, unfortunately. But Tony’s cock is big, thick and veined and leaking precum.

“Look at you,” Tony coos, wrapping his tan fingers around Peter’s length. He lets out a high pitched whine at the friction and slick sound. “All this for me?”

“ Y-yes ,” Peter pants, tangling his fingers in the sheets. Tony shuffles closer so his own cock is lined up against Peter’s. The sight is absolutely filthy.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m really close,” Tony groans, beginning to stroke both himself and Peter at the same time. Peter’s hips jerk upwards, making his cock rub against Tony’s

“ Tony ,”  Peter cries, falling forward and mouthing at the older man’s neck. For the next couple of moments, the sounds of grunts and moans fill the room. The up and down motion of Tony’s hand makes Peter’s gut curl, and before he knows it-

“Fuck!” Peter shouts as his balls tighten and he spills his release over Tony’s hand. Tony breathing picks up as he nears his climax, using Peter’s cum to slick his own cock. With a loud moan, Tony reaches his orgasm.

“Baby,” Tony mumbles once he catches his breath. Peter lets out a breathy laugh as Tony flops down on the bed. The younger man does the same, lying so close that their noses almost touch. Tony smiles, and the way his gorgeous eyes crinkle make Peter feel all warm and fuzzy.

“That was- s’really good,” He slurs, reaching out and barely grazing Tony’s cheek with his fingertips. His skin is warm, flushed a sweet pink.

“Damn right it was,” Tony laughs, wrapping his clean arm around Peter’s waist. “Do y’know what time it is? I cant remember when we left the bar.”

“It’s almost-“

Peter jolts upwards, the gentle beep of the monitor filling his ears.

“Midnight.”

*** Another Week Later- 1990

Strike a pose

Strike a pose

(Vogue, vogue, vogue)

(Vogue, vogue, vogue)

Peter awkwardly tucks his hands into the pockets of his overalls, breathing heavy from his trek around the club. He’s looked everywhere and he just can’t find Tony. He knows he’s being clingy and weird, but Tony has been constantly on his mind.

Look around, everywhere you turn is heartache

It's everywhere that you go (look around)

You try everything you can to escape

The pain of life that you know (life that you know)

Peter spots the man from a few weeks ago standing by the bar. What was him name again? Stefan? Steven?

Stephen!

Peter, although a little too enthusiastically, rushes down the small set of steps to the tall man. He doesn’t look up right away, of course, but he does when Peter calls out his name.

“Do I know you?” Stephen grunts, narrowing his ice blue eyes. Peter smiles warily.

“Have you seen Tony?” He asks, chewing on his bottom lip.

“No,” Stephen replies, a sour look on his face. He takes a sip of his beer. “You too, huh?”

Peter feels his stomach lurch.

“I-I don’t know. I guess I’ll go now,” He mutters. Stephen raises his hand.

“Try looking somewhere else. ‘02. Mid 70’s. Good luck.”

Come on, vogue

Let your body move to the music (move to the music)

Hey, hey, hey

Come on, vogue

Let your body go with the flow (go with the flow)

You know you can do it

***

One Week Later- 1978

“Holy smokes, you are so good at this!”

Peter smiles and jiggles the joystick of the Space Invaders machine. The girl, Betty, is leaning over his shoulder, watching the screen intently. He’s nearly at 2000 points, but with one rogue alien his last life is taken. He throws his head back and groans. Betty shrieks and grabs Peter’s shoulders.

“Come on Pete, let’s go dance! ABBA is my absolute favorite,” She giggles, spinning Peter around. The brunette opens his mouth to respond, but he spots who’s standing at the Asteroids machine.

“Um, I actually-I’m sorry Betty. There’s someone I need to talk to. I’ll see you around?” Peter stutters, and the blonde’s face falls flat.

“Okay. Maybe 2005?”

Peter smiles and Betty rushes off.

“Tony. I know you know I’m here,” Peter says once it’s just him and Tony in the arcade corner. The game makes a sad beep as he slams on the machine. Peter flinches. “Talk to me. Why are you avoiding me?”

