#cleaned it like an idiot so the floor is just really sticky in random places and Jesus Christ

[jovalencia]

everybody who has talked to me in the last 72 hours has experienced me on the verge of a breakdown and tbh I would feel bad but like. girl I’m not partying rn

[heavenlyhischier]

idiots in love - dick grayson

summary: two people who are madly in love with each other but they're both idiots.

word count: 5.8k (lmao sorry)

warnings: lil angsty, cursing, steamy lil makeout sesh, unedited, cursing??

notes: hi hello hi! here is something that has been sitting, more like marinating, in the drafts for a hot minute. btw its not explicitly titans!verse dick, but he's hot so sue me

Saying that befriending Jason Todd changed your life would be a complete understatement. You had gone from being invisible and living under the radar in Gotham to earning an unwanted spotlight from being seen alongside Bruce Wayne’s son nearly every day. To make that matter worse, Jason had once conned you into attending a gala that Bruce was holding because “it is the only way he could manage to survive another one of these things”. That drew a lot of rumors and suspicions from the media in Gotham as they speculated the true nature of your relationship with Jason. That was also the start of a complex and hidden relationship with his older brother.

Dick Grayson remembered the first time that he saw you like it was happening right in front of him all over again. You were standing next to Jason in a floor length black dress that shimmered blue when the light hit it just the right way. You were, albeit unknowingly, wearing his colors next to his brother and it instantly attracted him to you. He could tell you felt out of place by the way your body was turned towards Jason and your eyes kept darting around you. Trying to get you away from Jason was a much harder task than he had anticipated, but what ensued once he had made it all worth it.

Meeting Dick was something Jason had tried to keep you from for as long as he could. He knew that Dick had a less than honorable reputation when it came to women, and you getting tangled in that web was the last thing he wanted for you. Despite his efforts, your attraction to the detective was stronger than he would have guessed and you managed to fall into the hole anyway. Jason, the ever so protective friend he was, tried to keep out of it, but his brother made that increasingly harder the more often you showed up at his apartment defeated and confused.

You had initially tried to keep your relationship with Dick a secret. You really did. But being friends with someone like Jason made that impossible. He was able to find out anything and everything he wanted. When he tried, and miserably failed, to subtly ask you if you were seeing someone he knew, you came clean about everything. You told him about how the night you met Dick, he had taken you back to his apartment and you two talked for hours and hours. Jason had been slightly thrown off that he didn’t try to sleep with you, but you assured him that that didn’t happen until nearly two weeks after you had met.

You also divulged the true nature of your feelings for Dick that night, and Jason had suggested that you tell him or it was going to ultimately cause you pain and heartache. “I tried to bring it up once,” You had said, “But he kind of shut it down pretty quick. Said that we’re just friends who hook up sometimes. He just- he acts like it’s more than that when we’re in bed and it’s so confusing, but I don't want to give it up. If that’s all I can have of him, I’ll deal.”

That was nearly four months ago, and nothing had changed. Dick would call you at random times day or night and you would go running every single time. It was pathetic how desperate you were to have a piece of him, but you were too scared to ask for more. He was too closed off with his feelings to ever let you get even an inkling of how he felt about you outside of physical attraction. Jason had been right about this bringing you nothing but despair. Nonetheless, you stayed at his mercy.

Your body was hot and sticky with sweat as you lay on Dick’s chest, fingers tracing along the scars that littered his skin. You often asked how he managed to obtain so many, but he, much like Jason, said the same thing every time. “Job’s just dangerous”. You’re not quite sure how being a detective and security guard would get one in situations to earn such wounds, though you never pressed too hard. His arm was tight around you, making sure that you stayed tucked into his side as his fingers delicately grazed your waist, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind in their wake. Moments like these you both despised and cherished. They made your heart swell with hope and want, but they also made your stomach turn with uncertainty.

“You going to the gala tomorrow,” Dick’s asked, his grip slightly tightening.

You peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah. Jay always makes me go with him since he ‘can’t handle it alone’. Are you, or do you have to work?”

Dick’s not sure why hearing that you would be attending the event with his brother hit him the way it did. It made his throat close up and his chest burn with jealousy. You had always attended Bruce’s events with Jason, and he knew that. He knows that it was purely platonic, but a part of himself couldn’t help but think there was something else there. He knows his brother is an attractive guy, and God you are the most beautiful woman to walk the earth. It only made sense for you two to be attracted to each other, and that’s what he has been running with.

“Yeah, I’m bringing a girl from work actually,” His voice was flat as he loosened his grip on you so that he was barely touching you now. It was a total lie, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it. 

It was as if Dick punched a hole into your chest and ripped your heart out with his own two hands. Your movements froze as you blinked back the tears that instantly pricked your eyes, not wanting to give away the effect his words had on you. He was always good at reminding you that you were a disposable secret to him, but it hurt all the same every time.

Composing yourself, you flattened your hand on his chest and used it to push yourself up into a sitting position. You avoided looking at Dick as you slipped out of his bed and began putting your clothes back on. He watched you, trying to piece together what was going through your brain. He shamelessly wanted to believe it to be jealousy; that you detested the idea of another woman on Dick’s arm, but he knew better than that. He assumed you were in a hurry to get to Jason’s apartment, which is where he knew you went every time after you left his place. He had followed you one night to make sure you stayed safe, but he wasn’t prepared for his own heart to be put into danger.

That was the night he realized just how deep his feelings for you were, and it scared him to no end. He thought he was doing good at guarding his heart, but then he met you. You had effortlessly and entirely captured him. Dick craved everything about you. He craved your touch. Your smile. Your laughter. You. He would do whatever it took to have a part of you no matter how much it hurt him to know your heart would never belong to him. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” You spoke through the awkward tension in the air, “I should probably go home to sleep before tomorrow. Don’t want to look like a walking zombie, you know.”

Your idiotic attempt at a joke hung in the air as you slipped your socks on, and you mentally slapped yourself for saying that. Wanting to get away from the now uncomfortable situation, you rushed out of his apartment without another word to the man who held your heart in his hands. Typically, you would walk to Jason’s and mope about your unfortunate situation, but you opted to go to your own apartment instead. You made sure to let Jason know of your plans so that he didn’t quite literally break into your house to make sure that you were alive. His “u ok?” text went ignored as you fell into your bed and begged your thoughts to quiet themselves so you could sleep in peace.

You woke the next morning with a new sense of determination, and a little bit of retaliation on your mind. You quickly sent Cass and Steph a text asking them to come do some last minute shopping with you, which they were more than happy to agree to. They both met you outside of your apartment an hour later, questions tumbling out of their mouth as soon as they saw you. You brushed off their interrogations with a laugh and started towards the nicer part of Gotham.

“I thought you already had a dress,” Cass pointed as you walked into one of your favorite dress shops in the fashion district.

“I do, but I always wear some variation of black and blue and I wanted to switch it up,” You shrugged as you filtered through some of the dresses on the rack.

Truthfully, you knew that the colors you always wore matched the colors that Dick wore as well. It was something that he mentioned drove him crazy whenever he managed to pull you away to have his way with you. You started wearing those colors for him specifically, but something inside you switched this morning. Today, you were going to wear something else and prayed to anyone that would listen that it would get underneath his skin. You knew it was childish, but if he was going to bring someone else, you didn’t care.

The two of them shared a knowing look with each other before diving in to help you search. They were aware of your situation with Dick and how you felt about him, but unlike you, they could see the way he felt about you. They knew that if you showed up wearing something other than the colors he wore to protect the city, he was going to be absolutely furious. However, they secretly hoped it got under his skin enough to ignite the fire he needed to tell you how he truly felt.

You had gathered a decent amount of options, so you decided to move over to the dressing room area and try what you had on. You had tried on a variation of styles and colors; none of which you liked. The girls of course gave their honest opinions, and you got rid of the ones they made faces at almost immediately. Your last pick was a long-sleeved red dress with a slit on the right side and a plunged neckline. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the way the color looked slightly off, but it still made you look damn hot.

You opened the curtain and slowly stepped out, catching the girl's attention. “Now that’s sure going to piss Dick off,” Cass laughed, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing something.

“You look absolutely breathtaking, but she’s right. If your goal is to make him mad, that dress will sure make that happen,” Steph agreed as she nudged Cass to calm down, “Is that what you want?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know. At first, yes, but now I just- I’m not sure. I don’t think he’ll even notice,” You sighed, casting your eyes to the ground as you lightly pinched at the satin.

“Oh he’ll notice alright. He might beat the shit out of Jay, too.”

Your eyes darted back towards them, wide and alert. The last thing you wanted to cause any sort of fight between your best friend and man you were in love with. “Why would he do that over a dress,” You rushed out, hands nervously gripping the fabric.

“It’s not the dr- He won’t, hon. It was just a joke,” Cass recovered as she glared at Steph, “I’m sure he won’t do that. You’re just going to look really good and he’ll probably be a little jealous is all.”

You ignored Steph’s quiet snort and went back to change, making the decision to go ahead and get the dress. It was as if it was tailored specifically for your body, and not getting it would almost be criminal. You knew you were going to have to dip into your savings a little to afford the dress, but the way it looked on you was worth it. Once you had changed and went to go pay, but there was a woman standing outside the dressing room with a dress bag.

“We paid for it,” Steph peeked her head around the woman, a smile beaming on her face, “And no you can not pay us back!”

After a failed attempt at trying to get the girls to at least take some of your money, they took you back to the manor to get ready with them. Cassandra called Bruce who had Alfred ready one of the larger rooms for the three of you to get ready in. Steph put on some music as you took turns showering in the biggest shower you had seen in your entire life. You had stayed in there a little longer than you intended, getting lost in your thoughts about Dick Grayson.

You could tell that the girls were itching to ask you about why your sudden change in outfit happened, but were keeping quiet in case it was too sensitive of a topic. It was clear to them that you were trying to get back at Dick, but they couldn’t figure out why. They were both capable of asking the right questions in order to gain the information they wanted; it was a practice they put into use nearly every day. However, they felt guilty using that skill on you.

The closer the time for the event to start came, the harder it became to breathe. Knowing that Dick was bringing someone else made your entire body ache as you wondered why you weren’t good enough. He had told you before that he never liked to bring dates because people would speculate, and he only wanted them to speculate if it were true. Now, he would mingle and flirt all he wanted, but he had never kept it to one person the entire night. This girl had to be someone special if he was okay with rumors flying around.

Nearly an hour later, the sound of someone knocking broke through the intense concentration you had from doing your makeup. Steph, who was already done getting ready, pulled the door open and Jason came barreling in. He was dressed in an all black suit, but the tie he was sporting was the same color as the dress you had bought today. You internally smacked yourself for not remembering that red was Jason’s color, and that’s why the girls said what they did about Dick.

“What do you want,” Steph huffed, quickly closing the door in case anyone passed by.

“I’m bored,” Jason groaned as he fell backwards onto the untouched bed.

“So go bother someone else,” Cass spoke over her shoulder, giving Jason an annoyed glare. If you hadn’t known anny better, you would have thought she was being serious.

“Y/N’s in here and she’s my friend so why don't you go bother someone else. Anyways, we need to be down there in like twenty minutes so you two better hurry.”

“I just need to get my dress on and I’m done,” You called out as you let the setting spray settle on your face.

You heard Steph whisper something to Jason, but you were too far away for it to be understood. You went back into the bathroom where your dress was hanging on the back of the door, leaving their whispers behind.  Nerves spread through every inch of your body as you slipped the dress on,  the urge to throw up growing with each second. A large part of you wanted to back out and just not go, but you knew that Jason would physically drag you if he had to.

Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you pulled the bathroom door open and walked back out into the room. Initially, Jason cast you a passing glance, but he nearly broke his neck swiveling back to you, sitting up so quickly the momentum almost threw him off the bed. The girls had the biggest smiles on their faces and you couldn’t help but blush at the attention.

“You’re right. He might kill me,” Jason laughed as he stood and strided over to you, “You look beautiful, but if you’re trying to get under Dick’s skin. I think you’re going to accomplish that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize we’d be matching. I wanted to make him mad, but I don’t want to make him think this is happening,” You gestured between you and Jason as you grimaced. The thought of ever being involved with Jason like that made you uncomfortable.

“You wish it was, sweetheart,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Why do you wanna make him mad anyways?”

“Uh, he uh- Fuck,” You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration as you let the truth out, “He told me he was bringing someone else and I know it shouldn’t be a big deal but it’s just- you know why it bothers me..”

The girls looked both confused and shocked, but Jason. Jason was absolutely fuming. He already hated the way his brother treated you, but knowing that he would do something that childish made his blood boil. He knew that Dick never brought a woman to any events because he hated the rumors that accompanied that, and if Dick was willing to put up with that just to spite you? That was enough to make him see red.

“Jason,” Steph tried, sensing that he was about to boil over.

You watched as the two girls shared a look with each other as Jason tightly clenched his fists. You felt guilty for making Jason so angry, but you knew it wasn’t you that made him mad. It was his brother and his idiotic behavior, but a part of you wished that you had just kept that to yourself. You knew that he hated the way Dick was treating you and this only added fuel to that already blazing fire.

“I’m fine,” He let out through strangled breaths, “I’m good. Let’s just go downstairs.”

Dick had been downstairs for the last thirty minutes, his heart beating harder and faster the longer he waited for your arrival. Bruce could tell that he wasn’t all the way there, but chose to not ask his son what was on his mind. In fact, he already knew the answer to his own question. Dick paced the floor, eyes glancing to the door every few seconds in case you chose to make your entrance then.

He was nervous to see you after what he had said to you last night. He had no intentions of making that lie a truth, but he still felt the guilt eating away at him ever since you had left. You hadn’t texted him when you got home, and you also hadn’t texted him all day. That was how he knew that he had struck a nerve, but he was still naive as to why. He had convinced himself that there was no way you felt the same way, so why were you suddenly so distant?

You had attempted to soothe Jason’s anger by telling him it wasn’t a big deal and that you didn’t care if Dick brought someone else, but he saw right through your lies. He curtly brushed your comments off as his eyes stayed set on the path in front of him; one thing staying at the forefront of his mind.

Your heart was bound to beat out of your chest the closer you got to the party, you’re sure of that. The combination of having to see Dick and Jason’s anger towards him was not helping ease any of your already bubbling anxiety. You wrung your fingers together as you tried to calm yourself down, but it wasn’t doing much. You wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave and pretend like nothing ever happened.

Steph and Cass kept glancing at you, passing you sympathetic gazes as they walked ahead. They could practically feel the nerves radiating off of you mixed with the pure rage off of Jason. It put them on high alert, and they knew they were going to have to keep a close eye on their brothers in order to maintain some sort of peace. A silent agreement was made to keep the two of them apart until Jason got his emotions in check.

“Jason,” You tried again as you entered the party, hand instinctively gripping Jason’s bicep “Please don’t do anything stupid. It’s fine.”

Several eyes watched as you descended the stairs on Jason’s arm and you knew whispers were being thrown around thanks to the accidental matching outfits. You had, of course, been seen with Jason countless times before, but now the public had all the proof that they needed to confirm the relationship they had created in their heads.

“I never do anything stupid, sweetheart. Everything I do is calculated and on purpose,” He teased, his anger fading for a fleeting moment.

Dick found you as soon as you stepped foot into the room, but he immediately wished that he hadn’t. Your dress was a deep red color that not only matched Jason’s tie, but the helmet that adorned his head as he prowled the streets of Gotham. Dick could feel any hope that he had shatter with each step that you took, and he hated himself for it. It was his own fault.

“Dick,” Bruce’s gruff voice pulled his gaze away from you, “If there’s going to be a problem-”

“There won’t be,” He interrupted before turning on his heels and heading straight for the bar.

Cass made a beeline straight for Dick while Steph stayed relatively close to the two of you. Jason had taken a glass of champagne from the first waitress that passed by, not even letting the poor woman get four steps away before he needed another one. Your hand stayed glued to his bicep as an attempt for comfort while also keeping him near you. Just when you thought you had grown accustomed to the scrutinizing stares of Gotham’s most elite, it was ten times worse now.

“Good evening Mister Todd,” A man you recognized from The Gotham Globe approached, his annoyingly bright smile plastered on, “I see we have made the relationship official?”

“Piss off,” Jason grumbled, dragging you away from the obnoxious reporter.

Stares lingered longer than usual and whispers were present anywhere the two of you went. You tried to tune everything out, but the ache in your heart remained. You had only seen the back of Dick as he spoke with a woman; you assumed she was his date. You barely managed to fight back tears, but the thought of Jason seeing them made it a little easier to control. Despite your current suffering, you didn’t wish him any harm.

Dick didn’t mean to find you every chance that he could. He really didn’t, but it was like his own subconscious was trying to torment him. Forcing him to watch you throw your head back with laughter as you clung to his younger brother. It lit the sort of rage within him that was different from the one he got when he was dealing with the scum of Gotham. This rage was based out of fear. He needed to get out of there, at least for a moment.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, Jay,” You had leaned up to whisper in his ear, “I might be a while, though. I just need to breathe for a little bit.”

You slipped your arm out of his own before making way towards the stairs. You had spent enough time at these events to know where and how to escape unnoticed. You were essentially being guided by pure muscle memory as you snuck into one of the rooms that was in an area off limits to guests. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you turned and leaned your head against the dark wooden door, letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you okay,” A voice you would recognize anywhere cut through the silence. You let out a startled yelp, opening your eyes to see Dick sitting on his old bed. You had, unintentionally, guided yourself to the one room you were trying to stay away from.

His eyes dragged over your body for the thousandth time tonight, but now he was able to really admire you. You looked breathtaking. Though to him, you always did. To him, you were the most beautiful woman to exist in any world, but he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. He had come here to escape the aching in his chest for a moment, but it seemed the universe wanted him to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” You finally managed to speak, albeit quietly, “I didn’t mean to come in here.”

“It’s fine. I was just leaving,” He avoided eye contact with you as he stood.

“No, don’t,” You rushed out, taking a few steps towards him, “This is your room. I’ll leave.”

The sound of your heels clicking against the hardwood floors made Dick look up and meet your gaze. Dick had spent countless hours observing you and getting to know each and every part of your body that he could tell you were nervous. He could sense the apprehension from the way you struggled to maintain eye contact to the way your fingers pinched at the fabric of your dress. He wanted nothing more than to kiss away any anxiety you had, but he knew he couldn't do that. Not anymore.

Dick’s hair was untamed in a way that looked as if he had been pulling at it, something you knew he does when he’s frustrated. His cheeks were tinged red and eyes slightly bloodshot and tired. Every nerve in your body was screaming at you to reach out to him. To let him know that you were there, but you couldn’t let him back in again. You had endured enough pain from him.

“You look beautiful,” He quietly spoke, gaze unwavering.

Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes darted across the room, “Thank you. It was a last minute change and I accidentally ended up matching with Jason, which is only fueling those stupid rumors. I should have just worn the dress I originally bought, but I-”

“Y/N,” Dick cut off your rambling, knowing you would keep going until you couldn’t breathe, “You mean that you and Jason aren’t…”

Your gaze snapped to his own at the implication, and you could see the desperation and defeat swimming in his eyes. “No, Dick. No,” You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head, “Nothing has changed on that front, and it never will. But even if it did, why do you care? You brought a date.”

Your voice was thick with emotion as you mentioned his alleged date, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from brimming with tears. You hated that the simple thought of him with someone else made you break, but there was no stopping that now. He took a few steps towards you and took your face in his hands as you attempted to blink back tears.

“I lied,” He whispered, thumbs wiping away at the tears that managed to break free, “I never had a date. I only said I did because I was hurt and confused. I was hurt because I’ve convinced myself that Jason is the one that you want. That he’s the guy you want to be with; not me. I know that you spend a lot of time with him so I just thought...”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled; your skin burning in the places his fingers pressed against. You wanted to cling onto the hope that he meant that the same way that you wanted him to, but you’re scared. You’re scared to let yourself believe the one thing he had convinced you wasn’t true. Your eyes were a tell all for Dick, and he hated the painful look in them now. He could tell you were holding back, and he knew he was the cause of that.

“I don’t want to be with Jason,” You began, voice wavering, “I spend a lot of time with him because he’s my friend and he’s there for me. He listens to me and he comforts me because I’m an idiot in love with someone who doesn’t love me back.”

Every nerve in Dicks body was telling him to let you go. He would never forgive himself if someone were to find out who he was and used you to hurt him. Jason would never forgive him. Bruce taught him that keeping someone you love far away is what will keep them the safest, but what good has that done him? He’s a gloomy man who hides his feelings with a veil of indifference. A veil any person could see through if they looked hard enough.

His silence was unnerving, so you were quick to add, “Dick, it’s okay that you don't feel the same. I’ve known that for a long time.”

“I do,” He hurried as his fingers pressed slightly harder, “I love you, and that scares me in more ways than you could ever know. I thought I knew what it was like to be in love, but then I met you and I realized that nothing has ever compared to the way I feel about you. I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes. I can’t let that go.”

The tears you were desperately trying to keep at bay flowed down your cheeks as he confessed. You had been waiting to hear him say he loved you for so long that even now, it doesn’t feel real. If it weren’t for the pressure on your cheeks from his fingers, you would have convinced yourself that you were hallucinating. That he wasn’t truly there and the few glasses of champagne you had got to your head.

You lunged forward, quickly capturing his lips with your own. He let out a low groan as he dropped his hands to your waist, pulling you into his grasp. You knotted your fists in his undoubtedly expensive button up as the two of you kissed each other like your lives depend on it. Obviously, you’ve done this particular dance with Dick before, but this was different. This was the kind of kiss that splits the sky in two and opens it up to the heavens.

