#and show up to the interview with any sort of spark in your eyes

[theanonymousbooks]

Online applications are designed like that to weed out anyone who isn't dead inside yet

[clarionglass]

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all good things should have a bit of malice in them (game master cinematic universe, part 7) | read on ao3

“Sam,” came the tentative voice from a little way down the corridor, and the man in question paused, turning to look at his colleague with a smile. Brian seemed… not quite worried, exactly, but distracted. There was tension in the way he tucked a wisp of hair that had escaped its customary ponytail behind his ear, like he was trying to keep his hands busy while his brain searched for the right words.

“What’s up?”

“I know I’m being manipulated,” Brian said slowly, “but I thought I’d ask anyway. Is there any chance that you’d consider putting the dematerialisation circuit back in Other Sam’s ship? Just for one quick trip?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No. Not for another few months of good behaviour, at least. Why do you ask?”

Brian sighed. The answer he’d received wasn’t unexpected, but it was a disappointment all the same. “No reason. Just… something silly, that’s all.”

“What did he say to you?” Sam asked, feeling a knot begin to form in his stomach.

“Honestly, it really wasn’t anything to be worried about,” Brian replied quickly. “It wasn’t a threat, or anything like that. It was just…”

He trailed off, looking almost wistful.

Sam frowned. The immediate spike of anxiety that had shot through him had dulled, fading to concern—a gentler emotion, but no more welcome. “Brian, what happened?”

“Well,” Brian started, taking a deep breath.

---

“I saw your episode of Very Important People,” a familiar voice had said behind him in an unfamiliar cadence, and Brian had nearly choked on his water.

“You watch the shows?” he asked in surprise, turning to look Other Sam in the face. The suit the Time Lord had chosen was a nice touch, he thought—the same cut and style as original Sam’s, but red-shifted to a sort of maroon-purple. “More evil,” indeed.

“Oh, you know,” Other Sam shrugged. “Always good to know a little more about who I’m working with. And you’re certainly an interesting one. You figured out the real time loop in Deja Vu before anyone else, did you know that? Well, of course you don’t, you—”

“Don’t remember,” Brian finished with him, allowing a touch of bitterness to intrude into his tone.

“Exactly,” Other Sam said, with a smile like a shark. “But I’ve been keeping an eye on you since then. You’re bright, for a human.”

“Gee, thanks,” Brian replied, letting the easy reach to sarcasm work to disguise the spark of genuine pride the words had kindled.

Other Sam didn’t look at all perturbed. “Take the compliment or don’t, your choice,” he said. “I’m just saying it because you seem to understand a few things better than the others. Like the perks of control.”

“Oh, hah, that was just a character, you know,” Brian blustered. “For the interview.”

“Of course,” Other Sam hummed in agreement. “Nothing at all like you, I take it?”

Brian nodded sharply.

“So you’re saying that if there was a way that I could get you those sorts of cybernetic enhancements, for real,” Other Sam said innocently, “you wouldn’t be interested?”

Try as he might, Brian couldn’t fully prevent the squeak that escaped him, and Other Sam grinned. 

“Maybe not the claw,” he said, “you didn’t seem as dexterous as would be ideal with that one, but the rest of it? That’s more than possible, and in so many different ways. A quick hop to the future, or any number of planets… All I’d need is to be able to use my ship again.”

There it was, the real reason for the offer, and Brian felt the hopes that had been rising in him despite his better judgement suddenly fall flat. Sam had told him what had happened during the ill-fated Sam Says 4 recording, and had revealed as much as he was able to about Deja Vu. He couldn’t give this guy the key out of the imprisonment he’d only just been put in.

He steeled himself and shook his head. “Sorry.”

Other Sam had just sighed delicately. “Suit yourself. I just thought I’d mention it. How noble of you, playing by the rules.”

And then he’d walked off, seeming none too bothered by Brian’s refusal, which was a relief in and of itself. From what he’d heard, he was worried that saying no might put him in actual danger. But no, he’d met with no consequences. All in all, not the worst encounter he could have had with Other Sam, and when he left the building later that day, the confidence he’d made the right decision sat firm in his chest.

But… damn, Other Sam was good.

That evening, Brian couldn’t keep his mind from returning to that faint wisp of a thought. The memory of the euphoria he’d felt when he opened his eyes to see the almost cyborg version of himself in the mirror haunted him in fleeting bursts. And if he was completely honest with himself, the possibility of living in perfect homeostasis, being able to just create without having to stop and take care of the necessary functions of life, was really quite appealing.

Days passed, and as much as he tried to keep his focus on other things, his thoughts kept drifting back to that particular topic. When it was just a bit of prop work for an improvised interview, it was something he could enjoy for the time it lasted, then put down again. But knowing that it was a real possibility… Even as he tried to suppress the idea, it only grew more seductive.

And when just sitting passively with that concept had become too much to bear, genuine transhumanism dangling within sight but just out of reach, he’d gone to find the real Sam. Of course he’d say no. Still… there was always the chance he might say yes, however slim that was. And he wouldn’t know for sure until he asked.

---

The concern in Sam’s eyes was now mingled with sympathy, and as the recipient of that particular look, Brian felt something in his stomach clench.

“It’s fine,” he said hastily. “Don’t worry about it. Just something silly, like I said.”

Sam looked sad as he drew breath to respond.

“Brian, it’s not silly when it clearly brought you so much joy.”

The words were right, the voice was right, the tone was right. But something was still distinctly wrong, and the hair on the back of his neck started to rise. And half a second later, his brain caught up to what his instincts had already realised, because it struck him like a fist in the gut that he hadn’t seen Sam’s mouth move at all. In fact, Sam’s voice had come from the wrong direction entirely.

He whirled to see Other Sam standing at his back, smiling at him with a look that could have been mistaken for genuine support.

“All I want to do is help,” he continued, every fibre of his being radiating sincerity and gentle patience. 

“Sure,” Sam replied with a roll of his eyes. 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Other Sam said. “I like him. He's smart, and he could almost think like me. With the right prompting, of course.”

Sam tried to suppress the shudder that rolled through him, and nearly succeeded. “You know the deal was hands off the team.”

“Oh, boo,” Other Sam pouted. “I wouldn't have offered if he didn't want it.”

“He's right,” Brian interjected quietly. 

“Brian—”  Sam started, then paused. His eyes narrowed. “Wait. What's ‘it’, exactly? What's he offered you?”

“Avery Goodman,” Brian said, and Sam nodded in recognition. “All of that. But for real.”

Looking into Brian's face, Sam could see plain as day that trying to dissuade him would be of no use whatsoever. He knew Brian was a smart man, knew that he'd probably considered all the dangers to working with Other Sam, even on something small. But the naked want that shone in Brian's eyes like a beacon burned brightly enough to drown all of that out.

Rather than facing that immediately, he turned to his doppelganger. “It's only been a couple of months, man. You're still very much a flight risk.”

“I know,” Other Sam replied contritely, then cast his gaze around before finally meeting Sam's eyes hesitantly. “But I suppose… Well, we don't have to go offworld for it. I can do a significant number of those procedures myself, as it happens.”

The coyness was very much staged. The way his eyes had lit up before saying that last part, Sam wondered if that hadn't been his double's plan the whole time. 

And implications aside, there were the practical details to consider. “Hang on. You're not doing surgery in my fucking studio!”

A shadow passed across the Master's face. “Not your studio. My TARDIS, and you'd do well to remember that.”

“I don't mind where it happens,” Brian piped up wistfully.

Other Sam placed a hand on his shoulder, the picture of magnanimity. “You see? The gentleman insists. And you've got nothing to be worried about,” he added, turning away from Sam to face Brian properly, and taking a step to propel them both in the direction of the console room. “I was very good at cyber conversion, and it's not something you forget in a hurry.”

“Who said I was worried?” Brian asked. His eyes had been shining since the word “cyber” had been mentioned. 

Sam, on the other hand, had been struck by “conversion”, and the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Just wait a minute.”

He pulled out his phone, bringing up the contact he'd been given months before. 

Hi Doctor, it's Sam. Quick question, is “cyber conversion” a good or bad thing? 

“—were right about homeostasis, you won't need to eat, or sleep, or any of those mundane things,” he heard his double say quietly as he waited for a reply. “And there are other pesky things that the procedure takes care of as well—”

His phone pinged.

No way. Sam Reich from Dropout Sam?? Oh my god I'm a massive fan, I was so jealous when the Doctor said he'd met you without me! 

Sam started to frown, confused, when another message appeared. 

Sorry!! Not the Doctor, I'm Ruby, we travel together. I've passed your question on though, and he'll get back to you as soon as we’ve got out of this giant space snail thing. Long story! 

“Are you ratting on me to the Doctor?” Sam's doppelganger asked with a hint of petulant disappointment. “Don't you trust me?”

A third message had popped up, and he opened it before responding. 

Doctor says cyber conversion is no good very bad do not let him do it to anyone, read the clearly hastily-written text. 

“No,” Sam replied. “And for good reason, by the sound of it.”

Other Sam just sighed. 

“I was going to say no to the whole ‘getting rid of my emotions’ bit,” Brian added. “And as much as having an electric blaster arm would be incredibly cool, I don't want that to come at the cost of being stuck in a metal suit for the rest of my life.”

Sam blinked. “Yeah. Not agreeing to all that sounds like a good idea.”

His doppelganger rolled his eyes. “Humans. You people don't know what's good for you.”

“Seems like it's what's good for you, not him,” Sam pointed out. 

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not,” Sam replied. “Look, Brian. What did you want out of this?”

Brian eagerly rattled off a few technical terms that Other Sam must have told him, which Sam tried fruitlessly to transcribe before giving up and asking him to repeat them into a voice memo.

What about these? he sent off to Ruby, with the memo attached. 

Doctor says fine, fine, dubious but okay if your friend agrees to it, and only do that last one under supervision, came the reply.

Okay, I know one of those words means something in the brain, Sam typed out. Please don’t tell me supervision means I have to watch brain surgery. I don’t know anything about brain surgery. And I really don’t want to watch brain surgery. Or any kind of surgery, actually.

The Doctor will do it! We’re nearly out of the snail, just hang on for a mo!

“The Doctor says that, and only that, would be okay,” Sam said slowly. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, if he was being honest, but the shine in Brian’s eyes made it worthwhile.

“Really?” he asked, and Sam nodded.

Other Sam smiled. “Wonderful. We can certainly make that happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, hang on a second,” Sam cut in. “The Doctor said he'll supervise.”

This news was greeted with the look of scorn he expected. “Oh yeah? Is he going to show up? Not likely. He never returns to where he left his mess.”

“Ruby said he would,” Sam shrugged. “Don’t know the how and the why, but she was pretty confident.”

“Ruby?” Brian asked.

“Presumably the latest stray he’s picked up to show off to,” Sam’s doppelganger sniped, his tone heavy with disdain, before Sam himself could get a word in. “She’ll be young. English, probably, or at least British of some description. Ooh, and if she’s blonde, I get an extra point.”

“Couldn’t say,” Sam replied. “We’ve only texted.” 

His double shrugged. “Just you wait. Anyway, Brian,” he said, the contempt dropping from his voice to be replaced by a honeyed gentleness. “Shall we get ready?”

He led Brian through the studio’s corridors, en route to an unremarkable door that was identical to, and somehow even less noticeable than, all the other doors along the way, Sam trailing behind them by a few steps.

He’d already seen inside the console room, back when his doppelganger was trying to make a good impression. Brian, however, had not, and much as Sam was worried by this entire turn of events, he still couldn’t wait to see the look on his friend’s face when he saw the TARDIS properly.

Brian, of course, did not disappoint.

His entire face lit up as Other Sam pushed the door open to reveal a wonderland of otherworldly technology, unrestrained by the confines of what, according to the expected laws of physics, should have been a cupboard-sized room. “No,” he breathed in disbelieving awe, then laughed, a noise of unrestrained, giddy delight. “Oh my god. Oh, my god.”

“Good, isn’t it?” Other Sam said, with no small amount of smugness.

“Good?” Brian repeated, turning in a slow circle to drink it all in. “Holy shit. It’s amazing, I love it!”

Despite his unease, Sam couldn’t help but smile as he watched the display of pure fascination. Even now, even though he was no longer a complete newcomer to the TARDIS, being inside the spacetime machine still felt like pure magic.

His doppelganger tolerated the marvelling for a short while longer, before impatience once again crept into his demeanour. “We’re here for a reason, aren’t we?” he prompted, a distinct bite to his tone. “This way.”

Brian nodded, sufficiently chastened, and with his friend at his side, followed Other Sam deeper into the ship.

“Here,” he announced after a moment. The room he gestured to was bright and sterile, set out like a futuristic operating theatre, and Brian felt his heart rate spike with anticipation as he crossed over the threshold. 

“Should I…?” he asked, motioning to the table in the centre of the room, and Other Sam nodded.

Sam watched as his double set out a bewildering array of medical tools, some familiar, some very not, then paused, examining Brian closely.

“Well, you look ready, and I know I am,” Other Sam said. “So all we need now is for our… supervision… to arrive.”

As if on cue, Sam’s phone lit up with a Whatsapp call.

“Sam!” the Doctor exclaimed, clearly peering around what he was able to see of the room. “And you must be Brian, hello!”

“Hi,” Brian replied, slightly awkward from his prone position on the operating table.

“Sam, babes,” the Doctor started. “Would you be comfortable getting close? I need to be able to see what’s going on properly. Or—ooh, there’s a screen over there, if you just—”

“Fine,” Other Sam sighed, intercepting the request with bad grace and the flick of a switch. 

From the other end of the call, Sam could hear the buzz of the Doctor’s sonic device, and with a squeal of feedback, the video call transferred itself onto the monitor that had just been turned on.

“There we go!” the Doctor grinned, his image blown up to fullscreen view. “Now I can see everything I need to, clear as a bell, and Sam’s got his phone back. And you all can meet Ruby!”

“Hiya,” came a cheerful voice from just offscreen, and a blonde girl—she couldn’t have been more than 20—popped her head into frame and waved. “He’s hijacked my phone, so I get to listen to live medical dramas while I try and get space snail goo off my favourite jacket.”

Sam’s doppelganger shot him a pointed look. “Told you,” he muttered with satisfaction.

Sam ignored him, instead focusing on the Doctor, who had taken back the call. “Brian, I just want to check before you get started on this. You know what these procedures are going to involve? And you fully consent?”

Brian nodded, utterly overwhelmed in the best possible way. “Y-yeah. I do. I consent.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. “I promise I’ll be keeping a close eye on him through all of this, so nothing will happen outside the limits of what you’ve agreed to, yeah?”

“Okay,” Brian agreed with wide eyes, unable to keep the tremor of excitement out of his voice. It was happening. Oh, god, it was finally happening.

Through the screen, the Doctor and Other Sam shared a look that neither of the humans in the room could quite decipher. But it seemed like some silent agreement had been reached, which was the main thing.

Other Sam picked up something that looked like a scalpel of light, and smiled down at Brian. “Ready?”

“Fuck,” Brian breathed. “Yeah. Ready.”

The Master put down the scalpel and placed his hands on either side of Brian’s face, making direct and unblinking eye contact as he did so. After a second, Brian’s eyelids fluttered shut, and all the tension of consciousness drained from his body. He was out like a light, completely dead to the world.

Hypnotic anaesthesia achieved, the Master flashed a satisfied smirk at Sam, who felt something in his chest go tight. That’s what happened to him the day the Master revealed himself, he realised, a simple little psychic violation that looked so quick and easy, and the air suddenly felt too thick to breathe.

“I’ll wait outside,” he said, and fled to the corridor.

Phone in hand, he spent a while just scrolling through the usual selection of apps to distract himself, time getting sucked into those familiar black holes, before another text from Ruby popped up on the screen. 

I think they’re nearly done!! But just while I’m thinking about it, and this is probably a really weird question so I’m really sorry, but is there an older woman who works at Dropout? English, late 60s, curly hair?

Sam frowned, opening his gallery and thumbing back through months of photos.

Like this? he texted back, attaching a picture from last year’s staff Christmas party. Third from the left at the back is Zan from costuming.

Oh my god. Yeah that’s her.

Sam frowned. Is that okay? I’ve never noticed anything weird about her, she’s actually really lovely.

It’s fine, I think, read the reply. It’s just we’ve been seeing a lot of this woman lately, or people who look identical to her. All in different places, all different, real people, but literally identical. And here she is again. Weird!! But probably nothing for you to be worried about.

That is weird, Sam started to type back, but was distracted by a thin seam of white light that grew wider and wider as the door to the control room opened, and Brian stepped out into the corridor.

That a transformation had occurred was undeniable. To Sam’s surprise, considering the surgery that his friend had undergone, Brian was remarkably unscarred, and the robot arm had been left out of whatever procedures had gone on in that room—but twin points of light peeked above the collar of his shirt, much like the red and yellow LEDs covered by the lab coat he had worn as part of his costume.

“You’re, uh, glowing,” Sam pointed out, realising as he said the words that he was echoing Vic. 

“Oh!” Brian replied. “Hang on, let me turn that down—”

He made a face of intent concentration, and indeed, the lights dimmed and faded altogether. The brightness in his smile, however, didn’t diminish in the slightest.

“Isn’t it brilliant? I’ve got total control, all from up here.”

He tapped his temple, beaming once again as his finger made contact with not flesh, but metal. The most obvious aspect of Brian’s cyborg transformation was the implant that curled around his eye—a near match to the silicone patch that had been glued on for his Avery Goodman costume, but possessed of a certain unarguable realness.

Sam just shook his head, at a loss for words.

“I can hide that, too,” Brian assured him cheerfully. With another look of focus, the air above the metal shimmered and blurred, and in as much time as it took Sam to scratch the sudden itch at the back of his head, it had cleared to reveal smooth, unmarked skin.

“Wow,” was all Sam could say for a moment, before a smile slowly dawned across his face. “Brian… fuck, man. I’m happy for you, genuinely. And I can’t tell you how glad I am that it all worked out.”

Brian beamed.

---

At the console of his grounded TARDIS, lost in thoughts of stolen freedom and schemes that should have been, the Master felt a not unfamiliar sensation at the back of his mind. It was enough to dispel the unhelpful reminiscences, and he smiled, slow and vulpine.

“Do you think it’s bad we didn’t tell him you did this part of it?” he heard, Brian’s voice in his mind as clear as if the other man had been standing in the room with him. “I mean, the Doctor knows, so that’s enough, right?”

“Of course it’s enough,” the Master sent back. “And Sam will find out eventually. But until then, you and I can have some fun.”

—

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): you are here!

[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Grandpa Ackles

Summary: Y/n was enjoying her husband’s new style post Supernatural, that is until a certain pair of glasses come onto the scene. How will Jensen feel about her teasing? 

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K+

Warnings: Language, age gap (implied), unprotected sex (don’t be silly..)

Author’s Note: This baby was born from a little razzing session I had with @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons regarding those glasses Jensen wore. It quickly turned into this mess that I forgot about in my drafts. I hope you enjoy it. As always I would love to hear your feedback xoxo Alex

Check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!

The love and support of the Supernatural fandom had been the spark that helped Jensen to come out of his shell. From singing at conventions to releasing his album and everything in between. He was far more at ease now than he had been back in 2005. But the truth was she hadn’t seen him blossom more than since the series finally wrapped. From getting to grow out his hair and the relentless press junket for The Boys, he’s been getting to show off his creativity and style like never before. Most of the time she was behind him all the way, but today’s choice had her questioning the man she had married. 

They were currently on set with Entertainment Weekly doing yet another interview. Y/n had followed her husband across Europe and now Los Angeles to support him in his recent endeavor. Now she found herself standing behind the cluster of monitors that showed each camera angle. Naturally, she was focused on Jensen, but not for the reason one would expect. 

It was like a train wreck, something she couldn’t look away from no matter how hard she tried. Her husband had first slipped the blue-tinted glasses onto his perfect face when they were about to walk out of the dressing room. At first, she had thought they were sunglasses and she was rightfully confused about him putting them on at that moment, but he walked right onto the set with them still in place and that’s when it hit her. They were a statement piece for his outfit. 

God, she loved her husband but she was seriously questioning his choices. The black-framed glasses were ever so slightly to big for his face. The lens appeared prescription strength in the way that they distorted his eyes to appear larger than reality. Sure, he wore reading glasses periodically at home but never had they made it into any sort of interview or red carpet before. Though he wouldn’t admit it to her, she knew it made him self-conscious about his age, especially considering the difference between them. So she would tell him how much she loved them, which wasn’t even the tiniest bit of a lie. Those glasses framed his face well and made him look refined. These on the other hand, well, as much as she tried to love them, it simply wasn’t happening. 

The interview lasted roughly an hour before they were back in his dressing room to pack up their things. Once he had cleared out the dressing room they hopped into a car to take them back to their hotel. Y/n waited with bated breath for him to remove the glasses, but he never so much as acknowledged them. Jensen conversed politely with her until they made it back to their suite. She plopped down onto the edge of the bed, watching him as he began to unpack his bag from the day. 

“Are you going to tell me why you keep looking at me like that?” He questioned finally, his one eyebrow quirking at her. 

“I-” Y/n chewed on the corner of her lip while she tried to find the words. “What is with the glasses?” 

“What do you mean?” Jensen crossed his eyes, playfully attempting to look at the specs without taking them off.

“Did you lose a bet…” her words trailed off, earning her a frown from her husband. 

“You don’t like my glasses.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t… not like them,” she tried with a smile but her husband knew her better than that. Jensen crossed his arms with a warning look, asking her to tell the truth. “Okay fine, they look like a bad 70’s accessory. I’m sorry, baby, but they are not it.” 

“These are Gucci,” he defended. Y/n hid her mouth behind her fingers, stifling a smile at his knee-jerk reaction to her opinion.

“I know this, and I love you, but just because you are playing, as you call him, a grandpa, doesn’t mean you need to dress like one.” Y/n made air quotes with her fingers as she talked. She knew she was digging herself a hole but damn it if she couldn’t stop talking. 

“Whatever, I need to change,” he scoffed as he began undoing the buttons on his shirt. The blatant roll of his eyes told her he was over this conversation but that didn’t stop what slipped out next. 

Y/n cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered, “Start with the glasses.”

Jensen froze, his eyes narrowing at his wife. She smiled at him, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. Before she could blink he darted towards her, his arms encompassing her as he tackled her into the bed.  A shriek left her mouth as the couple barreled into the plush furniture, quickly dissolving into giggles as he pinned her to the mattress.

“Careful, Jay, don’t need you breaking a hip.” Her words came out between snickers. She was quick to realize how worked up she had gotten him. 

“Funny, you weren’t saying that two days ago,” Jensen encompassed her with his form, one hand on either side of where her head lay. 

“Guess that was before I realized how close you might be to needing help from a little blue pill…” She let the words hang in the air, watching her husband’s jaw drop. 

“You gonna regret that,” he mumbled, dropping his voice as he cocked his head. 

“Promise?” Y/n bit her lip, a final challenge before Jensen dove in, capturing her lips with his own. Immediately she melted into the comforter, her hands moving to finish his job of undoing his top. Her work was distracted as the actor trailed his pillow-soft lips down her jaw and neck, using his tongue to suck the tender flesh into his mouth. A moan fell from her lips as he nipped her collarbone, the action egging him on. When she finally popped the last button, she hurriedly pushed the thin fabric from his shoulders. 

Jensen sat back on his legs, working open his belt and jeans as Y/n lifted her dress over her head. He let out a low whistle, letting his eyes roam down the expanse of her body, now just in a pair of panties. 

“I’m waiting, Grandpa,” she smirked, raising her arms above her head to emphasize her breasts for him. 

“Damnit woman,” he grunted, now in a hurry to rid them both of their offending bottoms. Once they were both exposed to the other, Jensen leaned back over her, again capturing her lips with his own in a heated kiss. He sucked her lower lip between his teeth as his hands ran down her curves. The action set her nerves aflame, warmth amalgamating low in her belly. 

In a second, his warmth was gone, and his large hands were flipping her onto her stomach. She rose to her hands and knees without a second thought, knowing that Jensen was not going to do her the courtesy of prepping her for him. The woman got no warning before her husband entered her from behind, his cock stretching her in every delicious and agonizing way. Her chin dropped to her chest as he set a grievously slow pace where she could feel every inch of him. 

“Fuck, Jay. Faster, please?” The words were a breathy plea on her lips. 

“What was that, baby?”

“I need more,” she reiterated. Jensen ran his fingers through her hair before gently tugging on the strands, pulling her frame up and flush against his own. His arms wrapped around her torso, the new muscles she loved so much dwarfing her body as he drove into her, faster with every thrust. His grunts were low, but deafening from their proximity to her. The sound was like music to her ears, each one helping to push her closer to the edge of oblivion. 

“Look at you, so wrecked from taking me like a good girl,” Jensen breathed out, his praises earning a whimper from his lover. “Do you think you deserve to come?” 

“Oh, fuck.” It was the only thing her brain could formulate at the moment. She knew this was a torture of her own creation. Y/n had pushed him to prove himself, knowing full well what would come of it, and damn it if she wasn’t regretting that now. The thing was he absolutely would deny her if she didn’t grovel. And it wouldn’t be the first time either. 

“I can’t hear you.”

“Nobody can fuck me like you. My body is yours.” It was the truth and had been since that first night together so many years ago. He had thoroughly ruined her for anyone else and still to this day proves that he knows her body better than herself. “I can’t come without you.” 

“It’s a start,” he murmured, his game punctuated with every thrust of his hips. His left hand traveled up to her throat, applying light pressure just above her collarbone. 

“Please.” She was nowhere near above begging him for release. 

“Since you asked nicely,” Jensen finally relented, using his opposite hand to press against her clit. The combination of sensations sent her over the cliff like a switch had been flipped. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the overwhelming sensations he continued to deliver until he too finished, rutting against her as he spilled himself inside her. 

His grip against her loosened and he let her back against the hotel comforter, taking care to keep her steady on her trembling legs. Y/n rolled over onto her back, staring blankly at the ceiling as her breathing evened out. Her husband joined her, resting his head against her stomach. Mindlessly her fingers came down to run through his long blonde locks. 

“Still think I need the blue pill?” He asked and she could feel him smile against her abdomen. 

“Fuck you,” she huffed out a laugh. 

“I think you just did.”

“Ugh, fine, you win this one, Ackles,” Y/n playfully pushed her husband from her side. “But next, time don’t expect me to cave so easily.”

“Oh?” One of his eyebrows shot up on his forehead and immediately she regretted her words. The actor was on her before she had a chance to blink, ready to prove himself as many times as it would take. 