Tony turns around, arms crossed.

“Calm down.” He grunts, avoiding Peter’s gaze.

“Tony! Why?” Peter pleads, taking a step closer to the other man. Tony awkwardly shifts on his feet.

“I need change,” He explains; his face stony.

“Change my ass!” Peter nearly shouts. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, but it’s hard not to. “You’re hiding from me.”

“I don’t owe you shit , Peter.” Tony growls, finally snapping. Peter flinches in surprise. His tone makes the younger’s throat tighten.

“Now leave me alone,” Tony grumbles, running off into the crowd. Peter’s stomach drops to his toes, but he rushes after Tony. He keeps the man’s dark hair in view as he pushes past patron after patron, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he reaches the front door.

“Tony!” Peter cries once both of them are outside. He runs forward and grabs Tony’s thin wrist.

“Peter, stop it,” Tony says softly, resting his hand on Peter’s bicep. “I’m not here to fall in love.”

“Then what are you here for?” Peter asks, placing his free hand on Tony’s chest. “Why are you trying to fuckin’ fight this?”

“Because I’m not staying here,” Tony explains. “Once I’m gone, I’m gone. Screw this place. I like you, Peter. I really do. But this place-“ He looks around at the buildings on the street. “It’s not fair. Morgan-my daughter, my babygirl-she didn’t get this. It was cancer. She was 30. And my husband didn’t want this either. He was the light of my life, you know. A big blonde oaf. It wasn’t fair to take something Morgan didn’t have. So why should I?”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat.

“Oh Tony,” He mutters, and without thinking, he presses his lips to the other’s. Tony kisses back immediately, slipping his hand onto Peter’s cheek. The smaller man leans into Tony’s touch. Suddenly, a soft beep emerges from between them.

“Fuck,” Tony utters once they pull apart, lips slick and shiny with spit. “There’s 3 minutes until midnight.”

Peter doesn’t respond.

“Okay, um, next week. Meet me at the Quagmire,” Tony says hurriedly. Peter looks at him, confused. “It’s a club. Well, sort of. Just ask around and you’ll find it. How about 1987?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers, “See you then.”

***

Next Week- 1987

In the middle of nowhere sits the broken down building of the Quagmire. The rows of motorcycles and smoke billowing out of the club tell him all he needs to know about the place. He quickly changes his outfit (one of the technological perks of San Junipero) to a more fitting look: a loose red t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and good old-fashioned Doc Martens. He feels awkward; he’s dressed like the guys he used to jack off to.

His boots crunch on the gravel as he walks up to the front doors, which are swung wide open. He can hear the faint thump of the music from above, as the only thing on the first floor is a staircase and a man slumped in the corner. Peter grimaces, and without touching the handrail, he walks up the stairs. The music gets louder and the smell of weed gets more potent. There’s a few people mulling around in the hallway leading to the main room. A guy with black-rimmed eyes blows smoke up into the air and a girl with a fucking snake around her shoulders winks at him. He gives her a weak smile and steps into the crowd.

There’s cages hanging from the ceiling with pierced girls in them and everyone’s in leather. It feels like the place Harry would always try to get him to go to back when they were in college.

He never went.

Instead of dancing, the people around him are grinding and kissing each other. It’s awkward and Peter’s too caught up in the mess of people to focus on where’s he going; he runs into a very hard body.

“Woah there, sugar,” The man purrs as Peter stumbles backward. He opens his mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. The man is gorgeous, with a perfect smile, sharp jaw, scruffy beard, and loose strands of long brown hair that frame his pretty face.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter stammers, feeling trapped in the low light of the club. The man laughs and claps him on the shoulder.

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” He grumbles, taking a swig of his beer.

“Pete!”

Peter jumps and whips his head around, catching an eyeful of a grinning Tony. His steps are wobbly as  he walks over to Peter, slinging his arm around the younger’s shoulders. Peter can smell alcohol on Tony’s breath, hinting that he’s turned his pain meter down, leaving him vulnerable to the effects of liquor.