You can taste the alcohol on his lips as he gently turns and guides you backwards until the backs of your thighs come in contact with the obnoxiously large desk. One of his hands moves to fumble around with the various objects scattered across the desk. His struggles cause you to lightly break away and let out an airy giggle as he works to clear the top.

“I haven’t touched this thing in years I don’t know why there’s so much shit on it,” He mumbled against your lips, “Oh fuck it.”

He shoved everything onto the ground and hoisted you up onto the now empty desk, and you couldn’t help but throw your head back in laughter at how cliché that was. “Calm down, hotshot. You’re going to attract an audience with that noise.”

He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his dark, lustful gaze, “Let them watch then.”

The pool between your legs grew, aching for any sort of friction to ease the desire that had blossomed inside of you. You were desperate for a release, so you pulled him in by the back of his neck and met his lips in a blinding kiss. Dick gripped the underside of your thigh, pulling you flush against his body. Your fingers pulled and tugged at his hair and suddenly he's kissing you harder with a fervent desire that left you utterly breathless.

“Dick,” You pulled away, “If you don’t stop kissing me like that, you’re going to have to fuck me.”

Dick was slightly stunned at your bluntness, but it just made him even more attracted to you; something he did not think was possible. “Not that I don’t want to, but I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you,” He whispered, his eyes dancing all across your face as if he was memorizing every inch of it, “Trust me, I really really want to. I also want to do things right with you and I know I’ve been fucking it up for the last few months.”

“Who knew you were such a softie,” You teased, “But now is not the ti-”

You were cut off by Jason’s voice bouncing off the hallway walls as he called your name. You instantly shoved yourself off of the desk and began to straighten your dress. Dick let you push him away from you, his heart constricting as he let himself go back to what he thought previously. You looked behind you and you could tell that he was upset.

“Hey,” You started, cupping his cheek in your hand, “Don’t do that. It isn’t like that at all, okay? I just know that he is extremely pissed off at you right now and I want to do a little damage control first. I promise you I will come over later and we can do whatever you want.”

“Can you stay with me tonight,” He pleaded, taking your other hand in his own, “Stay with me as my girlfriend.”

He felt cheesy saying that, but he didn’t care. Not when it came to you, and especially not when he got to see the most beautiful smile that came after it. You heard Jason’s footsteps getting closer, so you have Dick one last kiss before quickly leaving his room. 

“Y/N,” Jason called out, “Were you in Dick’s room?”

“Can we go talk somewhere? I need to tell you something and I don’t think doing it in public is wise.”

let me know what you guys think! if you want, you can also send in some requests ;)

[katyasrussianaccent]

you're so golden (corpse x reader)

Summary: You're a faceless youtuber that sings cover songs. What happens when a certain faceless streamer slides into your DMs after you cover one of his songs?

Author's Note: Don't hate me! This was gonna be a cute chapter but then I decided against that. Credit to @moontwinkles for the spilling scene idea. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

The sound of your alarm wakes you from your slumber with a suddenness. Bleary-eyed, you roll over to turn it off, letting out a small sigh as your body and brain start to awaken. You’re going to meet Corpse. You’re going to meet Corpse. It bares repeating in your mind; the prospect still not quite registering.

You haven’t had the greatest sleep, your mind racing most of the night; skittish little thoughts that had you tapping your toes on the mattress in agitation as you struggled to turn them off. Sunlight streams through the cracks in your blinds, a warm glow painted in stripes on your wall. It was going to be a good day, tiredness be damned.

You get up, stretching your arms out as wide as possible and relishing in the relief as your muscles unclench themselves. There’s a little spring in your step as you walk to the bathroom, to wash your face and brush your teeth. You aren’t nervous as you pick out your favourite outfit, instead you feel excited. It’s funny how little scraps of fabric and thread can impact your mood so much, but you smile at your reflection, the feeling of confidence is nice, albeit rare.

The rumbling in your stomach signals that you need to eat something before you leave. Nothing too fancy, just some toast and a glass of juice. You can feel the nerves start to grow a little, the food sits heavy on your tongue, forcing you to swallow it. You grab your phone, scrolling as you chew. You go onto Corpse’s twitter, smiling at the picture he’s posted.

Out of curiosity, you go onto his likes. You always find his likes interesting; the random things he’s added gives you more of an insight to his thoughts and feelings. You chew the inside of your cheek as you scroll down past girls with perfect skin and bodies; your previous confidence now feels a little misplaced.

Deciding against letting it ruin your mood, you close the tab and go to grab your bag before locking your door and heading to your car. You text Rae to let her know you’re leaving and she replies almost immediately to wish you luck. Sitting in front of the steering wheel, you exhale as you start the engine and begin to drive. This was really happening. When Corpse had asked to meet, you were shocked. While you had discussed it, you had been under the assumption it would be a while before it happened. You just hope you don’t make an idiot of yourself; a tendency you had when you were nervous.

While you love the city, there’s something about driving on the open road. No noise, just the sound of tires on concrete. The scenery remains the same; nothing but trees and the occasional house far in the horizon. You’re meeting him in Santa Barbara; a place you’ve been to once in your life, so it might as well be brand new. It’s halfway between both of you, and while it’s still a few hours drive, you’ve got good music and some sunshine to keep you happy.

The drive flies in and before you know it, you’ve arrived. You’re meeting at a cafe that sells bubble tea; it was Corpse’s recommendation. It’s a charming little place, with white table and chairs on a cobbled patio area. The building itself is white brick, plant pots decorate the window sills and there’s a small crowd of people waiting in line. You turn off the engine, and grab the perfume out your bag, the smell of peaches invading your nostrils. With one last look at yourself, you exit your car and make your way to the cafe.

You’re not sure how you’ll find him, being faceless and all. A quick scan of the people around you, your eyes zero in on a figure dressed all in black, leaning against a wall that’s slightly in the shade. There’s butterflies in your stomach as you look at him from afar, your feet apparently unable to move on their own accord. He stands out amongst the brightly coloured outfits of everyone else, and you can see the sun glint against the chains on his jeans.

“Hi,” you greet, your hand going up to half-wave at him. He’s handsome; pale skin and cheekbones that disappear under the fabric of his mask. A mop of black curls are atop his head, falling out in different directions, and he brushes one off his forehead as he looks at you.

“Hey,” he replies and you smile a little. There’s a thick fog of awkwardness between you as you both take each other in, though trying not to look so obvious about it. You feel under scrutiny as his eyes move over you, and you meet his gaze before you both look down at the ground, a faint blush on your cheeks.

“How was the drive?,” you ask at the same time he does, causing you both to laugh. “Oh. Uh yeah it was good, thanks, how was yours?”

“Yeah it was good,” he replies, his eyes still on the ground.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

You scream internally as your eyes dart around, looking for something, anything to break this awkwardness. It shouldn’t be like this, you have such great chemistry on the phone and online, but there’s nothing right now. Is it you? There’s a niggling in your brain that says he was fine until now; until he saw you.

“We could go, uh, into the cafe? Get some food?” he suggests, breaking you from your self deprecating thoughts. You nod and you follow him to the door. He opens it and you dodge out the way as it narrowly escapes hitting you in the face. Corpse mutters an apology as he walks in, his eyes glued to the ground.

You order together; you get yourself a boba tea and a burger and Corpse does the same. He pays without saying anything to you, and while the day’s isn’t going quite as you pictured, the gesture makes your cheeks warm. You desperately hope it gets better. Maybe you’ve misread the situation and the chemistry you felt you had was just friendship on his part. Friends flirt all the time, and it doesn’t have to mean anything.

Your food arrives and you sit in relative silence as you eat. The times you do speak is stilted, full of one word answers and obvious observations. You go to reach for your boba as Corpse goes to grab salt, and the movement of his hand plus the crampedness of the table pushes your own hand back towards you, knocking the cup all over your neck and chest. Corpse shoots up in a speed that shouldn’t be human, his hand full of napkins as he comes towards you. The liquid is cold against your skin, and you look down to see your outfit now ruined, the fabric sticking to you in wet patches.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I’m so sorry,” Corpse says, his tone panicky as he dabs at your neck. He continues to dab, his hands pressing at the neckline of your top and if this was another time, you’d feel all fluttery at his hands on your skin. But it’s not, you’re uncomfortable and the day has sucked so far and all you want to do is go home. He discards the napkin onto the table and grabs another, his fingers warm against your collarbone as he presses the tissue. He doesn’t realise that he’s travelling downwards to your chest before he presses once, twice, before retracting his hand back like he’s been burned, the napkin falling to the floor. “Uh fuck, sorry, I didn’t realise I - “

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. “I’ve always wanted apple scented boobs, guess I can check that off my bucket list.” It’s a failed joke but humour is a defence mechanism for you, even if it’s not very funny. Corpse widens his eyes a little, his gaze fixed on the napkin that’s on the floor.

He hands you some more napkins and you clean up a little more. Your skin feels sticky, and you smell of artificial apple; but the apple isn’t sweet, it’s bitter and slightly unpleasant.

“Uh, I should probably go home and get a shower, I feel like I fell into a vat of sugar,” you say, standing up and grabbing your bag.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so clumsy,” Corpse replies. You can tell he feels awful, and while you sympathise, he’s not the one that’s just had almost a full cup of boba spilled on him.

You shake your head, “It’s fine, really. I just feel really gross. Don’t worry about it.” You smile in what you hope comes across as reassurance.

“Let me walk you back to your car,” he says. You nod and walk out together in silence; something you had gotten used to throughout the day.

“Have a safe drive back,” you say as you get to your car.

“I will. Let me know when you get home?” he asks, and you nod.

“Shall do. Goodbye Corpse,” you say, opening the door and waving at him through the window. He waves back and you watch him through the rearview mirror as he disappears out of sight. You feel like an idiot for believing this was going to be good, like you ever had a chance with him. You’d been saying it since the start; that it wouldn’t work, you had nothing in common, nothing to talk about. And you were right. Sometimes you hated being right.

You turn the engine on and sit there for a second, your head pressing against the steering wheel. What a waste of time this was. Grabbing your phone, you tweet quickly.

“Oh well, let’s go wallow in self pity,” you whisper before driving off.

Taglist: @genshinglitter @fanworrior @cherry-piee @mirahg @clara-bee @clubfairy @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @more-like-reyna @boiled-onionrings @moneybagmgk @brendalopez99 @delicateavenuenacho @dreamsofficialwife @hydrate-tion @oi-itsemily @letsloveimagines @softforqiankun @evilunicorns4minions @captain-willowwitch @afuckingunicornn @theroyalbrownbarbie @buttersnitzle @officiallyunofficialperson @aha-red @frostbitelokii @butterfly-skinnylegend @sofianunes10 @ghostfacefricker6969 @alienvarmint @helena-way07 @woah2pointo @jasmine2042003 @youhyakuya @adore-holland @hyunjinhugs @finahja @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker @only-corpse-hands @remugoodgirl @gowhiteboygo-poggers @open-minded-chip-101 @daveedfanfics @justakpopstans @majasophieanna @mxjetlagcity @strawberrydonkey @meowtella @lizzylynch1 @chesca-791 @anescapefromtheworld @unded-bride @majasophieanna @adorkably @lost--in--the--moon @euphoricseokjin

[asterroidd]

cotton sweatshirt

↬  College AU

↬  Pairing: Levi Ackerman/Reader

↬  Word count: 2.6k

↬  Synopsis:  Fatigue was slowly consuming you, luckily your roommate is there to save the day

↬  Notes: Thank you so much for the request anon! I apologize it took so long before I wrote it. Anw, I hope you enjoy it!

↬  no proofread whatsoever, capn’

5th and 12th prompts: “Give me back my keys! I’m fine!” and “Did you know that you talk in your sleep?”

    It was too much. All too much; the endless tasks, the studying, and numerous all-nighters that you had pulled by now.

    It was so taxing that your body couldn't keep up; eyes blood shot red from restless staring at the laptop screen, sunken cheeks due to the insufficient meal you are getting, and dark bags under your eyes that are evidently visible even from afar. If one would see you in such a state, one would assume you are a zombie or the living dead.

    Chewing your bottom lip, fingers anxiously taped against the wooden desk. Drained yes boring into the laptop screen as you tried your best to understand the text displayed in it. Your professor just had to be missing in action that week due to health reasons and as such couldn't attend most of the classroom session to teach. The replacement is just as worse—having no mastery over the lesson at hand that it only made it more confusing than before. So, you had to self-study for the sole sake of having a passing grade this semester. Finals weeks is looming around the corner and it's best that you understands the lessons beforehand so that you wouldn't have difficulty in studying once again later on.

    Your study session was supposed to be done before noon, yet here you are still hunched over the desk. A pencil at hand in attempt to take notes in the filler notebook. Your other hand curled up a fist full of hair, then ever so often tugging it in frustration. True, you did try to search online for other readings and videos that could potentially help you in your dilemma. Alas, you find yourself scratching your scalp and pulling your hair in frustration as you failed, yet again, to grasp the concept of the topic.

    Perhaps a book, you thought to yourself. There is a local library nearby—suppose a ten minute walk, could be even seven if you walked fast enough. For sure there are a handful of books there that could finally help you in understanding the lesson. And so with a drained sigh, you closed the lid of the laptop and stood up.

    You took in your surroundings; which was an utter mess. Eraser shards littered on top of your desk that some even fell to the floor due to you hastily sweeping them off. Mountains of books scattered around—some opened with a random item on top to act as a makeshift paper weight. Sticky notes plastered all over the walls and stacks upon stacks of paper everywhere. In short, your room looks like a battleground.

     Which it is; an academic battleground, that is.

    That said, you swiftly stuffed a handful of notebooks and pens into a small backpack so you could continue the study session at the library. Perhaps a change in environment would ease you off and clear your mind. When you exited from your room, you were surprised to see Levi lounging off the living room. A bowl of popcorn on his lap whilst lazily popping one in his mouth every so often. His eyes glued to the TV screen as it played a series, The Confession Tapes you presumed. Ever since you showed him the first episode a few days ago, he was so intrigued and thus became so hook with the story line.

    Oh, to have freedom and time for leisure activities like Levi. You would willingly kill just to have that.

    "I'll be heading off to the library for a while," you uttered under your breath. Levi turned his head towards your direction, slowly munching on the popcorn. "I might come home late so I'll bring the keys with me."

    He paused the movie momentarily to narrow his eyes at you. Levi looked at you from top to bottom, assessing and processing the current state you are in. Which was hell. You looked like a vampire that crawled out of your coffin after decades of isolation. Of all the years he and you had been roommate, Levi had practically memorised most of your mannerism and behaviour so much. And at the moment, he knew all to well that you would be, yet again, working yourself to the grave.

    With a sigh, Levi placed the bowl of popcorn on top of the coffee table before approaching you. "Can't you see yourself, idiot?"

    You scrunched up your nose in confusion. What does he mean by that?

    "When was the last time you ate?"

    You racked your brain for answers. When was it truly that last time you had a proper meal besides energy bars that you bought from the convenience store. You went silent for a moment, eyes cascading down.

    "I had instant noodles I think? Last night," you answered after a pregnant pause.

    "Then that means you have not eaten anything since this morning?"

    You only nodded in response, all too tired to argue back with him. All you wanted to do was to finally leave the apartment and resume your study session in the library. Where, in hopes, you could finally progress in.

    Levi clicked his tongue. No wonder you look like a living dead. You are barely getting any nutrition in your body at all! Being studious is a great thing—but being all too unforgiving and torturing one's body too much is an unacceptable habit.

    As swift as a fox, he snagged the keys from your hands. You, in your drained state, reacted poorly and sluggishly. Though, you gave him one ferocious glare.

    "Give it back, Levi." You held out your hand.

    "No. You should rest. You look like shit."

    "Give me back my keys. I'm fine!"

    Levi, much to your surprise, had a hint of worry in his eyes. Silence fell between you and him, eyes focused on each other. You thought of kicking him on the shin, then took the chance to grab the keys. But you find yourself unable to as your body slowly slumped over.

    You let out one tired sigh, eyes closing every now and then in drowsiness, but you can't give in. Not now. Not at least you'd finally understand and finish writing your notes. Still, exams is a couple of weeks away. Surely a brief break wouldn't hurt?

   You groaned, the floor beneath your feet swaying as you struggled to keep yourself upright. It was only then did you notice the ever growing itch in your throat which signifies tonsillitis, mucus flooding your nasal passages, and increased body temperature.

     "I'm fine. . ." you inhaled sharply. "Just—" you continued but was caught short when your knees buckled under your weight, causing you to lean forward. Luckily enough, Levi caught you just in the nick of time before you fell face first into the wooden floor.

     "Tch. Look at what you got yourself into," he huffed, palm pressing against your forehead. "You also have a fever, dumbass."

    Did you now? You let your head rest into his touch, relishing his cool touch against your flushed ones. Maybe you really need a rest.

   "How about you take a seat on the couch while I brew you a cup of tea?"

    "Sounds good. . ." you uttered under your breath.

    That said, Levi practically dragged your body towards the couch and helped you settle on it. Making sure that you are comfortable enough by placing pillows behind your head. The male crouched down to your level, bringing a hand up once again to your forehead to properly estimate your temperature this time.

    "Looks like a bad one. . ." he muttered.

    "You tell me. I feel like shit," you've managed to crack a joke despite your conditions. Levi rose his brow at you, shaking his head at your idiocy. Then you watched him as he removed his cotton sweatshirt that hung loosely on his figure. Suffice to say, you were beyond perplexed when Levi placed the article of clothing on top of your lap.

    "You're cold aren't you?" he shrugged his shoulders. "Wear that for the time being to keep you warm."

    That said, he soon disappeared inside the kitchen to perhaps brew you a cup of tea much to your delight. It is practically known that the male had an immense skill in brewing and perfecting the art of tea. And as his roommate, Levi practically forced you to learn how to brew yourself; mainly because he doesn't want you wasting precious tea leaves that are far too expensive to be wasted. You recalled the time spent with him, hours upon hours inside the kitchen while trying your best to not burn your hands as you, yet again, try to perfect boiling tea. Levi stood beside you, a scowl present on his face as he frowned at your blend.

    Do it again, he snarled. The temperature is not right.

    It was little moments such as those reminds you of how much of a stuck up bitch Levi is. Nonetheless, the male still have a special place in your heart as your roommate and perhaps crush.

    Gingerly holding his sweater in your hands, you took one deep whiff of his scent—despite mucus flooding your nose—relishing the soft floral scent of the detergent that he bought about a week ago. Yet, Levi's natural aroma gradually overflows your nasal cavity; refreshing and clean with a hint of musky scent. It was pure heaven.

    Blood rushed to your cheeks as you let his sweatshirt hug your body, encompassing you more with his scent. Truth to be told, it was your long time dream to wear one of Levi's clothing. Suppose it was the thought of you in his clothes that brings butterflies to your stomachs, or the pure concept of his smell flooding your senses. Either way, you liked it.

    "Hey. . ." Levi's voice boomed which slightly startled you. The male placed a mug full of tea on the coffee table before kneeling down and opening a pack of fever patch.

    "What flavor did you brew?" you mumbled.

    "Chamomile," Levi replied, brushing your hair away from your forehead. For a brief moment, he stopped to stare at your glossy eyes due to the fever. Small patches of sweat that peppered your skin that glistened slightly under the light. Not to mention your lips that he oh so long to get a taste of for months—but he wouldn't tell you that out loud. Red dusted his cheeks ever so lightly that you would've missed if it weren't for your keen attention to detail.

    Levi bit the insides of his cheeks, slapping himself internally to focus at the task at hand which it to place a fever patch on your forehead. That said, he carefully set it against your temples. Making sure that it is adhered on firmly as to not fall in case you tossed and turn in your sleep. A smile adorned your features as soon as the cool hydrogel rested against your skin. You mumbled a quick gratitude towards the male before snuggling deep into his sweatshirt.

    "Levi. . ." you started to which he hummed in response, helping you sit up. Then, the male gave you the mug with hot tea. Its heavenly aroma making you sigh in relax. "Come sit with me?" you asked, patting the space next to you.

    The male opened his mouth to argue; to refuse your request because he doesn't want to catch your germs and be sick himself. Though, with one look at your puppy-dog eyes and pouting lips, Levi knew that he wouldn't be able to resist you. "Fine. . ." he begrudgingly replied.

    You let out a small cheer of victory. Placing your head on top of his shoulder the minute he sat beside you. Even for just a moment—just for this day—you want to delve into your fantasies and revel in the company of the male. Levi looked at you from the corner of his eye, admiring how his sweatshirt that embraces your form. Due to him being quite short in stature, his clothes were not too big. So, naturally, most of his wardrobe would probably fit you. Which he has no complaints about.

    "Can we watch Kitchen nightmares?" you asked, taking one small sip of tea as to not burn your tongue.

    Levi shrugged, "Why not?" That said, he adhered to your request. Playing that one episode in the series that he knew you enjoyed watching despite the countless times you've already seen it.

    You relaxed back into the couch, letting more of your weight press against Levi as your hands cupped the warm mug in between. The brutal and fierce howls of criticism of Gordon Ramsey brings a small smile to your lips, and oddly enough, as well as Levi's. Watching Kitchen's Nightmares (as well as other shows that the iconic chef starred in) was a guilty pleasure, so to say, of both yours and the male's. There is just something so satisfying how the chef makes people humble down and admit their mistakes.