Forevers: @440mxs-wife @akshi8278 @emoryhemsworth @ever-mischief @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @jbsgirl4ever11 @jensengirl83 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maggiegirl17 @maliburenee @muhahaha303 @mrsjenniferwinchester @sexyvixen7 @spnwoman @suckitands33 @stoneyggirl22 @supernatural3002 @traceyaudette @xlynnbbyx 

[sonicasura]

He knew how to get out of a collapsed cave and the human whelp opened up a hole for him to put a servo through. All he had to do was—in a split moment, he felt the rock around him close tighter in a stone clad vice! The gladiator hissed at the sudden change going stock still to avoid causing more stone to close in around him.

“Now.” An unfamiliar voice suddenly spoke simultaneously as the cave around him stopped closing in. “That you’re as snug as a bug in a rug. We can get to the interview~.” Whoever was holding him here spoke out in the human language, but with a strange inflection.

Megatron growled at the gall of whoever this was. “A pathetic insect seeks to entomb me to, to interrogate me? Do you have any idea of who you attempt to trap?!” He snarled, attempting to charge up his fusion cannon in order to shoot the worm who dared to try to entrap him!

Instead of the human he was expecting… a blue slitted eye met his optics through the hole. The creature(?) of sorts narrowed its eyes and a strange flicker of something had his fusion cannon powering down on its own. “First off, I’m a serpent. Second, not really.” It commented with a hint of amusement in its tone. “That’s the entire point of an interview.”

An rumbling chuckle reverberated around him.

“I mean, the mech who has enough gall to maim a Titan ought to be interviewed before said being makes him their chew toy.”

***************

Bluff admitted he was having a bit of fun riling up the warlord, but Pen knew that was what he did best after all. He was the motormouth among two teammates who were otherwise silent. The actor between a viewer and analyst! When it came down to it, beings only show their true selves under moments of stress. Pen would always default to the dependable leader despite her constantly ignoring dysmorphia.

Knell was the ever faithful watcher who paid back the cyber sleuth’s patience with ever persistent loyalty. His minion—heh, Ion—defaulted to the logical subroutines in order to avoid being scrapped for spare parts. Contrary to popular belief, the (currently) Seadramon was not blind to how the Hagurumon focused on getting results before revealing any tinkering they did with anything. Most likely a byproduct from when they originally inhabited the Factory.

He himself enjoyed figuratively getting people out of their inner shells and getting reactions.

“Now, let’s start with a question others have been dying to know—some who have died over it.” Bluff began, still holding the ‘enthusiastic’ persona. “What do the Decepticons stand for?”

He saw the Decepticon leader’s lip(plates) curl up in an inaudible snarl.

“Though I do not expect you to understand—beast—the Decepticons rose up to undermine the corrupt caste systems. Systems which kept the lower castes starving and forced to remain complacent while the higher castes dined like Primes.” Megatron answered, though the last word was said with as much venom as he could muster. “I spoke out after my victories in the Pits to get them to think. To truly comprehend the inequality infesting our home world.”

“Oh, that much I’m aware of.” The Seadramon assured the trapped cybertronian. “I’m asking what your faction stands for—now?”

“Excuse you?” Megatron questioned, a faint spark of confusion breaking through rage.

“Well, in starting the war. You’ve effectively eliminated a majority of the castes—now, all anyone considers is what they can contribute to one side or going neutral. Minicons are just about extinct, Seekers so seldomly rare, Titans reduced to shells of themselves, and the more like framed species such as Vehicons reduced to following stronger mechs to stay operable.” Bluff rattled off in quick succession, having gone over a majority of the data plucked from the warlord’s processor. “Cybertron reduced to a near wasteland so no new sparks will spawn.

You were quite thorough in your goal.”

A few moments of silence pass as the digimon laid out the long term effects of Megatron’s “conquest”. He was like a slightly saner version of Frieza when it came down to it—without the racism. So many lives lost to the point it was very unlikely the species would ever recover.

“…An army doesn’t feed itself, beast.” The Decepticon leader bitterly spat out over the comment on the Vehicons, most likely.

“An army also isn’t normally slaughtered by a mere five people either.” Bluff countered. “And yet, after your three year trip away from Earth. That’s the state in which your army finds itself in. Only now it’s down to four cybertronians. Say what you will about him, Starscream held down the warship while now ever since you came back you lose Vehicon troops like dust.”

—————————

One moment—Starscream was facing imminent crushing beneath a stone ceiling. And the next? He found a stone golem of some kind taking the load and kicking him out the space. The room collapsed in on itself a few seconds later meaning he never quite got a good look at his “rescuer”. A tremble remained in his wings even as he met back up with an oddly silent Megatron. His master’s silence made the situation all that more terrifying to the Seeker.

Looks like Megatron was slapped with some super solid truth. Though whether he'll heed it or not is up to him.

[whileiamdying]

David Lynch, Visionary Director of ‘Twin Peaks’ and ‘Blue Velvet,’ Dies at 78

By Chris Morris

NurPhoto via Getty Images

Director-writer David Lynch, who radicalized American film with with a dark, surrealistic artistic vision in films like “Blue Velvet” and “Mulholland Drive” and network television with “Twin Peaks,” has died. He was 78.

Lynch revealed in 2024 that he had been diagnosed with emphysema after a lifetime of smoking, and would likely not be able to leave his house to direct any longer. His family announced his death in a Facebook post, writing, “There’s a big hole in the world now that he’s no longer with us. But, as he would say, ‘Keep your eye on the donut and not on the hole.'”

The “Twin Peaks” TV show and films such as “Blue Velvet,” “Lost Highway” and “Mulholland Drive” melded elements of horror, film noir, the whodunit and classical European surrealism. Lynch wove tales, not unlike those of his Spanish predecessor Luis Bunuel, which proceeded with their own impenetrable logic.

After years spent as a painter and a maker of short animated and live action films, Lynch burst onto the scene with his 1977 feature debut “Eraserhead,” a horrific, black-humored work that became a disturbing fixture on the midnight movie circuit. His outré and uncompromising style quickly won the attention of the Hollywood and international movie-making establishment.

He was hired by Mel Brooks’ production company to write and direct “The Elephant Man,” a deeply affecting drama about a horrifically deformed sideshow freak in Victorian England who became a national celebrity. The feature captured eight Academy Award nominations, including Lynch’s first for best director.

He found less success with his 1984 adaptation of Frank Herbert’s sprawling science fiction novel “Dune.” The production, made on a budget of $40 million during an arduous three-year shoot, was a colossal box office flop.

However, Lynch rebounded from the disaster with two films that defined his mature style: “Blue Velvet” (1986), a frightening hellride through the psychosexual underbelly of a small American town, and the sexed-up, violent road movie “Wild at Heart” (1990), which was honored with the Cannes Film Festival’s Palme d’Or.

In 1990, he revolutionized American episodic TV with “Twin Peaks,” a series he created with writer Mark Frost. With action springing from the investigation of a high school girl’s mysterious murder in a Washington lumber mill town, the weekly ABC show plumbed disquieting, theretofore taboo subject matter and made the inexplicable a fixture of modern narrative television.

A major hit in its first season, “Twin Peaks” lost its momentum and ultimately its audience in year two. However, it spawned a feature-length prequel, 1992’s over-the-top “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me”; 25 years later, the ongoing affection of a loyal cult of viewers sparked a limited-run third season for Showtime that picked up where the second season left off.

Later in his career, in such features as “Lost Highway” (1997), “Mulholland Drive” (which won him the best director award at Cannes in 2001) and “Inland Empire” (2006), Lynch flexed a super-heated style that pivoted on plots emphasizing doubled personalities, unexplained transformations and shocking acts of violence. The quiet yet quirky “The Straight Story” (1999) harkened back to the more reserved emotional pull of “The Elephant Man.”

The director himself was consistently reticent about sorting the meaning of his work for his viewers. In the book-length collection of interviews “Lynch On Lynch” (2005), he addressed the enigmatic core of his work with writer Chris Rodley.

“Well,” Lynch said, “imagine if you did find a book of riddles, and you could start unraveling them, but they were really complicated. Mysteries would become apparent and thrill you. We all find this book of riddles and it’s just what’s going on. And you can figure them out. The problem is, you figure them out inside yourself, and even if you told somebody, they wouldn’t believe you or understand it in the same way you do.”

Lynch’s one-of-a-kind career was acknowledged by a special award (shared with his frequent star Laura Dern) at the 2007 Independent Spirit Awards and a Golden Lion at the 2006 Venice Film Festival.

He was born Jan. 20, 1946, in Missoula, Montana. His father was a research scientist for the Department of Agriculture, and his peripatetic family lived in the plains states, the Pacific Northwest and the Southeast before settling in Alexandria, Virginia, where Lynch attended high school.

An indifferent student, Lynch focused on painting. A one-year stay at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston and an abortive trip to Europe with his friend Jack Fisk (later a noted Hollywood production designer) were succeeded by his enrollment at Philadelphia’s Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts in 1965.

Living in a forbidding Philly neighborhood with his first wife and infant daughter Jennifer (later a director herself), Lynch began to dabble in film, directing the animated shorts “Six Men Getting Sick (Six Times)” and “The Alphabet” (1968).

“The Grandmother” (1970), a combination of animation and live action, was filmed with money obtained from a grant by the newly founded American Film Institute. In 1971, Lynch moved to Los Angeles to study filmmaking at the AFI’s Conservatory for Advanced Film Studies, headquartered in the former Doheny mansion in Beverly Hills.

Beginning in 1972, Lynch began work on a feature at the AFI. Inspired by his bleak years as a print engraver and struggling artist in Philadelphia, a 21-page initial script began to take shape; Lynch would later say he had no memory of writing it. Over the course of the next five years, he made the film with several collaborators who would remain constants in his career, including sound designer Alan Splet, cinematographer Frederick Elmes and actor Jack Nance.

Shot laboriously, cheaply and on the fly for five years, “Eraserhead” was released by indie distributor Libra Films International in 1977. The disquieting black-and-white film followed the psychological descent of its maladroit hero Henry Spencer (Nance) after the birth of his monstrously malformed baby.

Critics were decidedly alarmed by the picture when it premiered at L.A.’s Filmex in 1977, but it took on a commercial life of its own when Libra opened the picture at midnight screenings in New York, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Lynch would frequently appear at L.A. screenings, admonishing his mystified audiences, “Don’t ask about the baby.”

One enthusiastic viewer at a midnight show at L.A.’s Nuart Theatre was Stuart Cornfeld, a producer at Mel Brooks’ Brooksfilms. He urged Brooks to employ Lynch, and, after viewing “Eraserhead,” Brooks offered the director a job.

For his project, Lynch took on the story of John Merrick, whose sensational life story had already inspired Bernard Pomerance’s hit 1977 play. The film version of “The Elephant Man” was an entirely new enterprise, co-written by Lynch and starring a heavily made-up John Hurt as the sensitive Merrick, Anthony Hopkins as the London Hospital surgeon who became his guardian, and Brooks’ wife Anne Bancroft as a sympathetic West End stage star.

“The Elephant Man” had a powerful emotional impact, and became a box office and critical hit; Lynch received Oscar nods as best director and for best adapted screenplay, with the film also taking a nomination for best picture. The triumph led to a multiple-picture deal with Dino Di Laurentiis.

The sprawling space opera “Dune,” about galactic family dynasties warring over possession of a space-travel “spice” mined on a desert planet, had already defeated projected adaptations by Alejandro Jodorowsky and Ridley Scott when Lynch took on the material.

Filmed laboriously on Mexican soundstages with an enormous international cast, “Dune” sported an unusual Flash Gordon-meets-Antonio Gaudi production design, a memorable gallery of demented Lynchian villains and the director’s trademark amniotic visuals.

The picture satisfied no one: Both audiences attuned to the boisterous heroics of “Star Wars” and impatient critics rejected Lynch’s contorted, confusing and harshly digested reading of Herbert’s novel, and the film tanked on arrival. Lynch later told Chris Rodley that at the conclusion of the ordeal, “I was almost dead. Almost dead!”

However, Lynch’s second film for De Laurentiis defined the contours of his mature style. “Blue Velvet” starred Kyle McLachlan, who had played the messianic hero of “Dune,” as a small-town boy who is plunged into a whirlpool of sexual violence, murder and sadomasochism.

Featuring a potent cast that included Isabella Rossellini (with whom Lynch became involved romantically), Laura Dern, Dean Stockwell and, most notably, Dennis Hopper as its deranged, out-of-control villain, “Blue Velvet” polarized critics, but it cemented Lynch’s reputation as a fearless and daring film author. The film was the start of his collaboration with composer Angelo Badalamenti, 

Four years later, the Lynch style was brought to the small screen with “Twin Peaks.” Starring McLachlan as eccentric FBI agent Dale Cooper, the series used the investigation of the murder of homecoming queen Laura Palmer as a springboard into a swirling narrative vortex involving sexual intrigue, drug addiction, prostitution, madness and demonic possession. TV audiences tuned in to track the mystery and remained for the series’ complexly interwoven characters and perverse, at times supernatural plot twists.

The show’s first season scored 14 Emmy nominations, including nods for Lynch for writing and directing the pilot, but declining ratings after the drawn-out revelation of Palmer’s killer and Lynch’s diminishing participation due to production of a new feature led to a cliffhanging wrap-up at the end of season two.

However, the “Twin Peaks” saga had legs. Actress Sheryl Lee was brought back from the dead to play Laura Palmer in “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me,” which tracked the fateful last week of Palmer’s life in lurid, screaming detail. And cable audiences were baffled anew by 2017’s much-belated third season, which reunited McLachlan and several members of the original cast.

The truest legacy of “Twin Peaks” may have been its impact on the development of unusual long-form episodic series. Successors ranging from “Wild Palms” to “True Detective” all bore Lynch’s distinctive stylistic fingerprints.

Lynch’s first feature after “Twin Peaks,” 1990’s “Wild at Heart,” was an oddball exodus, based on a novel by Barry Gifford, in which an Elvis-fixated ex-con (Nicolas Cage) and his hot-to-trot girlfriend (Laura Dern) are pursued by the murderous minions of the girl’s jealous mother (Dern’s own mother Diane Ladd). Domestic reaction was mixed to the gory, sexually frank mix of “Detour” and “The Wizard of Oz,” but the Cannes jury was wowed.

Lynch’s association with Gifford continued with “Lost Highway,” for which the two collaborated on an original screenplay. A doppelganger murder mystery that foreshadowed “Mulholland Drive,” the disquieting, brutally effective thriller starred Bill Pullman, Balthazar Getty and Patricia Arquette as the players in a homicidal foursome.

After spending most of the decade on the far side of narrative coherence, Lynch came back down to earth with “The Straight Story,” the first feature in which he took no hand in writing. In the incongruously Disney-distributed picture, based on a true story, Richard Farnsworth starred as an Iowa man who drives from Iowa to Wisconsin on a power mower to visit his seriously ill brother.

Though not a major hit, the film was critically well received, and proved to Lynch’s naysayers that he was capable of bringing life to material that was not extravagantly outrageous. Farnsworth received an Oscar nomination for his performance; the veteran actor and stunt man, who was suffering from terminal prostate cancer during the production of the film, died by suicide in 2000.

An enlarged version of a prospective pilot for a new TV series became what may have been Lynch’s most widely acclaimed film, and a defining summation of the filmmaker’s themes and narrative obsessions.

“Mulholland Drive” served a darkly satirical comment on the ways of Hollywood in the story of a young actress (Naomi Watts) whose relationship with an amnesiac stranger (Laura Elena Harring) becomes a hall-of-mirrors story of manipulation, betrayal and suicide. Lynch was nominated for a 2002 best director Oscar.

Some of the same themes came to the fore in “Inland Empire,” Lynch’s first film to be shot entirely on digital video, with Laura Dern starring as an on-the-skids actress involved in typical Lynchian psychic disorder. Owing to its format, still a relative rarity theatrically in 2007, the three-hour feature was little seen after its 2007 premiere at the Venice Film Festival.

Beyond his work in film and TV, Lynch exhibited his paintings internationally and issued many solo and collaborative albums of music. He contributed a weekly comic strip, “The Angriest Dog in the World,” to the alternative weekly the Los Angeles Reader for eight years. His wry, deadpan weather reports were aired daily on the L.A. rock station Indie 103.1 for several years and continued on social media.

A devotee of transcendental meditation from the 1970s on, he established his David Lynch Foundation to promote the Eastern practice, and enlisted such stars as Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr and Donovan for fund-raising concerts.

Despite persistent rumors of new feature and TV projects after “Twin Peaks” came to an end in 2017, Lynch focused on making music videos and composing music with collaborators including Christabell. He offered his name to the David Lynch Graduate School of Cinematic Arts at Maharishi University and a line of coffee beans and designed Silencio nightclubs in Paris and New York. 

Lynch was married four times. He is survived by two daughters and two sons.

[songbirdsingingthings]

Lavender Haze - Shoto Todoroki x Reader

❀ Back to Navigation ❀

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

WARNINGS: none

A/N: lol hi this is inspired by queen TS

Word Count: 1.4K

Your body was cold, but your hand was warm as snow began to lightly fall. It was December in Musutafu, one of your favorite times of the year. The city just seemed to hold an all encompassing sort of glow – while the days became shorter, the lights burned brighter. Children all around were cradling carefully crafted snowballs in their hands, all the while ducking behind bushes and trees in order to get the jump on their friends. Garlands filled with ruby red ornaments adorned the streetlamps, menorahs were displayed in window sills, and holiday cheer was in full swing. And, holding your hand, your boyfriend.

Turning your head to the right, you find Shoto Todoroki keeping perfect pace with you. He looked perfectly content – his lapel jacket and scarf providing the little warmth he needed. He wasn’t even wearing gloves, but you knew that was because he was holding your hand. Using his quirk, he was able to keep your right hand nice and toasty, relieving the chill that tended to creep down your spine every time you exited your apartment.

He squeezed your hand. “I can feel your eyes on me, what’s up?” He asks, drawing a roll from your eyes.

“I’m not looking at you.” Shoto huffs a light laugh and sends an extra flicker of warmth through your palm.

“You’re right, you’re not looking at me. You’re staring.” His comment makes you laugh, leaning your body into his further.

“Fine. I’m staring.”

“Any reason why?” You frown, slightly, at his question and wiggle your left hand further into the pocket of your down jacket.

“I guess I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Your admission was fair. For the past few months, a frenzy had descended upon you and Shoto. All of the tabloids wanted every detail of your relationship. It was bad enough that you were both Pro-Heroes, but due to Shoto’s standing in the rankings, he was a hot topic. Ever since a picture of the two of you at a fundraising gala went viral, the conversation regarding your relationship became public gossip. Sure, your relationship has been public since the very beginning. Shoto asked you for a first date in the mid to latter half of your third year at UA, and since then, he has been yours ever since. 

It was peculiar – no pictures of the two of you had sparked this much popularity previously. There had been plenty of pictures before, ones much more “scandalizing” than this one, however the public seemed to zero in on one tiny detail; a delicate band of silver resting on your left ring finger.

That damn ring caused an absolute frenzy to occur at every news station and magazine publishing house. You and Shoto could not catch a break. No matter how many times the question was masterfully avoided in interviews, it always seemed to work its way back into fruition.

“I am too.” Shoto’s response was solemn and understanding. This was the first time in quite a while that you weren’t bombarded on the street with fans asking when the wedding was. It didn’t matter that it was your grandmother’s ring that you were wearing in her memory, or the fact that people wouldn’t care to hear your genuine explanations – all they heard were excuses. “But,” he continued, swinging your hands back and forth a little, “let’s try and be in the moment.” He leans down a bit and presses a whisper of a kiss to your cheek, keeping you pendulum of hands going. You smile and nod, letting a timid flush creep onto your face.

“Okay. Holiday shopping it is then.”

It took only five minutes of you and Shoto being in a store for a crowd to descend upon you two.

“Shoto, is it true you popped the question?!” A young fan asked, their eyes boring into the center of your boyfriend’s skull.

“Y/H/N, please show me what your dress will look like! Is it a custom design?” A teenage girl demanded, clinging onto your arm.

“Please televise the whole wedding! It’s basically the closest thing we’ll get to a royal wedding.” Another begged.

You laughed awkwardly as the bombarding questions continued, stepping closer to Shoto, whose arm snaked around your waist almost instantly.

“Um, look guys, we appreciate the, uh… support. But we’re not engaged.” You explain, gripping onto the cashmere sweater you were fawning over earlier tighter. Out of the corner of his eye, Shoto noted that small movement and drew you impossibly closer to him.

“Come on, we can’t wait around forever. Get married or move on so the next person can get in line.” You could hear a pin drop, the room became so silent. Eyes flicked around to find whoever said it, but whoever the perpetrator was didn’t matter. The comment struck the both of you so hard that you were gobsmacked. In a flash, Shoto took the hanger that the sweater was on from your hands and hung back on the clothing rack.

“Okay, we’re done here.” He murmured, shuffling the two of you through the throng of people. 

The cold now, as you exited the store, was much harsher than before.

“I told you, I’m fine. I was just surprised at the comment. You were too!” You say, cradling a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Beneath a chunky knit blanket and lounging on the plush couch of your apartment, you watched Shoto walk towards you. He himself held a steaming mug, green tea in place of molten chocolate, and tugged some of the blanket over his legs.

“I’m not saying I wasn’t, I’m just saying that the comment was ridiculously out of line.” He paused to take a sip of the tea. “And, I know you’re upset that we didn’t get to finish looking at that store.” A small smile spread across your face but you kept your eyes on your mug. “Y/N?” His voice is softer now, much more cautious.

“I… I-yes, I’m bummed that we couldn’t really spend a normal day out, but I guess I sort of signed up for that when becoming a Pro-Hero.” You say as Shoto laid an arm over your shoulder. “I just wonder when it’s all gonna stop.” Shoto hummed in acknowledgement, massaging a knot in your neck gently.

“I think that all this frenzy will never completely disappear,” he says, keeping his eyes on yours. “But as long as we’re here,” he kisses your cheek, “together,” a peck to your other cheek, “and we just enjoy each other,” a lulling kiss to your lips, “then we’ll be okay.” You sigh in comfort, curling into Shoto’s boy as his hand moves from your neck to playing lightly with your hair. You bite your lip, suddenly, to suppress a laugh. Shoto, of course, notices and raises his brows. “Something funny?”

“No,” you admit, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “Just thought a nice plan B was to get married.” His body shakes in laughter.

“Oh, I plan on proposing to you. Just not for the sake of the public.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course.” A smirk spreads across your face.

“Then the rock on that ring better be huge. You know, so everybody can see it when they watch the live broadcast.” You laugh as Shoto leans his head back over the edge of the couch, releasing a fake groan of annoyance.

“And the flowers?” He asks, egging you on.

“No flowers. I want lavender, dripping from every corner.” You answer earnestly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Shoto contemplates your answer before pressing a smacker of a kiss to your lips, making you shy away in laughter.

“Lavender it is.”

“So, are you gonna propose to me or not? I mean, we’re deciding our wedding before I have a ring on my finger. It’s counting your chickens before they hatch.”

“I suppose so. But, the difference is, I’m telling you – I will propose.” You smile and settle back into his arms.

“Alright then. That’s good enough for me. Is it good enough for you?” You ask.

“It’s good enough for me.”

“Good. That’s all that matters anyways. That we’re both happy.” One final kiss seals the conversation with a wax stamp, putting it out of the way. Off your desk and off of your chest. And now, you two can just stay in that lavender haze.

Taglist:

@luluwiie​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@maiacroson​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@nerdypuppytimemachine​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@softvanlla​ All-Flora Florist

@catguinsstuff ~ All-Flora Florist

@smallxbunny​ ~ All-Flora Florist

@the-emo-asgardian​ ~ Snowbell Florist

@lovers-liability​ ~ Snowbell Florist

@palenightmarepersona​​ ~ All-Flora Florist, All-Tree Arborist

[bitterkarmaa]

I don't know what dialog prompt this would be, but I'd love to see one showing how your Eclipse would react/interact with Lord Eclipse, knowing what this other Eclipse had done- and that Lunar is gone. Maybe the "You look like you've seen a ghost" prompt?

Oooooo interesting idea!! I’ll give it a shot for sure! This also won’t be canon as of yet, just a “what if” scenario :)

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

-God Eclipse & KB Eclipse-

Eclipse hadn’t exactly meant to mess with inter dimensional travel today. It was just…Moon was out, and Eclipse was curious as to what that odd file was that he discovered while backing up Moon’s computer, and then he clicked on it and…ended up here.

He’s had a dull ache in his chest ever since he arrived, and, as time went on, it began to worsen. A tug inside him, trying to drag him back to his own world while also unable to force him out of this one.

He wanders aimlessly. The halls of whatever large-ass building he’s in seem endless. The walls are decorated with vague pictures, artwork depicting events completely foreign to him. The windows are fancy, tinted and such, but the view they display is a stark contrast- broken mounds of rock hover amidst the sky, surrounded by pillars, making it seem like a cage. The buildings below sit in shadow, a feeling of defeat hanging over each roof.

Each new corridor makes him want to scream. Distant whispers crowd his head, a voice that is not his own telling him to run, that it isn’t safe here. It warns him of seeing things that he doesn’t want to see. He stifles the slight discomfort in favor of a spark of indignation.

How could this voice inside him know what he wants? It is, quite obviously, not him.

But, the moment he emerges into the expansive and overbearing library, he begins to understand.

The books aren’t organized alphabetically, and very few of them have actual titles. Instead, there are dates. Each book is labeled with a day, a year, and a month. Nothing more, nothing less. They all have orange covers. They are all hardback.

They are all covered in dust.

“There is someone here. An intruder.”

A distant voice, taunt with disdain and annoyance, sounds from across the room. Eclipse looks up from his skimming of the shelves, rays retracting as he realizes just how…alike that voice sounds to his own.

His hand comes up, gliding over his vest, hovering over the place that the scar is. His claw tips grace the fractured metal, then he presses his back against the shelf nearest him, claws curling into the fabric of his clothing.

Panic rushes over him in waves.

Didn’t he already do this? Didn’t he already face his worst self?

Didn’t he already lose?

“I-I didn’t see anyone, sir. The buzzer didn’t go off, either.”

Another voice. More timid, more submissive. Sun.

“I don’t care. Search in every crack and crevasse. I don’t like uninvited guests.”

Eclipse shudders.

“Y-Yes sir.”