“Is this your new boy toy, Stark?” The man opposite them drawls. His comment makes Peter flush.

“Shut the hell up, Barnes,” Tony laughs, pulling Peter closer to his side. “I take it you met my friend ?”

Peter won’t lie, the word stings. But no one seems to notice, because Barnes just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I did not, mind you,” He says before turning to Peter. “I’m Bucky. What’s your name, doll?”

Peter preens at the pet name.

“Peter,” He replies, his hand gently brushing against Tony’s jeans. He feels good like this, he feels like they look good together . “It’s my first time here-fifth time in San Junipero.”

Bucky nods with a soft ‘ah.’

“I see you’ve already gotten caught up with Anthony. Can’t blame you, honestly. He’s a real catch,” He drawls, tucking his free hand into his back pocket. “Well, I’ll leave you alone. My husband’s lookin’ for me.”

Bucky disappears into he crowd.

“Finally, some alone time,” Tony groans, nudging Peter’s chestnut curls with his nose.

“Alone? You think this is alone?” Peter scoffs, pressing his cheek to Tony’s leather jacket. “We’re packed between people right now.”

Tony laughs loud enough that Peter can hear him clearly over the pounding rock music.

“Let’s dance, baby!” He shouts, ignoring the question. Peter giggles and lets Tony shove people out of the way to get on the dance floor. He wraps his arms around Peter’s torso and tucks his face in the crook of the younger’s neck. Peter’s breath hitches as Tony nips at the skin of his neck.

“You’re a good dancer,” He slurs, jerking his hips against Peter’s ass. The brunette’s face is on fire as Tony sways him back and forth to the beat of the music. Peter can feel himself start to chub up in his jeans, much to his embarrassment.

“ Tony ,” He groans, but he doesn’t think he can be heard over the music. Tony continues to rock his crotch against his backside, muttering sweet nothings into his ear. Peter can feel how hard the older man is, and his blood boils at the fact that he did this to him. They stay there for a while, swaying and grinding on each other. The rest of the room becomes a blur as they stand there, intertwined.

“Come to the bathroom with me,” Tony mutters in Peter’s ear; his fingers grazing over the heated skin of the younger’s stomach. “I want your mouth on me.”

A pathetic whine escapes Peter’s lips, and he nods. Tony swerves him around the metalhead party-goers and into a poorly-lit hallway. A couple is making out against the peeling wall,  and Peter keeps his eyes down as Tony leads him into the men’s bathroom.

“Holy shit, I’m so fuckin’ hard,” Tony grunts, fumbling with the handle of one of the stalls. The door swings open with a clang, and Tony ushers him into the stall. Without being prompted, Peter falls to his knees and squeezes Tony’s bulge through his jeans. The older man’s eyes flutter shut and he sighs softly. With nimble fingers, Peter undoes the metal of his belt and tucks his cock out of his jeans. It’s rock hard already, flushed red and leaking. Tentatively, Peter flicks his tongue over the head of his cock. Tony groans, tangling his fingers through Peter’s curls. The younger boy slips his lips around the head, using his tongue to massage under it. A litany of curses falls from Tony’s lips as Peter takes more of his member into his mouth. The stretch makes Peter’s dick jump in his jeans. A spurt of precum leaks onto his tongue, the salty taste making his stomach churn. Peter reaches up and cups Tony’s heavy balls in the palm of his hand. He shouts and yanks Peter’s hair, giving the boy more encouragement to keep sucking. He can’t go too deep, he hasn’t done this much before, but he makes up his lack of experience with enthusiasm. As he lavishes Tony’s cock, the sound of the bathroom door opening makes him freeze.

Tony bites his fist as he cums in Peter’s mouth.

Peter swallows all his release as quietly as he can, tucking the man’s cock back into his boxers and pulling up his jeans. Tony’s chest heaves as he comes down from the high of his climax. Peter’s still unbelievably hard, and he stands up on shaky legs. Tony pulls the boy into his arms and slips his thigh between his legs. Peter moans into Tony’s shirt at the pressure against his crotch.