    One great thing that comes from watching his series was that Levi could learn a thing or two in cooking. Even though he was already great from the start. The male picks up a recipe or two just by watching the series, much to your satisfaction. Between you and Levi, he is the mother of the household, if you will. While you're just one lazy couch potato who would receive an ear full of scolding every now and then.

    Soon enough, you felt your eyelids closing involuntarily, yet you fought to keep them open. It was getting into the good part—the climax—of the episode and you didn't want to sleep through it. Though, you find yourself giving in and finally letting your eyes rest for once. You exhaled, rubbing your cheeks against Levi's shoulder blades in attempts to get more comfortable. The male shifted on the couch, allowing you to be cozy and warm with him beside you.

    In your dazed state, you swore that Levi slowly rest his head on top of yours. Nevertheless, you couldn't conclude if it was true since the sweet embrace of sleep consumed you. For the first time in that week, you finally had a good night's rest.

    Levi relaxed under your touch, finally relieved that you gave in and let your body get the rest it deserves after days upon days of continuous work. He contemplated whether to turn off the television so that the noise wouldn't bother you in your sleep, or keep it open since a part of him wants to finish the episode. Though, his thoughts were caught short when you murmured.

    "Levi. . ." you mumbled in your sleep, hands gripping his sweatshirt.

    "What?" he humored, despite knowing that you are in deep slumber and is probably sleep-talking.

    Then to his surprise, you whispered a phrase that he never anticipated would slip past your lips.

    "I love you. . ."

    He was taken a back, eyes wide while his mouth slightly hung open. Levi blinked once, then twice, trying to process if what he heard was real or was his imagination deceiving him.

    "Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Levi said, testing to see if you were truly asleep or was just toying with him. When he concluded that you were—in fact—knocked out and catching some Z's, he breathed lowly the three words he oh so wanted to tell you for months.

    "I love you, too. Brat." He snaked his hand around yours, intertwining his fingers around your hand.

    Little did Levi know, you were half-awake during his confession.

[frickyeahfanfic]

prompt: “you really should’ve read the instructions”

pairing: stephen strange x reader

summary: Strange asks you to watch over the New York sanctum while he takes care of some shenanigans in a different dimension. You’re a skilled sorcerer but can’t fight back against the demons that decided to come into the sanctum while Stephen is gone. 

word count:1332

warnings: none, lil spooky, lil fluff,

___________

You read the instructions scrawled on the sticky note for the third time, making sure there was nothing you were missing. 

One: Keep the shield up at all times

Two: Don’t open the yellow door in the basement and certainly do NOT knock on it

Three: Don’t die

Four: Don’t leave the sanctum premises until I get back

He really couldn’t have made anything more clear, really. 

You sighed and put the sticky note back on the front door where Stephen left it, sliding a finger over it to ensure it wouldn’t go anywhere. 

The Sorcerer Supreme had to leave on an excursion with Wong, asking you last minute if you could take care of the New York Sanctum. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard to wait a day while he left, you didn’t understand why it was such a big deal for you to babysit the empty mansion. 

You recalled the second instruction. Maybe the mansion wasn’t so empty.

The walls teemed with magic, and you knew there was an invisible bubble around you right now, shielding the building from outside danger. But what about the inside? Stephen didn’t give you any instructions on that. You were a pretty skilled sorcerer, but there were plenty of times when you needed backup. 

Deciding that you would spend the day being productive, you began scouring the house for cleaning items. The stairwell was in desperate need of dusting and the cabinets due for a good wiping down. As you explored around the endless hallways and meanders through shelves and cases of whatever relics needed guarding, you found your supplies.  An old mop, paper towels, and an ominous spray bottle full of a dark solution labeled “cleaning.” When you sprayed a window, it smelled like Windex and when you squirted a vase, it smelled like polishing liquid. 

Hours of the day slid by gradually as you sprayed and wiped, mopped and dusted. 

By evening you were down to the basement, and by casting a few protection charms and a light spell, you were ready to venture into the darkness. The basement was just a long hallway lined with doors that all looked the same, and it made you dizzy just looking down into the darkness. You looked for a lightswitch and as you felt on the wall for something, candles that sticking out of the sides of the walls sparked to life, casting an eerie glow down the corridor. 

Opening the first door, you found yourself staring at an empty room. As you began to walk around, you tripped and fell, landing on something sharp. 

What in the- 

You tried to stand up but you bumped into something else. Surely your eyes were deceiving you. You slam your fists together and wave your fingers, a ball of white fire resting harmlessly in your hand. All you could see was the walls and the floor. 

Perhaps this was a room where all of the invisible relics were kept?

You wave your arms over your head and out of a blue portal, black sand fell through. It cascaded over the objects that were previously unseen. Weapons, boxes, clothing all were resting under the sand. 

You decided that this wasn’t the day to clean up the clutter of random invisible items, so you shut the door and move to the next room without thinking. 

A cold wave hit you and you stumbled backward, closing the door quickly to stop the chills.

Your jaw dropped in horror as you hand slipped off the handle and you backed away. 

You were face to face with a yellow door. The yellow door. 

Before you could even breathe, you ran up the stairs, leaving everything except for the spray bottle behind. Somehow you couldn’t put it down, that stuff was literal magic. 

You swore like a sailor as you stumbled onto the main floor, eyes darting around rapidly to find a hiding spot. A vase on a pedestal came crashing down in front of you, frightening you and sending you the other way.

You could hear something running towards you and you sprayed the bottle rapidly, hoping that the cleaning solution worked on whatever came out of the yellow door. You could hear a hiss and feet scampering away. Perhaps it actually worked.

Or maybe not. 

A sheet that had been resting on a shelf flew off and wrapped around your head, suffocating you as it pulled you backward. You tried to pry it off but it was useless, whatever force was holding it on was too powerful for your efforts. Waving your arms again, your hands became hot like fire and you waved them in front of you, your palms hissing as you came in contact with some entity. 

You were almost positive now that the yellow door was housing some sort of demons or evil entity that Stephen Strange did not want you to let out. 

It shrieked and the sheet fell onto the ground, allowing you to finally see what was in front of you. You could see red hand marks floating in the air where you burned the creature, it was still invisible to your naked eye. 

“Strange!” You shout, knowing that he could hear you. Even if he was in the farthest realm in the most abstract dimension, Stephen would always come to your aid. 

Almost immediately the air fizzled and cracked in front of you, and out of the portal came Stephen Strange. He was already mid-spell when you got a clear look at him. The sorcerer looked unbelievably disheveled, but his stern demeanor and calculated hand movements made him look organized and ready to deal with the demon. You were glued to the ground in fright, but in two swift motions, he had a lasso of flames wrapped around the fiend’s neck. You could tell it was struggling by the way Stephen pulled the magic rope. 

“To the basement, now,” He demanded, the strain of the adversary evident in his voice. You scurried down and waited by the yellow door, surely where Stephen wanted the demon. 

He followed you, jumping down the steps effortlessly with his cape flowing behind him. It had some weird property that allowed him to float, but this was the first time you had seen it in action. 

Stephen nodded and you understood, opening the door briskly. To your amazement, he jumped right into the void, the door slammed loudly behind him, leaving you alone in the hallway. Nothing was heard on the other side and you waited restlessly for him to come out. 

Darkness clouded your vision and you found it difficult to breathe. You crashed down on your knees with a sinister weight that fell on your shoulders. Another demon. 

You tried to cry out, but nothing came out of your lungs. Instead, it felt like they were filling up with water, actually they were filling up with water, and your eyes bulged as you coughed the liquid up. 

“I demand you, Olvenir, the demon of Tenebrosity, let her go!” You heard Stephen Strange’s voice boom. 

The water instantly left your lungs and you sank to the floor, your vision coming back to you as you blinked. Stephen knelt down next to you and helped you sit up. 

“Are you alright?” His blue eyes searched your tired ones worriedly. 

You nodded and a small sigh left your lips. 

“You really should’ve read the instructions.” 

“Shut up,” you muse. A smile spread on Stephen’s face. 

He helped you up to your feet and you swayed to the side. He quickly wrapped his arm around you to steady your motions, a hand resting firmly on your waist. Before he can start walking you pull him into a hug. 

You mumble into his robes. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Stephen waits a moment before embracing you. He places his chin gently on your head.

“I’ll always be there for you.”

He feels you hum into his chest. “Even when I’m an idiot?”

“Always.”

[galahadwilder]

We Are Miraculous, Ch. 4: Full

This chapter was sponsored by @alexseanchai. Sponsor a fic chapter here!

We Are Miraculous Archive

AO3

With thanks to @alexseanchai and @paganinpurple

*

When Adrien comes back from whatever it was he had to do so urgently, he seems a lot calmer. Nino's glad—he's just watched two of his closest friends have barely-averted meltdowns over a vicious op-ed directed at someone else, and he's not sure how to help either of them. Oh, he can put on a happy face and try to cheer them up, sure, but it doesn't change how useless he feels. And how little he thinks it's going to work.

He misses his bubbles. He used to carry a bubble wand everywhere he went—now his hands shake every time he even looks at one, and he can barely even muster the energy to hate Hawkmoth for taking them from him.

"Doing any better?" Nino says as Adrien trudges down the steps of François DuPont, hands in his pockets. He's standing straighter than he was when he left.

"Yeah," Adrien says with a small smile. He isn't rocking anymore the way he was in class, and when he speaks he actually manages to meet Nino's eyes, so... that's a good sign.

"Dad stuff?" Nino says. He wants to put his arm around Adrien's shoulder—physical contact usually helps the dude, he gets so little of it in his everyday life—but Nino knows from Chris and Mari that sensory overload usually responds poorly to extra stimulation. (He's been doing a lot of research into mental health since Enzo... well, since Enzo. He tugs on his hat. He's surprised that he didn't react much to Caron's diatribes. But, then again, not that surprised.)

Adrien shakes his head. "No, not—not this time," he says. His lips twist, and Nino waits for him to elaborate further, but he says nothing.

Nino nods. "Come on," he says. "I'm taking you to Marinette's and we are going to stuff you with sugar until you forget all about what's bothering you."

Adrien perks up at that, a glint in his eyes, and Nino's heart lifts a little at the sight.

*

Every step towards the bakery, Adrien relaxes a little more. Nino’s not sure who he called—he hopes it’s a therapist, because sweet turtle god does he need one—but it definitely helped.

Adrien pushes through the door first, all nervous energy, half-excitement and half-fear, while Nino trudges after him. The lunch rush is in full swing, so the bakery floor is packed, but Sabine still catches sight of them as soon as they walk through the door.

”Hello, boys!” she calls over the crowd with a welcoming smile.

”Hi, Sabine,” Nino says.

Adrien waves nervously, shrinking imperceptibly toward the outer wall. Too many people.

Nino catches his eye. “I’ll order,” he says. “Your usual?”

Adrien swallows and nods.

Waiting in line doesn’t take very long, not that Nino minds. He’s not particularly hungry and he doesn’t really think about inconvenience; as long as Adrien’s okay, it doesn’t really matter. (He is going to have to eat, though. Doctor’s orders.)

He gets to the front of the line and places his and Adrien’s orders just as Tom comes bustling out of the back with a tray of sticky buns. “Oh, Nino!” he says. “We missed you at Mecha Strike last week.”

Nino shakes his head with a rueful smile plastered on his face. “Sorry, dude,” he says. “Other commitments, you know how it is.” He feels guilty for the fib, and guiltier for being unable to drag himself out of bed to see his friend. But that was last week.

”The girls are having lunch in the park,” Sabine says conspiratorially as she hands him a paper bag with his and Adrien’s lunches in it, as well as two cardboard cups. “I’m sure they’d love for you two to join them.” She adds a small wink as she presses the button on the register to process his (heavily discounted) meal.

”I’ll be sure to do that,” he says, feeling a brief spark of mischief light up his brain before burning out.

He pushes through the crowd and the jingling door to find Adrien waiting outside at the patio table. “Hey, dude,” he says, handing Adrien his hot chocolate. “Feeling better?”

Adrien nods, taking the hot chocolate in both hands and sniffing the steam. “Nectar of the Gods,” he murmurs with delight.

”Sabine said Alya and Mari are having lunch in the park, if you want to join them,” Nino says. He hopes Adrien agrees. He still needs to check on Marinette.

”Yeah, I’m down,” Adrien says without looking up from his drink.

*

“Oh! Adrien!”

Nino doesn’t miss the way Adrien deflates at the sound of Lila’s voice. He’s not sure why Adrien dislikes her so much—as far as he can tell, Lila’s a perfectly pleasant, if a bit overenthusiastic, person. But she makes Adrien uncomfortable and as far as this goes, that’s all Nino really needs to know.

”Hey Lila!” Nino says with more cheer than he feels, putting a hand protectively on Adrien’s shoulder. “Adrien and I were just having a little guys’ lunch.” He tries to emphasize the word guys, tell her ‘leave us alone, please.’

”Oh!” Lila says. “Mind if I join?” She latches onto Adrien’s arm before either of them can speak, and Nino glances at Adrien—he’s gone tense, frozen. He’s not gonna say anything and if Nino does he might freak.

”Sure,” Nino grumbles. “Why not.” This is not good—Adrien’s rarely this nonverbal for this length of time. Whatever peace his call at the beginning of lunch had brought him, Lila’s just shattered, and Nino has no idea how to make her leave. He wishes she knew how uncomfortable she makes Adrien, but she seems a bit too oblivious to catch on.

”Can you believe that Caron piece?” Lila says as they walk into the park. “It was so uncalled for!” She purses her lips and shakes her head. “I told Ladybug that video might be a bad idea, but she insisted it was important to her.” She sighs dreamily. “She’s so brave.”

Adrien grunts, and Nino flinches at the sound. But then he spots Alya and Marinette on a picnic blanket nearby, laughing and sharing croissants, and he relaxes a bit.

Alya’s head pops up, and she brightens when she sees them. “Oh, hi guys!” She says. “Come join us!”

”Of course!” Lila giggles, dragging Adrien after her and yanking him down to the blanket. Nino doesn’t miss the way Marinette bristles, and all he can think is, please don’t start this again.

“Oh, Lila, I have something for you!” Alya says, reaching into her bag. She flips open the top and produces... a bottle of mouthwash? She presents it to Lila with a proud flourish. “Here you go!”

The whole group falls into utter silence as Lila stares at the green bottle in Alya’s hands. “I—what?” the Italian girl says, weakly. Her face is pale and she looks like she’s about to puke.

"Oh, I thought...” Alya’s face falls. “Nevermind. Sorry.” She turns to stuff the bottle back into her backpack.

Lila’s face blanches further and she shoots to her feet. “I—I just remembered,” she says. “Mama needed me home today for—we’re, we’re organizing some charity work, so I need to go—”

”Of course!” Alya laughs, waving. “Good luck.”

Lila bolts.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Alya’s genuine grin turns savage. “Should’ve taken the mouthwash,” she growls. “Maybe it’ll clean the aftertaste of the bullshit you’re spewing.”

Marinette covers her mouth and giggles, her face red, and Adrien stares at Alya before collapsing into his back. “Thank god,” he says.

”Uh,” Nino says. “What was that?”

Alya sighs and rolls her eyes. "Remember how I told Marinette to fact-check Lila?"

Marinette winces at the words.

"Yeah?" Nino says. Ugh, he doesn’t want to have this discussion again—

Alya twists her lips and wraps her arm around Mari’s shoulder, pulling her in close. "Well, she did,” Alya says. “And now I feel like an idiot."

Nino blinks, an ember of dull rage sparking in his chest. She was lying? About—about everything?

Lila was—Marinette has always been someone he trusts. He may not understand why she's so insistent on hiding the anxiety attacks she has whenever there's an Akuma, and her excuses are getting ridiculous, but he grew up with her—she's never been someone who lied before. And he always knew Lila was kind of a flake. But the person Mari’s accusations posited couldn't possibly have existed—she'd painted a picture of absolutely comic pettiness and villainy—on level with Adrien’s dad. And Lila is actually like that? He can barely believe someone like that exists at their age.

Much as he's wanted to, he hasn't really been able to care about the Basielberg connection after that first day. But he's not the only one Lila hurt.

He glances at Adrien as a number of things start to click in his head. “Is that why you’re so uncomfortable around her?”

”She hurt Marinette,” Adrien says without picking up his head. Nino can tell he has more to say, but he doesn't seem to want to.

Marinette looks down at her sandwich, steadily reddening. “She hurt you too, you know,” she whispers.

”And nobody gets to hurt either of you again,” Alya says, lightly punching Marinette’s shoulder.

Marinette winces, laughing, then her laugh slows and she goes back to a small smile, laying herself across Alya's lap. "I've missed this," she says.

Nino looks around, sees his friends, how comfortable they are now for the first time since Lila came back to school, and thinks, so did I.

We Are Miraculous Archive

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[jay-wells-writes]

All Day Thank You (Ralph x Reader) smut

Sweaty Ralph.... need I say more.

I could actually say more but right now I am still getting over the fact my husband read part of this story not knowing what it was. He knows I write, but he doesn't know details..... till now. 🤦‍♀️

Regardless I hope you all enjoy.

[[MORE]]

After looking at your phone and seeing that he had hung up, you felt your anger rise like the temperature outside. Knowing that Ralph's building didn't have air you had called to see if he had wanted to come by your place and hang out. You had waited for his answer a good couple of minutes before you had to call his name again. Instead of his normal relaxed tone he snapped "what" over the phone. After asking him a second time he replied with a short no and that he couldn't before saying he had to go and hanging up on you. To some, they would be questioning his actions. Wondering did he have someone else over there? but you knew that wasn't the case. Ralph was head over heels in love with you. He told you everyday that the team made him a better man, but that you made him want to continue to be said better man. He proved it by all the little things he did. Sometimes a quick message or a sticky note left around all over the place. 

So no, you knew deep down that he wasn't hiding anything from you, but that still didn't give him the right to talk to you like that. Grabbing your keys you headed out the door and to his place to find out what the hell was actually going on. Standing outside of Ralph's door you could hear him yelling random things at someone, but you couldn't hear any other voices coming from within. You were just about to knock on his door when suddenly you remembered the key he had made for you. 

Just stepping into his apartment you could feel the sweat pouring down your back. You noticed that Ralph had three fans running but they weren't doing anything for the heat. One of them was in the window pulling air into the overheated apartment while another was also in a window, but facing outward trying to pull all the hot air out. Turning the corner you see that Ralph is sitting on his couch in just a pair of basketball shorts and even though he had the third fan directly on him there was still large amounts of sweat running down his chest. Even though it was too hot to do anything you couldn't help but moan silently at the sight in front of you. Ralph had still yet to see you so that gave you time to really look at him. Even covered in sweat that man was doing things to you. 

"OH COME ON CISCO! NO no I am not bitching about that. I am hot, the damn air is broken and I am sitting on my couch in just shorts and I feel like I just jumped into a lake. Yet here you are asking for a blanket."

"You know I offered for you to come to my place."

"WHAT THE… y/n what are you doing here? Hey guys give me a second….. no Barry I am not backing out of the party. Y/n here."

Placing the gaming controller down and pulling the headset off Ralph stood and made his way to you. Placing his hands on your hips Ralph leaned down and gave you a quick kiss, all the while trying not to rub his sweat covered chest over you. 

"What are you doing here?"

Running your fingers over his chest you smiled up at Ralph before smacking him.

"I came to see what was wrong cause you were short and kinda an ass on the phone with me. Then I come in here and it feels hotter in here then out there. What the hell are you doing to yourself?"

"OUCH! babe! Look I am sorry, it's just that Barry, Cisco, and myself signed up for this tournament. Trust me I would rather be with you somewhere nice and cool instead of here, but we play till we are defeated. So I can't leave."

Rubbing your hand across your forehead you couldn’t help but shake your head at Ralph. 

“How could you be one of the smartess men I know and yet be so stupid?”

Looking at you like you grew another head Ralph answered.

“Um thank you?”

“Ralph, how many times I have been over here while you played games? You know that even if you were playing all day I would find something to do. Sooo why wouldn’t it be the same way at my place?”

It took a few minutes for Ralph to understand what it was you were saying, but you knew the minute he did because he rolled his eyes back while tilting his head backwards. 

“God I am such an idiot.”

Laughing you placed your hand on his chest. 

“Yes you are, but we can chalk this up to the heat. So how about we load your stuff up and get over to my place?”

Sighing Ralph shook his head. 

“No time now. We have like six minutes till it starts. That isn’t enough time to unhook everything, get to your place, and hook it all back up.”

“Umm baby. Who are you friends with?”

Again it took a bit longer then you would have liked for Ralph to answer, but he threw his hands up and shouted “Barry” while turning back to the couch. Reaching for his mic you watched as Ralph pick it up and begged Barry to help out. Before you know it everything, including yourself and Ralph, was standing in your apartment. Hearing and seeing Ralph moan as the air conditioner hit his overheated body had you walking away before you could do anything, like jump him. 

Walking into the kitchen you grabbed a couple of waters from your fridge to give you time to cool off. Making your way back into the living room Ralph had sat down and was back to talking with Barry and Cisco over the gaming system. Standing behind the couch you placed one of the bottles on Ralph's chest. Hearing him scream at how cold the bottle was had you giggling as you walked around the couch.

"Here. Drink both of them back to back so you can replace what you lost while sitting in that oven you call a place. I am going to go watch some tv in the bedroom." Just as you had gotten to the bedroom you felt Ralph wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him. After a couple of steps back you realized that Ralph had still been on the couch. Turning around in his arm you saw that you had been correct in your assumption. Stepping out of his arm you walked back to the couch and gave Ralph a quick kiss. "That's just wrong in so many ways Ralph." 