Oh God. Oh God. He shouldn’t be here. That voice was right, he doesn’t wanna see shit here aside from any possible exit.

He clenches his hands into fists. Closes his eyes and counts to ten in his head, like Moon taught him to help him calm down when he’s angry. He’s not angry. But he’s scared. Isn’t scared just as bad?

Soft, uncertain footsteps approach from the other side of the shelf, nearest the banister that seems to separate one section of the library from the other. Eclipse takes a step back, then another, and another, but he isn’t able to make any sort of escape before the figure turns the corner, eyes flying wide at the sight of him.

Yep. That’s Sun.

But damn, does he look like shit.

His rays are dented, some of them cracked, while others are bent in ways that would prohibit them from both rotating and shrinking in. Scratches line his plating like rivers running through a forest, endlessly reaching out in every direction. His clothing lacks the normal theme of a jester- he looks more like a homeless man going in for a job interview with the best clothes he has. Which looks to be a t-shirt, button-up, and some sad looking pants that he can’t quite make out into any style off the top of his head.

“Don’t say. A word.” Eclipse warns under his breath, watching in mild alarm as Sun’s expression shifts from disbelief to complete and utter horror. He opens his mouth, but Eclipse lunges forwards and clamps a hand over his faceplate before he can.

“Shhh!” He hisses, his own rays retracting further as he hears movement from across the room. Sun’s eyes dart from Eclipse to the direction of the noises, then back to Eclipse. He seems conflicted.

“Sun? What did you find?” The voice calls, his voice calls, sounding less patient this time around. Eclipse releases Sun, and he turns to run in another direction before coming in contact with-

What the hell?

Is that supposed to be him?

Sun falls onto the floor, scrambling away as the power-ranger-esk version of Eclipse towers over him, a clear look of disdain coating his face.

“I-I was surprised sir! You h-have to understand, I-“ Sun begins to explain, but is cut off by a simple glare from his superior.

The other Eclipse looks up, over to his more scarred counterpart with mild intrigue on his face.

Eclipse himself, on the other hand, looks petrified. This is just like before, but worse. If he was a human, he would be considerably paler by now.

But instead, his hands shake at his sides, and he clenches them into fists again to hide their tremor. He can feel his broken eye heat up behind the cracked, blank glass that covers it. Sheer terror freezes him in place.

“Ah…” The slightly larger, more intimidating Eclipse hums, stepping forwards to grab hold of Eclipse’s face as he tries to step away. He claws at his captor’s wrists, desperately trying to free himself, like a frantic cat.

“Interesting…” The other continues, making Eclipse slow his efforts in favor of looking up with big, fearful eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. But, I assure you…” His grip tightens, a crazed look dancing in his eyes. “I am very real.”

For some reason, his tone makes the terror dissipate. In it’s place, anger rises. Who does he think he is?

“Where did you come from, vermin? You must’ve lost something, because your face looks like a sad replica of mine.”

Who the fuck does he think he is?

A warmth fills his chest, burning him from the inside out in a way that only fuels his fury. His grip on his opposer’s wrist tightens, claws digging into the metal plating of what he can only assume to be some sort of battle armor. How bored is this guy?

“And you look like a bitch. Does that make you my bitch?”

The other’s eyes darken with a sick sense of pleasure, as if he was waiting for Eclipse to slip up, to lash out just enough for a viable excuse to attack.

White cracks arch up Eclipse’s chest, neck, and then come to rest on his face. His bad eye flickers, the hint of an orange pupil coming to life in it’s depths. The cracks emit a light that religious people would call holy.

The warlord’s gaze becomes tainted by confusion, just long enough for Eclipse to bite down on his hand like a rabid animal. His teeth sink in, metal breaking with harsh CRACKS and SNAPS.

Eclipse is promptly chucked into the nearest wall. He sees Sun wince in the background, as if having been rooting for him for some reason or another.

But he’s not down yet. He’s not out.

He propels himself off the wall, latching onto the power ranger with such force that it manages to bring him off his feet. The two collide with the floor, splintering the wooden boards.

Eclipse perches atop the other’s chest in a pose best suited for Blood Moon. Leaning back on his haunches, clawed hands splayed out over his opponent’s face crudely, having no target aside from whatever can be reached.

With a grunt of frustration, the overlord throws him off once more, tossing him aside like an annoying puppy.

Eclipse doesn’t collide with a wall this time around. He flies through the air like a firework, then finally begins to fall. The world is a rush of color. He can barely make out his surroundings. In one last ditch effort to save himself, he reaches his claws out towards the banister, scrambling mid-air for a hold.

He jerks. His claws find purchase, jolting him out of his free-fall.

He dangles over the edge, looking towards the odd floating bridge only a few feet away that leads off towards the other half of the library.

Footsteps approach. He looks up, into the eyes of the ruler, the God that smiles sweetly as Eclipse begins to slip.

“Such a shame,” He muses, “That I had Sun clean those this morning.”

Eclipse glowers up at him, but his expression shifts to alarm as he struggles to maintain his hold. He scrabbles vainly at the slick wood for a moment, watching the amusement gleam in his audience’s eyes, before his grip slips. Air rushes up around him, but…only for a moment.

His hand is firmly clamped in someone else’s grip.

He looks up again, gazing at Sun as Lord Eclipse stares his servant down incredulously.

“You have one.” Sun explains in a rush, almost breathlessly.

“What?” Both Eclipse’s speak at once.

“You have one!” Sun repeats, intense gaze boring into Eclipse as the beat up, abused animatronic maneuvers around, pulling Eclipse back up onto the bridge with as much effort as he can muster. Lord Eclipse has already begun to stalk towards them.

He thought this was finished. How dare his underling make him look like such a fool!

Sun presses his finger to Eclipse’s chest frantically, eyes darting down to the shimmering cracks before turning back up towards Eclipse’s eyes.

“Use it.” Sun hisses.

What?

Use it?

Use what?

Eclipse stands quickly, putting himself between Sun and the cocky bitch as said cocky bitch saunters over like he’s completing the most mundane task known to man.

Sun grabs Eclipse’s sleeve, cowering behind him.

“USE IT!” He shouts, and Eclipse’s expression hardens.

“ᴀ𝒕 𝞬𝝾𝚞𝖗 ᴡ𝘪𝜤𝙡,” The odd voice returns, sounding stern in his head, “…Ꮷ𐓪 𝗒ჿ𝝊𝒓 𝕨ᴏ𝖗ｓ𝐭.”

Eclipse raises his hand, cursing it’s tremble as the overlord looks on in pity.

Pity?

Anger submerges his fear. His hand stops shaking.

The cracks reach out further, slithering down his arm until it has reached his fingertips. Outlined against his palm, in eerie white light, sits a star emblem. A star emblem that wipes that cocky look right off the bitches’ face.

For a moment, he almost looks afraid.

“I don’t see ghosts.” Eclipse smiles. “I am one.”

And then, the world around them crumbles with a bright flash of light, and a snap of the universe righting itself once more.

Eclipse has a hard time explaining why he appears in the daycare with another Sun the next day.

Moon looks on, a knowing smile on his face. He doesn’t mention how protective Eclipse seems over this new Sun, but he knows…

He knows why.

He would never tell the tale, but he knows exactly where that Sun came from. And from the look that the dimmer, less excitable version of his brother gives him…Moon knows that Sun remembers that day, too.

But Eclipse still has a lot of questions, one of which, being:

Where was Lunar there?

Did I leave him behind?

The thought plagues him endlessly, and that voice in his head doesn’t return to tell him whether leaving then was right or wrong.

In fact…it’s been rather quiet lately…

[iwadori]

When they neglect you for another girl Part 4 (Sakusa)

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Word Count: 2.6K

Genre: Angst to Fluff

masterlist

AN: YES I DID PUT MYSELF IN THIS STORY! SUE ME. This is basically inspired by a random conversation i had w the great @teesumu, so this is basically for you doll <3

Sakusa:

You and Sakusa have been together for a around 10 years and love eachother immensly.    

However recently Sakusa has been busy and you havent really had much time together lately as he claims been busy doing loads of visits with his new agent.

But of course, being the loving partner you are you wanted to revive the spark in your relationship.

You have been seeing a lot of people on social media posting their aesthetic ‘picnic dates,’ and you knew that this was something that appealed to you before it was ‘on trend.’ Kiyoomi immediately came to your mind once you had the idea of going on a date. You knew that you haven’t be around each other lately, as Kiyoomi always had either a ‘meeting’ or some sort of ‘interview’ that his new agent “Empress” has set up for him.

You didn’t really know Empress that well, just that she was ‘good at her job,’ a ‘hard and dilligent worker,’ and a ‘raging hottie’ with Atsumu’s opinion being the last one. You weren’t suspecting her to have any malicious intent towards you or Kiyoomi, since you knew that he had a great judge of character. But it was just odd, that every time Kiyoomi was running late or having ‘super-secret’ conversations on the phone it was always because ‘my agent set up this,’ ‘my agent set up that,’ and that’s what left you a bit wary.

As you were scrolling through your phone you see a calendar updating saying : Next Week‘ A DECADE AGO WE FELL IN LOVE.’  

10 years. How could you forget? You and Omi have literally been together for a decade. You think back to the decade of madness and love you’ve been through together, smiling fondly to yourself but then you think about where you are now... barely even talking to each other, only mainly seeing him when he comes home from work.

You need to fix this. Or at least make an attempt to get you and Kiyoomi talking again. So, the only thing you can do, is plan that picnic.

You spent the rest of the day planning your anniversary picnic. ’It’s going to be great,’ you think to yourself, you have a list of all Omi’s favorite foods you're going to make him and bring and you are probably going to pick up a few board games and maybe even get some paint supplies. You and Kiyoomi used to paint a lot together, with the two of you not being the best of painters, but you enjoyed eachothers company non the less.  

Everything was sorted...for the most part. All you needed to do was get Omi there, and it’ll all be okay. Right? As you were bubbling and looking for more picnic inspo, you hear your front door open which made you even more excited to tell your boyfriend your plans.  

As you rush to go greet him, you see he’s on the phone making you roll your eyes. “No Empress it won’t work, we need this sorted by next week. Okay? Next week.” he says in an agitated way. He hangs up the phone and sighs, shoving off his duffel bag.

“Hey Omi, how was your day?” you say a bit hesitant, noticing his annoyed mood.  

“Fine” He said dismissively, aiming to walk past you aiming for your bedroom.

“Oh well I have something amazing planned for ne-” you try to say following after him.

“Can we not do this right now Y/N,” he says again turning too look at you making you frown a bit, all you wanted to do is surprise him with your plans and have a day out with him. After noticing your sad look he finishes with “it’s just that Empress she’s bee-”

“I don’t want to hear about her.” you say bitterly folding your arms, Empress is the last person you want to hear about right now “God Omi can’t you just care about me? For once.”

“I do I-”

“You don’t anymore,” you say, with all the emotions and feelings you’ve been just supressing from a while coming up. You don’t even know how you got from point A to B with this conversation, but there's no stopping now. “I feel that, for a while now we haven’t been how we were before when we were just Y/N and Kiyoomi. Instead of how we are now. Just Y/N. Then Kiyoomi and Empress.”

After hearing his agents name, Kiyoomi’s name contorts to confusion “Empress? What does she have to do with anything?”

“How can you not see? For the past month all it’s been is ‘Empress this’ ‘Empress that,’” you complain “Having your super secret conversations with her, like god Kiyoomi can’t you see a problem with this?”  

“It’s not like that Y/N, we’re just work partners” he says looking a bit annoyed “Just business.”

 “Just business? So Kiyoomi, what were you talking about on the phone earlier” you say with your voice slight accusingly.

“Umm I, I can’t really say?” he says more of a question then a fully assured statement. You squint your eyes at him and scoff.

“What is going on with you Omi?” you say “are you cheating on me with her is that it?”

“No, no of course not Y/N! How could you even ask that?” he frowned at your question making your chest hurt, since deep down you knew he could never do that to you. Could he?

“Well tell me then, what were you talking about?” you ask again.

“I can’t say..” he finishes  

“Well I can’t stay.” you say and his face goes back to confusion “Here. With you.”

“What do you mean Y/-”

“I need a break or something. I just can’t be here right now.” You start to rush and pack a big of things whilst Kiyoomi just stands there.

After you pack up your stuff, you look back and see Kiyoomi just there. Standing. You were upset, you kind of wanted him to rush after you and beg you not to leave, but he was just there. Standing. So you put the hand on the door and just before you leave you turn back and say “bye Sakusa, see you later?” to which you see him slightly nod at.

When the door shut, Kiyoomi starts to cry. After hearing you call him by his last name really twisted the knife that was already in his heart. You haven’t called him that since you were like 15. He knew what you wanted; he knew you wanted him to rush towards you and beg you not to leave, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. But what he could do is call the one person he only could call.

After a few rings, he hears “What do you need Saku?”  

“She’s gone, she left.”

“What do you mean she’s gone, did you tell her?”  

“No I didn’t tell her. And that’s the problem, Empress she think-”

“Saku, don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.”

“You’ll handle it?”

“Don’t I always?”

He couldn’t argue with that, he just had to trust that Empress could sort it. “And also, don’t spend the week with your head up your ass crying, you’ve got a lot of grovelling to do kiddo.”

He nodded even though she couldn’t see him, as he knew that what just went down needed to be resolved, fast.

Meanwhile, on your end. You’re a mess. Sobbing all the time, tissues are your best friend, you’ve been waiting just waiting for a message or a call, or some form of communication. You just wanted to feel wanted by your boyfriend (can you even call him that now.)  

You spent the rest of the week at your parents, immersing yourself in your work and doing ‘self care’ things, trying to forget all about the argument you and Kiyoomi had.  

One day, you receive a letter, it wasn’t delivered by a mail man though. It was slid under your door, in a golden envelope sealed with a red hot wax seal. It read:

‘Dear Y/N,

My sweetheart, im sorry for how the week has been and I know a letter with only a fraction of how I feel won’t make up for how I acted that day. But im inviting you to join me at the Gardenia Botanical Gardens at 2 pm tommorow, to celebrate our 10 year anniversary.  

I know there is a big chance, you may not want to see me and I understand but please. I love you, so so much, that words can’t even describe. But I need you to see me apologise and I need to make it up to you.  

I hope to see you there, I’d wait the whole day for you. If you don’t show, I understand.

Sincerely, Sakusa Kiyoomi

P.S The theme is ‘summer hot day, tea with the queen’ - Atsumu’

You smile at the letter, but wonder if you should actually go or not. You did want to see him of course and get this all resolved, but you had your own plans for your anniversary which wouldn’t of been spoiled if he didn’t withhold his super-secret phone calls.

It took you hours to contemplate on what to do, but you decided to just sleep on it and see how you feel tomorrow. In the morning, you knew what you wanted to do. Of course, you had to go, at least to hear him out and see if he really did cheat on you or not. For all you know he’s inviting you to tell you that he’s going to run away with his agent and his secret kids they had together. You shook the negative thoughts from your head and just repeated your mantra ‘hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’

When you got there, you didn’t exactly know where he would be but he said ‘botanical gardens’ so of course you decided to just wander around there. It was nice walking around and just smelling the roses, and seeing the pretty scenery.  

“Excuse me ma’am,” you hear someone say tugging on your leg “um that mister over there told me to give you these.” Looking down, you see a small boy who looked about the age of four with a crumpled up bunch of roses handing them to you.

“Oh thank you,” you say giving the kid a head pat “where is this ‘mister’ might I ask?”

“He’s over there!” The kid pointed behind him and you look to see Kiyoomi sitting under a white gazebo which is surrounded in your favorite flowers and the table is filled with food.

You walk over to your ‘boyfriend,’ with him not noticing your present yet. When you reach him you say “I think she stood you up buddy,” you joke making him jump abit startled.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, instantly beaming “You came you made it!” he stood up and pulled you into a hug, which you return before you remember why you came here in the first place.

“Oh I-” he says awkwardly

You decide to sit down pulling him down with you. You kind of sit there in uncomfortable silence, for a while until you both say.

“So I-”

“What are yo-”

You both laughed at your simultaneous comments, before Kiyoomi looks at you letting you speak. “What did you want to bring me here for?”

“I didn’t want, what happened last week to happen Y/N I-” he says looking a bit panicked “It wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

“Then how was it meant to go Sakusa.”

“Y/N, please don’t call me that, I know I made you upset but pleas-” he starts before getting distracted again “Y/N, I called you here to say a few things..”

“Them being.?” you ask a bit impatiently.

“I love you. I love you so much, you don’t even understand. Ever since I saw you at my volleyball game in our first year, in the stands just cheering us on. I knew that from that day, after I scored the winning point and our eyes met, that we were destined to be together. I just love you so much Y/N”

“Omi I don’t understand I-”

“Just let me finish please, It’s taken a while for me to say this. And trust me, there’s been so many times when I wanted to just say ‘hey Y/N let’s get married,’ but I couldn’t I was scared, and I wanted it to be perfect, so perfect. Because you deserve the world Y/N. That’s why I got Empress to help, I know that our conversations may seem odd, but I love you and she knows that she just wanted to help trust me. And she did, all this wouldn’t of been done if it wasn’t for her. But anyways Y/N what I waned to say was I love you and I love you and I-” he rambles on loosing track of his words.  

But in the midst of his speech, you hear all that you needed and responded with the only way you can.

“Yes.” you say simply, with a growing smile on your face.

“Yes?” he repeats confused “What do you meann ye- ohhh" Kiyoomi blushes embarrased that after all that he ended up ruining the thought out proposal he wanted to give you with his ramble.

“Im sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to say it like that I wanted it to be perfect and I-”

You shut him up with a kiss making his eyes widen as he reciprocates it anyways.  

“What did she say?” you hear someone shout from a far, and you look over to see the MSBY Jackals all standing there with shit eating grins on their faces.

“I said yes!” you yell back, to which they all cheer and rush towards you guys giving you both hugs and slapping Kiyoomi on the back.  

As the boys celebrate Omi finnally do what he’s been planning for ages, you get approached by Empress who awkwardly walks up to you. “ I didn’t want to leave the impression that me and Saku were any sort of thing?” she says

“Yeah I think it was definitely a big misunderstanding, it’s just that Omi was never around and whenever he was he was just talking to you and you know how it is.”

“I definitely know, I’d feel the same way if my boyfriend did that to me.”

“Oooh boyfriend?” you ask her feeling nosey on her romantic life.  

“Yeah boyfriend. You know iwaizumi hajime... the trainer?” she says smiling a bit when she said his name.

“The trainer! Nice.”

The rest of the night was fun and was basically an engagement party for you and Omi all you and friends just partying and celebrating yours and Omi’s love for each other. “Omi” you say getting his attention “Happy ten year anniversary babe”

“Happy anniversary, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

After the party you spend your months now planning for a big fat wedding, with the help of your new found bestie, Empress (who you obviously misjudged from the start.) You and Omi could never be happier, every thing was back to how it was before, maybe even better. And you definitely spent at least two Saturdays a month going out for picnics and it was now a tradition in your relationship, so in the end you did get your ‘aesthetic picnic date.’

AN: WHAT DID U GUYS THINK??

[lizzie-is-here]

acta, non verba

avengers: endgame: part ii

summary: you’re entering into the fight of your life, and you aren’t tolerating casualties.

wordcount: 10k

warnings: death, violence, arguing, a theme of not being able to move on, cussing, interviewers being lowkey misogynistic, fluff and a happy ending

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“What. The. Fuck.” Your first words after waking up were as explicit as ever, and as you watched people reappear in the Wakandan field, you narrowed your eyes. Were you tripping balls? The last thing you remembered, you were turning to dust in your best friend’s hands, and now you were stumbling along the edge of the woods, very confused and pretty sure that that tree wasn’t there the last time you’d seen it.

Then someone began materializing right in front of you. You quickly recognized the brunet hair, the tall figure, and the metal arm.

“Bucky!” You scanned him for any injuries as he stared at you confused.

“What the hell happened?” Before you could answer, a glowing orange circle formed nearby. A few Wakandan soldiers along with T’Challa, Sam, and the tree alien walked over, watching curiously as a man in a red cape stepped out.

“You need to come with me. It’s been five years, and they need us.”

It’d been what? You froze, turning to exchange a horrified glance with Barnes. It hadn’t been some weird hallucination. You’d died for five years, and now, by some twist of fate, you’d returned from the dead.

The man introduced himself as Stephen Strange and gave everyone a short while to prepare. He explained that Thanos had returned from another time, the Avengers had traveled in time to get the stones and bring everyone back, and now you were heading into the fight of your lives. It was a lot to absorb.

Shuri sped down the hill on a hoverbike, brand-new shoes clean and ready for battle. You chuckled as she showed them off, T’Challa rolling his eyes as his little sister.

“Hey, can you help me pull my hair up?” Bucky asked. This had become sort of a habit between you two. His old, HYDRA-made arm pinched his hair, and by the time he’d gotten the new one you’d both grown used to you doing his hair. You nodded, carefully pulling the bothersome strands from his face and tying them up in a bun.

“Will you be alright?” the cloaked man asked. You nodded. He stepped aside, making circular motions with his arms. Orange sparks flew as Sam connected to a comm.

“Cap. Cap, can you hear me?” He smirked at you, stifling a laugh. “On your left.”

When the portal fully opened, your eyes widened at the wreckage. Your past home, destroyed. The compound was nothing but rubble as you stared out onto the battlefield. From the looks of it, the team has gotten separated, leaving Steve alone to fend off an army.

A short ways away, Tony sat up. His hair had grown more grey, but his smile lines were deeper. Good. Thor, on the other hand, looked completely different. In his defense, though, the added bulk and messy beard made him look truly like a Viking berserker.

Another portal opened, revealing Strange along with a few aliens and a bearded man. Then, Peter swung through in his new suit, causing you to sigh in relief and wave at him.

As Stephen continued to open countless portals, you watched in awe. It was an intimidating sight; holes opening between space to coalesce into a massive army, rivaling Thanos’s itself.

“Avengers!”

Steve held out his hand, and you screamed in excitement as Mjolnir flew into his hand. You knew it. You whooped and cheered across the crackling and shuffling surrounding the area.

“Assemble.”

You had never had more fun kicking ass. The alien enemy was relatively flimsy, their only strength in numbers. They fell with a few strikes.

The Leviathans that had once caused so many problems during the Battle of New York were now felled easily by Scott, who towered above the battlefield. Brutes that stood well over any human were taken out with ease, even Shuri was racking up kills like no one’s business.

The new additions to the team also provided more fun. You were tugged from a mass of enemies by a gorgeous woman on a pegasus -a goddamn flying horse. You were sure you’d seen everything this world had to give- who dropped you near Tony and Pepper, the latter of which was donned in a royal blue suit.

“Stark!”

“(Y/N)!” He sprinted towards you best he could in his suit, yanking you into a hug. “Holy shit, I’m so happy to see you. I can’t wait for you to meet my daughter.” You were sure your heart got stuck in your throat.

“You have a daughter?” you asked, teary-eyed

He laughed and Pepper smiled at you from beside him. “Yeah, her name is Morgan. After-“

“After Pepper’s senile uncle?” you half-blubbered. They laughed and shoved you.

“Save the tears, hon,” Pepper said, ushering you back into the fray. You playfully saluted before sprinting off, making it your mission to have a get-together with your friends in the midst of a battle for the universe.

You spotted Wanda a short while later, power coursing through her as she furiously crushed droves of aliens with little effort. They never stood a chance against her, a few scrambling away when they saw the expression on the witch’s face. Her eyes glowed red with energy.

You ran past her, throwing her a sympathetic smile as she wiped out a few space dogs behind you, always watching your back. As you continued your trek, you gripped a modified gun in your hand, blasting at anything that moved while your sword swung in your other, slashing and stabbing at anything that got too close. You fell into your mind as you blasted a hole through a giant alien’s head. You didn’t even look back as his body crumbled.

It was easy to return to this rhythm, you thought as you flowed like water through the field. You slipped between fighting pairs, surveying your allies to watch carefully for anyone becoming overpowered. They were all holding their own.

Steve and Thor exchanged Mjolnir and the battle ax -which you’d later learn was called Stormbreaker- as if they were playing catch. You were tempted to try and pick one up, but you pushed down the impulse. There was no time for that.

“(Y/N)! Duck!” You didn’t have any time to search for the voice before you quickly obeyed, a large fist barely missing your head. You shot at the thing’s knees (You thought they were knees? Alien anatomy was way out of your field of expertise) before sliding out of the way, watching as Sam flew in to stab the alien with his wings. The sight had you shuddering and gagging, imagining the deep-cleaning he’d have to do on the tech.

“Cap!” Clint’s voice rang through your earpiece, barely noticeable over the sounds of battle. “What do you want me to do with this damn thing?” You guessed he was talking about the new gauntlet Tony had made, but his lack of specificity had you sighing.

Your suspicions were confirmed when Steve shouted his response. “Get those stones as far away as possible!” he yelled.

“No,” Bruce called back. “We need to get ‘em back where they came from.”

“No way to get ‘em back, Thanos destroyed the quantum tunnel,” Tony said. This wrinkly-ass grape truly was the source of all of your problems. Knowing that you couldn’t land a hit on the titan quite yet, you instead took out your anger on the nearest enemy, spearing it on your sword to yank it closer before shooting it.

Scott’s voice rang from above you and in your ear. “Hold on! That wasn’t our only time machine.” A faint tune carried over the terrain. What the fuck? Was that “La Cucaracha”?

“Anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Cap asked. You ran through the field, scanning the area for a rusty car amidst the chaos.

“Yes!” A woman yelled over comms. “But you’re not gonna like where it’s parked!”

“Scott, how long you need to get that thing working?” Tony asked.

“Uh, maybe 10 minutes.” Great.

Steve’s voice crackled. “Get it started. We’ll get the stones to you.” You groaned, flinging your own hand to your earpiece.

“Let’s hot potato this shit, folks.”

As you sped past Dr. Strange doing some cultish magic, you managed to spot Clint running with the gauntlet. It appeared Thanos saw him too. T’Challa reached him before you did, knocking back an incoming horde.

“Clint! Give it to me,” he said. As they traded off the glove, you struck down aliens that made moves to take it, most of them too distracted to see you sneak around them. The prince made it a ways across the rocky terrain before he was struck by Thanos’s double-sided sword.

Hm, you’d never fought another sword-weilder. You ran forward to take a crack before Wanda landed in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

“You took everything from me,” she growled, and you watched from your spot several paces away from her.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Thanos said. Wrong choice of words.