“Hump my thigh,” Tony growls into Peter’s ear as the other patron flushes the toilet. Peter whines and curls the older man’s shirt in his hands. He does as he’s told, desperately grinding down onto Tony. With his soft words of encouragement, Peter cums in his pants.

“ Tony ,” The brunette cries once the other man leaves the restroom, resting his head against Tony’s chest.

He strokes Peter’s curls and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m so fuckin’ stupid,” Tony grumbles. “You’re gorgeous. And right here in front of me.”

Peter looks up at Tony, confused.

“You’re babbling, handsome,” He mutters, reaching upwards and tracing Tony’s lips with his finger.

“Let me see you,” Tony grumbles, resting his hands on Peter’s hips. “Let me see you in person.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat.

“You could live across the country,” He says softly, running his thumb over the bit of stubble that graces Tony’s cheek.

“But I don’t. You’re Peter Parker and you live in Arcata. I’m in San Fransisco. It’s only a four hour drive.”

“That should be creepy but it’s kind of hot,” Peter mumbles, grazing his lips against Tony’s. “But why?”

“Just let me see you,” Tony pleads, resting his forehead against Peter’s. “Everything-it’s tearing me up inside.”

Peter smiles and bumps his nose against Tony’s.

***

Next Monday -Present Day- 2045

Peter’s room is submerged in darkness, like usual. His legs still ache, but the sharp pain in his ribs has shown up again. He should tell Miss Williams once she comes for his three o’clock checkup. But he’ll have to wait throughout visitation hours, because he needs all the rest he can get. Recently, he’s been way more tired and worn down than usual.

“Peter? Are you awake?”

The man sits up in his bed slowly, rubbing his eyes with his palms. The door to his room is cracked open, and Miss Williams has her head poked inside.

“Yeah,” Peter croaks. “M’awake.”

The lights to his room turn on and Miss Williams opens the door all the way.

“You have a visitor.”

Miss Williams enters his room, a pretty red-head following her and helping a frail old man into the room.

��� Tony? ” Peter whispers as Miss Williams closes the door. Tony smiles, the wrinkles on his face deepening. Peter’s mouth stays parted in awe as the redhead helps Tony over to the chair next to his bed.

“Hi, pumpkin,” The old man says softly, taking Peter’s left hand in his own. His hands are warm and soft and thin, with callouses on every fingertip. “You’re so beautiful.”

Peter looks down at their intertwined hands bashfully. Tony raises Peter’s hand to his lips, and presses a kiss to his pale skin.

“I can stomach your face,” Peter quips; Tony rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Just kidding. You’re a stud.”

They both erupt in a fit of giggles. Peter’s sides hurt, in a good way, for the first time in months.

“Hospice?” Tony asks once they catch their breath, his tone serious. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Miss Williams and the redhead’s conversation awkwardly falls flat. Peter traces one of the small scars on Tony’s left hand with the tip of his finger.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Peter mumbles, continuing to avoid Tony’s heavy gaze. “It’s not like we’re going to be seeing each other for much longer.”

Tony flinches at the blow his words deliver. Ever so slightly, he squeezes Peter’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Tony utters, his voice so quiet it’s barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Apologizing isn’t going to do much,” Peter chimes, a single tear threatening to slip from his eye. “Not unless you stay.”

“Oh you, there’s no use in crying,” Miss Williams cuts in, grabbing a box of tissues from the small cluster of cabinets in the corner of the room. Peter takes them, taking one tissue out and batting his eyes. “I think you two need to seriously talk. Miss Potts and I will leave you alone.”

Peter gives the two nurses a weak smile as they leave his room.

“I went through all the letters he’s ever written me. Steve-my husband- he really hated the technology,” Tony explains. “I just feel so terrible. I love you Peter, I do, but it’s a disservice to him.”

Peter sucks in a deep breath.

“You love me?” He asks, voice hoarse.