Laughing Ralph pulled you down for a couple of more kisses.

"Oh don't deny you like it. Now go… game is about to start." Tapping your hand against his chest you turned and headed for your bedroom. "Hey y/n, I love you."

Turning to look back at Ralph you smiled at him.

"I love you too baby."

Two hours later you had been laying in bed watching a movie when you felt the bed dip. Looking behind you slightly you saw that Ralph had snuggled into you.

"You guys out now?"

Shaking his head against your back Ralph looked up at you while resting his chin on your shoulder. 

"Nope, there is an all around break right now."

"Oh, so how long do you have?"

"About an hour."

"Good. Then get the heck off of me and go shower. You stink." 

Instead of fighting you on it Ralph tugged on your side and whined.

"Only if you shower with me." 

Letting out a sigh you lifted your hand as to say lets go. Standing up Ralph took a hold of your hand and helped you sit up in the bed. After your feet touched the floor Ralph pulled away and made his way to the bathroom. By the time you made it to the bathroom Ralph had already stripped out of his shorts and was standing in the shower. After removing your clothes and stepping in behind him. Ralph reached behind himself and moved you so that you were standing in front of him with your back to his chest. 

Regardless of how hot it was outside Ralph had the shower set to the perfect temp. As you tilted your head back to rest on him, you could feel Ralph's hand start to run over your stomach before moving his hand lower. Even though you had water hitting your face you turned your head slightly and looked up at Ralph.

"What are you doing Ralph?"

Before answering you Ralph slipped his middle finger through your outer lips and began to draw circles around your clit.

"Well, I figured I owed you." Putting your hand over his you tried to stop him but Ralph used his free hand to turn your face to his and began to kiss you as best he could at that angle. Sliding his hand from your face you felt Ralph bring it to your breast. Soon all you were able to do was hold onto his arms as he brought you closer to cumming. Pulling his mouth away from yours Ralph began to speak in your ear as you started to roll your hips even faster against his hand. "Regardless of what you say, I do owe you y/n. Not for today, but for everyday. There are not many women that are as understanding, sweet, and loving as you are. Then to add to it, you could give two shits I play video games all day. No, for you all that matters is we are within my arms reach of each other. So be prepared, cause every chance I get today I am going to be thanking you. Hope you are ready to get off all day today." 

Ralph knew how to play your body like a fine instrument because within his little speech he had you on the edge waiting. You wanted to tell him that he didn't have to do this but at that moment you would give him anything if he would just let you cum. Digging your nails into his arms you started to roll your hips faster.

"Please Ralph."

"Please what."

"I need to cum."

"Then cum."

Suddenly Ralph's mouth was over yours as he swallowed your shout. Even as your body was coming down from your release Ralph continued to draw circles over your clit. When the sensation became too much you pulled your mouth away from his and begged him to stop. Bringing his hand up you watched as he slipped the digit into his mouth and sucked it clean. After one more rise Ralph turned the water off and helped you out of the tub, realizing that he had no clean clothes, because you had not started laundry, he just wrapped a towel around his hips and gave you a wink before leaving the bathroom.  

By 8 o'clock that night you were ready for bed you were so tired. Ralph had ended up keeping his promise and every chance he got he was working another orgasms from your body. It didn't matter what you were doing. Oh, your doing laundry, well hop up here and let me go down on you. Making dinner, that's ok just stand there like that. By the time you had gotten dinner around you had became sensitive and tired. So after eating you stretched out on the couch next to Ralph with your feet in his lap. You had been unsure of how long you had been asleep, but when you woke up the first thing you noticed was the system and tv were off and Ralph's hand had slipped past your underwear and his fingered had slipped in. Even though you had whined about having enough you opened your legs and allowed Ralph to lay on top of you. As his fingers continued to move in and out of you Ralph latched on to your neck, leaving small love bites. You really didn't think you had anymore to give but Ralph was proving you wrong as once again you felt yourself getting closer to another orgasm. Fingers digging into Ralphs arms you pushed your chest out and started to whine.

"Ralph, I don't think I can do this."

Pulling his mouth away from your neck Ralph removes his hand only to line himself up to you. As he slowly pushed in he brought his mouth to your ear and started to encourage you.

"Just one more baby. I know you think you can't cum again, but your body is telling me different. The way you are pulsing around me right now tells me you are close. So am I, going all day hearing the sounds you made and not doing anything to ease my tension has me on edge and ready to go myself. So just give me one more."

Both of you knew that you would do as he asked, so instead of waiting for an answer Ralph attacked your mouth, swallowing your moans as he began to move. It really wasn't a surprise that Ralph had been right about you being close. After thrusting into you a couple more times you had pulled your mouth away from his and shouted as you shook from the intensity of your orgasm. Having become over sensitive you tried to push Ralph away, but as you had been coming down from your high he had slipped an arm under your leg. This kept you from pushing him away put also allowed him to continue to thrust into you, but it wasn't long after you Ralph was laying his head on your chest as he moaned and you could feel him pulsing inside of you as he was cumming. Instead of moving off of you Ralph gentle laid the rest of his body on top of you. Having shifted down some the most of his weight was now on your legs while his head rested on your stomach. Humming in content you let one hand trace patterns on his arm while your other hand slipped into his hair. 

"I need another shower, but I have no energy for it."

Lifting his head and laying his chin on your stomach Ralph gave you a wink and smirked.

"It's a good thing you have me then." As you yelled no you started to push Ralph off you which caused him to laugh with how little energy you had. "Ok ok, no shower. How about we take a bath instead? And I promise nothing more than that. A nice warm bath."

Stopping you looked at Ralph.

"Promise?"

Laughing Ralph laid a kiss to your stomach.

"Promise." 

Nodding your head Ralph stood up and held his hand out. Placing your hand in his he lead you to the bathroom. Leaning you against the counter Ralph set to work on getting the temperature right. After getting in you rested your head on Ralph's chest while his fingers drew designs on your stomach.

"So how did you guys play? Did you win?"

"Well um, not exactly."

Turning your head up you saw the sheepish look on Ralph's face.

"What happened?"

"Well um, we were disqualified."

"How did you manage that?"

"Well we had been playing great. Top of the list. We had gotten down to the last six teams and while waiting for the matches to start we started talking smack to the other teams. We then found out that we had been playing with a bunch of kids after making one cry and having them tell their father. It turns out that the tournament was for 14 years and younger."

TAG LIST: @the-marvelatic

[boshaw-manor]

‘I hope you have a speech prepared.’

Adelaide had always seen Sharky as a second son rather than her nephew. After her sister had left him in the toilet at birth, she’d taken it upon herself to help him out in whatever way she could. Most of the time he really needed it as in no way was he an intelligent sort. He was, however, a good kid with a heart of gold. And since teaming up with Rook to take down the Peggies he’d been spending more time outside in the fresh air rather than holed up in his trailer. That did mean that the place rarely saw a good clean so Adelaide took it upon herself to visit once a week and give the place a spruce.

Parking Tulip on the front lawn, she hopped out and approached the trailer door. Knocking on the door twice, she prepped herself for the stench before entering. The smell of old stale pizza and flat warm beers wafted into her nostrils and she recoiled.

‘For fuck’s sake Bo Bo.’ Adelaide pinched her nose with a manicured thumb and finger. Who knows the last time he’d popped in? Clearing boxes and bottles into the bin, she equipped herself with a pair of yellow marigolds and got to scrubbing the kitchen counter. It was a good thing she didn’t mind playing house maid as any other rational woman would see the shit-tip and run. Adelaide made her way through the trailer; making the bed, putting a wash on and spending far too long trying to unclog the toilet. Once happy that the space was at least liveable again, she motioned for the door when a tipped over box caught her eye. She must’ve missed it when she came in earlier. Tutting, Adelaide crouched down and started to pack away the many random things that had fallen put. A few CDs, a plastic dinosaur, a rather sticky porn magazine. Thank God for the marigolds. Her hand landed on a slightly crumpled piece of paper and she unfolded it, evening out the creases. A list of some sort?

- Clean up all the gas and propane that shits gettin dangerus

- Try salt & sugar gunpowdur recipe

- Money from auntie for sneakers

- Coffee

- Dig up kittycat to see if worms r done

- Prison pen pals

- For realz one stray bullet and this whole place goes EXPLODO. Serious.

Adelaide snorted, moving to fold the to-do list again when she noticed a scribbled out sentence at the bottom. Squinting, she could just make it.

- Tell Rook how ya feel idiot

‘Hey Auntie Addie how are- Why are you in my stuff?’ Spinning around, Adelaide’s eyes locked with her nephews who was standing in the front doorway. She held up the list and pointed to the scribble.

‘What’s all this about sweetheart?’ She asked tenderly, watching the panic spread across Sharky’s face.

‘Uhhh nothin’.’ The pyro mumbled, scuffing his shoe on the floor. His gaze dropped and he looked forlorn, tongue flicking over his lips nervously.

‘Don’t seem that way darlin’.’ Rising slowly, she peeled off the marigolds and gestured to the sofa. ‘Come tell me about it.’

Sharky sighed heavily, realising there was no way out of this one. Time to come clean. He slunk over and leaned into the cushions, wishing they’d swallow him up. Adelaide perched next to him, placing her hand on his knee and letting the list drift out of her grip. It floated to the floor without making a sound.

‘You like her don’t ya Bo Bo?’

‘Maybe a little bit.’ He replied quietly, lips pursing gently.

‘I seen the way ya look at her in the bar. You ain’t looked at anyone like that in a long time.’ She squeezed his knee and caught his eye contact. ‘I think she’d like to hear the truth.’

‘Nah, she’s way too cool for me.’

‘That just ain’t true young man and you know it. Now, you’re gonna go find her and tell her how you feel.’ Reaching down, Adelaide picked up the scrumpled up list and slammed it into his chest. ‘I hope you have a speech prepared.’

[chinxino5-blog]

who are you

suckles oneshot  warnings: mentions of being drunk, coarse language. 2268 words

note: sorry this is literally so trashy. it was better in my head. really bad when i edited. i dont have the time to re-edit tho or rewrite - it’s just bad quality. but i still hope it can be of some enjoyment.

next oneshot will be better i promise.

-

Mason’s head was pounding. And by pounding, he meant it was splitting seven different ways and simultaneously imploding in on itself.

“Urghh.” The moan of pain slipped out of his dry mouth as he squeezed his eyes shut tighter. Light from somewhere was filling the room he laid in and it threw more kindling on the fire of his agony.

Unfortunately, his mind refused to let him resume his slumber, only becoming more and more conscious with every the moment he laid splayed out on likely Toby’s couch, if he remembered the end of his night correctly: far too late and far too drunk. Seeing as there was no possible way he’d be able to open his eyes painlessly for a number of long minutes, he allowed his senses and very broken memory to fill him in on what had happened in the previous twelve hours.

He remembered drinking with Cam until very late. It had been John’s birthday… no- it had been Smitty’s! And with his dumb friends it was tradition on someone’s birthday to get absolutely fuckin’ smashed.

So unsurprisingly, they did.

From the celebrations, the cheering, the dancing: after losing count of how many drinks he’d had, his memory only seemed to be able to catch bits and pieces of the rest of the night. Smitty was definitely sitting in John’s lap at one point, and the images of Cam downing shot after shot across the table flashed behind his eyes. He knew himself well enough to guess he had been doing exactly the same. Other than that, he recalled little to nothing: only climbing back in through Toby’s window and collapsing wherever he deemed comfortable in his drunken haze.

Trying to clear his head and sharpen out the blurry memories was steadily becoming more and more difficult so the Australian stopped himself, letting out a heavy sigh and turning his face more into the cushioning beneath his head.

As he shifted he felt the sticky skin of his back peel away from the leather couch, only to resettle in a sweaty mess of discomfort.

Huh.

He’d also lost his shirt sometime during the night too, it seemed.

But since when did Toby have a leather couch?

… Mason gave this another few minutes of careless though before furrowing his brows. Toby didn’t have a leather couch. He’d spent weeks living in that house! He knew there wasn’t a single bit of leather furniture in there – so how on Earth was Mason laying on a leather couch?

He regretted opening his eyes instantly. Even just a crack. The brightness poured gasoline into his head, flames erupting outwards.

“Aw, fuck,” he groaned, throat feeling red-raw and just as agonizing as his head.

But no matter the pain, Mason did not like the idea of being not in Toby’s house. So with the limited energy he had, he lifted his hands to cover his eyes and lessened the pain of opening them. He blinked.

This was officially the worst hangover he’d ever had.

Peering through his fingers, it was very easy to confirm he was, indeed, not in Toby’s living room. He wasn’t even in Toby’s house. Had his headache not been so consuming, he probably would have been a lot more concerned. But with this level of agony, all he wanted was a glass of water and some painkillers.

He sat upright, peeling his hot skin from the sticky couch and cringing at both the feeling and the headache. A pair of black skinny jeans were laying on the floor, one leg still caught on one of his feet and he mentally thanked his intoxicated-self for having the common sense not to fall asleep in them.

In his exhaustion, he took a moment to glance around at the room he laid in.

There was a very casual, careless atmosphere to it, not that clean but also not grossly untidy. Another brown leather couch sat beside the one he occupied, both angled to face a big screen that sat on the wall above a cabinet that showed off several different consoles and a rack of coloured controllers.

There was a window either side of the screen, the left one wide open (obviously having been Mason’s entry point the night previous). He wondered for a minute what kind of idiot left their windows unlocked and unalarmed, before swinging his legs off the couch and standing up. Hands on his hips, he stretched up and yawned widely.

The little wooden coffee table had a few magazines and an empty bowl, and his toes curled in the fluffy carpet that covered the floor of the comfy room. The walls were painted a soft grey, matching the white of the carpet. But Mason could tell his attention was not gonna be able to stay with the room for much longer.

Sitting back down and kicking his foot out of his jeans, he picked them up and breathed a sigh of relief to find his phone and wallet still in the pockets.

-

Friday. 22:03.

john but not really john: mason come home soon and let yourself in

john but not really john: the doors unlocked

Saturday. 00:42.

john but not really john: mason youre gonna die if you keep drinking

john but not really john: you and fitz come back here

john but not really john: come on you fucking dumbass check your phone

Saturday. 00:53.

Missed call from john but not really john.

Missed call from john but not really john.

Incoming call from Missed call from john but not really john.

Saturday. 1:39.

john but not really john: mason. home. now.

zuck my ass: oksy muuuuuuuuuuuiuimm

zuck my ass: hheeheh

john but not really john: is fitz with you

zuck my ass: fitzfitzzyyy is wih dniittttyyyyyyy

john but not really john: okay are you coming now

zuck my ass: eslkinf nowee!!

zuck my ass: vlinmbing in urr wondpw!@!!@

Saturday. 2:31.

john but not really john: where the fuck are you

john but not really john: i hate you. let yourself in if you get here

john but not really john: im going to sleep

john but not really john: text me in the morning.

-

Oh.

Toby was gonna be pissed with him. He didn’t remember answering a call at all. Well… He didn’t remember anything to do with his phone in general. He definitely remembered climbing in a window though. It just wasn’t the right window.

Whoops.

The pounding in his head was only getting louder and heavier and he was not ready to call Toby for help without getting some sort of medicine and some damn water. He just hoped the owner of this house was either asleep, or not home.

The second he was in the hallway, he noticed just how silent the place was. There wasn’t a single sound. No ticking of clocks, no sounds from plumbing or electricity. The lights were all off but the morning was bright enough to make things clear. Everything seemed very still and calm.

Perhaps the eeriness of it made him so cautious as he stepped down the hall, staying on the balls of his feet in fear of making any sort of sound. All he needed was water and painkillers. Fortunately, the kitchen was just at the end of the hall, a couple of dried clean dishes in a rack on the sink and a bowl of fruit on the bench.

Mason felt no regret in running the tap cold and lapping at the water like a kid. The cool liquid quietened the clanging in his ears and he sighed, standing upright and wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

Now painkillers…

He pulled open drawers, finding utensils, baking instruments, bags, bowls, cups and mugs; everything a kitchen would have. But he didn’t come across any sort of medicine. In his search, he forgot that he wasn’t really supposed to be in this house.

“Hey!” The shout scared Mason out of his skin, the scrawny boy jumping in fear and smacking his head on the door of the overhead cabinet.

“Shit!” he cried out, gripping his head with both hands and turning to face the man in the doorway. He took in messy brown hair, sharp dark eyes and the metal baseball bat held tightly with both hands and staggered back a few steps. “Who the fuck are you!”

“Who the fuck am I!? This is my house!” The combination of complete confusion, panic and fear smacked them both in the face as the homeowner took two steps forward and pointed the bat at Mason. “Who the fuck are you!” Mason stumbled back until he met the counter, eyes wide and fearful at the idea that this guy might actually fuck him up with the metal bat.  

The guy waited, bat still held out but making no motion of actually attacking the random stranger in his kitchen. “Uhh…” Mason glanced around the room, eyes wide and fearful. Thoughts of how exactly he’d escape the room ran through his head in the chance this guy actually tried to hit him. “Mason?” He said his own name with confusion and after another long moment, the baseball bat lowered to point to the floor and the homeowner lifted a hand to his face with a sigh.

“Mason.” The guy spoke with a tone of defeat, realising that the boy was completely harmless. “Why the fuck are you in my house?” he asked, voice far more calm and flat. It was thick with lethargy, and he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and finger.

With his heartrate lowering back to a humane level, Mason took a deep breath. Unsurprisingly, there was no explainable answer to the guy’s question and he didn’t even try to stop the dumb sounding: “Uhh…” from drifting off his tongue.

The guy blinked, brows raised. A moment passed and dark eyes dropped from Mason’s confused face to the rest of him. “Why are you naked?”

Mason’s eyes widened, falling to look at himself in surprise. “Oh fuck,” he said, the biting cold of the room suddenly making a lot more sense. When he looked back up at the guy, he ran his fingers through his hair and tried to make some resemblance of a smile. To relieve the awkwardness? Maybe to come off as friendly? He didn’t know his own intentions, but he knew his headache was getting more and more murderous by the second. “Hey, uh. Do you have any painkillers?”

Another moment. He took a step forward and Mason jumped in alarm, fearing the worst. Instead, the bat was placed on the kitchen counter and the guy ignored Mason, walking to the furthest overhead cabinet. From inside, he pulled a marker and a box of painkillers. He pulled a glass from the drawer beneath, filling it with water and placing it on the bench beside the stranger.

He didn’t give away anything with his expression, other than exhaustion in the bags beneath his eyes. Mason flinched back when a pale hand held itself open in front of him, waiting. Cautiously, he mirrored the action, trying not to react when the man took hold of the back of his wrist and easily popped two pills from the packet into the palm of his hand.

He closed his fingers around them, confusion growing when the hand slipped up further to grip his forearm, uncapping the marker. But something about the guy encouraged him to stay quiet and not bother him with questions. He just waited, soft tip inking numbers along his arm.

“Door’s out there. If I hear you banging around in my house any longer I’ll bury you.” Mason listened in surprise, hand finally released and feeling cold in contrast of the warm fingers that lifted to card through soft-looking brown hair. “Text me and tell me what happened in a few hours when I can actually process shit.”

The ten-digit number made his skin tingle and Mason blinked. The sound of the man’s voice was nice to listen to: deep and rounded. It was unlike other voices he’d heard before and he barely paid attention to what he was telling him, too focused on the sound of his voice. “Uhh, sure. Okay. Thanks.”

He took a step back. The dark eyes scanned him again.

“D’you have clothes?” Curious, still sleepy. Mason glanced down at his nudity again, mouth opening to offer an answer only to be stopped by the guy’s hand held up to face him. “Y’know what? Never mind. I don’t actually give a fuck. Just drink that and go home, uhh… Marson?”

He snorted. “Mason,” he corrected and the guy nodded, waving his hand vaguely.

“Yeah. Mason.”

With that, the homeowner nodded and walked past Mason and out into the hall. He watched him go, confused and stunned and slightly amused in his hungover. The painkillers went down his throat easy and the water helped considerably in refreshing his hot head. Rinsing the cup and sitting it in the sink, he returned to the living room, snatched up his jeans and opened up the phone app.

A sigh greeted him when he put the phone to his ear and he couldn’t help the immature grin on his face at his friend’s dissatisfaction. “Hey Toby,” he said, pinning the phone between his ear and his shoulder. He staggered, trying to yank the jeans up over his feet.

“Where are you?” Tired and already fed up.

Mason giggled. “I climbed into some guy’s house through his window.”

“For fuck’s sake, Zuckles. You’re kidding”

“Nah.”

note: again! sorry for the trash-tier writing. ill try improve on it when i have something better plot and better planned to get out here

gi

[fanesavin]

Following the events of the Parade, Fane and Faye talk - @faye-andrews

Ironic, how running away from something would ultimately almost always lead you back to a place you felt safest. A place you knew you could exist without pretenses and expectation. Perhaps that was why Fane practically breezed straight through the silent and presently empty cottage straight to the bedroom, a glance in the mirror earned a low noise of disgust. Kicking off his shoes sporadically, his fingers hooked into the material of his shirt, the excitement he felt earlier in the day about this entire upcoming week replaced by gnawing guilt and general shame as he thought back to what had happened barely an hour ago. “Fucking idiot,” he muttered under his breath dragging his fingers roughly through his hair just another reminder of what a goddamn waste of time this all was. It was his fault, Maya he hit that point home very clearly. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be. Things had been good, but the lingering anger was hard to shake. The knowledge of the fact that jerk had slept with both Dani and Maya just adding salt to an already sore wound.