Wanda rolled her shoulders back and tilted her head, smug in her posture. “You will.” Her hands glowed red as she lifted chunks of earth and rubble, flinging them at the titan. She managed to get up close before he brought the sword down, which she caught effortlessly, pushing it back and snapping the blade in half.

She wrapped tendrils around Thanos, and as you watched her flick her hand, you realized what she was doing. The witch was tearing him limb from limb. You gaped as you saw ligaments straining under the force, his face wrenching up in pain.

“Rain fire!” He shouted. Followed shortly by, “Just do it!” If you weren’t so focused on getting Wanda to safety you would’ve cracked a joke. She threw a forcefield around the both of you as blasts of energy rained onto the teams. Many sorcerers blanketed the field in energy shields that glowed a bright orange, each one showcasing intricate designs and patterns.

“Uh, is anyone else seeing this?” Pepper asked over her earpiece. What was it with people and not specifying things? These were comms, not a facetime call. Evidently, the problem was solved and not something you had to worry about. You focused instead on making your way to Thanos.

He had retrieved his broken sword, and once he made eye contact with you, leveled it at your approaching figure. You mimicked him, vibranium blade shimmering in the setting sun. A smirk crept its way across your face as you stalked closer.

You had to distract him so they could get the gauntlet to Scott. Charging forward, you swung. His blade quivered under the blow, Wanda’s strike already weakening the integrity of the metal.

You continued to strike, barely giving the alien a moment to think. He dodged the best he could, parrying your strikes with growing panic. Bingo.

As soon as he took a shaky step back, you wrenched a knife from your belt. Hoping that his sword was weak enough, you stabbed the knife clean through the massive blade. As he took a second step back in confusion, you spun, slamming the hilt of your prized sword against the hilt of the knife. The sword shattered.

“Haha, motherfucker!” you screeched, reeling back when he punched you. You went tumbling, still laughing when you rolled to a stop before cradling your jaw.

You braved for another strike, but you were instead met by a streak across the sky. Like a comet far too close to the ground. It shot straight through Thanos’s ship, exploding the interior and powering down the guns.

“Danvers, we need an assist here,” Steve said. So the comet had a name.

You grunted as you stood, wiping the dust and rubble from your sword and watched as a new group of aliens spilled from the wreckage. “Yeah, you’re cool and all,” you muttered into your earpiece. “but we’ve got another wave incoming. We need to start wiping them out in bigger chunks.”

“How many have you taken out, (L/N)? 10?” Strange asked, slightly patronizing.

“73, for your information, Stephen. But I’m also not one of the ones that glows and can fly, so…” you snarked. “I’m literally just out here with a pointy stick, but hey, the pointy stick’s the reason nutsack-chin man doesn’t have a sword anymore.”

“Alright, enough,” Tony chided. You watched as Thor and Steve tag-teamed Thanos, both using Stormbreaker and Mjolnir in tandem. He shrugged them off before landing a powerful blow to Steve’s head.

The comet shot past, gauntlet in hand. Well, until the titan snatched it from her. She and Thanos duked it out, with her tanking a direct punch from him before he yanked the Power Stone from its place and sent her flying back.

He dove for the gauntlet, putting it on as you and Tony both ran toward him. You leapt up, wrapping a cord around his neck as the Iron Man went for the glove. Glancing down at your friend, you raised an eyebrow. His suit was changing, the right hand morphing and the tech rearranging as he wrestled.

“Tony…” you hissed, wrenching Thanos’s head further back with a harsh tug. You were sure the cord was cutting into his neck, but you didn’t pay a moment of attention to him. You were trying to figure out Tony’s plan. Trying to slip into the mind of the genius billionaire.

While you were still stuck in your mind, Thanos managed to get a hold of your neck, throwing you at the same time as he kneed Tony away.

“I am inevitable,” he said.

You prepared to waste away. At least you would die trying. Go down fighting and all that bullshit army recruiters used to wrangle in young folks to die in war.

But then he snapped, and nothing happened.

Tony rose to his knees beside you, and you weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry because the stones were in his hand, and as they fell into place on the gauntlet the suit had fully formed, you felt the power surge from his body. It made you flinch away.

He threw you a sideways grin, similar to the one he’d given when you first met him, before turning back to Thanos.

“And I… Am… Iron Man.”

You got tunnel vision once he snapped, running toward him to help him rest against a random pile of rubble. Still unsure of what he did, but with one mission in mind. Keep Tony Stark alive.

The right side of his body was charred and burnt, but you managed to ignore the smell of burning flesh as you yelled for help.

Rhodey was the first to land. He knelt beside you both, not saying a word.

Then came Peter. “Mr. Stark? Hey!” His breaths shook. “Mr. Stark. Can you hear me?” You thought you heard Tony wheeze a response, but your ears were ringing and your eyes were watering so you weren’t too sure. The kid kept trying to reach his mentor.

“It’s Peter. Hey. We won, Mr. Stark. We won, Mr. Stark. We won! You did it, sir, you did it.” Pepper knelt beside the boy as he began to sob. “I’m sorry. Tony,” he held on like maybe he could save him, but Pepper gently pulled his hands away.

“Hey,” she whispered.

And he finally reacted to someone. “Hey, Pep.” He laid a hand across hers where it sat atop the glowing arc reactor.

“FRIDAY?” she asked.

“Life functions critical.” Even the AI sounded dejected.

He gave her a teary smile, unsaid words passing between the couple as you frantically wracked your brain for any solution to this.

“Tony? Look at me.” He obeyed with a weak groan. “We’re gonna be okay.” And all you could hear was you saying that to Nat five years ago, and now you couldn’t even find her now. You had to do something.

“No, hey. No going to sleep just yet, Stark.” A few people murmured behind you, and you heard Steve whisper, “Someone get her, please.” You carefully took the glove, watching Tony’s eyes as they followed your movements.

“You’ve still got a life ahead of you, Tony. Keep that heart beating for just a little longer.” You were aware that you were gambling your best friend’s life on a hunch, but hey. You had a history of being right.

Once you found what you were looking for, you manage to yank the Soul Stone from the glove. Every other stone had powers. Why wouldn’t this one?

You clasped it in your hand, waiting for the energy to flow through you. When it did, you laid your hand on Tony’s chest, praying for the first time in your life and hoping that he would live.

You kept your eyes wrenched shut, not wanting to even entertain the possibility of failure. When nothing happened, you choked out a sob.

Then a hand took yours.

“You just have to have it your way, huh, kid?”

His voice was still weak, body still battered and burnt. But his breaths were stronger. His vitals were rising.

Pepper gasped from beside you and tugged her husband close as you stood, Soul Stone still in hand. Your head spun as you stumbled, reaching out for someone to hold on to.

As sure as you’d made sure Tony was stable, you sighed in relief. Then everything went black.

———————————————————————

You woke up in the Avengers’ Tower lounge in someone else’s clothes. A henley and a very large pair of sweats. The room swarmed with action. However, the moment you groaned slightly and moved an inch, you were immediately surrounded by a slew of concerned superheroes.

“Hey, Ms. (L/N). Are you alright?” Peter.

“Oh my God, (Y/N), they have bad news.” Wanda. She was crying.

“Hey, welcome back to the land of the living.” Sam.

“Shut up, she wasn’t dead.” Bucky.

You sat up all the way, head spinning. “What? I… Is Tony okay?” Steve approached from behind.

“He’s at the hospital. He’s gonna make it but they might have to amputate his arm,” he said, swallowing hard. “They said that he’s not in much pain; the energy burnt off his nerve endings.”

“Oh, that’s… that’s good.” You turned to Bucky, half-heartedly tapping him on the side of his metal arm. “You two will match,” you said. He chuckled nervously.

Wanda was still sniffling. “You said there was bad news, Wands?” Your question had her crying again, even harder than before. You looked around the room in mild panic, searching for answers.

Steve sat next to you, taking a few deep inhales. “It’s Nat.”

———————————————————————

Nat’s funeral was held a few days later. You tried to reach out to her family, but all contact led nowhere.

Tony was dismissed from the hospital a day before, with his right arm amputated and a new slew of jokes in his arsenal. He was particularly interested in picking on Bucky, who had attempted several times to get you to make him stop, though unsuccessful. You were enjoying the teasing. It was a ray of light amidst the somber scene.

Nat had left you a few letters in the drawers in your room, luckily at the Tower. You read through each one with Wanda, who had a set of her own. It ended with a lot of tears and wine.

As you got ready for the funeral, you put on a black silk dress. It felt a bit extra, but you knew she would’ve loved it. You wiped under your eyes as a knock sounded on the guest bedroom door. Pepper had invited you to stay at their lake house before the funeral, and you’d spent all of your time learning all you could about Morgan (Y/N) Stark. That’s right. You’d nearly sobbed when the little girl had told you her middle name.

“Hey.” Bucky cautiously leaned through the doorway and peeked his head inside. You gave him a small smile, fiddling with a necklace she’d given you as a gift for your birthday one year. She’d claimed it was because she felt guilty for getting you stranded in the middle of Texas for a week, but you knew she’d seen you eyeing it in a store.

Your hands were shaking as you tried to open the clasp without chipping your nail polish. A minuscule scratch formed and you wanted to just give up then and there. A small, pathetic sound escaped your lips.

“Here, c’mon doll,” he muttered, taking the necklace and, after making sure the small bird charm was facing the right way, gently clasped it. You turned around and rested your head against his chest, trying your best to forget that you weren’t about to go to your friend’s funeral. If you tried hard enough, you could pretend that you were back at the compound, five years hadn’t passed, and you weren’t missing a piece. Maybe your dress was some pretty shade of pale blue instead of sleek black and you were about to go on a date with the super-soldier you were leaning against.

But the new voices outside shattered your fantasy. You could hear the new group -the Guardians of the Galaxy or some bullshit that you weren’t ready to care for yet- muttering about Earth traditions and whatnot outside your window.

Taking a calming breath, you shook your hands out, trying your best to chase off the odd tingling that hadn’t quite left ever since you’d wielded the Soul Stone. “So, what’s it like coming back from the dead twice?” you asked him. He chuckled.

“Weird. I feel like, just as I caught up to the modern world, I got set back again.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. That’s okay. We’ll learn together.” Bucky looked mildly hopeful at that, but his eyes quickly clouded over with some hidden emotion. You frowned.

“Hey. What’s up?” You tapped his nose before turning back to the bag you’d packed, rifling through it to retrieve a few pairs of earrings that matched your outfit. You plucked out a knife that had once been Nat’s, reminiscing about when she’d given it to you. The Battle of New York. Tugging a holder up your thigh, you slipped the blade into it.

He wiped his face with his flesh hand, checking the door to make sure no one was listening. “It’s Stevie, he’s going back in time to return the stones?” he said, asking to make sure you knew. You nodded before he continued. “He wants to stay back there with Peggy.”

You dropped a small pair of gold studs in shock. He scooped them up for you and held them as you put in gold hoops to the bottom piercings. “He’s trying to do what?” you whisper yelled, wincing when you accidentally stabbed a bit too hard. “That’s -shit, ow- actually really inconsiderate to you, Bucky.”

He shrugged, frown still stuck on his face. “Well, I mean… it’s the happy ending he always wanted right? If he’s happier back then… I can’t make him stay.” He sounded unsure of himself.

You gingerly took the gold studs from him, putting them on before sitting up on the dresser. “You deserve a happy ending too, you know?”

Bucky stared at you as if you were the first person to tell him that. You sincerely hoped you weren’t.

You both jumped when the door opened, revealing Steve, who cast a suspicious glance between the two of you. His eyes were slightly red.

“Hey, it’s- it’s starting.”

The ceremony was quiet. No public allowed; too much of a security risk and far too personal. Tony pulled you into a gentle hug, carefully avoiding his right arm, which was now replaced by a nanotech arm similar to his suit.

There wasn’t even a body to bury. Or cremate, as she had preferred.

So instead, you buried stories. Some last memories of the assassin. You told them about how she would buy the most frivolous trinkets on missions, just because the money was given by SHIELD. How she never quite got over the habit of nicking small things from stores. Hell, you weren’t 100% sure if the necklace you were wearing was stolen or not.

Hours passed, and tears were shed. The new team members listened intently, soaking up the stories of one of the original Avengers. When everyone dispersed before dinner, you followed Steve as he headed to a platform where Bruce manned the controls. Time travel, made possible by quantum mechanics.

All you knew was that the stones had to be returned to their time, otherwise those timelines would split into a branch reality, spelling disaster to all in that timeline. And it appeared Steve was up for the task.

You grabbed his hand, yanking him a bit harsher than you meant to.

“(Y/N)?” For just a moment, his face morphed into one of surprise and confusion before he schooled it back to normal. Many of your team members still looked shocked to see you, as if you were a ghost.

“Is it true? You’re staying in the 40’s with Peggy?” He stared down at you, and you could see his heart crack. You bit the inside of your mouth, pushing down the rising bile.

“Buck told you?” So he confessed. You weakly punched his chest, tears welling up.

“You weren’t even going to say goodbye? I was going to lose a sister and a brother all in one day? You were going to leave your best friend behind, who still needs you?” Steve had the sense to look mildly guilty at that, exchanging glances with Bucky and Sam, who had followed.

You punched his chest again, harder this time. “You don’t get to do that, Steve! Fucking hell!” Even as they reached for you, you slipped past them grabbing a small device from Bruce.

“Is this an extra suit?” The mixture of Hulk and man nodded.

“Why? Did something-“

“I’m going instead of Steve,” you announced, your tone leaving no room for argument. Said man ran up behind you, trying his best to persuade you from making a rash decision and possibly get lost in space-time.

He managed to snatch your arm as you activated the suit, which formed perfectly to your body. Nanotech was so cool. “(Y/N), please. I wasn’t sure if I was going for sure, I just-“

You raised your hand as you grabbed an extra suit and a few extra Pym Particles, small red vials that seemed to power the suit.

“Why did you-“

“Save it. Bruce, send me back.” The scientist shot a few nervous glances at you and Steve, before nodding.

“See you in a minute,” you waved to them, gone before you could hear Steve’s gasp.

———————————————————————

Morag, 2014: Power Stone

With a quiet shout, you popped out of the quantum realm and onto an alien planet. The suit immediately disappeared, leaving you in your dress. Not exactly up to dress code for a mission. Especially one to space.

You checked the directions on a pop-up screen, strolling toward a large temple a ways away. The 2014 version of Peter Quill was passed out on the ground, but you simply sidestepped him on your way.

Once you made it inside the building, you gently set the stone back in its case on the platform, watching as lasers shot up around it.

Easy. You reactivated the suit and put in the next location. Asgard.

———————————————————————

Asgard, 2013: Reality Stone.

This was one of the weirder ones. After successfully re-stabbing Jane Foster with the Aether, you were in the middle of sneaking away when a woman stopped you. Her posture was tall, regal. She was definitely nobility.

“Who are you?” she questioned, eyeing your outfit. You stammered, not sure what to say as recognition crossed her face.

She smiled. “You’re one of Thor’s friends? He just left. I’m his mother, Frigga.”

You nodded as she placed a gentle hand on your arm. “So, I take it that whatever his plan was, it was successful?”

“Yeah, actually. Just dropping these back off.” You held up the case of Infinity Stones. The kind woman checked behind her for any guards or passerby before leaning in.

“Please tell him to eat a salad, dear,” she said as you readied for another jump. You saluted, smiling as you disappeared into nothingness.

———————————————————————

New Jersey, 1970: Space Stone.

When you arrived in a dusty basement, you were immediately met with an unbearable humming of machinery. Letting FRIDAY scan the room, you rushed to return the Space Stone to its container before a door opening caught you off guard.

In walked Peggy Carter, founder of SHIELD and one of your biggest role models. In your panic, you froze on the spot as she narrowed her eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Uh… (Y/N).” You furiously searched your mind for a surname. “(L/N)…” All of your years of training, flown out the window. She nodded, still suspicious.

“Are you related to the (L/N)’s that had a baby a while back? Donovan, I think his name is. Cute kid.” You shook your head.

“Never met them,” you shrugged. She pointed to your dress.

“I’m guessing that’s not dress code?” she asked, her voice lilting. You laughed nervously, backing up as she tilted her head.

“I’ve gotta go!” you chirped, slamming the button and zooming to your next destination.

———————————————————————

New York, 2012: Time and Mind Stones.

You reappeared on a rooftop, a bald woman in yellow robes casting magic towards an incoming Chitauri. You supposed she was another sorcerer.

“Ah, Ms. (L/N).” Woah.

“That’s me,” you said, shoving through the case to retrieve the green stone. “I think this is yours.”

She gratefully took it before returning it to its rightful place in the eye-shaped necklace she wore. “I’m guessing you’ll need a boost to get to the Avenger’s Tower to return the other stone?” You nodded, deciding to roll with the fact that she apparently saw the future.

“That’d be great, please.” She opened a portal, easily fending off blasts with her other hand. You slid through, dusting off the silk dress. So, your options were to either confront the past versions of your teammates or sneak around. Hm.

You trotted through the halls, searching for a passed-out Captain America. Steve had told you all about his fight with himself, each detail making you laugh harder.

“Loki.” There he was. Next to him stood Nat, who apparently had woken him up from the Scepter’s control. You were so focused on seeing your friend alive again you didn’t notice her gun aimed at you until she jolted it. You held your hands up.

“I’m not Loki. Didn’t you just do this whole song and dance with Steve?” They both stared at you, confused. “Listen, I really don’t wanna deal with this whole argument thing, so just take the goddamn glowing rock.” You chucked the Mind Stone at them, punching in your final location.

Nat caught it, rolling it between her hands before nodding. “That’s not Loki. It’s some… different version of (Y/N).”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, not quite paying attention. “I’m from 2023.”

“What?”

You waved with only your fingers, disappearing once again. “Have fun with the next few years! And keep an eye on SHIELD!” You weren’t too sure if telling them things about the future would affect much, but it was worth it to see the shock on their faces.

—��—————————————————————

Vormir, 2014: Soul Stone.

The last stone to drop off was going to be the hardest. The icy wind whirled around you, spinning in a spiral around the tall mountain you arrived on. Your dress did little to drive back the chill.

A ghostly figure cloaked in black floated towards you, and you unsheathed your knife and pointed it towards it. When it got closer, you caught its face. The Red Skull. Founder of HYDRA and, you know, a Nazi.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked, still wielding the knife. He sighed, as if he’d been through this multiple times.

“(Y/N), daughter of Donovan. I am the guide of all who seek the Soul Stone. You, however, are too late. Another-“

“Yeah, yeah, Clifford. I got it right here.” You held up the stone. “But I’m here to strike a deal.”

He looked surprised at that, as if your proposition was a new event in his seemingly endless time on this desert planet. “Yes?”

“Natasha Romanoff just died here, right?” You tried to push down the fact that her body was probably still bleeding out on the rocks below the spire.

The Red Skull held up a hand. “You cannot bring her back. It is an everlasting exchange. A soul for a soul.”

“Yeah,” you said, once again waving around the orange rock. “A Soul-“ you pointed at it, to which it glowed brighter. “-for a soul.” You gestured to the rocks below. “Everlasting and all that fun shit.”

He thought it over, considering the rules of exchange. He held out a skeletal hand. “I will try.”

As you handed off the last stone, the mountain began to glow, and you faded from the peak. When you awoke, you were laying in a puddle of water, floating face up.

You jumped up, going to wring water from your clothes and hair when you realized it simply slid off, as if it wasn’t quite soaking it. You tilted your head and began shaking it to remove the water in your ears when a voice behind you startled you.

“So you wore the dress?”

Spinning around, you saw your best friend. Her hair had grown out in the five years since you’d last seen her, but the ends remained blonde. It looked good.

“Oh my god, you’re okay.” You hugged her, sighing in relief. “That Spirit Halloween decoration actually did something right in his miserable life.” She laughed, loud and boisterous as it echoed around the quiet planet.

You grabbed the extra suit and Pym Particles, handing them to her and typing in the coordinates.

“Did you know Steve was gonna try and spend his life in the 40’s with Peggy? Go talk some sense into him, for fuck’s sake.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did they even kiss? Or, ya know, know each other for longer than a few months?”

“I don’t think so, I think he’s just batshit. Oh!” You perked up as you finished readying her suit. “Tony almost died wielding the Infinity Stones, but I saved him.”

“Oh, really? Seems like I’m gonna have to yell at him and Steve.” You laughed, smiling at her. She was different. It was like this was the first time she’d truly breathed since you’d seen her last.

“Alright, ready to go?” You both pressed the buttons at the same time, ready to return home.

———————————————————————

Earth, 2023.

When Natasha Romanoff returned on the platform, Steve and Bruce were still arguing.

“Why did you let her go? She didn’t even have a weapon!” Steve yelled as Sam tried to calm him down.

“Man, she was trying to keep you from making a dumb mistake,” the latter said, not even noticing the redhead.

She rolled her eyes. “Back from the dead and the first thing I hear is Steve yelling. Great welcome home gift,” she joked, watching as they gasped.

After they got over their excitement and called over everyone else (which led to Clint and Wanda full-on sobbing) they noticed someone missing.

“Where’s (Y/N)?”

———————————————————————

Earth, 2004.

You thought you were prepared when you logged in the date and location for your true final stop, but seeing the hustle and bustle in your childhood home still took you aback. The windows were open as usual, since Vivian insisted that you all have “fresh air” for her houseplants. You could hear your mother chasing Jacob in a futile attempt to make him take allergy medicine and see your father cooking dinner.

When you made it to the door on shaky legs, you gathered your strength. You knocked. In all honesty, it was barely even a tap. But the door swung open anyway.

“Who are you?” your mom asked, staring with suspicion. You were at a loss for words.

“I-“ Your voice was all she needed.

“(Y/N)? Honey, you look… older… Don! Vivian, Jacob! Come here!” she yelled into the house. As the other three made their way to the door, your eyes watered.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Come in, and explain what’s going on,” your dad said, still slightly suspicious. Jacob seemed to not quite recognize you yet, still confused.

They led you to the kitchen table, letting you sit in your usual seat. Your dad set a plate of roast in front of you, and your heart ached.

They all sat down around the table before your mom spoke up. “So… what’s happening here?”

“I’m (Y/N), just from the future. 2023.” There was no point in sugarcoating it. While Vivi and Jacob stared in shock, your parents just nodded. They’d seen crazier.

“A lot has happened in the past years, but I need to tell you something. You all need to stay safe, because I-“ Your father shushed you.

“You don’t need to tell us anything about our futures,” he said, sipping wine from a plastic cup. You’d forgotten about that habit of his.

“But-“

“Listen to your father, hon,” your mom murmured behind a mouthful of food.

Vivian eyed you from her seat. “Are you really from the future?” You nodded, carefully chewing a carrot.

“It’s crazy. Aliens are real, which is pretty cool. I don’t just mean like, a few, the whole universe is populated. I’m friends with some of them.” You wanted to tell them all you could. Tonight was their last night alive, anyhow.

“There’s superheroes. I guess I’m kind of one.” Jacob’s eyes went wide as he dropped his spoon into his soup.

You laughed at his excitement. The tears were still making their way through. “I’ve gotta go back soon, I just wanted to stop by and say hi to you guys.”

And you ate dinner with your family one last time.

Vivian told you about how freshman year went and how she was still convinced that Sergeant James Barnes is a total hottie and you told her that he was still alive and still looked the same, and was also a total sweetheart. She squealed when you told her you had a crush on him and your parents teased you.

Jacob asked about superheroes, and while you couldn’t spill too much, you told him all about your exploits and just left the names out. You also didn’t mention that half of humanity died for five years, or that the past version of you was headed this way at that very moment, brainwashed and on a mission that would prove fatal to everyone in this home but you.

When they both left to watch TV in a separate room and you were left alone with your parents, the tears finally spilled. They both scooted closer to you and hugged you close as you blubbered your apologies.

“I’m… guessing we won't make it to see you in the future?” your mom asked, rubbing your back. You shook your head into her shoulder, feeling like all you’d done for the past few days was cry.

“It’s my fault,” you whispered . “It's all my fault.”

“No, hon, it’s not,” your dad said. “Whatever happens, happens. We can’t change that.”

You stared at him incredulously. “Yes you could. Just stay vigilant tonight and don’t worry about hurting me because you won’t and even if you do-“ They both shushed you, cutting off your ramblings.

“It’ll all be alright, just breathe.” You tried, hiccuping as you evened out your breaths. Your heart raced as the wind rattled a window.

“Can- can I get something from my room?” you asked. They helped you up, following you as you walked around the bedroom you hadn’t seen in 15 years. Well, 20 now, you guessed.

Carefully, as if it would dissolve in your grip, you tugged a box from under your bed. Inside laid a few USB’s and several stacks of photos. “Can I have this?” you asked.

“Take anything you want, sweetie,” your mom said, helping you fold the cardboard box to keep it tightly shut. You rested it on your hip, hugging them both before walking into the living room where Vivi and Jacob sat.

“I love you both, okay?” you asked, letting them hug you.

“Go get your man,” Vivi whispered not-very-subtly, causing laughter to erupt. Jacob simply hugged you before rushing back to the couch. Typical.

Your mom and dad walked you to the door, giving you one last hug and kiss on the head.

“It’s alright, (Y/N). Whatever happens, you’re gonna be okay,” your dad muttered, giving you a tight squeeze.

You chuckled, all watery and light. “I hope you can forgive me,” you whispered back. Your mother shook her head.

“There’s nothing to forgive. Take care, little bird.” The nickname had you gently touching the necklace you wore, nodding before activating the suit.

“Goodbye.”

———————————————————————

Earth, 2023.

“Well, where the hell is she?” Tony asked, tapping away on the screen with his non-metal hand.

“I don’t know. I don’t think she’d just up and leave,” Nat responded, itching the tactical suit she wore. Maybe you got lost?

Steve nodded in agreement, wincing as he considered how upset you’d been with him. “She wouldn’t.”

Their questions were answered when you reappeared, clutching an unassuming cardboard box with tears in your eyes. You sank to your knees on the platform, allowing the suit to dissipate as you clutched the box to your chest.

A few people ran forward, Sam trying to take the box from your hands. You resisted, curling in on yourself. This was all you had left of them now.

“Where did you go, kid?” Tony asked, wiping your face. “Did… you get food?”

“I went back home. The night of…” you couldn’t finish the sentence, staring off into space. He sighed in realization. Whether the trip would set you back or provide closure was yet to be seen.

“Oh, hon.” Nat hugged you. “Can we take the box and put it inside? What’s in it?” You nodded and handed off the box with a sniffle. “Pictures and videos.”