“I’d be crazy if I didn’t,” Tony laughs, stroking the knobby bone of Peter’s wrist. “I’d be so fucking bonkers.”

Peter rolls his big doe eyes, the tips of his eyelashes tickling his eyelids.

“I think you’re already crazy. I think that’s what makes you so charming.”

Tony shakes his head as Peter gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“I think that’s why I’m so in love with you.

***

That Saturday-1992

The glass back door of Tony’s house slides open with a soft ‘woosh’. The wind blowing from the ocean makes goosebumps appear on Peter’s arms, and he pulls his flannel closer to his body. In the distance, the flames of the campfire lick up at the night sky.

Oh, and Tony’s waving his arms like an idiot.

“Peter!” He shouts as loud as he can. “Over here!”

Peter laughs and shakes his head before taking off over the sand, letting the wind rush past him. It’s oddly exhilarating, but he comes to a stop once he reaches Tony and his little camp area.

“My baby,” Tony purrs, wrapping his arms around Peter’s torso and spinning him around. Peter shrieks happily and grips onto Tony’s neck for support. The older man puts him down and immediately presses his lips to Peter’s. Like the roaring fire, Tony’s touch warms him to the core.

“What’s all this?” Peter asks quietly, eyeing the plaid blanket lain on the sand, the wicker basket that holds a bottle of wine, and the bouquet of roses.

“Since we’ve never had a proper date,” Tony explains, brushing a stray curl out of Peter’s eyes. “I thought I’d treat you tonight.”

Tony pulls Peter to the blanket, and the brunette sits down happily. He pushes his bare toes into the sand as Tony sits down next to him. He hands Peter a wine glass and takes one for himself, pouring the red liquid in both.

“And before you ask,” Tony says as he raises his glass to his lips. “My pain meter’s all the way up.”

Peter scoffs and takes a sip of his wine. He’s never been a huge fan of wine, but this-it’s good. His eyes wander to Tony’s face, and he takes a second studying the curves of the man. The point of his nose, the line of his jaw, the pout of his lips.

“Tony?” Peter asks, breaking the silence. The man responds with a soft ‘hm?’

“I died last night.”

Tony doesn’t respond; he just looks up at the stars. Then he turns his head to Peter, and smiles.

“I’m just glad you’re not in pain anymore.”

The tension, that Peter didn’t even realize was there, leaves his body. He rests his head on the older man’s shoulder, his cheek pressed to the softness of Tony’s sweatshirt.

“I’ve been looking for a nice place to live,” Peter rambles, his glass of wine forgotten. “They really have everything here.”

Peter slips two fingers in one of the rips on Tony’s jeans.

“Stay here,” Tony says softly. “This is practically your home now.”

The crashing of the waves echoes in his ears.

“It’s not home without you. It’ll never be home without you here with me.”

Under the moonlight, Tony smiles sadly.

***

Three Months Later-1987

It’s Wednesday when he finds him.

Peter’s browsing the shelves of Paige’s Bookstore, sipping on the rest of his leftover iced tea from lunch. The small shop has been one of Peter’s favorite places since he’s passed over. It’s in a quieter, smaller part of town, and it overlooks the sea perfectly.

Peter’s fingers stop on the spine of a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey when the bell to the front door chimes softly. The brunette doesn’t pay any attention, and keeps browsing, until he hears the voice of the new customer.

“Good afternoon! Do you sell books here?”

Peter’s heart drops to his toes. He peers around one of the shelves to peek at the front door and-

It’s Tony.

“Tony!” Peter exclaims, failing to contain his excitement. Tony’s egotistical facade drops, and he stands there in awe. Peter, as carefully he can, rushes across the small room, and leaps into Tony’s arms. It feels so good to be back in his arms, encased by warmth and love. Tony presses kiss after kiss onto Peter’s cheeks.

Edith, the owner of the shop, coos at the two of them.

Peter may have spilt his guts to the woman the first time he met her.

“You came,” The younger cries, bubbling with glee. “You actually took the tech.”

Tony laughs and cups both of Peter’s cheeks in his hands.