Yanking open the drawers just the other side of violent and searching through for a shirt he picked one at random and pulled it on. Unfortunately, the silence of the house only left him able to recall with startling clarity the shit-eating grin Ryden wore when he realised that very same fact. Fane growled low in his throat. No one was here to rein him in, no one here to tell him to stop. The temptation to rip that kid’s tongue out of his mouth right on the spot had be very, very real. It wouldn’t have been the first occasion for him to have done it if he had gone through with it. But rare was it for Fane to truly ever sink so low into his impulses. Especially these days but it didn’t mean he didn’t have them regardless.

There was no consideration for the state of the bedroom, items left half tossed over the space as he shot barefoot for the backdoor and straight into the night air walking straight. Crossing the sand dunes until bristly grass became soft sand he walked until he reached the spot where the swell rushed and retreated. The water from each wave of water vanishing into the sand and as his foot hit a rock he winced. Bloody typical. Needing some sort of outlet he crouched, scooping up the rock before lobbing it out to sea where it sank with a splash. Rock after rock Fane threw and watched sink under the water, each a little harder than the one before.

Faye eventually made her way back to the cottage, an exhausted Eowyn in her arms. It had a been a long day, and a mostly enjoyable one, except for the incident at the end. For which Faye blamed herself in part. If she had come over sooner… whatever had occured that had upset everyone so much might not have happened at all. Though she hadn’t been there for anything but the tail end, and Ryden was gone. Maya was clearly upset, and Fane was trying to talk to her.

But ‘if’s’ and ‘might haves’ were dangerous things. Things Faye wasn’t willing to dwell on. But she knew from the moment Fane left the parade that he was going to be feeling guilty. She knew he and Ryden weren’t the best of friends. Though she was starting to believe that it was bigger than just a wrecked car, no matter how valuable or dear to Fane the vehicle was. It wasn’t worth upsetting Maya and Dani over. Fane might be able to hold a grudge with the best of them, but Faye was skeptical that it was the car that caused his absolute loathing of the young wolf. At least not directly.

Making her way inside and upstairs, Faye got Wyn out of clothes and into some clean pjs after giving her a quick wash down of the worst of the stickiness of the day. She could have a proper bath in the morning. The little girl never woke up as her mother tucked her in, rolling over and clutching Bun as she continued sleeping soundly. Faye checked her watch. The babysitter would be here any minute, but Faye didn’t know if they would still need her or not. Though there was still the matter of finding Fane tonight.

He’d been here, she realized as she went to the bedroom. Things were strewn about, drawers left open, and there was a flash of a second where an old fear rose up inside her. Fear of being left behind when people had had enough. Fear of people leaving without a word. But no. That wasn’t what this was she reminded herself. Though her heart raced as she moved to his drawer, finding it still mostly full but rifled through. A bit more inspection found his shirt from earlier on the floor. Faye picked it up, holding it tightly in her hand for a long moment as she wondered where he might be. And trying to calm her still racing heart, and the tight fear in her chest.

At that moment, the babysitter arrived, knocking on the door, and Faye went down to greet her. It was only then that she noticed the back door standing open, and realized where she might find Fane. Filling the sitter in as much as was needed, Faye left her to it and went outside, following the footprints that still littered the sand where the water hadn’t erased them.

She followed until she finally saw a figure in the distance. Not bothering to hide her approach, Faye stood a bit away from him, the water washing over her bare feet, and looked out over the water. She didn’t realize she still had his discarded shirt in her hand as she waited on him to say something if he wanted.

There was more to the story than met the eye, was Fane pissed about the car? Sure he was, but one thing he’d gotten rather good at over the years was finding a way to transfer his feelings about one topic over onto another. Learning to create a big noise about one thing so that people didn’t look at the possible other reasons that might have existed to fuel the behaviour he displayed. Was it right? Not really, but it was the easiest way to deal with things for him than confronting them directly. Unfortunately, the fallout had consequences and in this instance Maya had been caught up in the crossfire and for that, Fane wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. Even if it had been an indirect consequence of what had happened. The guilt regardless of whose fault it was sat like a stone in his stomach, and he was sure that if he could have felt ill he would have right then.

As it was, Fane only felt the cold weight of guilt and the weight of the stones he clutched and launched into the water. There was something cathartic about the repetitive action, in lifting the weight of the stone and holding it before propelling it to the ocean where it would consequently be taken away and shaped into something new. Change was an constant phenomenon but it was not something so easily brought about when you fought it at almost every turn. In this instance, old habits really did die hard and though Fane sensed Faye’s approach he did nothing. Nothing except pick up another stone, a flat one this time and instead of throwing it overarm he drew his arm back sideways before slinging it forward. The stone sailed through the air and hit the surface of the water, rebounding once, twice, three times before it sink into the water with a rather unsatisfactory plop.

After that particular throw, Fane’s jaw clenched his eyes absentmindedly on some far off spot. Perhaps once upon a time he might’ve considered running, because this was just how it went wasn’t it? Regardless of intent, he found a way to fuck it up and this was his fault at the end of the day wasn’t it? He’d gone over there, his presence had sparked Ryden to feel the unnecessary need to start calling name like some first-grader all because of what? “If you’re going to lecture me about picking fights, I didn’t actually want to start anything” Fane’s voice was flat, carried by the ocean breeze though a note of distaste coloured his words “he’s the one who started to dig into me after realising he’d fucked both my kids.” He picked up another rock though this one was held in his hands, weighted as he spoke not that he looked back at Faye “which, coincidentally I realised not long before” honesty was something they had promised one another, and Fane was willing to explain his behaviour which Faye had obviously noticed during their conversation with Milo. Another thing to feel bad about, he’d royally fucked up, and the though caused him to tug slightly at his ear.

Faye watched Fane toss rocks into the sea, knowing that he knew she was there. If he chose not to speak after too long, she’d do it instead. But Faye was patient. Especially at times like this. Times where she knew in the past he would’ve been seriously thinking about just up and running away. Though she didn’t truly think he’d ever do that. Not now. At least… not without asking her to come with. Though running from your problems, running from things that hurt… it didn’t make them go away. It only made it harder to come back to later.

Finally, Fane spoke up, and Faye glanced down at her feet, giving a small shake of her head. “Since when have I ever lectured you about anythin’?” she said gently, though it was rhetorical and Faye didn’t expect him to answer. She did look up, however, at the mention of the Ryden sleeping with both Dani and Maya. Her mouth opened, and the shock and confusion was clear on her face, though she swallowed back the hundreds of questions that popped into her head. Well, that explained a few things. But not everything.

She moved a bit closer, reaching down to pick up her own rock. She held it flat in her palm, testing the weight before giving it a slanted toss. It plunked down hard into the water, not skipping once. Faye huffed. She had always sucked at skipping rocks. She watched the water for a bit longer before she spoke again.

“That’s… a helluva thing to find out,” she agreed. “‘Specially when you already don’t like the guy.” Faye chewed her lip, and let out a long sigh. “But… I’m startin’ to think it’s about more than just the car.” She looked at him then, turning her head in his direction. The glitter in her hair glinted in the little bit of light that was left. “Because as much as you love that car… as much as it means to you… Maya means more. And you would never hurt her.” Faye knew that Fane would probably contradict her, saying that he had, in fact, hurt Maya. And technically he was right. She had been hurt, but so had Fane. It didn’t excuse anything that had happened, or make anything that either Maya or Fane had felt any less relevant, but context was always very important.

This wasn’t about the guy wrecking Fane’s beloved car. Faye didn’t even think it was about Ryden sleeping with both Dani and Maya. Not really. Because Fane might know how to hold grudges, but when it came to his family, there was little he wasn’t willing to swallow.

“Do you wanna tell me what really happened?” she asked gently. “The real reason you’re so angry with him?” Faye wasn’t afraid to call Fane out when she felt he was withholding something. He didn’t lie, but omitting things… that he would do if he didn’t think the details were important. A loophole which Faye found exceedingly frustrating at times like this.

"That time you tried to convince me you teach Defence Against Dark Magic, and not Defence Against Dark Arts” perhaps it had been rhetorical but even when he was feeling lousy it was hard not to poke a little bit. Proof, that regardless of how miserable he felt Faye could always find some way to draw him back a step of two. Unfortunately, it didn’t last all that long and her silence regarding the matter of Dani and Maya caused him to start rubbing at the spot just behind his ear the other hand still weighting the rock he’d picked up. He still felt the creeping judgement from earlier like a thousand creepy-crawlies had made their way under his skin, not from Faye, but from the entire situation but wasn’t this always the way. Things just had to go wrong where people could see.

He dropped the stone then, not bothering to toss it and instead opted to fold his arms over his chest in a partially defensive position. Not from Faye, at least not exactly. More from the topics at hand, as though standing in such a fashion might just allow him to withstand the blow of them as he was forced to think back over the day. Fane stood silently as Faye tried and failed to skim the rock on the water, and his eyes drifted down to the water that had yet to touch his feet. It was one of the few things he hated about the beach. Getting his feet wet and having sand stuck to them regardless of how much you tried to get rid of it afterwards. Petty grievances, but present ones nevertheless.

So, when Faye spoke Fane merely tipped his mouth down into his shoulder a small disgruntled noise leaving him as she claimed it to be more than the car. A part of him wanted to protest, because yes, this was about his car. Entirely about the car.

But was that really the case?

Fane knew the answer, and he might’ve been annoyed if anyone else had figured out the fact that it wasn’t everything. Though if anyone was going to draw the conclusion, it would be Faye wouldn’t it? The person who knew the most about him in his lifetime. The one who knew how to read between the lines of what he said and how he behaved to come to the conclusion when there was more at stake than just a frivolous item. Because no, Fane wouldn’t sacrifice his family’s security for the sake of one metal tin can (even if he winced internally to reduce his precious corvette to such a lowly comparison). So her calling him out on it, caused his arms to tighten and shoulders to grow a fraction tenser and standing there, posture tense, Fane was reminded of the nagging ache low in his back. One that was an ever-present nuisance since the smash. “I did hurt her though,” Fane’s protest was spoken quietly but no less seriously “and what does that say about me? If I’m willing to hurt the people I care about all because of-- what? Because of some punk ass kid who thinks he’s a smart-ass because he can taunt me in front of Dani, Maya, Eowyn… You, in front of my family,” Fane’s mouth twisted his head tipping as he looked away the simmering anger starting to creep its way back. “I was so angry Faye, and God I wanted to make him suffer for running his mouth” but he hadn’t.

Did that count for anything though? The intent still existed there. The consideration about going through with it. But also the consideration of the pain his behaviour would cause and so he had barely said a thing in response. Stood despite the words and how much he wished to act on them. Yet, it still hadn’t been enough to spare his family from harm. He might not have hurt them directly, but a part of him thought that indirectly harming them was worse in a way. Further evidence that perhaps family wasn’t something he was truly cut out for at the end of the day.

But here was Faye, who knew that despite the bluster and hot air there was more to it. Knew that while he would never lie to her, there were instances where he may perhaps omit details if only to try and stop her from worrying so much about him. Because he would never stop trying to protect her or their family. His jaw set as he stared out at the ocean once more. Did he want to tell her? “We’re a family Faye, all of us… Dani, Maya, Eowyn… You and me, we’re-- married, we’re partners, you’re my wife” it was the first time he’d ever uttered the words aloud and whether he’d say them again was an uncertain entity in itself. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her presently, his hand rubbing his other arm as he spoke “wouldn’t you be angry too if you faced the very real possibility where you could lose everything because some dumbass decision or situation that you didn’t even want to be in, in the first place? Never get a chance to do the things you want to do? Or even just say goodbye. All because--” he pressed his thumb to his index finger and snapped them sharply the sound a stark comparison to the quietness around them and emphasising his point “all because that’s it. It’s done. Over. Nada. Time’s up? How could anyone not be-- mad, at a situation or the person that put you in that position… Directly or not? Magic or not?”

“It is Defense Against Dark Magic,” she huffed, glad that he was able to at least make a small attempt at humor. “Says it right there on the syllabus.” Faye knew it was most likely going to be short-lived, but something was better than nothing. And her silence about Dani and Maya was merely because it was so… out of the blue… such a small world kinda thing, that Faye wasn’t really sure what there was to say. Other than what she did say a bit later. As for the public bit of the encounter, Faye was used to shit happening where people could see. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d gotten into a brawl in the street with someone. It had once gotten to the point where people made bets on whether or not she would fight someone for mouthing of to her that week.

But Fane wasn’t her. Most public attention, especially the negative kind, was a nightmare for him. An anxiety attack waiting to happen. Though that felt like the smallest of things on the list this evening. Her rock plunked heavily into the water, and Faye rubbed a hand through her hair. The braids had held tightly though the day, so she could only run her hand back over them, not able to run her fingers through it like she usually did. She felt more than saw the way Fane wrapped his arms around himself after dropping his rock, and she moved a bit closer, not content to leave him standing all alone when he was so obviously shaken. Though she didn’t touch him just yet, giving him the personal space he might still need while still being there and being closeby. Faye dug her toes into the sand, enjoying the feeling of the wetness between her toes. It was cool, and she moved her toes until the tops of her feet were completely covered.

She asked her question and waited to see if he would answer. Though she doubted he would try and push the topic off as nothing now that she had made her connections and called him on them. Because she did know him. Better than nearly anyone. She certainly knew more about him than anyone. There were things he’d told her that no one else knew. Things he’d trusted her with that she would take to her grave. And she’d done the same. It hadn’t been easy for them to find that trust in each other. Their respective histories didn’t include much unguarded trust. But time and circumstance had shown them that some things are simply meant to be. The two of them included. So while it had taken her a bit, between everything else that went on from day to day in their lives, Faye had slowly fit the pieces together here and there. With today’s incident being the final one. Because family was everything to Fane. Whether or not he thought himself deserving of it or not. Faye thought no one deserved it more than he did, but again, that was something they both knew.

Faye moved closer as he spoke. “What happened hurt, yeah,” she agreed, because there was no denying it. “But not just Maya. It hurt you too.” This time she did reach up to lightly touch his arm. “But you weren’t willing to hurt her to get a few words in edgewise. Being willing to hurt someone takes forethought. Hurting someone unknowingly, it…” Faye sighed. “It doesn’t make the hurt any less painful, but… it is not the same thing, baby.”

“And I know you did.” Her hand curled over his arm. “Whatever he said to you to make you so upset… the fact that you didn’t smash his fucking teeth in makes you the bigger person. That he started in on you when there was no reason other than he could. Trust me… I woulda had a hard time not doin’ it too.” Fane didn’t get angry easily. He got upset, sure… just like anyone else. But truly angry? Faye had only seen that a handful of times. “Fuck him, alright? Wyn only knew that you and Maya were upset, not why. And you know that I’m gonna stand right there beside you no matter what someone says. I know that… that it still doesn’t make it better. That bein’ talked to like that in front of people you love… it sucks. But it doesn’t for one second change anything about you. Not to me. Certainly not to Wyn. And I doubt it does for either Dani or Maya either. As hard as that might be to believe right now.”

Faye took a breath and stood next to him for a moment, her hand curled around his arm, simply letting herself feel the way his skin warmed beneath her. Family was the only thing Faye had ever wanted. A partner, children, a home… all of it. And she had that now. And other than Eowyn, it was all because of the man in front of her. The man she loved more than anything. He deserved the world, and Faye would give it to him if she could. Though his thoughts that he wasn’t cut out for family might have frightened her just a bit if he’d spoken them aloud. If only because Faye still doubted herself. In some ways. Doubted her worthiness of love and family and the things she wanted, simple as they were. She didn’t doubt Fane. Never that.

But what he said next, that they were a family - all of them - and that the two of them were married… that she was his wife… Faye couldn’t help the small sound that left her. The tiniest of sobs because she hadn’t realized until right then how much she had wanted to hear it. And even if it never happened again, she would be content with that. Her hand on his arm tightened as her eyes started to sting. And she covered her mouth with her free hand so he could finish speaking. Though as he did, as he explained more about why he felt the way he did, a feeling of dread settled in Faye’s belly, and she looked up at Fane. The thing was, Faye did know that feeling. Of one moment in time being all that stood between you and the rest of your life. Between the things you loved and… nothing.

She knew the feeling, and the anger, and the fear. Maybe not recently, but just over a year ago, when she had lost her magic and Fane had been gone too… Faye had known that feeling quite well. Because if not for Eowyn, Faye might not be here now. All because of a decision that someone else had made. She looked up and shook her head, realization slowly dawning on her. Faye felt slightly ill as the full weight of what he was saying trickled down her spine, and the hand that had covered her mouth reached out and twisted in Fane’s shirt. She wasn’t sure what she could say, what she could do. Because even if he didn’t say the words out loud, Faye knew what had happened. She knew what had happened, and it terrified her. But it also made her angry. Not at Fane - she already knew why he wouldn’t have told her - but at Ryden. How could… how could he be so careless? So… so wreckless with another person’s life? And then to stand there and… mock that person like it had never happened?

Faye hands tightened in Fane’s shirt, and her forehead dropped against his chest regardless of whether he wanted her to be touching him or not. “You could’ve told me… Christ… you could’ve told me, baby…” There was no accusation or hurt in her tone, just pure honesty. Where once Faye might have gotten angry at him, what was the point? He was here. He was alive. And that didn’t mean she wasn’t still terrified at what might have happened, and absolutely livid at Ryden (who she sincerely hoped had simply been an ignorant fuck and had no idea what had actually happened). “Are you alright?” she asked, pulling back to look at him and wondering if there was anything amiss that she hadn’t noticed over the last few weeks. And if there was, she felt like an inconsiderate fool. “God, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him myself…” she sniffed fiercely, swiping at her eyes as she tried to look Fane over.

Perhaps it was just something he should get over, unfortunately he couldn’t help the fact his mind lingered on the smallest detail of every single thing that went wrong. Retreating and dissecting until he’d spun himself up in such a web of what ifs and maybes that the only outcome he could be guaranteed of was his own idiocy. Just as Maya had said herself, this was his fault. Technically, both their faults but Fane’s mind had latched on that single accusation. If only he’d done something else, offered to take Eowyn to look at some of the stands or get her face painted-- Anything, but all he remembered was the blind madness that filled him when he’d learned the truth of not only Maya’s relationship but Dani’s too? Normally, Fane was pretty blasé about the topic not typically getting involved in his kid’s love lives but unfortunately former feelings about Ryden coloured a particular urge to do something. And in all honesty, he hadn’t gone over in search of picking a fight, he’d gone over to find out how they had met one another.

Unfortunately, Ryden had started mouthing off and while Fane was well aware of why the wolf had done it the lingering fact it had rubbed him exactly the wrong way was more than likely why it had escalated the way it had. And now, Fane just felt tired, and tempted to just crawl into bed and blow off the entire week regardless of what he was obligated to do. The week was about Pride, being who you were, and-- If Fane was honest with himself he wasn’t sure if there was much he was feeling proud of presently. Nor was he sure if he felt entirely secure in who he was. So many things had just felt wrong lately, his work no longer felt compelling, his home felt empty, and Fane beneath it all felt out of sorts with himself. Typical then, that it had come to a head on this day of them all. The anger he felt towards the situation was minimal in comparison to the anger he felt towards himself presently. For not just ignoring it all, for not just swallowing poison and accepting it because Maya and Dani’s feelings were more important than his own petty grievances. Because, regardless of what Faye would say about his own feelings being necessary and valid, the fact of the matter once again was that being upset about things apparently wasn’t justified. Being angry about things was just him being god awfully irrational. He was the one at fault. That much had been made clear to him.

So Fane knew already what he was going to have to do, because what he felt didn’t matter. He’d sacrifice if it meant restoring Maya’s happiness and perhaps one day he’d grow numb to the lingering feeling of clearly not being enough for anyone in his family. Fane had inadvertently started rubbing his arm again, and god he wished he had a hoodie right now. Wished he could bundle himself up, tug his sleeves down and just wrap himself away from things that upset him. Faye’s clarification that it had hurt him caused his gaze at the distant spot to grow cold, “so what if it did? So what if I was upset Faye?” his voice wavered with emotion and it took him a few to control it from getting too thick. “Once again the universe has shown me I have no fucking right at all to be upset about some tosser using not only one but two of my kids?” He stood tense and silent as Faye gently touched his arm. “And yet! Not even the fact I barely said anything at all was enough because it’s my fault regardless, Jesus, I was an idiot to think it’d ever be different. I went over there because I wanted to get some context to how they knew one another and that wanker just goes ahead and calls me daddy? Who the fuck says anything like that?” he couldn’t help the edge of bitterness that came to his voice.

“And I get it, I get that he wanted to piss me off make me the bad person but he did that in front of the people I care about and I just--” he trailed off shaking his head because if there was one thing that Fane couldn’t stand it was being jibed and humiliated. Humiliation took him back to a dark mindset, one he’d spoken only to Faye regarding and it was a long rabbit hole to try and climb back out of. “That happening in front of you all?” Fane’s eyes were growing a little bleary right then and he just tucked his arms tighter around him “it’s my worst nightmare Faye” and he wasn’t trying to be overdramatic, because this was simply a fact. “I’ve spent so long trying to piece who I am back together, to make sense of whatever I had left after Unsterblich” the German word slid off his tongue, leaving him feeling chilled and hollowed out “but-- all it takes is something like that, an experience like that, humiliation in front of people I’ve only ever wanted to protect and--” and he was left questioning what the point in even trying was. His hand dropped from his arm and he looked down at the ring sat on his finger, thumbing it around the digit slowly the metal stone cold and the only protection he had between existence and the void. Why even try when it would quite clearly never be enough for any of those he loved. No doubt it was just a matter of time before something happened and it was Faye he was disappointing. Eowyn he was disappointing. He’d already done it with Dani, now with Maya. It was just a matter of god damn time wasn’t it? A loaded gun just waiting to be fired.