She grunted under the weight and readjusted her grip. “Holy shit, this is heavy. Can someone help her?”

Bucky stepped up, perhaps too quickly to be casual. He took the box with ease, only using one hand.

“Are you alright?” He asked as you both went inside, leaving the rest of the group to disperse and celebrate Nat’s return. You nodded.

“It hurts, but… I feel lighter? Is that the right word?” He shrugged.

“Probably. I get it, though.” He gently set the box down on the guest bed. “It’s how I felt after they got him out of my head.” Tapping the side of his skull, he plopped onto the bed as you unclipped the thigh holster holding your knife and tossed it haphazardly into your bag.

“Does it get better?” you asked, almost taking back your question when he hesitated.

But then he let out a light sigh. “Yeah. Maybe not great yet, but better.”

You laid down next to the super-soldier, closing your eyes. “Everything is about to go crazy,” you mumbled. You could feel him nod from next to you.

“The original six are talking about retirement,” you added, listening to the conversations outside. He elbowed you gently.

“Are you?”

“Nah,” you sighed. “I’d get too bored.” He hummed an assent. “‘M gonna take a break, though. Preferably not deal with the government anymore.”

He scooted around a bit before turning towards you. “Do you think we can be assholes to them now, since we technically saved the universe?”

“Honestly, I’m so done with caring about the government. No more diplomacy for me, just straight to the facts. What are they gonna do, arrest me? I think the fuck not,” you grumbled. He laughed, unwittingly sending a slew of thoughts spiraling through your head.

Fuck.

You blushed, sitting up. “You ready to head back out there?” He nodded, joining you. Quick footsteps and a door slamming had you both jumping, with Bucky reaching an arm out in front of you. Aww, he was sweet and protective. This man really was-

“Auntie (Y/N)!” Morgan barreled into the room and into your arms, knocking you backwards from the force. “It’s time for dinner,” she whispered aggressively in your ear, shimmying around on your lap and definitely causing your skirt to ride up. You let her tug you off the bed as she grabbed Bucky’s hand as well, swinging in between the two of you.

She led you both outside to where several boxes of pizza sat. Everyone was gathered around, already having dug in. As odd as it was to see a tree and raccoon eating alongside a giant grey man and blue alien, you shrugged it off and grabbed a slice.

As you went to sit down, you bumped into a new kid. Did he have superpowers?

“Oh, hey (Y/N).” Wait, he sounded familiar…

“Are you that kid-“

“From the garage Tony stayed in? Christmas 2012? Yes. My name’s Harley.” You shook his hand, balancing your plate and drink on the other.

“So, are you super powered or…” He shook his head, walking with you as you sat around Tony’s fire pit. The sun was beginning to set and Shuri was pouring a suspicious amount of firestarter on the logs.

You sat in the grass, not quite caring if dirt got on your dress or if the blades made you itch. You were with friends.

Once everyone had their food and was gathered around, Tony and Steve stood to make a toast. Albeit, they were using soda cans instead of champagne flutes, but you all deserved a break after saving the universe.

“So, we did it, folks,” Tony began, causing a few claps to ring out. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the best at this speech shit- stuff,” he corrected after Morgan perked up at the curse. “But hey, I can’t be great at everything. I’ll leave the speeches to Rogers over here.”

Steve shook his head in exasperation and stepped forward. “We still have a lot to figure out. Many of us will retire, and many new allies will step up. It’s gonna be a lot of change.” He exchanged a glance with Stark. “But change can be good. It can be what we need to learn and grow past what we thought we could do. Whether that be saving the universe or just getting up in the morning.”

“Many of us fight battles on our own. We feel like we have to shove them down and avoid talking about them because we’re supposed to be the ones that people look up to.” He looked over at you.

“But we’re family. And family helps each other. And you’ll always have a shoulder to lean on or a helping hand so long as we’re around. We stick together, no matter what.”

“To the universe, and to us.”

The small area erupted into cheers and claps, even Fury and Pym offered a few congratulatory remarks. You caught Tony saying to Nat, “Rogers is always good at that shit. I feel like I need to take public speaking lessons from him.” Once Steve sat back down, you nudged him.

“Finally came to your senses?” you asked, no anger in your tone. He nodded, a smile on his face.

“You just had to knock some sense into me.”

“That is my field of expertise,” you joked. Clint carefully lit the fire, Pepper coming out from the house with a bag of marshmallows, chocolate, and some graham crackers in hand. Morgan followed with long, pronged pokers. Why was the child given the sharp sticks?

You rushed forward to let her hand them off to you, covering the ends so as to not poke anyone. As the fire roared, a few people called dibs on the prongs, beginning to cook their marshmallows to their liking. You watched. So much could be learned about someone by how they cooked their s’mores.

Peter meticulously turned his, explaining s’mores to Shuri, who had evidently never had one. The former considered this a crime. His marshmallow was perfectly golden when he removed it from above the flames.

The raccoon ate it straight, not even bothering to heat it up.

You brought a marshmallow on a stick over to Bucky, passing it to him as he watched the teen. Just as you thought he was going to imitate him, he stuck the treat straight in the flames, letting it blacken as you laughed.

He blew out the flame and let you make the s’more before biting off over half of it in one bite. Sam stared before voicing his disgust. Something along the lines of “That’s gonna give you cancer. He’s just eating straight charcoal at this point.”

You ignored his annoyed ramble, turning back to Bucky when you spotted a bit of melted marshmallow stuck by his mouth. What an opportunity.

Leaning forward, you gently scrubbed the spot with your thumb, ignoring the blush that crept up his face. You stayed intently focused on the task until the sugary substance was gone. When you sat back, satisfied with your work, you could hear Steve nudging his friend and harshly whispering to him. No doubt teasing him.

You smirked at Nat from across the fire pit as she raised an eyebrow, flitting her gaze between you and Bucky. He was still flushed, but when you looked over at him, he averted his gaze. You could get lost in those eyes, his voice, his mannerisms. Your mind drifted as you blatantly stared, imagining holding his hand or-

Peter and Shuri’s laughter interrupted your train of thought as they recorded Harley, who had put hand sanitizer on his hand and lit it. “Look! I’m on fire!”

———————————————————————

Even though Tony claimed to be bad at public speaking, he was the one chosen to give the speech that would be broadcasted around the world. Limited information had been given to the public about the means of returning half of the population, but most had been kept under wraps.

The world knew nothing of the time heist, the death of Nat, or your help in reviving both her and Tony. All they knew was that the Avengers had retrieved the Infinity Stones, Thanos had somehow returned, and Tony had snapped.

Simple as that.

The team sat in the front row, surrounded by government officials and civilians, multiple cameras flashing as Tony approached the podium. He cleared his throat and you shot him a thumbs up and encouraging smile.

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? I know it doesn’t always roll that way, but I’m happy to say that it worked out this time. Amidst all this celebration, I hope families are reunited, I hope we get that back and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored, if there ever was such a thing.” He waved a hand at Clint’s family in the seats in front of him.

“God, what a world. Universe, now. If you told me ten years ago that we weren’t alone, let alone, you know, to this extent, I mean, I wouldn’t have been surprised, but come on. The epic forces of dark and light that have come into play.”

“And for better or worse, that's the reality Morgan's gonna have to find a way to grow up in.” The young girl giggled as he waved to her from the podium where he rested his arms. He looked at her like she was his world. You knew she was.

He rested his chin on his hand before continuing. “I know everyone’s been pretty affected by the untimely deaths of half of our world. I mean, not that death at any time isn't untimely, but there was some extra grief in these past five years. Trying to heal and grow. Then again, that's the hero gig. You gotta roll with the punches.”

“But, sometimes you’re ready to be done with the fight, and I’m excited to announce that a few of us are retiring.” Some reporters shouted and more flashes erupted. “You know, the original ones. Minus (Y/N). She’s sticking around to keep these hooligans under control.” He thrust a thumb at the newbies as laughter echoed around the steps of the courthouse.

“I’ll miss this. I know the others will too. This was probably the best part of our lives. But as a wise person once told me, ‘Part of the journey is the end.’ And she’s always right.” He winked at you. “What am I even tripping for? Everything's gonna work out exactly the way it's supposed to.”

As he stepped back, applause burst forth, almost deafening as you ran forward to give him a hug. “Hope you don’t mind me stealing your weird philosophical shit from 15 years ago, kid.” You shook your head, reassuring him that it was fine.

The “Original Seven,” as the press had begun calling the Avengers present for the Battle against New York, were asked to stick around and answer a few questions, much to your chagrin. You reluctantly sat down at a nearby table that they’d set up, all of you crowding on one side.

As soon as the microphones were set up and the cameras of every popular news station were rolling, hands flew up.

“Mr. Barton, there’s rumors you were a makeup artist. Is this true?”

“Captain! Are you involved in a relationship with any of your team members?”

“Ms. Romanoff, what’s your diet?”

You hated PR. After so many years dealing with their bullshit, you figured now was a better time than ever for a new beginning. Clapping your hands into a mic, you waited for them to quiet before clearing your throat. “One at a time, please.”

“Thanks, kid,” Tony mumbled, sipping a coffee he’d hassled Rhodey to buy for him. The billionaire rolled his eyes as many reporters complained. He pointed at one, a curious smirk on his face.

“Christine Everhart-“

“Vanity Fair?” he guessed. She shook her head.

“World News. Will we get a new Captain America? A new Iron Man? Or will the new Avengers be completely different?” Tony turned to you, flinging a hand and getting dangerously close to your face.

“Ask (Y/N).” The blonde looked expectantly at you. You shrugged.

“Fuck if I know. I’m just gonna play it by ear.” A few eyebrows raised at your choice words.

Another reporter stepped up. “Mr. Barton, are you wearing a hearing aid?”

Clint looked up from where he was fiddling with a microphone, not even attempting to conceal his attempts to dismantle it. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Was there an… accident?”

“Nah. Just years of explosions and a few up-close encounters with very loud jet engines,” he explained, unscrewing the cover for the battery compartment with an arrow he’d pulled from nowhere. It let out a screech as he yanked the batteries out, everyone flinching away.

“Yeah. Like that.”

———————————————————————

“Are you gay?” Is the first thing you were asked when you arrive at the tower. Peter and Shuri were vibrating on the spot, eyes wide and clothes smelling faintly of coffee. You shook your head tiredly.

“If someone’s hot, they’re hot.” You dismissed the odd question, trudging to the kitchen to grab a snack. You unbuttoned your blouse and shrugged it off, tossing it over the counter and standing in your tank top. Your muscles ached, each movement straining some new injury you hadn’t been aware of until you almost collapsed from the fatigue.

The fridge was pathetically empty, emptied out from the surplus of residents in the Avengers’ Tower. Luckily, the new additions were beginning to empty out and return to their normal homes, whether that be space or just down the street. You sighed and shut the fridge.

Luckily, your room had remained relatively the same. Nat had been kind enough to keep your plants alive and shelves dusted. Your skincare and haircare products had already been replaced, sheets fresher then they’d ever been. You flung open your closet, grabbing the nearest pair of sweats and a shirt you’d stolen from the dryer.

You were still tying the drawstring when you made it to Bucky’s door, knocking lightly before pushing the door open with your hip. He was on a laptop, surprisingly, perusing a realtor website. You smiled when he jumped up, spotting you leaning against the door frame. Your hair was tied up, a few strands managing to escape your lazy attempt at looking more awake.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

The quiet was unbearable and wonderful at the same time, allowing you to stare while also making you aware of your state. You brushed out wrinkles that weren’t there before straightening up again.

“I was just gonna head to the grocery to grab some more food. They’ve ransacked the fridge.” He took the unsaid invitation, hopping off the bed and closing his laptop.

“Is this an invitation to beat them up or help you with groceries?”

“Both.”

———————————————————————

Bringing Bucky grocery shopping tended to end in chaos. You knew this. But you brought him anyway. Normally, you would both take a cart and split up, the strategic efficiency that had been ingrained in you seeping into your everyday life. Today, however, he stuck beside you, so close you occasionally bumped together.

Not that you minded in the slightest. He helped you reach your favorite tea when you discovered they’d moved it after five years, checked the eggs to make sure they weren’t cracked, and even waited patiently as you perused the makeup, curious to see what trends had changed.

When you managed to check out and hop in the car, you watched as rain started to drizzle. You sat for a while, letting your quiet music fill the air.

“Thanks…” Bucky whispered.

You furrowed your brows. “For making you load the bags?”

“No,” he laughed, poking you. “For talking some sense into Steve.” You nodded, considering your words.

“Yeah, it’s all good.” Mentally slapping yourself at your less-than-poetic choice, you turned around, digging through the bags until you found a bag of plums, passing one to the brunet. “…Are you gonna move out?”

A moment of hesitation. “Yeah, I think so. I think it’d be better for me to try and live on my own.” You knew he was right, but you’d still miss seeing him so often.

“I’ll come and visit you, if that’s what that frown’s about. So long as you help me move in,” he said, causing you to meet his gaze. You held his stare as long as you could before you both looked away, heat rising to your face.

“Why not? Anything for my favorite 106-year-old super soldier.”

The two of you spent longer than intended chatting, discussing where he would move and how long of a walk it would be, his means of transport and income. You offered to buy him any apartment he wanted, but he’d refused to do so.

As he ate the plum, you rambled about a few apartments in Brooklyn that had decent reputations, some even having extra accommodations for soldiers and veterans. He’d listened carefully, jotting down a few notes in a book you recognized to be Steve’s from when he emerged from the ice.

At some point, you’d laid your head against his shoulder, already dozing off again. Your phone lit up with a text and Bucky picked it up, typing in the passcode he knew by heart to open the text from Tony.

“‘Where the hell are you two? Fish emoji,’” he read.

“Is it a tropical fish or a tuna fish?”

He peered at the screen. “…Tuna.”

“It means he’s sad. He’ll be fine.”

You closed your eyes again, sighing when his chin rested atop your head. Then, a thought crossed your mind and you bolted up.

“Shit, we have ice cream.”

a/n:

writing angst in any form: 😬

closing off the infinity saga with some domestic shit and a happy ending for my babies: 😌

hope y’all enjoy, literally shaking w excitement for tfatws. reader’s gonna be on some hot gurl shit 🤍 also tony’s speech at the end is my favorite thing ever so i tried to incorporate it a bit

[dollystuartwrites]

Not Holding Back - Chapter 02

Pairing: Boss!JacksonWang x f!PersonalAssistant!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, obsessive behavior, Jackson-is-a-fashion-designerAU

Wordcount: 1090

Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6] - [7] - [8] - [9] - [10] - [11] - [12] - [13] - [?] MASTERLIST

Summary: When Y/N starts working as a personal assistant for the director of TEAM WANG DESIGN: Jackson Wang himself, she finds it hard to hide her secret. After all, she used to be a massive stan of her boss! But she's not the only one holding back...

Warnings: Swearing, degradation, sir kink, namecalling,  masturbation, obsessive!Jackson, dirty talk, corruption kink?,  praising,  sexual fantasies, fingering, posessive!Jackson,  grinding/humping by both parties, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, use  of sex toys, lots of teasing, orgasm denial, breeding/impreg kink?, WILL ADD MORE AS STORY ADVANCES, PLEASE LMK IF I MISSED ANY

Jackson leaned back in his chair as he stared at you. Was he disappointed? Was he impressed? You were quite sure he hadn't picked you himself. Your interview had been with someone else from HR. Had they even shown him your resume? Or was this just some sort of surprise for him.

As if reading your thoughts Jackson spoke;

'Sorry, I've been quite busy lately,' He said with a sigh, gesturing at the designs in front of him. 'I think I should've received your CV about a week ago. It must be somewhere under here...' he said as he rummaged through the binders and loose papers on his desk.

'Ah there it is,' he said, picking up a paper that looked slightly crumpled. He put it up to his face to read it, his face disappearing behind it.

You simply stood there, feeling nervous and picking at your nails.

Jackson quickly read through your resume. Normally he was a fast and accurate reader, but right now he was having difficulty concentrating. He wanted to drop the paper and just look at you. Stare at you. For hours. But he had to focus.

He read that you were younger than him, and lived nearby. Both good. He was pleased to see your zodiac matched his and he couldn't help the corners of his mouth curling upward slightly.

Of course, he had been looking for a serious personal assistant. His previous one left after she got married and had a baby and he couldn't blame her. She was good, simple, and plain and he had always been happy with her. He was happy that she got her only family now, and understood that she wanted to work less, and more regular hours, but he had still been sad to see her go.

As he had set out the search for a new personal assistant he had been looking for someone similar to her. Plain, simple, no bullshit or fakery. Just doing what they were told without question or concern of breaking a nail. When HR told him they had found exactly that, he had been satisfied, not bothering to check up on the new recruit as he trusted his staff to make the right decision for him. But never had he expected to be so captivated by this girl.

He wasn't even sure what is what about her that fascinated him. That made him think of things he normally wouldn't think of at work...

'Says here you're straight out of college with no actual experience as a personal assistant,' Jackson said nonchalantly.

'That is correct, sir,' you said, happy that he finally showed his face to you again from behind the paper, but still incredibly nervous. Would he decide HR made a mistake? Would he still dismiss you?

Jackson held in a groan. The way you called him "sir" was enough to spark a new kink inside him.

'Do you even know what a personal assistant does?' Jackson asked, his husky voice slightly lowering. He couldn't help himself. He wanted to tease you. Push your limits, see how far he could go and if you were as innocent as you looked to him.

'Erm,' you said hesitating. Was this a test? Probably. You looked into his dark eyes, trying to think of anything but failing. Your mind was blank. You blacked out.

Jackson cocked an eyebrow at your silence.

'Erm,' you repeated, 'anything you want, sir,' you decided. There was nothing else you could come up with.

'Anything I want?' Jackson said, tilting his chin, his eyebrow still raised.

'Yes sir,' you answered nodding, still picking at your nails absentmindedly.

Jackson's mouth curled into a smile. God, he just knew he could have so much fun with you.

'I'll keep you to that promise,' he said grinning.

'Yes sir,' you answered automatically. Once more Jackson suppressed a moan as a reaction to your submissiveness. He stared at you for a moment.

'Is there anything I can do for you right now, sir?'  you asked awkwardly, trying to be of service and starting to feel uncomfortable with all his staring.

Jackson cleared his throat and sat up.

'Right, yes,' he said slightly vague. He had to remind himself he was at work. He needed to focus. Shit needed to be done. He would play with you later. 'Yes, I need you to organize these designs into a folder, doesn't really matter how. Then bring them to the design team and tell them to go over them once more. They will understand what I mean with that,' he added grimly.

'Yes sir,' you nodded shortly, walking up to his desk to receive the papers from him.

You tried hard not to freak out now you were standing so close to him. The only thing separating you was the desk between the two. From here you could smell his cologne. Fresh but warm like a summer breeze.

You tried your best not to look at him. You stuck your hand out to take the papers from him as he handed them to you, trying your best to keep your hand steady and hoping to god he wouldn't be able to hear your heartbeat pounding out of your chest. Just as you grabbed the papers, one of his fingers brushed accidentally over yours. You instantly dropped the papers.

'God, sorry, I'm sorry,' you said quickly, not looking at him and trying to hide your face which you were sure was bright red.

Jackson didn't say anything as you scrambled the papers together quickly.

It had only been barely a second, and accident but he had felt it too just like you had. A heat flow had shot up from the place he had brushed you. He stared at you as you hastily put the papers back together again. Although he couldn't see your face, he could see the redness of your ears clear as day.

Without facing him again you dashed over to the door but before you could leave, he called out your name. It gave you shivers.

'Y/n?' he said with a low calm voice as if you hadn't made a fool of yourself already. You stopped at the door opening, not daring to turn around to show yourself. 'Get some water too, will you?' his voice sounded friendly, unconcerned, and casual. He didn't seem mad or annoyed with you at all. But you could be wrong. Without saying anything you nodded again, before dashing away, the door closing behind you.

[letsgivethisonemoreshot]

Gang Shit

So, saw some pictures of Trent that sort of inspired something that my brain ran off with. It's all @caranoirs fault. Just a little continuation of the gang thing I wrote before.

TW: smoking, cigarette useage.

Since night had fallen, the streets had gotten more lively. Gone were some mothers bringing their kids to the beach. Now young drunk college kids and shady people walked the same paths. The bar that Kate stood next to was no doubt filled with loud music and the sent of overflowing alcohol and whatever vape flavor was popular this week. She stood in the alley way between the bar and the pizza place next door taking a few more breaths of fresh air before she had to go inside and be surrounded by dumb frat boys. She didn’t mind being in there drinking as well. The alcohol made the loud annoyance more bearable, but she had to finish up some work before she was able to enjoy her own night. After one final breath, she pushed herself off of the cool brick wall.

She began walking towards the front of the alley way to go inside but paused when someone walking by stopped. Kate tensed up as the large figure remained in the way. It was dark and she wasn’t even sure if the person knew that she was in the alley, but she watched him like a hawk. The shadowy figure began to move their arm up to their face. She began to reach for a weapon she had hidden in her back pocket when she saw a spark of orange light up, followed by a puff of smoke blowing away in the breeze. Kate smiled at herself and began to relax. Almost laughing at herself for getting so worked up about a person stopping to light up a cigarette. She began her walk again back to the street but stopped again when she noticed the figure began walking towards her rather than continuing his way on the sidewalk. She wasn’t able to make out any features on who they were until they got closer and the moonlight hit their face.

“Hello sweetheart. Fancy seeing you back here,” Trent greeted with a big smile.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Kate asked as she stood back on guard.

“Just taking a walk on this beautiful night,” He answered as he gestured towards the sky.

“On my terf? Not really a smart decision, don’t ya think?” Kate asked sarcastically, making sure not to take her eyes off of him even though he looked up towards the stars.

Trent replied by scrunching his face as he looked back towards her and shrugging while taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Haven’t seen you around since you left town after our last encounter. Thought you had smartened us.”

“Needed a vacation.”

“Convenient timing,” Kate scoffed. “Should’ve stayed gone. Anyway, welcome home. I’ll be sure to let Sheamus know you’re back. Now if you’ll excuse me I have an appointment in five minutes.”

Trent chuckled. “The offer for my club still stands. Ya don’t need to be taking strangers in an alley. We both know you’re better than that.”

Kate roller her eyes. “I’m not a prostitute dickhead. I have a meeting inside.”

“Nah. Out here is fine.”

Kate cocked her head to the side slightly at his reply. Not only did it confuse her, but it made her a little nervous. Not that she would let that show. No matter how uneasy Trent made her feel, she was going to stand strong. Especially when they were in her own territory.

“If you’re trying to do interviews to add people to your little group and replace Peter, you should really do your background checks a little more thoroughly.”

“They did…how did you know that’s what I was doing here?” Kate asked becoming more distressed at Trent’s smile.

Keeping an eye on Trent and not getting distracted was smart. However, it meant she didn’t fully pay attention to her surroundings She was in the alley alone for several minutes before Trent came along, she knew that she was alone. So she was unprepared when someone snuck up behind her and got a hold of her arms, wrenching them behind her back and locking them in place.

“Sorry I’m a little early for our appointment love. But I figured out here would be a much more quiet place for us to talk.”

“What the fuck?!” Kate exclaimed as she struggled against the pair of arms that were holding her.

“Apparently you really need someone on your team that’s better at the technical stuff. They really do work wonders.” Trent suggested while he closed the space between them.

“Doubt you’ll find anyone as good as me though,” Tyler boasted from behind her. “Did ya miss me darlin’?”

Kate’s eyes widened a bit as his voice filled her head. Tyler was the last person she wanted to be near. She would have even preferred to be somewhere along with Pete again over psychotic Tyler.

“Sheamus isn’t going to be too happy about you being here…”

“Nice try sweetheart. I already know he’s away with Drew and Walter trying to replan their ruined sneak attack. Thanks to you.” Trent smiled cockily.

“We might be new to the area love, but we know what we’re doing.”

“What more could you possibly want from me?”

“I can think of a few things,” Tyler answered in a low whisper as Kate tried to ignore him.

“I need you to c all off whatever they’re planning. Thought they would’ve gotten through their heads that they’re no match for me. But apparently not. And it’s just getting tiring at this point,” Trent replied taking another drag and blowing the smoke in her face.

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to Trent. Don’t listen to whatever fucked up hierarchy Pete told you about. I can’t just say what I want and people listen. Sheamus is still the boss and you’ve pissed him off,” Kate explained.

Tyler held her closer pulling her against his body. Trent hummed while rubbing his chin with his other hand.

“I guess we’ll have to convince them to back off another way then. So you’re gonna come back with us and help out with that. I’m sure after a couple phone calls and videos he’ll change his mind.”

Kate could feel the hairs of Tyler’s beard on the shell of her ear, sending a shiver through her body. One Trent didn’t notice in the darkness of the alley, but Tyler did.

“The mattress in the basement is still stained from you. Every time I go down there and see it, I think about all the things I could do to you next time,” Tyler whispered.

“I survived the hell you put me through last time. I’m sure I can do it again.”

Trent chuckled in amusement as he used his free hand to tilt her chin up to face him. His other hand hung down at his side in a rather unintimidating stance.  His hand hung down by Kate’s leg, just under where her denim skirt stopped.

“I’ve been very nice to you so far Kate. I suggest you drop the attitude if you’d like it to continue.”

“Yes. You were such a gracious host last time.”

The grip Trent held on her chin tightened as something in his face changed. She could feel movement in his body shift but she wasn’t able to look to see what he was doing. Seconds later she felt his fingertips on the inside of her thigh.

“I think you misunderstood me love. I said I’ve been nice to you so far. But that can easily change.”

As he spoke, he set the lit cigarette against her exposed skin. At first Kate felt a sting, then a searing burn as he pushed it deeper into her flesh. Trent’s gaze was locked onto her eyes watching the pain in her face grow. She couldn’t help but cry out at the sudden unexpected pain. Tyler kept a good hold on her as Trent pulled his hands away. He smirked seeing that the cigarette was no longer lit before flinging it onto the dirty ground of the alley.

“Now, are you going to come with me like a good girl, or does Tyler have to drag you again?”

“No. Whatever you do, please don’t leave me alone with him.”

Trent smirked victoriously. But it was quickly wiped away when a door at the other end of the alley had flung open and someone had yelled down to them.

“Hey! What’s going on down there?”

Ridge had been inside the bar and had noticed that Kate never made it inside for her meeting. And no one seemed to be looking for her. He scanned the bar for her but became concerned when he heard a scream outside over the loud music.

Trent grumbled. “You haven’t seen the last of me Kate. Pass that along to your boss if ya want.”