“I would’ve been a fool if I didn’t,” He mutters, kissing Peter once more.

“Okay lovebirds, if you’re not going to buy anything, get out of my shop.”

Edith has never been the nicest lady.

Peter giggles, though, and bids the woman goodbye as Tony pulls him out of the shop and into the sun. He takes his sunglasses out of his pocket and slips them onto the bridge of his nose.

“I love you,” Peter sings, leaning forward to kiss Tony, but landing on his cheek. “I love you, Tony Stark.”

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

They say in heaven, love comes first

We'll make heaven a place on earth

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

Wind in his hair, salt on his lips, and a smile on his face . Tony presses down on the gas, shouting as they fly down one of the backroads of the city. Peter throws his head back and laughs; his sunglasses almost escaping his grasp.

When the night falls down

I wait for you and you come around

And the world's alive with the sound

Of kids on the street outside

“I love you, Peter Parker!” Tony shouts over the wind, honking the horn twice.

When you walk into the room

You pull me close and we start to move

And we're spinning with the stars above

And you lift me up in a wave of love

Tony slows when he reaches a dead end, leaving them atop a small hill. He shuts the car off and sighs, reaching over to squeeze Peter’s thigh.

Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

They say in heaven love comes first

We'll make heaven a place on earth

Ooh, heaven is a place on earth

Leaving over the dashboard, Tony hungrily kisses Peter on the lips. As the sit there making out, under the sun, with the breeze from the ocean, Peter can only think:

They’re going to be just fine.

The End.

[delusionalwriterr]

Resurgence (4)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!Reader

Summary: After accepting a mission from an old friend, you and along with the other Avengers set out to another planet to retrieve a mysterious gem. Little did you know that the gem isn’t the only thing inhabiting the planet and soon found yourselves in a sticky situation.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: slow burn, language, friendship issues, mentions of injuries, death, inaccurate depictions of space travel, angst, fluff

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters and any of the other fictional works mentioned.

Chapter 3 | Masterlist | Chapter 5

MORTVIVUS - 1 HOUR, 45 MINUTES, 23 SECONDS SINCE THE STORM

“Any luck?” you asked Bucky and Sam as you monitored the storm’s intensity. You were sitting in front of the computer as you tried to contact the Benetar, but the storm was blocking any signal for communication. Your leg was bouncing up and down at an abnormal speed as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, worried for your two teammates who were stuck inside of an alien temple. Steve noticed this and placed a comforting hand on your knee to try and calm you down. You looked at him and offered him a small smile.

“Nothing,” Bucky grumbled from the other end of the line, “it’s like it doesn’t want us to leave.” he continued as you saw them turn another corner through their suit cameras.

“Hey,” Sam called as he stood by one of the walls, “check this out.” He was standing in front of what seemed like cave paintings that were carved into the walls of the maze. They were several stick figures that were forming a circle around a stone. On the other side of the wall were the same stick figures forming a circle, but this time it was around a tree. “Are they worshipping it?” Nat asked as she watched through the screen. “Seems like it,” Bucky mumbled as he ran his fingers across the carvings.

“What about the tree though? I didn’t see anything out there,” Steve piped up. “Beats me,” Sam sighed, “any updates on the storm?”

Rhodey rushed to check the monitor. “The wind speed is decreasing. It looks like it’ll dissipate in an hour or so,” he informed, earning relieved sighs from the two men. “Great, the sooner we get out of this place the better— wait,” Bucky started, “was that there before?” he asked, pointing at something at the end of the hallway. You gaped at the screen. “Don’t tell me that’s—“

“Did we just find the center again?” Sam asked as the two of them walked towards the entrance of the middle room. “I swear this hallway was a dead end,” he muttered to himself as they entered the room.

Their eyes landed on the gem once again. It was still where they left it, sitting on top of its crystal podium and still emitting a green glow. “Stay alert, we don’t know when that doppelgänger will show up again,” Steve commanded as you watched Sam and Bucky approach the podium. “Who said there was only one of them,” Bucky mumbled as he started to reach for the stone only to have Sam slap his hand away.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Okay, first of all, ow.”