All he wanted was to be enough, but who wanted a toy once it was broken? Once the original shine and attraction of it was gone and only the base left behind.

The thing was, what had happened back when Ryden and he had first encountered one another. The events had scared him. More than he was willing to admit to anyone, even himself, but it had also kick started the realisation that things could happen and they could die at any moment. So Faye’s small stifled sob, while it upset him Fane knew he had to be honest even if baring his soul left him feeling pathetic and foolish for even being this way. He should’ve been better than this, shouldn’t be so pathetic and get so upset over something that to anyone else would be trivial. Yet this was how it went, he spun himself up to such a point that he couldn’t help but feel like a mess afterwards to feel like seventy years meant nothing at all. The tightness of Faye’s hand clutching his shirt, and the weight of her head against his chest did little to ease the ramrod posture he’d adopted. “How could I?” he murmured, “I knew how you’d react, and I didn’t want to make things worse…” he trailed off as Faye drew back and he could see the searching look in her eyes, knew what she was looking for. But he’d been mindful not to do anything so strenuous that it sent his back spasming, not wishing to worry her unnecessarily about something he could manage. “I’m fine,” he told her quietly, an achy back wasn’t much to complain about in light of how bad it could have been and finally after an age he started to move. Slipping his arms around her and letting his chin to fall onto her shoulder. “Don’t. I don’t want to make this worse for Maya…” how he felt had done enough damage as it was, the least he could do was try to stop some of the consequential fall out.

It wasn’t either woman’s relationship, former or current, with Ryden that had truly mattered. That had just been the icing on the cake really. A man that had done grievous, nearly fatal, harm - whether he remembered it or not, whether it was magically influenced or not - to Fane had insulted him in front of his family. Had caused the upset of someone Fane loved. In the most crass and unapologetic way possible. Faye could be petty, she would be the first one to say so. And she could fling nasty, hateful insults with the best of them. But not in front of innocents. And while Dani and Maya’s involvement might not be completely that - Fane hadn’t known about either relationship, though he usually took a fairly lax approach to his family’s love life, providing things were kosher - the beef was between Fane and Ryden. It should have stayed between Fane and Ryden. And Faye could follow that same slippery path, say that if it had just been the two men talking things would have been very different. If it had just been Ryden running his mouth off at Fane where no one else could hear… well, Fane might be minus a whole lot of anxiety and guilt, and Ryden would be minus a few teeth. An even trade, in Faye’s opinion.

But that wasn’t what happened.

What happened was just about the worst thing that could happen. And the fact that Ryden had seen… Ryden had figured it out and kept doing it? Well, bullies, regardless of age or species, or if they were a foot taller than her and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, pissed her right the fuck off. She had never tolerated them, and she wasn’t about to start now. They would chat, her and Ryden Bolt. Soon enough.

But right now her attention and concern was for Fane. Because they’d come so far… so far from all the malingering doubt and lack of self-worth. So far from the pain and anger and mistrust that the traumas of their pasts had left them with. And all it took was a few well-placed words in front of the right people to set things back months. Maybe more. Faye didn’t blame Fane for any of it. Not for one second. She knew he was probably thinking that what he felt didn’t matter. That feeling lost, or anxious, or even hopeless was wrong. That what he felt was petty. Irrational. And that he had to somehow justify any of those feelings. Fane didn’t have to explain anything to anyone. Not even to her if he didn’t want. Faye didn’t need it. If he said he felt that way, then she would accept it, and do her best to help and support him however she could.

What was wrong was thinking that no one could see it. That no one cared. That he didn’t matter.

And Faye didn’t think Maya would appreciate Fane harming himself for her, whether emotionally or otherwise. He’d done it once, when the two of them had gone to Salem to save Maya from Shaw. Ryden was hardly a murderous psychopath, but harm had been done nonetheless. And like the creeping pain of a festering wound, the damage would linger, leaving scars. Faye wasn’t sure how many more scars they could hold and still remain whole.

Faye pulled back to look up at him, her expression set firm. It was only his obvious turmoil that kept her voice soft. Because harshness wouldn’t help. She didn’t have it in her besides. Not for him. Never for him. “What you feel is never irrelevant. And I’ll keep sayin’ that until one day you believe it.” She shook her head slightly. “The universe doesn’t…” Faye sighed, because belief in Fate was one thing. Faye believed. Fane… not so much. But thinking that every bad thing that happened was because of some grand design, some universal ‘fuck you buddy,’ wasn’t something Faye gave creedance too. But again, that didn’t make Fane’s feelings over the matter any less important.

Faye started again. “Sometimes shit happens for no other reason that people are fuckin’ assholes. That kid… he’s a kid. Doesn’t excuse him,” she clarified firmly. “Doesn’t make it any better… or lessen the pain that comes with what he did. Or what he said. Ignorance, or simply not givin’ a fuck, doesn’t excuse bad behavior. But baby…” Faye squeezed his arm. “...you are not an idiot for carin’ about your family. For goin’ into a situation where…” Faye shook her head again. “... where you had no idea what you might find. Where you already knew he would probably be hostile. And yet you held back when he started slingin’ shit. That’s bein’ the bigger person. Hard as it is to see right now.” She pet his arm, trying to loosen some of the tension there. “He latched onto the one thing he knew would get under your skin,” she agreed gently.

“The people that love you don’t care what other people say. I don’t. Wyn doesn’t. I think Maya and Dani can think for themselves as well.” But she knew that wasn’t the real crux of the issue. That the audience was coincidental, and while it didn’t make it any better - it actually made it worse in this case - once again, the issue was much, much larger than Fane’s family hearing some asshole kid get a few words in edgewise. And the thing was… Faye was the only other person that knew why. Because in almost eighty years, she was only other person in Fane’s life that knew what had happened to him. That knew the source of so much of his anxiety, of so many of his fears and uncertainties. Of the terrible scars that littered his body. A body that shouldn’t be able to scar, but had. Along with his psyche.

“I know it is… I know…” He kept speaking, so Faye grew quiet, standing there with him and trying to keep him somewhat grounded to now. The last time they’d talked about this…she’d nearly lost him. It had only been the grace of moonlight instead of sun that had kept that from happening. The German word made her shiver, the way he said it so easily, so flatly, spoke to how familiar he once was with it. Her eyes tracked the movement of his hand, the glint of the stone in his ring catching the fading light. Her hand reached out and gripped his tightly, the edges of the band cutting into Faye’s palm. She only squeezed tighter. Let it hurt. “Don’t…” It was both a plea for himself, to not go down that path again, and a plea for herself as well. Because she couldn’t lose him again. She wouldn’t survive it. That wasn’t dramatics on her part. It was truth. Because how could she live without the other half of her soul?

“You survived…” she started slowly. “What no one should have been able to survive. Vampire or not. You survived things that… people can’t even imagine. It’s beyond their comprehension. And they will never understand. Even me. Even after all you’ve told me, I can never truly understand what it was like for you. I’ve been Purged before, you’ve seen it. I’ve been… tortured and… hurt. Because they could. Because they wanted things they couldn’t get without me. But none of that is anything close to what you’ve been through.” Her fingers squeezed his hand even tighter. “You have every right in this world to feel the way you do when something reminds you of that time. That trauma… baby, those months you spent there should’ve broken you completely. But they didn’t. You’re still a good man. You’re still a kind man. A man who only wants to help people. And you’re an amazing father to all our kids. And the only man in this world I could ever want for my partner. For my companion in this world and the next. For my husband.” The word sounded… strange. But it felt… warm on Faye’s tongue as she said it. Like him calling her his wife, Faye might never say it out loud again, but right now it was the truth.

He was enough. He was always enough. And a broken toy only meant that it was well-loved. Even if pieces fell off here and there, and it was patched up, a bit of tape or glue, or a stitch added here and there to hold it together, it wasn’t something you’d ever forget. Or leave behind. It might not be bright and shiny and new, but the best things in life usually weren’t. Other than perhaps a newborn baby. And even then, a child grows up, and only becomes more beloved with time.

Faye shook her head as he murmured his answer, even though she already known what it would be. He stayed tense beneath her hand, and she knew it was because he was still trying to protect himself. It was a defense mechanism, not from her, but from the results of everything that had pushed him to that point. But she didn’t loosen her hold, because it wasn’t trivial to her. It wasn’t pathetic. It was a response conditioned by months of abuse and inhuman torture at the hands of a psychopath. Months of being experimented on, treated like less than an animal. Months of being cut to pieces and put back together again. Fane’s responses to certain things were well-earned. And while others might not understand because they had no context, Faye knew. She knew, and for as long as she lived, she would never ever forget. Because it was hers to carry now as well, that horrible burden of knowing. But at least Fane didn’t have to do it alone anymore. He didn’t have to do any of it alone.

Faye continued the slow strokes of her hand. “Knowin’ the truth… no matter how awful… is better than wonderin’. And you never lied… I know that, I do…” she said, in case for some reason he thought she doubted his honesty, which she didn’t.

“But… if it had been me that-” Faye’s voice broke, and she couldn’t even make herself say the words. ‘Almost died.’ It simply wouldn’t come out. “- and I didn’t tell you the details because I didn’t want you to worry? I always worry about you, love. Every day. When we’re together. When we’re apart. It’s just part of… this. Part of bein’ a family. We always worry, even when we probably shouldn’t.”

Only when he said he was fine did Faye’s voice find any bite. “Don’t,” she said again, just as she had when he fiddled with his daylight charm. “No more bullshit. I’ve got a damn good imagination, and me tryin’ to suss out what could’ve… nearly done that to you…” She shook her head. “Truth will worry me a lot less than assumin’. I know you don’t heal well, baby, and you shouldn’t have to suffer if I can help.”

When he finally loosened and wrapped his arms around her, Faye folded him up. She held him tight, turning her face into the warm smell of his hair. For a long time, she simply held him. The thoughts flying through her head that there had been a very real possibility that this moment would’ve never happened. That she could’ve lost him. Permanently. It would have been the end of their story, and Faye wasn’t ready for that. Not by a long shot. She would never be ready.

Her voice was muffled against his neck when she spoke. “I won’t hurt him,” she promised. “But I am gonna have a chat with him.” Fane wasn’t the only one who wanted to protect their family, after all.

Surprising what a few specific words, in the right place at the right time could do. Whoever had said that words didn’t hurt, that they were fleeting things surely didn’t understand the capacity words held to crush you, turn you to dust under their weight. To drown you, as though abandoned in the middle of an ocean created by your own tears from the harm they could inflict. Words could be the most beautiful and the absolute most loathsome thing in all of existence capable of leaving a lasting mark on their victims.

Could you truly forgive without forgetting?

Could you ever find a way to smile without grinding your teeth?

Fane wasn’t sure what he wanted from all of this, all he knew was that the damage had been done and he was tired. Tired of feeling like he had to justify the things he felt to other people when all he wanted was to keep the things sealed up tight, but to get them to understand it was necessary to dig the knife in deep and pry those words out. Whether they wanted to go or not. So what did it matter if he bled more in the meantime, he’d find a way to patch himself up and tesselate the fragments back together in some semblance of an orderly pattern. To make himself presentable once more. So long as everyone else was happy then that was what mattered wasn’t it? Don’t disturb the water, keep the peace and all that, right? So as Faye once more tried to debate the fact that it wasn’t irrelevant he could only look at her tiredly, hearing but the words didn’t really sink home. Not today. Not right now mostly because he was in no particular state to feel ready to receive them. Whatever the case was, Fane felt rather inclined to believe there was some general universal conspiracy going on or at least some cosmic joke of which he was the punch line.

Fane stood still as Faye squeezed his arms, his typically bright eyes dimmer than they usually were and his mood clearly still down in the dumps. “Didn’t I? I should’ve thought about what going over there would do but I just went ahead didn’t I?” it didn’t matter how Faye spun it, this was his fault one way or another. “I ruined a perfectly good day and for what?” though he merely made a low noise as Faye remarked that Ryden had used the one thing that he knew would get under Fane’s skin. Of course he had and it had worked. Too well. Which perhaps in turn spoke volumes about Ryden himself. But Faye was right. The fact Maya and Dani heard wasn’t the issue at hand, it was the generally public nature of it all combined with the story that only she knew. The rippling consequences that came with specific traumatic events.

Fane had no intention of taking the ring off, the fidgeting and spinning of it in the light only another little habit of his when he wasn’t feeling so securely grounded in a moment. Just another of so many little habits of his. But the suddenly sharp pressure and squeeze of her hands over his own caused him to look up at her sharply and a fraction startled by the vehemency of it. “I wasn’t--” but she started to talk, to remind him of the fact that he had come out the other side of all of this stumbling but still somehow on his feet and his eyes lowered to where she gripped his hands her knuckles practically turning white under the force of her hold. The intensity with which she spoke startled him, and he wasn’t sure he could look her in the eye without letting everything he felt presently wash him away. When Faye called him her husband, his lip quivered and he had to swallow back the noise that threatened to leave him blinking hard as his vision started to grow a little bleary. God he hated crying, so much, but it was hard not to with the flare of warmth and sudden pride he had about hearing her say those things about him. God he felt like a mess so he sniffled a bit, wiping his eyes but it didn’t help all that much.

“I know, I’m sorry-- I just, you know I don’t want you to worry” he said quietly when she told him worrying was a part of this, it was a part of caring so much he knew but he didn’t want to make it worse. Didn’t want Faye to go seeking people out because she felt compelled to add her two cents to the matter and get involved in something that hadn’t involved her initially. But it was also part of what he loved about her. His attempts to reassure her were cut off. Sharp and promptly and his mouth shut just as fast. “I told you, the car wrecked… I was fighting him, he bailed out and my legs were caught inside the cabin…. Lid was off so I got ragdolled over the windscreen” he shrugged the rest rather self-explanatory trying to keep his voice matter of fact but it was hard to do that considering remembering what had happened just brought about the memory of the pain and fear that came with everything that had happened. What he really didn’t want to say was that he’d temporarily ended up paralysed as a consequence of the crash and had to deal with the anxiety that came with waking up and not being able to feel anything from the waist down.

So he was happier when Faye turned her face into his chest, and his arms secured themselves around her squeezing her tightly. “Please don’t make it any worse…” he mumbled into her hair where his mouth was pressed to her braids “Maya’s already mad at me… I don’t want to give her more reason to be mad at you too…”

Eventually, you had to think of your own happiness. Faye had told Fane this before. Other people weren’t going to stop living their lives, or start putting aside what they wanted to make sure others were happy. To make sure Fane was always happy. Faye would, of course. But that was different. Their relationship was built on that: on each of them wanting nothing but the others happiness and safety. But neither of them expected the other to give up what they wanted either.

Mostly Faye referenced the long-lingering situation between Fane and Dani. When such things were spoken of. Which wasn’t all that often. It had been discussed, and their feelings were known, so Faye didn’t see the point of rehashing something that was painful just for the sake of it. Because she had things she didn’t like talking about either. Things that she buried deep down inside where they could almost be forgotten. Until they weren’t. Until something brought them back into the light, clawing and screaming, and bloodying anything in their path.

So Faye did understand. In part. At least when it came to the pain associated with having to speak about things you’d rather forget. She could see the weariness in his eyes, the way her words simply had no room to affect him right now. “Did you go over there with the intent to start a fight? No. That’s not who you are. That’s… more my area,” she said, trying anything to lighten the mood just a bit. “And you didn’t ruin anything. The day was amazing. One bad incident - and okay yeah it… sucked majorly - but one bad incident doesn’t negate all the good.” She wasn’t making light of what had happened, she was simply trying to find some sort of bright side. Or some shade of light gray in all the dark.

But when she gripped his hand so tightly, not letting him get a word in before she was off again, it was because the mere notion of him taking off his ring was Faye’s fear come to light. It was a trigger that reminded her of that night in the swamp, when she’d found him kneeling in the mud without the only thing protecting him from becoming a pile of ash. Faye had never been more scared in all her life. Because it could have all ended right there. Among the reeds and the frogs and the calls of the nightbirds. All because Faye had kept something from him. Something that had led to the conversation about his own past. Which led to the flight into the swamp. To fear and agony so great it had caused him to question whether or not living on was even worth it.

She had told him she loved him less than a day later.

When her words finally seemed to get past his armor, Faye didn’t let up. Because she meant every single one of them. And Christ she hated to see him cry, to see his emotions laid bare, flayed and raw… but she couldn’t back down now, not when she was finally making ground. “I know you don’t,” she told him, drawing her fingers through his hair. And talking to Ryden wasn’t about adding her two cents, though she would definitely let him know how she felt. It was about protecting her family. Because what happened to one of them happened to all of them. It was about letting people know that there were lines that they were not allowed to cross. That there was treatment that would not be tolerated. Because Faye did not negotiate when it came to her family.

And it was also about respect. Something which this boy didn’t seem to have much of. And if he said he didn’t remember the accident… well, Faye had a remedy for that as well. He would remember everything. With absolute clarity.

She listened as Fane went on to explain in a bit more detail what had happened. Faye couldn’t help the way her eyes closed, the way she held onto him just a bit harder. The images it conjured up in her mind were… they were horrible. But she listened, taking in every word, the way he had to physically make himself speak. Christ… for him to have nearly died from an injury like that he would’ve had to nearly cut himself in two. Or… break his back…

A small sound of anguish left her, and her grip on him would probably have been painful to most anyone else. Though it was released suddenly as she pulled back to look him over. Though his clothes prevented the sort of inspection Faye wanted to give him. She knew all his scars, all his marks, every inch of him intimately. If there was something new, she would find it when she looked close enough.

But she suddenly felt very, very tired herself, and leaned on him a bit. She wanted nothing more than to take him inside and wrap him up in her bed, to keep him safe forever. “I won’t make it worse. I promise. But he has to know what almost happened. He has to understand.”

Her comments about who the confrontational was in their relationship drew a small though still presently tight smile from him but it still didn’t quite light up his features. But it was something which had to count for something at least. Still, he didn’t have all that much to say considering Faye kept him silenced with the insistent and impassioned way she spoke not to mention the constant tight grip of her hands around his own. He knew why. Of course he did, and his eyes dropped a little the fact he’d worried her so only adding to the pile of guilt that he felt presently weighing him down. He’d done this to her. Of course he had.

But he also remembered what those events had brought about, had been a beginning for the both of them. A beginning that had led them to this very spot and so far from their own demons.

That didn’t mean to say he felt comfortable with the way she continued to insist, his armour had cracked and she had found the join and pushed through. But he also had to remind himself that she was only doing this because she only wanted and sought the very best for him. For their family. And while he would have agreed if she had said about the concept of lines and respect he could only hug her tight like the lifeline she had fast grown to be. And as much as he wanted to hold on, she suddenly wrenched back and Fane was left feeling almost entirely undressed by the scrutiny in how her eyes travelled over him. He knew what she wanted, and an old layer of self-consciousness was dredged up by it. So as she leaned back on him Fane sought out her hand, fingers twineing themselves around her own. “Just-- don’t upset Maya--” the thought of the young woman brought back a sharp stab of guilt as he tugged on Faye’s hand to get them moving, slowly making the walk back up to the cottage needing the peace but also aware of the fact he wouldn’t get away without letting Faye look over him. Better to rip the plaster off fast than try to peel it back slowly.

His smile was good, small as it was. Faye would take it. It meant he wasn’t completely off in his head with his demons. Mired down, yes, but not stuck completely. Which was why she kept pushing firmly but gently forwards. With her words, with her grip on his hands, with her reminders of how far they’d come. Because as scary as it had been, as terrified as she’d been - both of losing him and also of telling him how she truly felt, that she loved him… had loved him for a long time - Faye wouldn’t give it up because it had brought them here. Together. A pair of shoulders to carry the burdens life had given them. Would she spare the pain? Of course. She would always spare him pain as much as she could, just as he would her. But the experience had to happen. Else how would they have known how much they meant to each other?

Faye knew (mostly) how much to push Fane and for how long. Right now he was reaching his limit. She could see it in his expression before he bent down to hold her tight. They stood for a bit, simply grounding themselves in each other, Faye holding on for as long as was needed. “I won’t. I promise,” she said again, closing her eyes and pressing a kiss to the closest bit of skin. Her fingers twined with his and she softened, the tense lines falling out of her stance as he pulled her back towards the cottage. They walked quietly back over the sand, following their earlier footsteps, some of which had been washed away by the water. Hands entwined, Faye knew he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of letting her look him over, and she wouldn’t linger to the point of making him more anxious. But she had to know. Had to see. Had to add any new scars to the atlas of his body that she knew by heart. That she knew by touch alone. That she could close her eyes and see with absolute clarity.