Tyler threw her down to the ground then he and Trent took of as Ridge began to run down the alley stopping at Kate’s side.

[all-things-fic]

Somewhere Only We Know

A/N - Hello, you lovely lot! Hope you are all keeping well in these utterly shit Covid times. Who would’ve thought that we would still be here in December?! Please see my offering for @goldenbluesuit​‘s Christmas Fic Challenge. Hope I’ve done a bit of justice with this piece.

I can remember Katie texting me telling me about the challenge, and I’ll admit I was given first dibs and now I’m absolutely shitting myself because I’ve seen all the brillaint entries so far and I’m not sure I really cut the mustard with this piece but I’m proud of myself for being able to put a solid 70% of this together in just one day (that one day being today).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Katie has done a brilliant job and I know how grateful she is towards anyone who has joined the challenge or supported by reading/sharing etc.... I need to stop rambling... Okay, thank you for sticking with me as always and happy reading! .x

***

The last thing you remembered actually reading in the group chat was “make sure you have your wellies”. You were glad that you remembered that part at the very least.

Winds whipped around you as you buried your face further into your cream roll neck cable knit jumper, all but hidden underneath your tobacco borg teddy coat that someone had already likened to Macklemore.

Nothing like being back home with your closest and oldest friends.

Mud squelched under your feet as you walked in line with two of your oldest girl friends, eyes looking over the four males in front of you as they led the way over the grassy hills.

There had been zero planning on what today’s events would bring. It was quite clear that the seven of you just wanted to be reunited with the country air and wind bitten cheeks.

It was nice. How simple it was. On the surface at the very least. That was until you zoned in on the little things. 

Like his laugh. The same laugh that always carried somehow and it seemed like the wind was making it that much more prominent than usual today.

There was no denying, he had this glow about him. Even from the back of him. You felt silly for thinking it, but it was true. It was in the way he held himself as he attacked the grassy hills with his feet clad wellies and brown trousers.

Life had changed a lot in over a decade. Christ, had it been that long? You’d all gone from baby teenagers to fully fledged adults. The age range of your friendship differing slightly, the odd person here and there slightly older than a couple of people in the group.

Nonetheless, many of the experiences had been the same. The big job offers, and the even bigger promotions. The heartbreaks, regardless of their prominence or lack of, had been the felt the same. The flirtation between some of you sparked probably a bit more so now with a finesse that didn’t have you rolling your eyes but rather leaning into it. 

Four out of seven of you were single. Jack and Jonny were virtually married off, however neither of them were with their partners this year with both deciding to spend Christmas at home and New Years with their significant others. Alice was still loved up and going strong with her fella, as was Grace who you hadn’t heard a peep from as she constantly checked her phone to see when the person she was besotted with finally arrived up North thanks to West Midlands Trains pulling into Crewe. 

So that left Will, you and Harry. Harry who had  quite publicly made it known that he was single. Well, according to your Mum he had, in several interviews. Including the one that she had described as an ‘incredibly relaxing watch and nice background noise to my Sunday evening brew and ironing session’. 

That was a strange one for you, his honesty. In earlier years of friendship, he always seemed quite aloof. Like he was keeping his options open. Guarded in a way that frustrated at least 75% of the friendship group, in the nicest way possible. You knew that was a contradiction but any annoyance came from a good place. 

You remembered one night in 2014 when he wouldn’t quite give you a straight answer over tequila shots whether he was shagging someone or not. You also remember the way he’d been pulled away from you tactfully by Alice that night when she sensed how you were about to blow up at his lackadaisical attitude. 

The same had been felt in 2016. Not so much in 2018, but you weren’t single then so maybe you just didn’t care. 

2019 was significantly different though.

See the thing was, you knew him now. Like, knew knew him. 

Some would think it was a lapse of judgment, a reading that you would agree upon given what had happened two days prior if ever prodded about it publicly.

Others would vehemently disagree. Stating how long any sort of energy between the two of you had been bubbling for a number of years. 

Looking back you couldn’t even understand why you’d attended his show. You lived in Camden and it made sense, but that’s where the sense stopped. Even the ways he had reached out had been one of the most random messages you’d received from him

There was no context, just a simple ‘I’m playing the Electric Ballroom and there’s tickets waiting for you if you want ‘em.’

And the thing was, you loved that venue. The grungy-ness of it all. The way you had stuck to the floor while trying to dance along to the likes of The Hives and Kings of Leon when seeing them playing there, basking in your sweaty happiness. 

But the stickiness of the floor and sweatiness of the room didn’t compare to the stickiness and sweatiness you later found yourself partaking in as Harry took you from behind over the side of his couch. 

A shiver rolled through you at the thought, one that you would blame on the December bitter chill because it was a secret. One that neither of you had mentioned since it happened on Thursday night, or to be technically correct the early hours of Friday morning. 

He’d been good. Of course he had been.

He had that way about him that night that pulled you under a false sense of endeared security. From his dimpled smile to gleaming eyes. He was happy. 

And the way he had shone as he found you on the balcony had warmed you like nothing you had known in the longest time.

It caused you to forget about the worry that had laden you limbs as you turned up at 9.13pm to the wooden doors of the building, wondering how many songs he was in to the set as you convinced yourself he would start at 9.00pm.

As you’d been ushered over to a clear box window and uttered your name to a dorky looking man wearing a tracksuit pull over and watched him handover a white envelope through the circle hatch. 

You stood in the dark, next to two much younger girls who enjoyed the way his glances lingered over at their side. Eyes had found Gemma in the opposite corner of the balcony, her dancing and singing with some recognisable faces mainly more so because you had seen them on social media.

You, however, kept yourself to yourself. Until you were anchored in the tightest hug from Gemma that you had ever felt from her and swayed from side to side as she made it known how pleased she was to see you once the concert was over. 

That familiarity had been nice. The vibrancy of nostalgia consuming you in your entirety. 

Watching him work a room when he finally entered the after party was a sight to behold, in his navy blue pinstripe suit and yellow ‘I’m gonna die lonely’ t-shirt. 

He wasn’t. Gonna die lonely, that is. 

He glided so smoothly from one person to the next, spilling a drink down himself in the process you’d seen (and later felt when your hand clung to the fabric of his t-shirt as you kissed), making time for everyone in his own unique way.

Big eyes followed you over Gemma’s shoulder when he had finally found himself within your circle and hugged his sister once more that evening. They were hard to read but also openly filled with a glimmer of hope as he dropped his gaze to see what you were wearing.

And when he approached you, he hugged you in a way that managed to pull you into the darkened corner of the dingy space. Spinning your body to keep your face concealed from any prying eyes. 

He revealed to you how he didn’t think you were going to turn up, scanning you with his gaze as he spoke. You did the same, a bit taken aback by just how attractive you were finding him. He had always been handsome but the aura he gave off, made your fingers itch to have him closer to you. 

Words ran away from you that night as he begged and pleaded with you to tell him what your favourite song had been. Based on first impressions, which the show has been, then Canyon Moon and Watermelon Sugar had smothered you and given you no other option but to pick them.

If he were to ask you now you’d probably say To Be So Lonely, thanks to the drive home being longer than originally thought and said album being your choice of road trip music. 

Forget Driving Home For Christmas, nothing slapped more than one of your closest friends admitting to being an arrogant son of a bitch. 

After your chat, he mingled some more but Harry was always tactile and that night had been no different. He veered conversations with people you had never seen before to take place by the zone that you all occupied.

He actively kept his back against yours, allowing the faintest of touches and brushing of arms - sometimes hands too if he dropped them down heavily enough with his arms as he spoke - to entice and create a spark. 

You were kept late enough to miss the last tube. Battery dangerously low on your phone that you didn’t know if a transaction with Uber would be worth a try. 

Jumping into the same car as him had been easy. His soft and tired eyes findings yours in the cab as he leant his head back against the headrest in the back seat and let his lips tip upwards in an expression of tenderness that had you melting in your seat. 

“‘S been a while since we’ve both been a bit pissed in the back of a taxi,” he mused, pushing his fallen locks out of his eyes to ensure his view of you wasn’t obscured. “Come an’ cuddle me like you used to do when we went out a’ home and were worse for wear.”

Falling into his side was almost second nature, eyes closing as you let your forehead rest against his jawline and let his worn in cologne fill you senses and scatter your judgment.

You don’t even remember how you ended up kissing that night. A mixture of confessions about missing each other and praise of how good you both were in your own ways. The sound of his whispered, “are you coming home wi’me?” against your lips an offer too good for you to refuse as you sat pressed into his side and half in his lap. 

The giggles that night, around dramatic shushes as you tripped and shuffled from the car to his front door were almost haunting in your memory as he tried to chastise you around spluttered laughter about being respectful of his neighbours. 

Getting the key in the lock proved unchallenging -  one of the better analogies aligned to your memories and latter sexual endeavours - as you slipped into the house. He enjoyed watching the way you walked ahead of him into his home, not realising how much he needed that visual of seeing how well you fit in. 

While time seemed to slow in that moment, movements desperately sought the opposite. Hands gripped and clawed like their lives depended upon it. 

Looking back now, both he and you wished it hadn’t happened the way it did. Skirt lifted and over the side of his couch. Teeth clashing and hips knocking.

It had been every inch a drunken fumble. A first meeting slightly cheapened but wanted nonetheless. Only made even cheaper by the hush-hush concealing of it ever occurring. 

But a secret it was and a secret it would remain. 

And oh how you wished you had a pillow you could press you face into right now and scream, this time for an entirely different reason. Unlike that night. 

“Not seen a sign of any deer yet, mate,” you heard a voice break you out of your indulgence of recollecting past events. Harry was the worst at wanting to get a reaction. 

“Christ, have a bit of patience would yer?”

You smiled at the bickering, just like it always was as the River Dane could be heard in the distance somewhere as you walked. If you listened really close, that is. 

Lifting your eyes, your smile lingered as you watched Harry spin his body around and let his hands get lost in the massive pockets of his parka. He walked backwards holding your gaze softly with his eyes twinkling before he gently rolled them at the overreaction and impatience of your friends.

He seemed pleased that you’d enjoyed his teasing as you once again hid you smile into your jumper. 

You’d be alright.

***

You heard giggles and screams ahead of you as your friends stumbled in the dark and messed about as you got closer to the viaduct. This place or the people didn’t change, and at times while it filled you with a warm nostalgia, it could be heavily jarring.

A soft and lazy smile pulled at your lips as you felt his heavy forearm lightly tug you closer to him, his lips finding your hair. And then there was Harry. 

“Think we should go this way m’self,” Harry mumbled, the nudge of his hips against yours had you stumbling slightly in your heels away from the direction of your friends and somewhere completely different. 

“And why’s that?” You turned your face slightly, cheeks warm and flushed thanks to the mixture of alcoholic beverages; eyes glazed as they lifted up to look at him. 

“Cause you never would’ve let me when I was sixteen,” he admitted. 

“You didn’t ask.”

“‘M askin’ now.” 

With slow blinking eyes, you looked at his own unfocused vision. A soft shine to his skin, hair blowing gently against his forehead. The softest of smiles tilted at your lips.  

“On yer go,” he nudged you forward, this time more so with his crotch and his hands, which wrapped around your hips to help steer you. Harry was met with only a small amount of resistance from you as you split off from your friends and turned in the different direction. 

You bit back your laugh, dropping your head slightly as you felt your heels started to sink into the grass as you walked. Harry was level with you when you sunk down noticing the way you legs slightly gave way, a soft chuckle omitting from his throat as he asked, “You alrigh’?”

“I’m sinking in these bloody things,” you grumbled, pulling your heel from the grass and trying to place the sole of your shoe onto the ground beneath you first. 

“So much for no’ being able to take the country out o’ the girl. London’s changed yer, swear it.”

Shaking your head, you cut your eyes to give him a harsh stare for his wind up. His amused expression lit a fire in you like no other. He really wasn’t one to talk though, was he? 

“Gi’me your hand ‘ere,” he held his out to you, quickly cupping it when you handed it over and pulled it under his bent elbow. “Remind me again who’s idea this was, eh?”

He didn’t need reminding, he had been one of the keen instigators for the whole jaunt down Twemlow Viaduct. It usually was him, or Jack. The two of them often reminiscing on times they had both raided their parents' alcohol cupboards and managed to sneak out with some dusty bottle that held a liquor that tasted out of date and stale, and if not that then, cheap. 

“‘S still fucking freezing down ‘ere, in’it?” He asked, lifting his left hand up to his mouth and blowing against it to try and get some feeling back into his fingers.

“We’re so close to the river, I don’t know why you’d expect anything different?”

“Is this why everyone was always so insistent on necking anything with over 11% alcohol in it when we came down ‘ere as kids?”

“Probably,” you softly laughed. 

“‘S a bit different now though innit?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure,” you started to correct him, shrugging your hand out from under his elbow and reaching for your bag. Quickly fumbling with the clasp, you lifted up the quilted flap and managed to pull out the stainless steel hip flask.

Harry cackled a harsh laugh, his eyes crinkling as he slowly let his laughter die down and softly let his joy wash over his features. “Impressive. Gone all proper on me.”

“You know I haven’t,” you held his eyes watching as he nervously cupped at the back of his neck for a short while, a gentle bite down of his bottom lip, as you quickly uncapped the item and held it out to him. He looked like he needed the courage.  You continued, “We’re just a bit more refined, that and we earn a good living. Some more than others, and by some I mean you.” 

He held his hand up towards you with an amused grin at your comment. “You first, ‘s yours after all.” 

Lifting the item and knocking back your head, you swallowed the whiskey with a small grimace, before offering it to Harry once more. This time he accepted, his right hand making light work of taking the item from your hands and sipping at the contents.

His face wasn’t as contorted as your’s when he swallowed, a fan of the chosen beverage if needs must. “‘S the proper stuff, tha’ is,” he commented with a quick lick of his lips before continuing, “Come a long way from sneaking the bottles of dusty Blossom Hill from the back of the cupboard.”

“Don’t know about that,” you smiled, taking the item and pushing it back into your bag. “I’d still drink if, if it were on offer.”

“‘M sure Mum’s got a bottle or two going at home?”

“Is that your way of asking me to go home with you?” You paused. “Again.”

Harry remained silent at your words. Both you and he knew it was going to happen. A mixture of sparks and lovelorn, lingering glances was enough to make anyone both want to give up, while also giving a burning confidence usually unknown. 

Neither of you expected it would be you who started the conversation, however. 

“It is, ‘f it’s gonna work. ‘M not sure I could wait any longer t’be’onest wi’yer.“

Laughing, you reached up to push at his shoulder. He always knew exactly what to say, but no way was he going to make a laughing stock of the whole thing. “Oh, give over,” you spoke, harshly swallowing when he kept your hand against the thick cable knit black jumper he had on. “You’ve made it this far, thus far just fine.” 

“‘M not playin’,” he whispered, hand gently curling around your own and lifting it up to press against his face. His cheeks were warm underneath the cooler hands, despite the cold night whipping around you both and your mind quickly wondered if he was just as embarrassed for his lack of acknowledgment as you had been. “Homes nice, you’re nicer.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about it,” you let your soft voice get taken by the wind.

“An’ what gave you tha’ impression?”

He did. He gave you that impression. By not mentioning it. By treating you how he always did.

“You.”

“Me?” Harry responded, indignantly, blowing out a sigh that had his cheeks puffing out underneath your hand. “‘M not doing a very good job then am I? I can’t keep m’eyes off o’you. ‘S not my fault you don’t bloody notice ‘em.”

But you had noticed them. 

His eyes, gaze following your every move, near enough. Stupid little touches. Glances of approval. Not just now, but from years before. 

Treating you how he always did.

Oh, treating you how he always did.

Bringing your eyes back to his figure, you saw the way his gaze darted and nervousness dragged at his features. A frown began to set itself between his eyebrows from worry. 

“Changes everything.”

Running his tongue along his teeth, Harry pursed his lips. “Everythin’ has changed, changed a long time ago an’all.” 

You dropped your hand down, it now massaging against the back of his neck and shoulder as you felt the tension of his body radiating through his clothes. Under the dim moonlight and the odd spotlight that had been added to the viaduct with each passing year for safety, Harry exhumed everything anyone would want in a boyfriend. He was soft, and so bloody gorgeous. Not just because he was personification of an almost six foot tall string of handsomeness, but his character did the talking for him.

He knocked the door before he walked into a room, for example. Who really did that kind of thing anymore? 

But you could also still see the heartbreak that lingered, albeit not as strong as it once was, it was still there. And that was problematic and scary. To be on the receiving end of it. Not that you would hold it against him, because you had been him at one point too. At many points in fact. 

When the two of you had shagged, because let’s face it that is exactly what it had been, while a sense of familiarity in the person was prevalent it was definitely overruled by the desire to just hit a euphoric high that if hit right could not be topped. 

Familiar overruled in other aspects, and it wasn’t to be brushed away. But was familiarity a mask that would slip sooner rather than later? Was it the start and the end?

The both of you experienced similarities in your life that could not be matched by the friends in your friendship group. London had chewed you up and spat you out, ruthlessly so. While rewarding you with long hours but fat pay cheques, careers that catapulted you to new heights and enabled you to see parts of the world that two country kids (which in one way you were) could never have imagined. 

Sure Harry’s had been on a much, much larger scale - you would not ever deny that - but you no longer fit in. 

And neither did he. 

This was a place that only the two of you knew. A place where you watched those around you fall in love and have the time to do so. A place where your friend's happiness was created a lot easier than it wasn’t and allowed a sense of success to weave its way in, through the most unexpected of happenings.

Not a place where you found happiness in your work because there was less of a space for happiness to blossom elsewhere. Not really. Not like you; both of you. 

Understanding was vital. 

This had been a place you knew like the back of your hand. A place that had you feeling the earth beneath your feet, fresh air in your lungs and had at times made it so you found yourself sitting by a river and finding yourself feeling complete. 

Yet looking over at the almost 26 year old, that just wasn’t the case anymore. 

And for once you didn’t feel alone. 

The sound of the odd piece of cobbled pavement underneath Harry shoes, buried beneath overgrown grass and plants, broke you from your thoughts, as you watched him kick at the ground and scuff his shoes.

He sighed, head tilted back before he knocked it to the side and caught your eyes. A small scoffed laugh left his lips as he shook his head and dropped his gaze to his feet.

“‘S it fucked?”

You hummed, a small frown lacing your features.

“Fucked it, haven’t I? Fuckin’- idiot-“ he breathed out a noise as he clenched his teeth, one that wasn’t quite a growl but enough to let you know he was agitated. Only strengthened by how tight his jaw became. 

Before you could even think, the back of your hand gently brushed against the pulsing hinge of his jaw. Muscles taut as you tried to soothe him in a way that your mind was screaming was far too intimate.

You didn’t want him having any internal battle about right and wrong. Not when you had both taken the same steps to get here. 

“Thought it was just meant as a one time thing,” you admitted. “Like you needed it, and I needed it. Was what it needed to be at the time. Bit rough, bit sloppy-“

You cringed are the use of the word. Wanting the ground to swallow you in a weird fashion. You should be able to talk open and honestly with someone who you had known longer than hadn’t. 

“Rough?“ Harry swallowed audibly, his face fallen. “That’s not-“ 

His eyes held an emotion similar to sorrow at the mention of the word. “That’s not the impression I wanted to give you.” 

“We were both drunk, it happens.” 

“Not with me it doesn’t. Not when it’s me, wanting to be wi’you.”

“I mean I was into it if that helps anything?” 

“Were yer?”

You looked at him from the corner of your vision, watching his lips try to fight a smile as you rolled yours into your mouth to not give yourself away. You knew what you were trying to do by speaking those words aloud but you wished you hadn’t. Awkward breathy laughs were shared by the two of you as you held his eyes. 

“Was I?”

You hummed in agreement to answer his question, letting your smile dance along your lips now and watching as Harry’s dimples started to show. His expression was youthful, slightly smug. 

“Good t’know.”

***

Finishing saying your goodbyes to your friends and ignoring their suggestive expression because ‘Harry was stopping as an extra pair of hands’, you shut the heavy wooden door and reached up to close the deadbolt lock at the top. Shortly after, you let your feet drop as you stopped standing on your tiptoes and pressed your forehead against the door. 

The silence of the pub was always a strange one to you. A place that was usually thriving, whether it was just your friends, or your parents friends. When the lights were turned out, it was actually quite a lonely place. Regardless of growing up around this sort of industry your entire life and having parents as publicans nothing was more depressing than an empty bar, lifeless and nothing like it was intended.

A suggested lock-in from Jack, who managed to interrupt both yours and Harry’s conversation earlier had not been a bad shout after all. You knew it meant that you would have to deal with the fallout with it being Christmas Eve, but it wasn’t very often that you found yourself in the setting. 

Turning to move from the door, you almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the opening of a familiar Lily Allen song start to play over the speakers. 

Harry emerged from the corner of the pub that housed the jukebox, slowly rubbing his hands together before he wordlessly picked up the scattered pint glasses that had remained on one of the tables that had been missed by the staff on the evening shift. His eyes glanced over at you, as you stood with a hand to your chest.

This wicked smile and gleam washed over his face as he paused his movement. “Did I scare yer?”

“Do you not think it’s a bit loud?”

He wrinkled his nose at you, a soft shake of his head no, to answer your question. 

“‘S your fave innit?” He asked, head nudging to where the jukebox was now hidden.

With a small smile you nodded, “Prefer the Keane version in all honesty.”

“Don’t have it in the bloody jukebox though, d’yer? Can’t like it that much.”

Your smile deepened at his exclaim and how prominent his accent sounded as he spoke, the small clink of the glasses he was holding only heard if you really zoned in. 

“Where d’yer want these?” He asked, holding up the five pint glasses he had collected. “Behind t’bar?”

Humming, you nodded and watched as he weaved his way through the tables to you. You frowned as he got closer, not understanding why he hadn’t bypassed you completely.

Once he was close enough to you, you watched as he reached for what you knew to be your own glass of wine that was almost finished. 

“Fancy the rest of this or can it go too?”

Looking at him and down to the glass, you gently wrapped your hand around it and brought the lip to your mouth. You knocked the item back quickly, swallowing the rest of your wine, before handing over the now empty glass back to Harry.

“Good girl,” he joked, light laughter lacing each word. “Sit yourself down.”

Wearing an amused and quizzical expression, you let yourself sink down into the wooden chair. Resting your chin on your hand, you spun slightly in your seat to keep your eyes on Harry as he placed the glasses down and lifted the hatch so he could step behind the bar. 

With your free hand, you started to tap the worn beer coaster labelled with the Cheshire Brewhouse logo against the table. Part of you hated how Harry had a knack for anything, including knowing his way around a bar. 

He busied himself with collating the glasses once more as you let your eyes take in the surroundings you had known, loved and even grown out of. 

Your parent’s pub was cosy and friendly. A truly 

classic and quintessential British village pub, featuring open fires, bookcases found in the very far corner or the jukebox in the other, lots of old oak and a really pleasant garden with benches for the summat and heaters for the winter. You know the kind that had its regulars that had kids who had seen each other grow up.

The bar was the centre of the pubs house, with an extensive array of whiskies amongst many other delights. A nice range of local ales and a well-balanced, great quality list of wines on offer designed (which you would be taste testing if the service hadn’t decided to take a break) to complement the food menus designed daily by a team of chefs who all have a passion for great cooking using fresh, seasonal and local ingredients.

It looked as Christmassy as Christmas could get, with a real tree which was locally sourced from one of the many surrounding farms and traditionally decorated with golds and reds. Twinkly lights shone, not only on the trees but as part of the garland that was hung above the bar each year, much to the annoyance of your Dad and the delight of your Mum.

Slowly dragging your eyes back to the bar, you watched Harry as he poured you another glass of white wine and started to recap the bottle. He must’ve felt your eyes on him, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately. 

“Service is a bit slow,” you jibed, once you knew he was with you. “Going to ruin the reputation of a fine establishment.”

His chuckle was breathy in response, but warmed you through as he turned his back and pushed his tumbler glass up against the device at the bottom of the Glenfiddich distilled malt whiskey, not once but twice going for a double. 

“Helping yourself to the stock now, as well.” 

“‘M sure your Dad won’t mind,” he responded, twisting his body back around to reach for your own glass and place it onto a tray that sat along the bar top. “In fact he’d probably make a comment about how it’d put hairs on m’chest.”

You laughed, unrestrained, knowing just how right he had been with that comment. 

Over the otherside of the room, Harry smiled and shushed you as he walked closer, easily holding the tray with your drinks upon it. “Being a bit loud,” he taunted as he slid the tray down to the oak table.

“Oh, now you’re concerned about the noise.”

With his hand against the back of the chair which was currently housing your outstretched legs, you felt him start to wobble the seat to give you a warning. 

“Hang on,” you said, “Plenty of other chairs.”

“This one’s mine,” he responded.

Wanting to roll your eyes but deciding not to, you let your legs drop down and gave the seat back to Harry. Once he was comfortable and he’d taken your drink off the tray, he gestured with his right hand.

Not entirely focused, he had to do the ‘come hither’ motion a couple of times before you finally cottoned on. He was willing to let you put your legs on his lap instead, while he may have taken the seat it didn’t mean he wanted to take away your comfort.

No sooner had your legs been raised to rest against his tan washed velvet corduroy trousers, was he fiddling with the buckle of your stiletto sandals.

“Got mud everywhere,” you commented, wiggling your toes that were painted a festive red and inspecting the little dots of dirt that were splattered against your skin, as Harry dropped the first shoe to the floor and quickly worked on the second. “Dread to think what they smell like.”

“Smell alrigh’ from ‘ere,” he mused, smirk faint but glaring obvious in his tone of voice as he threw a quick and mischievous glance at you. As you elongated your foot against his thighs, the tips of your toes were just about able to press into his thick jumper to try and jab at him for his comment. 

Before you were able to put any sort of force behind your action, Harry’s hand clamped down around the top of your foot causing your eyes to snap up away from his hand and up to his eyes.

There he sat watching you, top two teeth pressed into his bottom lip keep his smile at bay. Releasing his lips slowly, his whispered threat left his throat, “I will tickle.”

You tried to fidget away but to no avail. With a whined laugh, you frowned as Harry goaded you by slowly raising his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You had tried him. 

Truth be told you wanted to again.

If he wanted to.

Reaching for your wine, you took a hefty sip and let the silence swallow you both. Harry, who kept his hand on your foot and his fingers dancing gently against the top, let his head fall back awkwardly against the hardwood. His head dropped to the side taking in his surroundings and their familiarity. 