“Who knows what that thing can do, man! Don’t put your hands all over it!”

“Well if you’re so smart, why don’t you touch it!”

“That makes no sense, Barnes.”

“Rock, paper, scissors. Come on.”

“What? No!”

“Guys!” you shouted, catching the attention of both of them. “No one’s touching anything, alright? Until we’re sure it’s safe to hold, just steer clear from it.” you stated. Sam and Bucky nodded as they turned away from the podium and started making their way out of the center only to see you and Steve standing in the way of one of the exits.

“Something tells me that we should start shooting,” Bucky jeered as he aimed his gun towards the two aliens in front of them. Sam mirrored his actions. “Agreed.”

The next thing you knew, the aliens were climbing on the walls and the ceiling as Bucky and Sam fired bullets towards them. Bucky was chasing after the alien that looked like you while Sam was chasing after the one that looked like Steve. He was successful with putting a bullet through the alien, but his eyes widened when he saw the skin move against the bullet, immediately healing its skin.

Bucky tried to shoot you, but the bullet hit one of the torches, ricocheting back to him and piercing through just under his rib cage. He let out a strangled groan, making Sam turn to him. He cursed under his breath as he rushed towards Bucky and slung his arm around his shoulder. “Barnes is hit,” he stated, making your heart stop momentarily. You watched them as they waddled out of the room and continued to find an exit.

Not even a few minutes later, they managed to find a way out and luckily the storm was gone by then. “Come on, man, work with me here,” Sam grumbled as he heaved a limp Bucky out of the temple. They were met with the bright sun as they finally left the place they’ve been stuck in for almost two hours. “It’s hard to cooperate when you have a hole in your goddamn torso, Wilson.” Bucky croaked as he made futile attempts to keep up with Sam’s pace while they tried to outrun the two aliens in their pursuit.

“Oh, fuck it.” Sam hissed as he slipped both of his arms under Bucky’s and activated his wingsuit to fly both of them back to the ship.

You ran towards the doors and opened them just in time only to have Sam and Bucky fly past you before collapsing on the ground. You hurriedly shut the door before the aliens could come through and rushed over to your two teammates.

“Welcome back,” Rhodey called out. Sam threw him a dirty look only to have him throw his arms up in defense. You kneeled over Bucky who had his eyes closed and who was laying on the floor, clutching his wounded stomach. “Let me patch you up,” you said quietly. He opened his eyes to meet yours before slowly nodding and standing up to go to another part of the ship.

“So what’s it like shooting an alien that looked like your girlfriend?” you asked as you extracted the bullet from his torso. He let out a laugh as he was sprawled on top of the table before wincing at the pain. “Definitely wouldn’t wanna have to do it again,” he answered softly. You started to stitch him up, causing him to wince some more. He always hated needles.

“Quit whining, big baby,” you chuckled as you continued to stitch. You slid his glass of whiskey closer to him which he gladly took and drank all of it in one sip. Bucky hummed upon feeling the familiar burn of liquor run down his throat as he already felt his body becoming numb from the alchohol. “I’m your big baby, though.” he quipped as he placed the glass back down on the table.

You shook your head and smiled as you finished the last stitch before cutting any excess thread and setting down the first aid kit. He sat up with a groan only to be engulfed into your arms. You clung onto his neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “I almost lost you out there,” you mumbled, trying to keep tears from falling down.

He placed his hand on the back of your head and stroked your hair gently. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, doll.” he replied, placing a kiss on your temple. The both of you stayed in silence for another couple of minutes until a faint glow from his back pocket caught your eye.

“Buck,” you started as you pulled away to have a closer look into his pocket, “what is that?”

Bucky followed your gaze. “Oh, I managed to grab this on the way out,” he explained before pulling out what was the source of the glow. A green tint was casted on his face as he held the object in front of both of you. Your jaw dropped as you stared at the Resergentium Stone between Bucky’s fingers.

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