A bit later, and they were in the quiet confines of her bedroom. The babysitter had been sent home, Faye thanking her for staying and letting her know she’d call if they needed her. Faye didn’t worry about the mess. She couldn’t care one whit about the clothes strewn over the floor, the drawers hanging open, the messiness that had frightened her at first, until she’d realized what had happened. Messes could be straightened. Clothes folded. Drawers closed and tidied. But hearts… minds… bodies… souls… once touched, whether with tenderness or otherwise, they would always bear the marks. Fane’s heart and soul bore more than most. Not just because of his age, or his experiences, but because he felt things so incredibly deeply. With a breadth and depth that most people couldn’t fathom. Let alone experience for themselves. And while Fane might have said he was no different than any other person, to Faye he was. He was very different. Capable of being kind, being gentle, of loving with everything he had, even after the world had at one time left him broken and bare and hollow.

And that was only one of an infinite number of reasons why she loved him.

They stood there in the low light of Faye’s bedroom, and she knew this wasn’t easy for him. This scrutiny of the marks that covered his body. But she also knew he would most likely do the same if it had been her. Needing affirmation that things were truly alright. Though her body scarred more easily than his own. She started slowly, closing her eyes as her hands crept up his arms to his shoulders. Her fingers slid over his angular form, out over the curve of his deltoid and down his bicep, pausing to curve around the back to the long triceps muscle before continuing down. Over the scars on his forearm, the fang marks that he’d chosen, and the mark that had once been a line of numbers that he hadn’t. She didn’t linger, just a fluttering touch that followed the map in her mind. Closing her eyes was more for him than for her. She hoped it would help ease some of his anxiety, to help him not feel so self-conscious. And perhaps to reassure him that she knew him even without the use of her eyes. It wasn’t showing off on her part. It wasn’t to impress him. It wasn’t for any other purpose besides reconnecting and reassuring. On both their parts.

“I see you, love… even in the dark, I see you…”

There was something to be said about being able to trust someone so fully with yourself in a fashion such as this. To know you could count on them to help you carry burdens that had for so long simply been shouldered alone because just as he’d told himself, it was better that way. Better that he didn’t weigh someone else down by the horrors and misdeeds that he had lived through, that he had survived because he had never wished to burden anyone with those horrors. Why would he? That sort of trauma was not something you idly went about sharing with every other person in the nearest vicinity because it would simply be cruel in his opinion and in all honesty he didn’t want the sympathy or the pity it might bring about. But with Faye, it wasn’t pity she gave him, it was the support and strength in knowing there was someone out there who was willing to help, to listen about things he hadn’t been willing to talk about for decades. And that didn’t mean she understood, not entirely, but it didn’t change the fact that after it was all said and done, she would offer a hand to hold to help him through the darkness.

But it never made it easy in instances such as this, because Fane wasn’t sure whether there would or wouldn’t be a mark after what had happened. Though if the lingering ache in his back was any suggestion it was that something still wasn’t entirely right even now. This was, unfortunately, inevitable and she was right that had the tables been reversed he would have insisted to be allowed to do the same so, after taking a stilling breath to settle himself Fane stood in the middle of the floor while Faye slowly began her process of examination.

The track of her fingers was a slow progress, and Fane had to remind himself not to shift too much as her hands trailed up and down, back and forth slowly over the skin of his arms, over the scars and bumps that had accumulated over the years of several lifetimes. While she did that, he watched her face closely, looking for any particular sign of discomfort or upset in what she might find on his skin even if almost all of it was something she had seen or touched before. But the fact she had closed her eyes, that she had memorised his skin like it was a familiar roadmap caused an odd warmth to bloom in his chest and settle in his eyes not that she could see. It settled some of the unease and uncertainty he had about letting her do this, and as her fingers started to move slowly higher he eventually took a moment to ease off his shirt so that she might be able to inspect his torso. His shoulder still sat unevenly in comparison to the other, sloping down severely by comparison where it had failed to heal correctly all those years ago the truncated scar around the humeral head circumferencing his entire arm still rough and raised compared to the smooth skin around it. He didn’t say anything to her words, there was no need for them presently and so Fane let her continue down his torso. However, it was when she bid him to turn that a fraction of tension re-entered his body the uncertainty present about what she might find returning subconsciously and making him feel just that little bit wary once again.

Eventually, he pulled his shirt off, knowing it was needed without her even asking. She traced the scar that had almost killed him, the wound left by a knife laced with vervain that had nearly pierced his heart. There she lingered for just a moment, laying her palm flat over the mark. Over the unbeating heart beneath. What would it feel like, she wondered from time to time, to feel it thrumming in his chest. Would it have raced under her touch? Would it have skipped a beat sometimes when he looked at her, like her own did for him? Would he flush when she kissed him? They were just idle thoughts, as she wondered about what he had been like as a human. She wouldn’t change him for anything. To her, he was perfect as he was. Scars and all.

Faye could feel his eyes on her face, even with her eyes closed. She could always feel it when he was watching her. Like a warm prickle at the base of her spine. It was comforting to be able to feel him, even when they weren’t close to each other. Eventually, he turned, allowing her to inspect his back. She could feel the offset angle of his shoulder on his injured side, sitting lower than the other. The scar tissue ridged and textured slightly different than the surrounding skin. There were the claw marks in his side, and the thin line incision scar down his back. It was this that Faye traced last, starting at the base of his skull and running her fingers down over the ridge of his vertabrae. His back arched inward slightly as she felt thoracic spine that dipped towards his lumbar. It was here that her fingers stopped, finding a divot that wasn’t there before. A small huff of air was exhaled through her nose, and finally she opened her eyes to map the new mark on his body. For such a horrible accident, it was a small thing. Compared to other scars he carried. But sometimes that was all it took. Something tiny. To change everything.

She stroked her fingers over it, wondering at the damage still lingering inside him. But her touch moved away from the mark and turned to something more gently affectionate. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her mouth to his shoulder. “Does it hurt?” she asked quietly, knowing it most likely did. “I’ve got something that may help if it does.”

During the silence Fane wondered what was going through her head, and in this occasion he rather wished she could’ve shared with him so that he might know her thoughts more intimately. It might have helped ease him more, but as it was Fane didn’t and he could only stand and wonder as Faye slowly mapped out old marks she was long since familiar with. His gaze on her was familiar, intense as it was but only because of the passion, care and consideration he held for her alone. Looks that could convey a thousand more things than words ever could. The pressure of her hand and trail of her fingers was warm on his skin and Fane was quiet as she progressed from his chest, up over his shoulder before beckoning him to turn which he did, slowly.

The final choice of her explanation drew a involuntary shiver from him and a part of him was inclined to draw away from her but he stood still, letting her trace down and down until she reached the divot in his back. Small and seemingly insignificant, but something that had been giving him trouble for the past few weeks with anything too overly strenuous. It had healed well enough and the pain wasn’t unbearable but it didn’t mean it didn’t ache more often than not. So, as her fingers brushed over it again a small amount of tension went through him though it eased as her fingers moved away from the sensitive area and he felt the warm press of her lips against his skin the wrap of her arms comforting after everything. “It’s not bad,” he said honestly “it’s just a bit-- uh, achy really...”

She knew touching the scars was something he wouldn’t have allowed many others to do. That just the stimulation alone could bring back memories that would make him tense and anxious. Which is why she didn’t linger. Even over the new mark. Though it was a testament to how much he trusted her, to how much they understood about the other. Fane understanding Faye and her need to make sure he was truly alright, and Faye understanding his own need for the physical signs of his vulnerability to not be lingered over or made a big deal of.

He shivered beneath her, and she knew she might be pushing the limits of what he was able to stand there for tonight. So she stopped, the new mark committed to memory along with the others, and sought only to comfort him after that. Not pity. Not sympathy. Merely a shoulder to lay his head on, a hand to hold. Through whatever they had to face. “You wanna lay down? I’ve got a warming salve that would probably feel good. Take some of the tenseness out? So you can rest better.”

Faye knew by her own experience with her own scars, which she kept glamoured from the world save for a select few the intimate level of trust required to allow someone else to touch them. So once she was done with her inspection and moved on from that before finally finishing up and retracting her hands he remained quiet. Though the offer of something to help earned a small nod, “if you have something you think would help,” he wouldn’t be opposed, it wasn’t frightful but it was a little bothersome and after the morning and early afternoon they had had the treatment wouldn’t really go amiss. “I’ll need to go talk to Maya in a bit,” he said knowing his guilt about the day would only linger until he had a chance to speak with her.

“I do,” Faye nodded. “I’ll have to run up to the attic to get it. Takes a few minutes to work. Might take a bit longer since you don’t have the bloodflow to help it circulate quite as fast.” His vampirism was both a blessing and a curse, though only in the sense that the life he had chosen, the being he had chosen to become, had been warped by the twisted desires of a madman. Leaving him in a sort of limbo between invulnerable (regular vampire health hazards aside) and taking on lasting harm.

And as much as Faye wished he could stay and rest, she knew Maya was still out there feeling… Faye didn’t know. But as always, their family came before their own personal wishes. “I know. Lie down for just a bit though? You’ll have to anyway, so I can apply it.” She touched his arm once more before heading up to her spell room to find the ceramic jar of salve. Not hard to make, it was infused with a few things that helped with tight muscles and aching joints. It helped increase circulation, warming slowly after application. Faye used it on her hip sometimes, when it ached in the winter, or bothered her any other time.

Coming back to the bedroom, she sat gently beside him where he was laid prone by now. She popped the corked top off the jar, and the fresh smell of mint and lavender wafted out. Faye scooped a bit onto her fingers, sliding closer before rubbing it slowly into his skin. “Might tingle a bit, but it should start to warm up soon. Let me know if I hurt you, hm? Or if it’s not in the right spot…”

As much as Fane would have liked to stay and let Faye take care of him presently his mind was on Maya and the need to go and ensure that she was okay. But right now he did as she bid him to, knowing that there was absolutely no point in trying to argue or reason that he shouldn’t be wasting his time when Maya was no doubt upset somewhere in town. He felt bad enough for leaving her anyways, but lingering wouldn’t have done much to help either. So he loosened the belt a little so that his jeans rode lower on his hips exposing more of his back before he crawled onto the bed and settled on the mattress.

By the time that Faye had returned, Fane had managed to relax a little bit arms crossed and pillowed under his head his feet hanging off the edge of the bed for the sake of comfort. He felt the dip of the bed as she joined him again and let his eyes drift closed as she started to work the salve into his skin. It felt a little cold at first, and there was a slight sense of tingling -- almost like a dulled pins and needles under the areas she applied it. It took awhile, but eventually it started to warm “you can probably work a bit harder” he advised knowing if it hurt too much he’d let her know but suffice to say it felt good. The warmth of the salve and her hands causing him to groan contently, maybe he needed this more than he had cared to admit.

Faye wasn’t going to keep him. But Maya wasn’t running off like she had once before. She was hurt and upset, but she wasn’t running away. Fane had time. Time to assure that he wasn’t in pain while he tried to sort things out between the two of them. Pain was a distraction, and Faye knew he was good at pushing it down and ignoring it, but why? When she could very easily help?

Satisfied when he agreed, she set to work and soon her hands moved in a familiar pattern over the muscles of his lower back. She pressed firmly but gently with her fingertips, massaging the salve into the muscle. The balls of her hands followed the curve of his back up and back down, and then moved out over his hips. When he said she could do more, Faye increased the pressure of her hands, leaning a bit of her weight into it in order to reach the deeper tissue. “Christ… you’re full of knots,” she commented quietly, moving to her knees. The salve was set to work on his injury, so she moved up a bit, working the leftovers on her hands into the rest of his back and shoulders. “I haven’t done this often enough recently… ‘s why you’re all bunched up.” It wasn’t a personal dig at herself. It was just a statement.

“Feel okay?” she asked, even though she’d heard him groan a bit before.

While Fane knew that Maya wasn’t so likely to vanish off it didn’t mean that he still didn’t worry about her, while she was an adult and had been forced to grow up at such a young age there was no helping the part of him that wanted this to be a place where she didn’t have to worry. A place she could be happy, and there was a lingering worry that this would consequently drive her away somehow and until he spoke to her, assured himself that wouldn’t be the case he would continue to worry.

The pressure of her palms and fingers working into the knots and tight spots in his back caused him to let out a long sigh of contentment. “Mm, I wouldn’t be against you doing this more often” he said tensing a little as she hit a particularly tight spot but almost immediately relaxing once it was worked through. “Been neglecting me,” he mumbled, voice muffled by the way his face was pressed into his arm.

“Mm, yeah” he answered a few moments after she asked, the attention and consequence of everything today making him feel particularly tired.

“That could probably be arranged.” Faye didn’t mind taking care of him like this at all. He could use it, even if he wouldn’t necessarily admit it out loud. It was almost funny in a way, how each of them sought to take care of the other, to make sure they ate and took the time to get sorted when something hurt or when they were ill or injured. But they could tend towards not thinking about themselves in return. Like when Faye would come home limping from spending a long day in heels during class, her hip aching, but immediately got caught up in what needed to be done around the house instead of taking time to fix her discomfort. Fane could always tell, and made sure she was seen to before it got too bad.

“You are pretty pitiful,” she said with a slow smile at his comment about neglect. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you, won’t I?” She eased a bit as he tensed, pressing a bit softer, but not letting up completely as the small knot worked it’s way loose. She lingered for a moment, babying the spot before letting her hand curve down over his ribs and back up. The smell of the lavender and mint was soothing, and Faye felt her own tenseness relaxing a bit as she worked so methodically over the long lines of Fane’s back.

His confirmation was met with a small hum of her own. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Sleep if you want. I’ll wake you in a bit.” He might not want to, but the offer was there regardless. Faye had no problem staying awake if he wanted a catnap before setting off after Maya.

“Do we need to arrange payment in advance?” he questioned barely moving an inch save for the occasional slight adjustment as he lay there letting her continue any attentions she wished to do. Their way of looking after one another just another display of how well they seemed to know one another, even when Fane questioned why Faye even bothered with the heels to class. He’d lost track of the amount of times he’d asked why not just wear flats? As he got her to sit down so that he could rub her feet and take out some of the soreness that came with such a time in heels.

“Mhm, very very pitiful need lots of tending ‘n’ caring” he agreed knowing they were both mostly just messing around. His shoulders relaxed as the knot was worked out and the slow, deliberate stroke of her hand caused him to make a low noise of approval, though whether it was from interest or from genuine relief wasn’t quite so easy to pinpoint. He was already practically dozing by the time she leaned down to kiss his shoulder, and god it was so tempting. “Need t’see Maya,” his words were a little slow, on the edge of sleep “mm-- half ‘n’ hour?” It would be enough, and then he’d have to get up and go and see her but the warmth of the salve was too nice for him to want to take it off right this moment hence why he was, for once, lenient in agreeing with the suggestion.

“Case by case basis. Pay as you go.” She smiled down at him, her expression soft and full of affection and love. It fell back to her work for a bit, and Faye couldn’t help thinking that he deserved so much better than what the world had given him. So much better than all the terrible things that had happened over the years. Though there wasn’t any changing it now. All she could do was give him the best she had, which on some days honestly didn’t feel like much. But she would give it anyway. She would give him anything. All he had to do was ask.

“‘Course it does,” she murmured, hands moving towards more of an affectionate petting now that he was so relaxed. “We’ll get it sorted, don’t worry.” The more she worked, the further he drifted, which is why she suggested a short rest before letting him fall all the way asleep. She didn’t want him worrying over having drifted off without knowing.

“I know. Just half an hour though. Promise. It’ll be good for you. Be easier to talk things out when you’re rested.” Not one to look the proverbial gift horse - especially one from a man as stubborn as Fane - in the mouth, Faye set her phone to go off in thirty minutes and scooted towards the head of the bed. She pulled a soft throw up over him, and moved to petting his hair. “Go to sleep, love. ‘M here. “M not goin’ nowhere…”

“M’kay, trust you” his voice was softer now the affectionate touches only serving to help encourage the sleep that up until now he’d been trying to push off. But maybe she was right, maybe a nap wouldn’t hurt right now after everything. So when he was given the assurance of half an hour, and only half an hour he mumbled something that was rather inaudible under his breath that a little while longer of petting sent him drifting off allowing Faye to tuck him up as he passed out on his front. He’d go and see Maya after this, try to figure something out but for now he was content in the darkness of slumber.

[siorca]

for @madamoisellegush, who gave me the prompt: Blackarachnia/Slipstream and my take on Soulmate/Nemesis markings.

I got a little carried away with this, because this was meant to be super short, but I actually had a ton of fun writing it, especially with writing Slipstream and trying to incorporate a way to play with a concept that I don’t normally like.

Slipstream scratched at the name marking her plating, only succeeding in chipping the paint around the word. Blackarachnia still looked as elegant as ever, written in a pretty cursive that seemed to flow together effortlessly. She scowled, rubbing at her arm, the plating still smooth to the touch, slightly sticky where Blackarachnia was scrawled.

The name itself - and she concluded that it must have been a name because it didn't sound like the type of word spoken in casual conversation - sounded familiar, something that scratched at the back of her processor that she couldn't quite place. Maybe Starscream had mentioned it in passing in one of his rantings. Even if he were still alive, Slipstream would loath to ask him about it, partly because she hated him, but mostly because she’d rather seek out the information on her own. She was stubborn like that; unwilling to ask others for help even if it would aid her.

The name was a more recent phenomena, too, only appearing within the last week, which made it easier to hide from what remained of her brothers. Not that she really cared about what they would say about it. They were all a pack of idiots in her optics, anyway, and if it weren't for the begrudging feelings of kinship she felt with them, she would have abandoned them swiftly the first opportunity she got.

However, her secret was safe until just moments before, when Skywarp managed to spot the markings, swallowing his nerves enough to ask her about it. Skywarp was her favorite, only because he was easily cowered to stay out of her way. It was this fact that saved him from losing an optic. But if there was one thing that they all shared in common, it was an insatiable curiosity, and Skywarp was perhaps the worst case.

In the ensuing confrontation, Skywarp trilled something about a “destined person,” to which

Slipstream had snorted, waving him away. She didn't need fanciful, romantic notions about people she didn't even know. And she certainly didn't need her cowardly brother crowing at her about it.

She rubbed at the plating again. She knew Skywarp wouldn't tell Thundercracker nor Sunstorm about it, only because he was terrified of both of them and tended to try and avoid them. Not that she particularly cared either way, she just didn't want to deal with more nosy brothers.

It did leave her curious because she knew that none of them had one on their own arms. She did remember a name being scrawled across Starscream’s arm, but she only ever caught short glimpses of it, never enough time to really decipher what it said.

At this point, her frustration was beginning to eat away at her. She hated mysteries. She hated not knowing something. Her wings twitched erratically, catching onto the subtle breeze where she stood out in the open. Perhaps a long flight will help burn off some of the excess energy she was building up.

--

One of the more frustrating things about living as a rogue was the lack of a proper database. Slipstream barely held enough resources to keep her and her brothers safe, yet alone the ability to maintain a supercomputer. The abandoned ship they've huddled into was corroded enough already, bits of it falling off almost every day. There was no thought put into piecing together the old teletran outside of the basics - making sure it could still work the lights and the energon dispenser for one. The practical part of Slipstream was perfectly fine with that. But her current situation left her lacking in rationale. She couldn't help but bemoan the lack of actual information.

Flying helped keep her mind steady, if only for a short while. She attempted to keep herself blank, only focusing on the changing air pressure and the feel of gathering raindrops on her wingtips. It worked, up until a blip on her radar had her sensors on high alert.

She descended a fraction from her high altitude, ever careful of an Autobot ambush. It was remote enough where she was that it was unlikely for her to run into one, but she didn't want to test that theory. She circled around the trigger, gauging that it was an abandoned outpost of some kind - Cybertronian by the looks of it. One more fly-by of the vicinity only provided that no life signs were detected.

As she descended further, she picked up on the fact that the place looked well maintained, at least for an object that was meant to be abandoned. It unsettled her, but she was driven on by an idea. This place was bound to have a decent database, hopefully one that was equally as well kept as the outside of the base. Her answers may lay right behind the heavy door.

She transformed, her blasters held out in front of her while she surveyed the grounds. When nothing out of the ordinary happened, she relaxed minutely, strutting up to the door with her usual confidence. It was pried open easy enough and she walked into the darkness.

--

The lights overhead were automatic, turning on only as she walked under them. It made for a very perilous runway; only knowing what was immediately in front of her. She walked slowly, her audios tuned to pick up every little sound. It was deceptively quiet, only the clicking of her thrusters haunting the hallways, only heightening her growing feelings of unease.

The facility was large, with twisting hallways that led to nowhere. A dead end here, a looping corner there. She grew impatient after the first twenty minutes, small growling noises of frustration escaping her vocalizer.

Huffing, she turned another corner, miraculously coming across a deep set of stairs that traveled far below the base. The space was narrow, barely big enough to contain her wings. Cringing, she pressed on.

It was a long trip down. She felt claustrophobic, every little scrape against her wings made her grit her dentae. Her peripheral sensors were receiving interference, too, only worsening the further down she went, making it twice as difficult to navigate. She fought the urge to panic, even as the stairway gave way to a brightly lit room, glossy with freshly polished gunmetal walls.

The room around her was some sort of command center, large with several monitors dotting the walls. Each one was fuzzy with distortion, creating an otherworldly effect. Her wings stretched imperceptibly as she walked the circumference. Each one was in perfect working order, simply not tuned to any sort of frequency. She looked at each one curiously, her optics sweeping over each one. The fuzz made her optics cross.

Finally, she came upon what she was searching for. At the center of the room was a large teletran, the screen a deep black, but the keyboard lit in a bright orange. It looked in pristine condition, clean and shiny, with only a few small chips marring the screen to show its age. Her audios picked up on a pleasant, inviting him coming from it.