“Do you ever get tired of coming back?” 

You hummed, sure you had misheard due to the way the blood was rushing around your ears. He turned to look at you, all double chin and puffy cheeks.

“Of everything being the same, but different?”

His whispers captivated you, hushed confessions not quite meant for anyone else but his own mind yet spilling from him with such an ease that he did nothing to fight them. 

“I’ll admit, I come home for other people. Not for me.”

“People?”

“Mum, Dad,” you paused. “You.”

His smile deepened. His chin knocking down to his chest, his eyes looking up at you from underneath his curling hair from being caught in the moist winter evening just hours before.

“You can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you did three nights ago.”

Harry breathed in deeply, his nostrils flaring and his chest expanding. A lick of his lips, before his mouth dropped to sit slightly agape. 

“What if I don’t wan’to? What if I want t’look at yer like this all the time?”

You found yourself unable to respond, nose burying itself into your wine glass as you pressed your lips against the cool outside to try and hide your burning smile. 

His lips curled lightly, before he breathed a laugh once and gently shook your foot with his hand. “Eh? Come ‘ere-“

“Harry,” you breathed.

“C’mon, c’mere. ‘S room for more than just your feet.”

If it wasn’t for the creak of your chair as you slowly started to push yourself out of it, you wouldn’t have consciously been aware of how you were making your way to him. 

His body relaxed, somehow managing to become closer to horizontal than sitting upright in his seat, as he peered as you walking the short distance over to him. 

With his legs widened, he pressed his face into your side now that you were close enough. His nose inhaled the familiar scent of your perfume which was only faint now due to the other senses and scents it had mixed with throughout the evening.

Rolling his face out of your body, he knocked his head back and pressed his chin where his face had been. The face you showed him was worn with worry, an expression he did not want to meet.

“‘S wrong?”

His ask was lazy. Not wanting to dig deep and know. What if he didn’t like what he found? 

“We know how this is going to end.”

“Do we?” He prodded. His eyes moved over your features quickly before they partly disappeared to him, thanks to your curtain of hair which slowly fell down.

His hand reached up, desperately brushing it away and cupping at the back of your head as best as he could while he remained seated. 

“How’s that? Tell me.”

“Same, but different.” 

You knew you shouldn’t use his words, not in a way that could be considered against him, but they - in the most ambiguous of ways - described everything perfectly. 

“Not if I have my way.” 

His words were almost lost against your stomach as he pressed his face against you once more and wrapped his hands around you; sweaty, nervous palms pressing to the backs of your thighs. 

“Same, but better.”

Harry guided you down to his lap, his lips somehow managing to remain pressed into stomach, or your chest, or your clavicle, as your face became level with his. 

“Different, but better.” 

He kissed against your cheek slowly, nose nudging at your skin as he willed for you to relax against him. “I don’t know how you like it, like this,” he whispered in confession. “Show me?”

A puff of air left your lips as you turned to look at him with hooded eyes. His mouth was closer to yours than you originally thought, corners of lips brushing as you slightly pulled away. 

When your lips met, it was in the softest of pecks that trembled under your nerves. Both sets of eyes looking back at each other as you innocently engaged. 

If you were to take your eyes away from him in any way, you would notice those fluffy curls of his falling over his forehead and the lightest dusting of red blush making itself known against his cheeks and the tops of his ears.

He felt like a school boy, lost and clumsy. The kid who was once again flicking paper at you in science class just so he could pull a face at you over something your teacher was saying to get you to laugh. 

Mouths hovering over each other, your breathing mixed, as Harry nodded to you slightly. You pressed your lips to his once more, feeling the way he gradually opened up to you, warmed and softened underneath the puckering of your mouth against his. 

His hands, that slightly trembled, smoothed over your hips trying to pull your body so that it was more so flush against his. You moaned softly, your hands running over his jumper covered shoulders, fingers digging and pulling at the material just below the nape of his neck. 

The chair beneath you moved lightly against the floor, not quite a scrape but a dull drag. Neither of you broke the kiss, but his hands against you allowed fingers to dig in to hold you steady to him so if you were to fall from where you were sitting, he still had you. 

His lips slowed, moving to press against your cheeks again as he panted and his warmth breath bounced off your skin. “Think I got it,” he heaved. 

“Do you?”

Harry hummed his ‘yea’, before pressing his lips so tenderly to your chin and the underside of your jaw. He felt how you swallowed heavily, throat dry from the way your mouth hung open and your neck further exposed itself as you lolled your head back. 

You were falling further and further back, finding it hard to stay upright as he devoured you and made you weaker with each pulling kiss. His groans were needy, muffled and making your ache. While yours were silent and making his desperate to pull something from you. To build is confidence in that he was doing something right, you liked it this way too. 

Hands fumbled and dragged upwards at your skirt, faintly aware now how it was similar - if not the same one - to the garment you wore to his show. 

“Gonna take this off properly,” he mumbled, feeling the way your hips moved slightly from his hands to roll over him. 

“You don’t have to-“

“No?” 

Your voices were rushed as you spoke to each other, barely audible but loud enough all the same. His head was knocked back slightly as you hovered over him and you found yourself admiring his blissed out face even only in the lead up.

This was a sight that you hadn’t received last time, and if you had your way it was one you were going to greedily enjoy in all its glory.

Like watching the way his eyes closed and he softly grinned, the left side of his teeth started to show as the one side of his face reacted first while your hands blindly moved to lift up his jumper and the white tee he had on underneath, to allow you to find the button of his corduroys.

“What ya doing?”

“Nothing,” you mused. 

He pulled a face, the kind that down turned his lips, eyebrows raised and head slightly tilted to the side. The kind that had you smiling. 

“Not trying to get m’trousers around m’ankles for a second time within a week then?”

You giggled. “No.”

“Please do.”

A low moan left you as you pressed your forehead to his jaw and dropped your eyes. Your hands slowly started to pull at the brass button and pop it open before seeking out the zip thanks to his desperate plea, encouraging you to continue. 

Hands quickly sought out the waistband of the trousers and gently pulled at the item. From the way that you were sat, you knew there was no way you were doing to make them budge.

“Stand up fo’ me,” he mumbled, quickly helping you get off his lap so that he could make light work of his clothing and pull down his trousers and underwear. 

His bare bum made easy contact with the cushion leather beneath him, eyes carefully watching you as your hands moved to underneath your skirt. 

The fabric of your underwear slipped so easily down your legs, his eyes just about caught the sight of them as they pooled against your ankles and you kicked them away. 

Legs pressed together, you slowly untucked the v-necked blouse you had chosen and pulled it over your head. Wearing nothing but a fancy black bra, and a tight little skirt you hastily snatched for your wine and took a hefty gulp.

You could feel his eyes on you, a gruff groan catching in the back of his throat and when you finally turned your eyes from where they had been looking down at your heaving chest and how great this bra made your boobs look, causing him to move his hand down to start playing with himself. 

His name left your lips in a breathy gasp, causing you to look up quite surprised at the find of his right hand gently tugging at his hard length.

“Keepin’ me waitin’,” he groaned, his left hand sloppily reached for the back of the collar of his jumper and tee, pulling the item roughly over his head.

“Fuck sake,” he mumbled under his breath, agitated that he was unable to get both items of in one go.

“Smooth.”

Harry stared up at you with a playful squint, before he gently fell back and moved the chair as he did so, the dull scrape heard once more. 

And if you didn’t know he was flushed before, when you first kissed, you were definitely aware now. His eyes were blown out and hungry as they devoured you. Hair wildly haphazard before he let go of himself with a soft slap of his skin and harshly pushed his fingers through it.

“‘S it still a couple of quid for a strip of three,” his words brought you back to him. This smugness radiated off of him as he groaned and leaned forward to push his trousers down all of the way. Over his vans and socked feet, before he toed them off as well be harshly pulled at his white sport socks. 

You didn’t even need for him to explain what he meant, staying silent as you watched his hands tug at his corduroys from the floor and retrieve his wallet. As his fingers moved around to find a couple of quid, the jangle of the coins was taunting. 

One leg crossed over the other, you swayed and found yourself blushing when he looked up at you once he’d managed to find enough money and then some. With his wallet thrown on the table, he stood proudly from the seat and closed the short gap between your both.

Leaning forward he easily took your lips with his own before pulling away. With his face still close to yours he whispered, “Promise not to look at my arse.”

He didn’t hang around long enough for your reply, instead turning away and brazenly giving you all the time you would ever need to admire him, his fantastic bum and his hairy legs before he opted for a jog-walk type of thing, suddenly conscious that he was absolutely walking around naked from the waist down in a pub owned by your parents. 

While you waited you took a quick pull from his whiskey, needing the heftier burn for Dutch courage. Nervousness returned when you heard the endings of what you believed to be Harry whistling. 

“Machine ate all m’fuckin’ change,” he grumbled, regardless of the twinkle in his eye at the strip of overpriced condoms he had managed to score from the men’s bathroom. “‘S Durex. Business must be booming, your Dad’s definitely gone up in the world.” 

“Please don’t talk about my Dad.”

He smiled brightly before he reached for your face with one hand and pulled you towards him mumbling his ‘sorry’s’ against your lips as he gave you several kisses in quick succession. 

His other arm loosely wrapped around your back and pulled you with him as he walked backwards and slowly lowered himself back onto his previous seat. The chair creaked as you joined him, slipping into his lap and feeling the way he was smiling now.

Pulling away from your kiss, he quickly tore away one of the condoms allowing the others to fall without much care to the floor. Teeth took a hold of the foil-like packaging and he tore it not so elegantly with his eagerness.

With his cock nestled in the crease of his own thigh now, the heat radiating from it matched your own agonising yearning. Scooting back to give him space, you heard him groan as he gently rolled the condom down onto himself. Eyes looking up just in time to see him knocking his head back and breathing deeply through nose. The foil-like packaging was back in between his teeth once more as his hands were otherwise preoccupied.

Slowly your hand reached up to take it from his mouth, feeling some playful resistance as Harry continued to hold it in his teeth. His eyes were open and boyishly sincere, as you tugged at the item and he finally released it when you lightly laughed. 

“Gi’me a kiss.”

Obliging him, you leant forward and slotted your mouths together a lot easier than you had done at the start of the night. A heat built easily between the two of you, as Harry gave you his tongue and you felt the flex of his jaw under your hand as he worked your mouths together.

He was eager, his hands tightening on your waist before he growled when he understood he had to grab handfuls of skirt before he could cup your backside. But when his skin met yours and you ground down onto his lap, the groan that left him was the most animalistic sound imaginable. 

The frown your face fell into showed your desire to whimper, as he kept you atop him and marvelled in the way you writhed, both from satisfaction and keenness at the pressure of his cock against you. 

“Can I have you again?” He asked, the startings of sweaty hair being pushed off your face. His eyes peered at you, searching for his answer as you seemed to be able to do nothing but pant and look back at him yearningly. “Are you letting me?”

You dragged your fingers down his t-shirt covered torso and lifted it slightly just to see the quiver of his stomach as pulled you onto him once more. 

“Like this?” you voiced, meekly.

“‘F this is what you like then, yea’”, he breathed into your mouth, hands shifting your pliant body. “Is this what you want?”

You wordlessly nod, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp when he managed to move you so he sat so enticingly at your entrance. He was teasing both yourself and him, wanting to keep you both on the edge. 

Harry blinked a few times as he looked at you, and you revelled in the way he couldn’t seem to concentrate. His hands held your flesh tightly, fingertips dipping into the skin of your bum cheeks as he gently guided you down.

An unattractive and dull, quite strangled noise, left your throat as you let your forehead fall against his temple. Eyes falling down you see the cups of your bra fall slack, you felt his hands softly gliding over your shoulder blades and shoulders. 

He rid you of your bra, hands moving to your chest to squeeze your breasts. His jaw fell slack when you found yourself sitting snugly on his lap - on him - settled and already feeling spent.

This was so different compared to the last time; if not overwhelming so because of the way you both appeared to be so present. Each movement of your hips, and the way they rolled and grinded and dragged felt too much. So much so that you had become nothing more than a mess of short, quick breathing and blushing, sweaty cheeks. 

Slack-jaw, you were unable to find it in you to return Harry’s kisses, and his joyful, breathy chuckle seemed to lead you to believe he was fine with it. In fact he was happy to keep going as you were. 

Your movements were frantic, and despite the build up, not entirely driven by lust either. Harry continued to encourage you to move as you were; slow, grinding motions on his lap that caused the filthiest of groans and dirtiest of laughs from the two of you. Laughter that was only made stronger as the chair that held you both started to creak too. 

You couldn’t do much about it though other than to breathe into each other’s mouth, and rock your hips together with more fervour each time. 

“Yea’,” he breathed against your lips, left hand at the back of your head holding you to him, while his right rested just above your bum. “‘S better. That’s better.”

It was better. Better than last time. Better than anything before. 

And while it hadn’t been frantic before, it was now as your legs that were hanging down either side of the chair started to tremble and your toes started to dig into the worn carpet beneath them. Hips knocking and your clit dragging heavenly against his public bone, you grasped his name as you buried your face into his neck and dug your nails into his nape.

Harry hissed his approval which fell to a groan as your nails pushed up into his hair and lightly pulled as you sought leverage. There were so many things you were learning this time around and his penchant for liking his hair pulled from time to time, was one of those things. 

“God, ‘m gonna come soon,” he admitted, gruntly as he forced your hips down as he anchored his legs and widened his seating position. “Are you close?”

“Yeah,” you whined. “Yes. Like this-“

And as you pressed your face to his once more, he was everywhere. Soft but hard, loving but commanding. Smelled like clean washing detergent but of country air. Inviting and alluring, allowing you your lingering kisses between grounding breaths that became staccato in unison with the movement of your hips. 

You aren’t ashamed of the whines that escaped your throat as you squeezed down on his cock, praised by indecipherable works that left Harry but were nothing more to you than lips moving against your rough and dry ones. Word that made the burning feeling of your pending orgasm spread through your entire body, warming you and setting you alight.

It was long and deep, with your toes curling into the carpet they were pressed against now. Barely able to catch your breath, sucking in harshly and shaking. 

And when you came to, thoroughly exhausted, you noticed that he was waiting for your say so. That he could let go and enjoy the pleasure brought about by your shared labour. 

“Coming-“ was all the warning that you got and was enough to encourage you to watch him as he came, his face completely void of anything other than pure pleasure. Wrinkles and frowns fade, his mouth falling open with his pink lips glinting prettily under the dim Christmas lights around you.

His forehead gleamed with sweat as he wrapped his arms around you tightly and his hips bucked up one, two and three times for good measure. “Fuck me,” he heaved gruffly.

You were suddenly desperate to feel his lips on yours despite the way you both continued to fight to get your breath back, but settled for resting them against the skin of his cheek, which was hot to the touch. 

When you felt Harry start to go soft, you reluctantly pulled away and let him slip out of you. He wasn’t so keen to let you get too far, holding you just that bit higher than before with his hand cupping gently but firmly at your hip. “Where’d you think you’re going,” he hummed, eyes still closed as he continued to heavily inhale and exhale. 

You softly smiled, taking in his soft face and responded by nuzzling close to him again. 

Nowhere. Somewhere. Anywhere with him.

A place where only the two of you knew, like the back of your hand. The same way you knew each other. Now and possibly forever.

[pens-swords-stuff]

Fictober 2021 // Day 2

"Everyone's hiding something. Even us. Especially us."

➸ Prompt number 2 // “You have no proof” ➸ Original fiction // Always the Bridesmaid ➸ Rating // All audiences ➸ Warnings // N/A ➸ Word count // 704 ➸ For more information, check out #atb at @pens-swords-stuff ➸ If you’re interested in being on the taglist, please follow my WIP sideblog @always-the-bridesmaid-wip and turn on notifications for that blog.

A cold gaze pierced through Victoria, pinning her in place. Rather than shrink back in fear, she met it with a stubborn jut of her jaw. Silence stretched between them. It would’ve been an awkward, dreadful silence if it wasn’t for the discontent sparking between them like electricity.

“You can’t be serious.” It was Nathan who broke the silence first, crossing his arms. The slight tilt of his head couldn’t have been curiosity — it was a challenge.

“Why not? The staff at the venue is suspicious too — especially Harding. He’s overseeing everything that goes on during a wedding because he’s in charge. That gives him plenty of opportunity to meet the bridesmaids and even get some of their information.”

“All of the weddings that the victims were a part of had different venues,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “You did read the case files right? Or have you already forgotten?”

“Yes, I know,” Victoria replied, rolling her eyes. Was she surprised that he just assumed she didn’t know any of the details of the case? No, not at all. He always assumed the worst of her because he was a stuck up, arrogant bastard. “But I think he’s hiding something; we should look into it.”

“Why do you think he’s so suspicious?”

“Intuition. He was acting shifty when we interviewed him last week.”

Nathan let out a huff of derisive laughter. “So basically, what you’re saying is… You have no proof.”

“That’s why we’re going to investigate. You know, to look for proof…?” Victoria raised an eyebrow and spelled it out slowly for him, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And it was — aside from maybe basic math and colors.

“And how many times has your ‘intuition’ and ‘gut instinct’ ended up being completely wrong?” he challenged.

“It’s been right plenty of times!”

“How many times have you been wrong? What’s the success ratio?”

“And how are we ever going to find proof of anything and find the killer if we just wait for proof to fall into our laps?” she countered, conveniently ignoring his question. “What are you waiting for? They’re never going to drop a letter into our mailbox saying ‘yes I am the killer’. They don’t even know we’re investigating them.”

“I’m waiting for reasonable suspicion,” Nathan answered evenly. His hard stare and tone didn’t waver one bit. “Something a bit more concrete than ‘I feel like he could possibly, maybe be guilty’.”

“We’ll never know if we don’t investigate!” Victoria hissed, leaning forward across the table. “And if he turns out to be innocent, fine. That’s one suspect down.”

“So you’re willing to waste time chasing down a person who is most likely not connected to the murders, instead of doing some actual investigation that would get us closer to finding the real killer?”

“It’s not wasted time! I think he’s hiding something.”

“Everyone’s hiding something. Even us. Especially us.”

“I think he’s hiding something big! Important! Relevant to the case!”

“Give me some sort of proof then — something that shows me that this isn’t a waste of my time.”

“You’re not my boss.”

“But I am your partner.” Disdain stained his tone, spitting it out like it was gristle.

“I thought that as my fiance, you were supposed to make me happy?”

“I’d rather get this done as efficiently as possible so we can drop this whole charade,” he said dismissively. “The longer that we waste time, the longer I have to put up with this whole fake engagement nonsense. Neither of us want that.”

“This isn’t nothing,” Victoria protested. Her fingers curled into a fist, and her nails bit into her palms. “I think he knows something.”

“As your fiance, it’s my job to keep you from making ridiculous mistakes and embarrassing yourself by accusing someone without proof,” Nathan said, sounding as pleased as he always did when he mentioned their faux engagement — which was not at all.

Victoria ground her teeth together. If he wouldn’t fulfil his job as her partner and work with her on this, then she’d have to do it herself. Harding was hiding something, and she wasn’t just going to let that slide.

[damianosismyking]

Roommate

READ IT ON AO3.

Damen and Laurent first met when Laurent was sixteen years old.

He arrived at Damen's apartment too late for it to be considered appropriate or polite on any day, but the fact it was Sunday made everything worse.

Damen had been announcing his vacant room for the best part of the past three months since Nikandros moved out to live with his girlfriend but the response he’s gotten so far was underwhelming, to say the least. It made sense to him: his apartment was too far away from the university for it to be comfortable or spark real interest among tired, overloaded, low-income students with huge debts and likely no car. He had thought, though, that it would spark some interest. It was a constant theme in the conversations he had with Nikandros these days – which always ended up with Nikandros telling him he should just learn how to live with himself anyway, and Damen telling him there was no way he’d do it.

Still, Damen was less than thrilled to be surprised after a long day of sitting in front of thousands of books and twice as many academic papers gathering the ‘solid foundation’ his thesis lacked – in Professor Haemon’s words – by an unsolicited visitor. Damen’s eyes burned, his head pounded, and he longed for nothing more than to open a beer and mindlessly watch the documentary about whales that was on. A call to his intercom had different plans.

It felt like his brain had melted down his ears for when the doorman informed him that his friend, Laurent, whom he never met, had come to talk to him about his rental room, Damen allowed said guy up without a thought to the risks it entailed until after the call was cut.

Damen was left to hope there wasn’t a gun involved and whoever the man was, Damen could take him on a hand-to-hand fight if it came to it.

A kid showed up. Pink across the face, the only uncovered part of him. A few strands of blond hair escaped his beany, moving along the puff of his breath. He strutted inside uninvited the second Damen saw to the door, with the highest nose Damen has ever seen and scorn that did not match his angelic features.

Lazily, the kid – Laurent, his name – said, “I saw you need a new roommate.”

“And you are?”

“Your new roommate.”

“I meant –” Laurent went ahead and took off his coat, as well as his beany, that he tossed over Damen’s diner table. His blond hair shoulder-length and seemingly soft directly under the light, framed his face in waves. It gave him an almost feminine quality, if not for the sharpness of his cheekbones and jaw. “I meant have we met before?”

“No. But we have now. I’m Laurent.” He held out his hand. Damen shook it. “And you are Damianos. I go to U.M., you go to U.M. You have a room to rent, I have interest in renting a room. See? We are practically best friends already.”

He sported a young prince demeanor with long, pale fingers laced in front of his body. It was fitting, like the thought of such person being raised in a castle surrounded by luxury and used to having his way his whole life simply made sense. As for his expression: there was none. Laurent’s eyes were a rich blue but carried no warmth in them, unyielding. His gaze never averted Damen’s. It felt like staring at a blank wall.

Damen crossed his arms over his chest, unsure what to do with his hands and everything that currently unfolded in front of him. The carelessness in Laurent’s composure, or maybe the sheer audacity of him, rubbed Damen the wrong way. Under the incisive glare, Damen resisted a shiver.

Damen said, “You notice it’s almost 11 P.M. on a Sunday, don’t you, best friend?”

Laurent leaned against the dining table as though it belonged to him. Would it be acceptable to bodily drag Laurent out of the apartment after being the one to give him the pass to come up in the first place? Laurent appeared painfully young too, so that might be aggravating.

“You put on your flyer you were open to visitation anytime,” Laurent retorted. It started to bother Damen how rarely he blinked. Blank wall.

“I also put on my flyer my contact info to prevent strangers from appearing unannounced at my doorstep,” Damen paused. “On a Sunday. At night.”

“And yet here I am. Your security is horrible by the way, you should probably complain about that to the apartment manager,” Laurent drawled. That alone disqualified him to the vacancy, let aside the fact he passed for a spoiled high schooler with no hint of courtesy.

“So? Aren’t you going to interview me? I make a terrific roommate. I know how to cook and keep a house clean; I stay out of everyone’s business and in change expect everyone out of mine. I’m the most pleasant company you can get around that campus, I guarantee.”

Laurent waited and as he did so, he grabbed one of the decorative glass balls from a bowl on the table and rolled it between his hands mindlessly. When Damen gave no response, he continued, “I’m a bit of a genius, so that might interest you in case you need help with schoolwork or anything else.”

Damen stared at him. It was impossible the kid wouldn’t take the hint. All he had to do was look around, at the scattered materials, Damen’s sleeping clothes, the beer sweating the couch’s fabric, the clock marking 11 p.m. Laurent made a show of standing spitefully where he wasn’t welcomed and it either didn’t bother him or he purposefully ignored it.

“I’m also a good fuck. In case that might interest you.”

It startled Damen out of his enraged disbelief. Not that he magically came up with something to say. “I’m – I – don’t… You’re missing the point.”

“And what is that?”

“I have no idea who the fuck you are, and honestly, you’re not causing a great impression so far.”

“That comes with time.” Laurent waved him off. He wandered around the living room, accessing the quality of his surroundings. Ran a hand over Damen’s TV stand, grabbed portraits to analyze from up close, shuffled through a stack of magazines, opened the window to take a look at the view, and finally settled on the couch where he bounced, testing. Grabbed the remote, shifted through channels. Damen let it unfold only partially out of astonishment – part of him also wondered how far Laurent would go.

“It’s your turn,” Laurent said eerily, like haunted wind coming through the window.

“My turn to what?”

“Introduce yourself, of course. How am I supposed to know you’re not a pervert?” he added, plainly. “Already have enough of those in my life.”

Damen was baffled. It took him a second to find his voice. “I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Laurent turned to him, pale brows arched. “But you didn’t interview me yet.”

“I don’t intend to. Please leave. Now.” Damen marched to the door to hold it open.

“But –” Laurent stood. Damen could almost see the engines in his mind turning. “Look. I can offer you a blowjob to change your mind. Anything more than that only if you promise I can stay.”

“What are – I do not want to have sex with you,” Damen said, exasperated. Why was this happening to him? Was this what he got after working so hard?

“Why not?” Laurent spoke as if something was out of sorts. “Let me guess, you are straight. I promise you won’t note the difference, it’s like any girl’s mouth when it’s on your cock. I’m highly skilled.”

Damen opened the door wider and gestured. “Out.”

Laurent crossed his arms and made no motion to leave. Very deliberately he leaned against the armrest. “I don’t have a gag reflex, I can take you all the way in,” he spoke with an empty face, “and I swallow, don’t spit.” At the end, he smirked mildly.

Damen flinched. “I will call security.”

“No? Okay.” Laurent leaned on his hands, propping his shoulders up. “Money’s no issue. I can offer you two months of rent in advance.”

“I need you to get the hell out before I make you,” Damen spelled out.

“Fine. Three. But this is my final offer, you have to give me something to work with here.” For how playful Laurent’s words rang, he maintained his monotone. His face couldn’t be more uninterested, without the slightest semblant of shyness.

Damen didn’t respond. Again, he gestured the outside.

Laurent sighed, as if it was Damen tiring him, not the other way around. Perhaps the biggest absurd among all others. Damen might be virtually opposed to hitting kids, but Laurent just might be the exception.

Laurent did not pick up any of his belongings, as required. Rather, he walked to Damen confidently, if slightly bored. The sway of his hips seemed very deliberate as he tied his hair on a ponytail, eyes never dropping Damen’s. His eyes carried deeper richness to the blue of his irises from this close, but somehow were even colder. He stopped few inches away from Damen. If they were the same height, their noses would bump, but as Damen had at least one foot of advantage to him, Laurent’s breath tickled his collar bone.

And then suddenly, unexpectedly, Laurent dropped to his knees, reaching for the ties on Damen’s sweatpants.

“What the fuck.” Damen slapped Laurent’s hands away. Laurent swayed taken aback and retreated, confused. “Stand up,” Damen demanded, “Stand!” at the verge of yelling.

Damen’s stomach had sunk to his feet. Other than the cameras in the corridor, there were no witnesses to what happened. Laurent remained where he was, sitting back on his heels and giving Damen huge icy eyes, through obscenely long lashes as blond as his hair, blooming cheeks, and beautifully plump pink lips. “Please, get up and leave. I won’t ask again.”

Laurent felt the wall behind him to help himself up. “I want to stay.” His voice was no longer a drawl then. It had a hint of raw desperation that had not been there before.

Damen shook his head. “That’s too bad kid.”

“I’m not a kid,” he barked, words lacking the previous indifference. “Let me stay.”

“No.”

“Please.”

A beat passed. A long ‘hear-the-ticks-on-the-clock-slow-down’ kind of beat. Laurent’s stance remained mighty and unshakable, searching Damen’s face.

“How old are you?” Damen asked and again when Laurent refused to respond.

As Damen pressed further, he finally said, through gritted teeth, “Sixteen.” In spite of the aversion for the word, Laurent expression was challenging, daring Damen to say anything about it.

Damen did. “Sixteen. You can’t just get to a stranger’s house, impose on them, and expect to be welcomed,” he said, “that’s not how these things work. Kid.”

Laurent went paler a shade, previously rosy cheeks suddenly drawn out of color. His feet kicked the carpet, and his sole focus was on that. “Do you understand? You can’t walk into strangers’ houses, period. And if you wanted a real shot at getting the room you should have called me and scheduled a date to come and talk to me at a normal hour on a normal day like everyone else. And probably have your parents to call me too, considering. Now, please get out of my apartment.”

It took him a minute, but Laurent finally listened to reason and gathered his stuff. On his way out, though, as Damen already breathed relieved that this unnerving event was over (and began to formulate in mind the text he was going to send Nikandros), Laurent stopped again, white as a sheet, barely a foot away from the door Damen had been holding open for too long.

“Let me stay.”

Neither Laurent’s voice nor his posture were anything of what they had been. It was like watching him come undone. His shoulders tensed and his feet were dragging rather than pacing. “I have the money. You won’t even know I’m here. Please.” Damen shook his head sluggishly. Laurent looked out the door and then slowly cast his eyes back to Damen. “Tonight then. I can pay you for the stay and I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

Damen’s resolve faltered, then cracked, then crumbled. It finally occurred to him, “Why did you come here?”

Laurent frowned. “Your flyer…”

“No.” Laurent knew what Damen really asked.

Laurent bit his bottom lip for a long time, then straightened up. “I have nowhere else to go.” His face, though he attempted to remain composed, betrayed him. His bottom lip trembled discreetly.

“You were kicked out?” No response. Damen ran a hand over his face. His grip on the door slacked. “Damn you. Don’t you have… friends? Any family you can run to? Come to a stranger’s apartment… do you have any idea what could happen to you? You’re sixteen.” Laurent stared at him, silent. For a moment, he seemed about to speak but words died on his lips. “How do I know you aren't here to rob me? Or jump me when I’m asleep? Are your cronies waiting for you sign downstairs?”

Laurent said nothing. He balled his fists and waited as if he knew that Damen already changed his mind. It was not like Damen could do anything else anyway. It’s not like he would be able to cast out a homeless kid. Even a kid like Laurent.

Damen scratched his head and slammed the door behind him, eyes closed with a long, heavy sigh. He cursed under his breath. “Just tonight,” Damen said, though he knew he was lying. “You will have to find someplace else tomorrow.”

“Right. Thank you,” Laurent said.

They stared at each other for a moment. Damen, awkward with arms crossed over his chest and Laurent twirling his beany in his hands. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well then. The bathroom is at the end of the corridor, there are clean towels in the cabinet, and other stuff you might need.” Another awkward moment passed. “Let me show you to your room. The room. Not your room. Where you’ll stay tonight.”

Again, in a low voice, Laurent thanked him.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Gold Writing

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When a charming, handsome stranger gives you inspiration for the first time in weeks, you try to guess what it is he’s famous for in exchange for his name. Warnings: none at all :) A/N: Just a little idea I’d been toying around with for a bit. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​

Disclaimer: Gif and picture not mine

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for this time of year in New York City. Or so you’d been told, anyway. You had been living here for three months, tops; not really long enough to have a feel for the weather patterns. Either way, you were grateful for the sun’s rays coating your face, bathing you in their heat.

You turned your face away from the sky and down towards the sketchbook in your lap. It had been your hope that Central Park might inspire you, but you were still having artist’s block. It was at least better than being cooped up in your apartment all day. You didn’t really know anyone yet, save for your old friend who you had moved in next to. If it hadn’t been for them encouraging you, you probably never would have packed up and moved. They’d promised to introduce you to some people they knew, too, so you wouldn’t get lonely. Sadly, the scheduling never worked out.

And so, here you were, alone on a bench. Looking at all the couples and families and friends bustling and laughing around you, you thought you might be the only person all by yourself on this Saturday afternoon. Well, no, not the only one, you realized, spying a raven-haired man on a bench not too far away. His nose was buried in a book, a few locks of his shiny, dark hair falling out of his bun and framing his face. He looked familiar, but not in a "you knew him" sort of way. More in that you thought he might be famous somehow. No one else seemed to notice him, though.

You glanced back down at the empty pages, waiting to be filled by the strokes of your pencil. Then you looked back at the mystery man again, scooting a little closer to the end of your bench. Without really thinking about it, your deft fingers picked up your standard 2B pencil and began to sketch.

Starting with the sharp lines of his jaw, you moved onto his hair that intrigued you so. You don’t think you’d ever seen another person with hair that dark a color. Trying to get every last detail right, you kept glancing up and down. By the time you were onto the shading, you were certain that you had seen him somewhere before. The next time you glanced up, he was gone, and a frown settled on your features as you looked left and right, searching for the only subject to inspire you in days.

“It is a lovely drawing, darling,” a smooth baritone voice with a British accent said from behind you, “but I do not really think that is my best angle.”

You squeaked in surprise and dropped your sketchbook. The man somehow managed to reach out in front of you and catch it. He came to sit next to you, and as he walked around the bench, you realized just how tall he was.

“I think you dropped this,” he said with a charming smile, handing your sketchbook to you.

“I, uh, yeah. I did,” you stammered, hating how you couldn’t be as suave as him. Plus, he was unfairly good looking. “Thank you. And, um, sorry. About, you know, drawing you.”

“On the contrary, darling, there is no need to apologize. I am quite happy to have my likeness captured in such a flattering light,” he chuckled, taking off his sunglasses and revealing his brilliant blue-green eyes. “Really, I should be thanking you.”

With all the small details you were gathering, it felt like his name was on the tip of your tongue. Infuriatingly enough, you still couldn’t place it. You didn’t think he was a singer, that didn’t feel right. Though you did feel like his mesmerizing voice would be well suited to it. So, a well-known author, perhaps? He had been reading, after all. But you were woefully behind on your own reading list, so you had a feeling it wasn’t that either. You briefly wondered what even happened to the book he’d had; it was nowhere on him, almost like he’d stored it in some pocket of space.

“Oh,” you finally responded, nervously laughing. “You’re welcome, in that case. And thank you. For the compliments, I mean.”

“Ah, you are very welcome, too. It is not often I meet such a talented artist.” He somehow managed to sprawl out on the somewhat uncomfortable park bench, his long legs spread wide. It wasn’t indecent, exactly, but it somehow felt like it was. His arms were resting on the back of the seat so that, had you been leaning back, one of them would have been wrapped around your shoulder. “I do somehow find it hard to believe I was the most interesting thing in the vicinity, however. Though, I suppose I am rather flattered by that notion, too.”

His mischievous grin sent pleasant shivers down your spine. “Well, when inspiration strikes,” you anxiously chuckled with a shrug. Your nerves were still telling you he was about to get mad at any second.

“I do suppose that is true.” He cocked his head at you in the most adorable way. “Then I am honored to provide you with it.”

You suddenly felt even warmer than you had before, but you knew it had nothing to do with the sun anymore, but rather was from this enrapturing stranger. Though, this man’s smile certainly rivaled the sun.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” you began, “but you seem awfully familiar. You don’t happen to be famous, do you?”

“Oh, so you have not yet figured it out, then. I had been wondering. I suppose that, yes, I could be considered famous.”

When he didn’t say anything else, you continued, “Can I get a name then? I’m afraid I don’t really keep up with pop culture all that much.”

“Well, I suppose I could tell you my name.” His grin somehow grew to be even more mischievous. “But where is the fun in that? Besides, I am afraid you might start treating me differently if you knew.”

“Ok, that’s fair.” A spark of excitement lit behind your eyes as you got an idea and turned to face the captivating stranger. “How about this, I get three guesses about what it is you’re known for. If I get it right, you have to tell me your name. If not, then it can stay a mystery forever, if you want it to.”

“A most intriguing proposition. Alright, I accept. First guess?”

“Hang on,” you said, putting up your hand. “If I only get three guesses, I feel like it would be fair if I got to talk to you for a bit longer, at least. Unless I’m holding you up from something, of course.”

“I have time to spare, darling.” He stood up and offered you his hand. “Join me on a walk?”

An easy dialogue flowed between you as you strolled through the park. The way the light was illuminating his features made your hands itch to sketch him again. That reminded you to ask about his book, which he pulled out from seemingly nowhere.

“Hang on,” you said, getting your first idea. “Are you like a-a magician or a, um, an illusionist or something?”

“Well, it is interesting that you mention that. Magic is more a hobby than anything else,” he replied. “But not what I am known for, per se. Two guesses left.”

You frowned and flipped through the pages of the book he’d handed you. Hoping he’d made some kind of foolish error, you checked the covers for his name. No such luck. Absorbed in your hunt for clues, you weren’t paying attention to the world around you. Your companion suddenly grabbed you and jerked you to a stop. A ball whizzed past your head. If you’d kept walking, it surely would have hit you.

“You really should be more careful,” he playfully tsked. Then he grew more serious as he gently turned your head, checking for injuries. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling flustered from the attention of his piercing gaze. He also felt surprisingly cool for how warm out it was. You looked up at him and saw him raising his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe you. “I’m fine, really,” you added more convincingly. “Just my pride that’s wounded, I guess. But you stopped me in time. So, thank you.”

“It was no problem, darling,” he replied as you set off on the path again. “After all, I can’t have you getting hurt before you finish guessing, now can I?”

Again, you giggled, simultaneously loving and hating how he had that effect on you. “No, I guess not.”

“So, have you found whatever it is your looking for in my book?”

Glancing down at the page you had open, you saw it was the story of Rumpelstiltskin. How ironic. You tried to forge a connection between the book of fairytales and this man in your mind, but were coming up empty. Unless, of course, he was going to the source material for some reason, like he was preparing for a role.

“An actor!” you said, feeling sure you’d gotten it now. You’d definitely felt like you’d seen him on your TV screen before. Plus, he was definitely handsome enough for it. “That’s got to be it.”

“While I have appeared on television before, that is still incorrect, darling. One guess remaining.”

Oh how you wanted to wipe that smug yet ridiculously captivating grin from his face. Maybe with a kiss... Nope, no. That was ridiculous; you just met him. Besides, he was famous. Why on God’s green earth would he be interested in you as anything more than an entertaining encounter to pass the afternoon? So, you’d just have to do it with the right guess. You put your thinking cap on.

“Ok, well if you were on TV but aren’t an actor, maybe it was in an interview,” you thought out loud, gauging his reaction. You were excited, but also sad that your game was coming to a close. He’d surely leave after, whether you got it right or not. You supposed you could always try to look it up once you got home, if you couldn’t guess correctly. At least it would make for a fun story then. “I suppose there’s reality shows too, but that doesn’t quite seem your style. And, I guess you could be doing the interviewing—like a reporter or something—but that doesn’t sit quite right either. Sports! They televise sports. Plus I’m not really a fan, so I could believe I’ve heard of you but not totally recognize you. So, my final guess is athlete.”

“And you are certain that is your final guess?” He had a wonderful poker face and gave away nothing as to whether or not it was right. “Last chance to turn back.”

You appraised him, thinking he looked like he could be an athlete. And maybe it was some reverse psychology, trying to get you to abandon the correct guess. You didn’t really have any better ideas, anyway.

“Yes?”

“So sorry, but that is incorrect. And you are regretfully out of guesses, darling.”

“Of course it's not,” you sighed. He seemed genuinely saddened by how dismayed you seemed, so you perked up. “It was fun, though. So I, uh, I guess I won’t hold you up any longer.”

“You are correct; this was quite fun. Unfortunately, I do have another arrangement to get to,” he said in a way that made you believe he was actually upset over it. “How about that sketch that started this all, though? That one you made of me?”

“What of it?” you asked.

“May I buy it off of you?”

Your mouth formed a surprised little circle. “I mean, you can honestly have it for free. It is an unsolicited picture of you, after all. I wouldn’t feel right accepting your money for it.”

“Nonsense, I am only offering a small amount, anyway. Say, the price of a cup of coffee?”

You smiled at your feet as you caught onto what he was saying. It made your insides feel fuzzy. Maybe you wouldn’t accept, though. After all, you still didn’t know who he was. But if you were to go on a date, then certainly he would tell you.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I would love that.”

You tore out the sketch and handed it to him. In exchange, he gave you his card and said to call him to set a time and place. You glanced down at the small paper in your hands, not yet reading it. By the time you looked back up, he was already gone. With your handsome stranger nowhere to be found, you went to actually read his information. Unable to contain your surprise, not to mention shock at how foolish you were, you gasped, and your jaw hung open.

Gold writing on a green card held the secret you’d been trying to find the answer to all afternoon. Of course he was an Avenger, a hero. You ran your fingers over his name, a small smile forming on your lips. You quickly punched the contact into your phone and headed off in the direction of your apartment.

“Well, I’m glad this isn’t goodbye, Loki Laufeyson,” you mused to yourself, relishing in the way his name rolled off your tongue. “I’ll see you soon.”

[undercoveravenger]

Judgement Day

Pairing: Cato x Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Original Request: “Hi! Can you write a super angsty story for a Cato x male reader? One where they both like one another but neither of them is making the first move. Cato is distant because he doesn’t know how to deal with these feelings and male reader takes this as Cato not liking him. Something happens that makes Cato super jealous and finally confesses to male reader.”

A/N: Y’all don’t understand HOW LONG I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me to write for Cato. Like, this man could choke me out with his biceps and I would probably thank him. Please ask me for more Hunger Games things when my requests open back up!

__________________________________________________________

Cato had always known that he was going to end up a tribute. He’d been raised to be a survivor and trained to be a winner. He’d fought and clawed his way through District Two’s Tribute Academy to earn the right to Volunteer when he turned eighteen uncontested, and he’d never once doubted his choice.

Never once, until he was on the train to the Capitol watching the videos of the other Districts’ Reapings and saw you for the first time. You hadn’t been from one of the Career Districts like Cato, but instead of looking weak or scared as you took your place on the stage the way many of the past tributes from most of the outlying districts always did, you merely looked resolute- acknowledging that you may not be coming back, but determined to go down fighting.

The resilient spark that he had seen in your eyes haunted him throughout the rest of the ride into the Capitol.

-------------------

Cato’s thoughts had been torn away from you when he was handed over to his stylists, but his attention had snapped right back to you when he saw you before the tribute parade. He’d known that he looked brutal in his golden armor and shining headdress, but somehow your stylists had made you look striking in a way that was both strong and beautiful and altogether different from him. 

They’d taken the color palette of autumn trees (Lumber was the specialty for District Seven, so that made sense) and cut miniscule leaves out of the fabric, sewing and weaving them together in a way that made the long cape that flowed from your shoulders look like they’d been caught a breeze right from the forest and bound it to you. In a strange way, Cato could almost relate to that thought. The rest of your outfit was a dusky brown with thick ridges and swirls marked into the fabric to make it look like the rough bark of a tree, leaving you and your District partner looking like the very embodiments of autumn as you stepped up into the carriage pulled by a pair of bay horses, their coats shining a brilliant crimson as the bright lights hit them.

Cato had had to drag his eyes away from you when his and Clove’s chariot lurched into motion.

---------------------

When training had started, Cato had already begun to suspect that he felt something for you, though he thought it was merely an attraction. He was proven wrong when his heart lurched in his chest when one of the trainers had you trapped in a wrestling hold, wrenching your feet up off the ground and slamming you backward onto the hard training mat.

He knew in the back of his mind that you weren’t in any real danger yet (the trainers were there to help you all stand a chance in the arena, not kill you before the Games even started after all), but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t positively fuming at the fact that someone had dared to put their hands on you. He shoved his way past the couple of other tributes that’d been lined up at the wrestling station, holding your gaze as you pushed yourself back to your feet. He looked back to the trainer in front of him when you shook out of your daze and made your way to the back of the line.

Cato grinned as the trainer lowered into a fighting stance in front of him, quickly launching himself into the match. He managed to duck out of the way of the trainer’s grappling pretty easily, having gone through much more intense training back in his District anyway. He kept his distance when he could, keen azure eyes waiting for any opening- there. 

He moved immediately upon realizing that the trainer was favoring his left leg, moving quickly to knock him off balance and then throwing him hard to the mat, pinning him face-down against the stiff plastic. Cato let a self-satisfied grin slip onto his face as he moved to get off of the trainer, the corners of his lips twitching up ever higher as he met your awed (e/c) eyes and suddenly he found himself hoping that the line between the two of you and the mat never moved again.

“That was incredible,” you told Cato as he came to stand behind you in the line and the blond had to fight back a smile at the fact that you were speaking to him for the first time.

“If you thought that was impressive, you should see what I can do with a sword.” He winced internally, knowing that while that sort of thing mattered where he was from, you probably wouldn’t find it nearly as awe-inspiring. You’d probably just be afraid of him.

You just chuckled and Cato’s hope was restored. “Well, no offense, but I’d just as soon not be on the other end of a blade from you.”

Cato laughed, a little relieved that you hadn’t taken his thoughtless remark as a threat. “That’s probably a good idea,” he grinned. “Really though, I’m not too bad. It’s Clove you’ve gotta watch out for,” he nodded toward his District partner, wincing when one of the throwing knives she was using struck the target with deadly precision.

“Thanks for the advice,” you muttered, eyes wide as you watched her throw again from across the room.

Cato opened his mouth, struggling to come up with something to say. “Uh, what about you?”

“What about me?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked up at the blond.

He shrugged, looking away sheepishly and hoping you couldn’t see the ghost of a blush forming on his cheeks, “What’re you good at? Clove’s got her knives and I’ve got swords and spears. What’s your thing?”

Your brows furrowed as you looked away, clearly deep in thought. You brightened, grinning at him as you cocked your head toward the throwing station. Cato watched curiously as you picked up a throwing axe, tossing it idly between your hands. “It’s a little different the way we do it back in District Seven, but it’s a good way to have some fun once the work day is over.” He watched as you pulled back, the axe turning head over handle as you released it, the sharp end of the head sinking deep into the target with a loud thud, nearly as precisely as his District partner.

“Holy shit, that was cool,” he murmured, smug satisfaction settling in his chest as you flushed at the praise. “What else do they teach you out there in the woods?” he prodded, hoping you’d open up about yourself now that he’d gotten you talking.

You opened your mouth to speak, but cut yourself off as the bell to signal the end of the training day chimed. “Ask me tomorrow and find out.”

--------------------

Just as you’d asked, Cato met up with you as soon as you made your way down into the training room the next morning and you showed him many of the other things that growing up in District Seven had taught you. In exchange, he helped train you in a few different methods of hand-to-hand combat.

With all the time the two of you were spending together, it was no wonder that he’d grown quite fond of you, something that he’d struggled to hide, even during his televised interview.

Caesar Flickerman, dressed this year in a gaudy shade of blue, had shaken his hand warmly and guided him to sit in one of the chairs situated before the massive audience. A few minutes of meaningless banter passed before Caesar finally asked a question that threw Cato for a loop. “So,” he had started, wide blue eyes fixed on the blond and hands clasped in front of him, “Is there anyone that’ll be in the Arena that makes you nervous?”

Retrospectively, he knew that Caesar had been asking whether there was anyone he was worried about facing, but in that moment the only face that came to mind was yours. “(M/N),” he’d answered reflexively, scrambling to backtrack as soon as your name had left his lips. “The boy from District Seven, I mean. We’ve spent some time together during training. He’s good; he’ll put up a good fight in the Arena, no matter who he’s up against.”

Caesar had caught on to his hesitation and, in true interviewer fashion, had to probe further. “You’ve spent time together?”

Cato schooled his expression back into the nonchalance that his mentors had wanted him to show, forcing himself back to the effortless confidence he was meant to exude. “We talked. Sparred some. He showed me some things he knew and I showed him some that I did.” He forced himself to laugh, “Of course, I still have plenty of tricks up my sleeve, so it’ll still be a hell of a show.”

Caesar had laughed, making a few more jokes to the audience and shaking his hand again for the innumerable cameras before dismissing him.

----------------------

Cato forced himself to sit through the next few Districts’ interviews with relative indifference, but then it was your turn and Cato had to force himself not to visibly perk up, though his eyes remained fixed on you. 

Caesar greeted you the same way he had the rest of the tributes and guided you back to the interviewee’s chair, setting into his wheel of questions easily. Cato had nearly tuned out your interview entirely when one question in particular caught his attention. “Is there anyone special waiting for you back home?” Caesar had asked, leaning forward like he was expecting some juicy gossip. “A handsome boy like you must have a girlfriend waiting for you, right?”

You’d flushed, the brilliant red of your embarrassed blush bright enough to even be seen on the huge screens the interview was being projected up on. “No, uh, no girlfriend.”

“Seriously?” Caesar had asked disbelievingly. “Surely, there must be a girl-”

“No,” You’d protested, raising your hands defensively, “I’m actually, um,” you’d turned your gaze to your lap so you could avoid his eyes, “I’m attracted to boys.”

Caesar let out a noise of understanding, sitting back in his chair and shooting the audience a knowing look. “If that’s the case, allow me to revise my question, is there anyone back home that you’re interested in?’

“Back home? No,” you shook your head, offering Caesar a polite smile. Cato could tell that Caesar had been about to push you for more details when the buzzer went off, signaling that they had run out of time to question you. The interviewer looked slightly off-put, but he had to abide by the rules so he shook your hand for the cameras and sent you off.

Something about your interview had left a bad taste in Cato’s mouth, so as soon as you’d retaken your place in line and your District partner had made her way up onto the stage Cato found himself storming down the line of tributes until he reached you, grabbing the front of your shirt and dragging you close enough that, though it looked like he was snarling an insult at you to anyone else, only you could hear him asking you to meet him on the roof that night. When you gave him a barely perceptible nod, he released you, shoving hard on your shoulders for show before making his way back to his place, a frustrated grimace on his face.

------------------------

The interviews ended late, but the Capitol was still in an uproar even later into the night when you finally made your way up into the rooftop garden where Cato had been waiting for you. He turned to face you as soon as the elevators slid open, azure eyes reflecting the lights of the city as you came to stand beside him, looking out over the city.

He was quiet for a long moment as he stared out over the horizon, but eventually forced himself to speak. “I don’t want to be here,” he said finally, chancing a look over at you. “I thought I did. I mean, I Volunteered and everything, but it just didn’t feel real until now.”

“What changed?” you asked.

Cato wasn’t really sure that he knew the answer until he thought back to the way he felt after your interview. The burning ache that your words had left in his chest had been jealousy and the way he hadn’t been able to take his mind off of you since he’d first seen the recording of your Reaping had been far more than just an attraction. Finally, like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a heavy rain, the answer dawned on him. “I did.” He bit out a laugh, “I met someone, and it made me realize how much the Games were going to take from me before I even realized what I was going to lose.”

“Clove is a lucky girl,” you mused, taking a seat near the railing around the edge of the roof. “Or is it that girl from Twelve? You might have to compete with that bakery boy for her, but you seem like you’d be more her type than him anyway…”

Cato turned to look at you curiously, “It’s not a girl.”

You seemed surprised, but you were quick to shrug it off. “Then maybe you’re after the bakery boy yourself, then? Or what’s-his-name from One?”

“Nope,” Cato hummed, grinning a little as he dropped down to sit next to you. He remained quiet for a moment, clearly entertained by the way you were seemingly running through the list of other tributes in your head. “Y’know,” he started after a moment, “It would be a lot easier for me to tell you that I have feelings for you if you were to stop guessing every other tribute.”

His words seemed to stop you in your tracks and he couldn’t stop the grin that threatened to take over his features as you stared back at him in surprise, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like you’d been about to suggest another name. “M-me?” you forced out eventually.

Cato laughed, nodding. “Sorry, I made it weird, didn’t I?” He huffed, turning his attention back to the galaxy of lights spread out below you, “I just-” he shrugged, “I didn’t want to go into the Arena tomorrow without telling you how I felt. You don’t have to worry about saying no; it’s not going to make me target you or anything. I’ve already asked the rest of my alliance to leave you alone, so you don’t really have us to worry about.”

“What if I wasn’t going to tell you no?” Your voice was steady, even and contemplative, even though what you were talking about could give the both of you a major Achilles heel in the Arena in just a few hours.

Cato jerked around to face you, visibly stunned by your words. “What?!”

“What if I liked you back?” you prompted, turning to meet his gaze. “Would it change anything anyway? We’re from two different Districts; we’ve got a worse chance than the wanna-be lovers from Twelve.”

Cato sighed; he knew that you had a point. No matter how much you liked one another, you were still going to be thrown into the Arena and be expected to kill each other. “I don’t care,” he said finally, determined blue eyes meeting yours, “I don’t care if I only get a few days or a few hours. I just want to be with you, even if I only get a little while.”

You looked torn and Cato couldn’t blame you. On the one hand, being able to be with someone who liked you a lot would be great, but it would hurt more when one of you was killed in the Arena, but forcing yourself to stay away from the person that held your heart? Cato was sure the not-knowing would kill him.

After a moment, you nodded and Cato felt the weight in his chest that’d been dragging at him lighten, if only a little. You scooted closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to the top of your head before turning back to watch the lights of the city before you again.

Cato knew that there was no way he could promise you forever, not when you were about to get thrown headlong into a bloodbath, but he could promise you that he would be here to hold you in his arms until the sun began to rise and that, even as the canons sounded to start the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games, he would be praying for a miracle that would allow him to stay with you.