Slipstream smirked. In a few quick strides, she was in front of the monitor, her talons skimming delicately over the keys. The blackness faded into a bright blue that washed over Slipstream in one large wave. She loaded up the archive. “This had better be worth it.”

--

There were many things that Slipstream could be researching right now. Ways to build a more efficient base, more economical ways to synthesize energon, or even a few blueprints for a choice superweapon. Yet, here she was, buried under research on a “destined person” - just like Skywarp had told her. It wounded her pride that he would know about something like this before her, but then again, the absurdity of its existence only showed how gullible he was. He had probably only known about it through one of his stupid romance novels. Or at least that's what she told herself.

She shuffled through another academic paper, scowling that science would even be involved this situation. She took what information she could from the article, between the heavy bits of jargon and occasional self-flattery from the author, and compressed it into a few short sentences to add to a file she had compiled on what she had learned.

So far, she knew that having a name was a rarity in and of itself. On the flip side, people could go their entire lives without a name, only to wake up in the throes of old age to one scrawled across their plating. Destiny was fickle that way: choosey, finicky, but most of all, random. Attempts to understand it were often met with resistance. There were plenty of theories pushed forward, but Slipstream wasn't interested in any of them. What she was interested in was the fact that the person written there was usually someone who was to play an important role at some point in their lives, usually as lover, but just as commonly as an adversary, an inconvenience, or even as a benefactor. It was impossible to predict what a meeting between two names would be like until it actually happened.

She snorted, scratching at her plating again. What absolute nonsense.

Her peaceful research was cut short however, when she found herself wrapped in a sticky substance, causing her to fall to the floor. She shrieked, her wrists and upper arms bound tightly to her chassis, while her legs were completely wrapped in white. Struggling with it only seemed to make the material tighten, which only encouraged her to shout expletives at her assailant.

“How dare you?! Get this slag off of me!”

“Hush.” Slipstream watched as a figure appeared from the minimal shadows, taking in the shape of an oddly organic looking femme. One with many eyes and sharp looking legs on her back. Slipstream shuddered. “This is my lab.” She held a blaster in her hands, pointing it squarely between Slipstream’s optics. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your business,” Slipstream said, petulantly. She flexed her talons in their prison, trying in vain to cut at the silk. She growled.

The figure smirked, walking closer to the console. This close, Slipstream could tell that she held a significant size advantage over her, but in her current state, she had no chance of overwhelming her. She had no choice but to wait this out.

“Destined person, hmm?” The femme turned to her, hand on her hips and a teasing smirk on her lips. She laid the blast on the keyboard, creating a line of keysmash through Slipstream’s document. She scrutinized Slipstream’s prone form, long and hard, almost as if analyzing her, until a spark of recognition lit up her optics. “You're one of Starscream’s clones aren't you?”

Slipstream scowled. “I'd rather not be associated with that buffoon, but yes, I am.”

She laughed. It was a small one, more of a snicker than a proper sign of amusement, ending with a sort of hissing noise. It showed off the fangs lurking in the recesses of her mouth, making Slipstream squirm uncomfortably. “You and me both.”

Slipstream raised an optic ridge at her, but the femme didn't elaborate. Rather she decided to glance through the intact part of Slipsteam’s notes, a predatory smile forming on her face. She circled her then, her figure low and intimidating. “Now why is someone like you in here, researching this of all things.”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Slipstream said, cheekily.

“Why yes I would.” The femme grinned dangerously.She bent over Slipstream, twisting her forearm until Blackarachnia was visible. The talons gripping her were sharp, far sharper than what Slipstream was packing and Slipstream couldn't help a small sound of warning slip from her lips.

The femme’s eyes widened in surprise, before her face blossomed into a wide grin, all sharp teeth, right beside Slipstream’s face. “Why you lucky girl.” She turned her own wrist over, displaying a matching Slipstream in messy scrawl.

“You're Blackarachnia?!” Slipstream blanched.

Blackarachnia nodded. “Now, that just leaves the question: are you friend or foe?” She tilted her head, her wide grin growing more mischievous. “Or possibly something more?”

Slipstream shuttered her optics at Blackarachnia. She couldn't really tell her, didn't know much about her to really gauge an opinion. She swiped her optics over her frame and couldn't help but notice Blackarachnia preen at the subtle movement.

Slipstream smirked. “Untie me and we’ll find out.”

[writingintheocean]

I cannot apologize enough for how late this update is. You all deserved this two months ago. But we’re closing in on the ending! Two chapters to go.

Betcha didn’t know that.

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7216591/chapters/26450991

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Title: Of Adventures

Part 9

Part 10

The boxers dangling off the bedpost seem cheery in the morning light rather than accusatory. There’s been gaps of consciousness, waking up and remembering the night before and falling back into his dream about flying over the ocean. Water in every direction, dark against a bright sky. There had been trips to the beach when he was younger: before his mutation with his mom and nannies there were sticky popsicles and a day away from dressing up in doll-sized suits. After, with his father, it was talkative walks on a private beach below the mansion about anything EXCEPT when his next “treatment” was.

It’s so bright.

He should probably clean up in here. Warren rolls over on his side. Why did Xavier give him such a big wardrobe? Such a big room? He was the same crappy person (no, he had friends he was free, he was better) as when Apocalypse found him. A nice bedroom doesn’t change anyone for the better.

Hours after he first came to, Warren sits up. There’s no fatigue of a hangover but his mouth tastes like rotting graham crackers. He stretches as his feet hit the floor, the tips of his wings brushing against the rafters.

Why didn’t he ask Kurt to stay? He drops his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

He grabs the empty bottle of vodka and drops it in the bathroom trashcan. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He tried to grab onto Kurt before he left, not for any reason really. He wanted him there, wanted him to stay.

Warren grabs his toothbrush and slathers on the paste.

Now everyone knows he’s a slut at least. Couldn’t hide that forever. Did Kurt hate him now? He seemed pretty religious, maybe that was a piece of it too. Disgust at the disgusting.

He spits.

Or maybe Kurt’s still his same sweet self. Still smiling. God, even with all the fangs his smile looked like light made bone, still felt like a blessing.

Warren gargles and spits again.

If he’d asked, would he have stayed?

There’s a knock from outside. He takes the brush with him and opens the door, raising an eyebrow at Scott. “Whaht?”

“Hey. The Professor’s got a plan.” He nods. “You coming to the meeting?”

Warren spits onto a rogue t-shirt on the floor. “Well that was fast. In his office?”

“Yeah. Meet you there.” Scott jogs off, still in his boxers and t-shirt from last night.

Did he have to sleep in his glasses too? Warren shut the door and spit on the shirt again. He still didn’t feel clean. A few steps towards the closet and he stops and turns to look at the spit-shirt.

Whatever. It wouldn’t help.

He goes to get dressed.

  “This would be a lot easier if we had Mystique here.” Jean’s speaking as Warren shuffles into Xavier’s office. “She and Eric would make this easy.”

Xavier’s face sinks slightly at her mention. “I’m afraid Raven will not be with us for this encounter.”

The corner of Warren’s mouth twitches. Raven wasn’t with them PERIOD. Four months and she still had to even show her face around the Institute. Probably back to rescuing random mutants, the way Kurt told it. His teeth clench to quell the flare of confusion. Of course she chose to take Kurt instead of him. He didn’t care if he never had to see her blue feathery nakedness ever again.

“It would be rather easy if you and I went, Charles. Don’t you think?”

Hank glances at him. “I think that his, uh, position as the most well-known mutant in the world might make that difficult, Erik.”

“Well you said you refused to send any of us,” Jean gestures to Warren, Ororo, and herself, “And the only adults here are you, the Professor, and Erik.”

“And Peter.” Erik offers. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to a little breaking and entering.”

“Erik, I’m sorry but you and Peter are not going to pretend to be a couple. Ever. It’s a matter of,” Xavier coughs uncomfortably, “Preference.”

Warren does a doubletake and raises his eyebrows. “You were planning to be a couple?”

“It’s our best plan without a straight-up military assault on the place.”

“Call the police?”

“Oh come on, where’s your sense of adventure?” Scott pats him on the shoulder as he comes through the door, Kurt following behind.

Oh god no, Warren can feel his mouth tilting upwards but he physically can’t stop the smile that grows over his face when he makes eye contact with him.

Kurt’s cheeks flare darker and he grins back.

His wings shudder as the smile spreads to his guts.

“All of our options without Mystique are cautionary at best.” Hank pulls a sheet of paper from his notebook and begins rattling off: “Xavier is too recognizable, as is Erik to some extent, I should really stay behind to run the technical aspect of all of this, and Peter’s……well, he’s Peter.” He crumples the paper and tosses it onto a similar pile on the floor. “There’s no best option.”

Scott nicks the top most ball and unfolds it. “What plan is this anyway?”

“Oh, you mean Plan G?” Erik smirks. “It’s simple really, a mutant couple who can’t conceive but wants a mutant child seeks out this organization.”

“Your plan is…….being gay.”

Warren glances at Kurt out of habit and catches his stare before looking away again.

“I know that it’s my plan,” Ororo laughs as she enters, taking the last empty slot in their circle. “But this plan will not work. If we’re going to go, we need to go. Now.”

Hank’s eyes seem to sink into his head even as his face twists with exasperation. "This is a delicate operation that will take time.”

“You certainly didn’t waste time taking down Apocalypse,” she fires back.

“That’s a completely different situation.”

“No, it’s not.” Warren crosses his arms and opens his wings wider. “These kids have probably been going through hell since Mira escaped. Things will only get worse the longer we wait.”

Erik casts an eye on Hank. “My thoughts exactly.”

Hank stutters and looks to Xavier.

The Professor steeples his hands and runs a hand over his, still conspicuously bald, head. “From Mira’s memories, I have to concur. I was hoping we could think of an alternative but it seems we might not have a choice. Besides,” he locks eyes with Jean, “I believe yesterday’s antics have proven that we may not have as much sway as we think we have.”

“I’ll go ready the jet.” Hank stands and breaks the calm in the room, jumpstarting Warren’s heart. “The rest of you should suit up.”

“I’ll stay here and communicate with you through Cerebro,” Xavier promises. “A sort of organic Communicator.”

Scott jostles Jean and laughs. “Yes sir, Commander Kirk.”

“This is no laughing matter, Scott.”

His face sobers quickly into its usual pout.

“You may be X-Men, but you’re still children. That is not,” Xavier holds up a hand to stop his protests, “A slight against your prowess. It is an acknowledgment of your youth. These heroisms are great acts but there is so much more life out there for you. I would never wish to see that opportunity wasted. Especially,” he lifts a hand to his temple, “For you.”

Scott’s hands are curled into fists but there’s a shudder to his lip. He sniffs and nods, turning to head out. “I’ll see you guys in the hangar.”

Kurt follows him out, waving to Warren as they leave. He’s not even sure Kurt spoke the entire time. Maybe during the ride he could talk to him. Say something. Insist he’s not some dumb, desperate 16-year-old anymore. That he’s not just down to fuck. He’s down to….hold hands and shit.

Jean opens the door for Ororo. “Where do we even keep the flight suits? Are they in our rooms?”

“I keep mine there.” She shrugs. “Try checking your closet.”

Jean shakes her head. “This school is a disaster.”

  Warren remembers months ago on the battlefield, how a bunch of random kids showed up in matching black bodysuits and somehow got stronger after originally getting their asses kicked. Putting on a similar outfit now was…..strange.

Not as strange as whoever designed this fucking piece of hellcloth though. Where did his head go? If this side was the front then his whole chest was exposed. Did it have a zipper? Was it held together by science magic?

He pulls on one part. On another. Stretches out the legs because maybe the opening is in his crotch for some dumbass reason. Throws the outfit at the wall because HE IS A MURDERING MACHINE AND THIS IS WHY CLOTHES ARE FUCKING AWFUL.

Warren rests his head against the bedpost and picks up the suit again. It’s heavier than it looks, a large white stripe down the middle of one side and black everywhere else. The circle where he had assumed an arm went unlatches as he fiddles with it. It felt like his brain had been pounding on a particularly tough watermelon and was finally pulling the two halves apart.

He strips down and steps into the garment, sliding the equivalent of scaly leather over his legs and up to his waist. This was the tricky part. And the part that made it look like a stripper outfit. He passes one arm and then the other thought the REAL arm holes (they’re way too small to be considered sleeves) and pulls the side with the white stripe all the way up.

Does he look like an idiot? A miasma of fear and rage takes shape in his stomach and he rushes to the bathroom, hurtling the bed and doing a quick 360 in front of the mirror.

It still looks like a stripper outfit, with the ‘neckpiece’ still dangling in front and another piece of cloth falling past his butt but on the whole he doesn’t look…………like a Horseman.

Warren leans in, running a hand through his hair and tracing where his tattoos used to be. He had barely noticed all the little things happening in the last six months, too busy learning calculus and going through flying rehab and trying to figure out what to do. It’s a silly thought, that his body had never given up on him even as he gave up on himself. Growing his wings no matter how many times he removed them, keeping him free of hangovers despite the drinking, slowly but surely breaking down the apocalyptic scars on his face. A spike of water rushes to his eyes, spilling out onto the sink. Powering through the hiccups does nothing and he finally half-collapses, crying over the drain. He had something, there was something for him here, he wasn’t going to die, he was so happy.

It feels like forever, shaking and sobbing to his reflection. He cried leaving home, he cried after the first few fights, he hasn’t since. His arms ache. His wings shake.

Crying fucking sucks.

Eventually, Warren’s feathers lift from the floor. He finds the final dry spot on his sleeve and ruins it. Two kids giggle at his exposed back as he leaves the confines of his room but he can’t help smiling.

  Hank’s new toy is a gigantic jet. It looks pretty similar to the one commandeered from some underwater military base, so say Scott and Jean, but to Warren it’s brand new. And awful.

“You know I can fly myself there, right? My wingspan’s probably bigger than this thing.”

“The only reason you reached the bridge so quickly was because of Kurt.” Hank flips a few more switches up front and glances back. “Don’t get cocky.”

The soft murmur on his left continues as Kurt prays, his head bowed and hands clasped together. A spike of heat hits Warren in the face as he remembers those hands recently crawling up his back, helping him finish getting into the ‘flight suit’ and clasping the back portion that had been hanging off him to the neckpiece. The good news was he could get in and out of it without having to maneuver his wings around it. The bad part was Ororo smirking the entire time and asking if he wanted help putting all his shirts on at this point.

“…lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Kurt stops for a moment, takes a breath, and starts again.

Hank calls out, “Three minutes and we’re there! Get ready.”

There’s a flicker of tension in his stomach as Warren stares at Kurt. How could he not realize how stupid they all were? They’d almost died getting Mira to safety. They were mutants— they weren’t invincible.

 The first time he’d stepped into the fighting ring it had been easy to beat the mutant he was against. Didn’t know who they were, didn’t care. When they were on the ground and bloody, it was harder. The crowd was chanting his name and to kill her. He can’t remember asking if he didn’t have to.

He took a step forward and drove a talon into her chest. It wasn’t a decision; it was an action. There were lots of things that were actions, things to do not to decide to do.

Like chopping off a wing.

Like abandoning home.

 Like reaching over to take Kurt’s hand.

He stops his repetition to widen his eyes at Warren, his hand not going limp but not grasping back either.

Warren keeps his eyes focused on their hands. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come….” He trails off and his cheeks warm. What came—

“Thy kingdom come,” Kurt closes his eyes, the tips of his fangs poking out of his smile. “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

It comes back to him as Kurt goes on.

“Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses.

As we forgive those

Who trespass against us,

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

His stomach has never been so upset and looking at Kurt only makes it better and worse. He needs to say something, he needs to tell him….

“One minute!” Hank shouts.

The view outside is mostly trees that are whipping back and forth as the plane comes down. It lands softly, rocking slightly as the wheels adjust.

Warren looks back to Kurt, afraid of something. He squeezes his hand and lets go, undoing his seatbelt like the rest of them. Warren follows suit and they exit the jet out the back, Hank bringing up the rear. Jean’s got one hand to her temple as she scans the horizon.

“The Professor says their base is in this direction.” She points and begins marching. “There are two guards at the main entrance and the rest is underground. It’s….it’s like it’s half of a house and half a lab. It’s….gross.”

“What do we do once we’re inside?” Ororo’s eyes are focused dead ahead, glowing.

“Scott, go with Kurt to the labs. You’re playing bodyguard. There shouldn’t be too many kids on that side so teleport them out. Ororo and I will take on the dorms and get the rest out.”

“And what am I supposed to do? Wait outside?”

“Your wings aren’t going to be much use in a hallway underground.” Jean comes to a halt and holds out a hand for them to do the same. She goes forward slowly, keeping the same hand to her temple. There’s a shout through the trees and rapid gunfire before it’s quiet again. “Stay here and escort whoever comes out back to the jet. Your job is keeping them safe, Warren.”

She’s right. He still clearly sidelined, but she’s right.

The building they come upon is little more than a dark steel trapezoid with a door with two of the soldiers from before lying facedown on the ground. Kurt stops next to their bodies and frowns, corssing himself.

“They’re not dead, I promise. Just unconscious.”

“Then the bullets…?”

“Probably just a misfire when they fell.” Jean kicks the rifles away from their bodies. “I just threw rocks at their heads.”

Warren scoffs. “It sucks to be the good guys.”

Hank bends down, now blue and furry, and grabs a key off one of the bodies. “Everyone ready?”

Warren shakes his head and looks to Kurt to find him staring back.

“Let’s go.”

The door opens. Warren’s surprised that a siren doesn’t go off immediately but they break off into a sprint, bolting into the darkness.

“Stay the fuck safe!” he yells at their backs. Kurt flashes a thumbs up behind him. He’s so goddamn cute.

[flowerfan2]

Moondance - Cap Reverse Big Bang

Stucky, M, 30k words, A03.  Canon compliant through CACW; canon divergent.

Artist:  @araniaart Author: @flowerfan2

Many, many thanks to Arania for working with me and creating the amazing artwork that inspired me, to @perryavenue for being the world’s best beta, and to everyone at @capreversebb for running this great challenge.

Moondance

Chapter 1

“Holy shit, Steve, that feels good.”

Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head thrown back and his hands clutching the mattress, while Steve kneels on the itchy hotel carpet in front of him.  He slides off Bucky with a satisfying pop and grins when Bucky quickly looks down at him, eyes blown wide with lust and one eyebrow raised.

“You gonna finish what you started?”  Bucky asks, voice low.

“I could,” Steve says, giving Bucky’s cock a teasing lick, “but I really want something else right now.  Unless you object.”

Bucky responds by grabbing Steve with both hands and tugging him up on to the bed, meeting his mouth in a fierce kiss.  “No objection here,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s neck, starting to kiss down his bare chest. 

 Steve lays back and lets Bucky play, squirming as Bucky takes his time worshiping Steve’s pecs and sucking on his nipples.   He lets the fingers of one hand tangle in Bucky’s hair, and smiles as Bucky pauses to look approvingly up at him through his long eyelashes, then continues his ministrations.

Sure, not everything has been smooth between them since Bucky came out of cryo in Wakanda, finally de-triggered and slowly gaining confidence in himself.  But recently this – the sex – has been awesome. 

  It’s been almost six months now, and Steve thinks they have found their rhythm.  Mostly they have a quiet life, keeping house together in Brooklyn, each trying to find their way in this new century that still doesn’t seem quite real to either of them.  More and more they’ve been taking part in Avengers missions, too.  Bucky hasn’t come out and said it, but it seems to satisfy something in him to be a part of a team again, to be working towards a common goal, one that as best they can tell isn’t evil.

  And if the thought of going out and fighting the bad guys gets both of them hot, well, ain’t no one complaining.

  Bucky has finally made his way down Steve’s body, nosing against his thigh to move Steve where he wants him, fingers sliding back to tease, when Steve’s phone rings, immediately followed by Bucky’s, which bounces off the night table and falls on to the floor.

  “Fuck.”  Bucky sits up on his knees, hands sliding down Steve’s legs.

  “Or not,” Steve says, twisting to get the phone.  If it hadn’t been the ring both of them had set for emergency Avengers business, he’d have ignored it.  But the whole reason they’re in this stuffy hotel room outside of Panama City is because there’s a former Hydra operative threatening to let loose some kind of robot army nearby, not to fool around on scratchy sheets.

  Steve listens to Coulson’s instructions, nodding.  “Yeah, Bucky’s right here.”  He glances over, reluctantly watching Bucky squeeze his naked ass into his tac pants.  “We’re on our way.”

  ******

    The good news is that Coulson located the robots before they got to a more populated area.  The bad news is that they’re in some kind of rainforest, and it’s hot as hell.

  Tony and Steve are leading the way through a village that has seen better days, residents slamming the doors of their ramshackle buildings as they pass by.  Natasha’s on flank, and Bucky and Clint are in the rear, Bucky staying on the rooftops as much as possible to provide cover.

  The robots appear from around a corner, first just a few and then a dozen all lumbering towards them, hissing as they move. 

  “They kinda look like the creatures from Alien,” Clint says through the comm link.  “Steve, that’s a movie where-”

  “Seen it, thanks,” Steve says under his breath, as Clint continues to tell the story.  Clint’s right, though – the creatures do look a little like the alien that Sigourney Weaver battled with, walking upright, with sharp teeth, and long bony tails waving back and forth behind them.  But the heads are different, rounder, with strange pointy ears that twitch as the creatures move.   

  “Are we sure those are robots, not some kind of living thing?”  Steve asks, when his shield comes back for the third time with slime on it. 

  “Affirmative,” Tony says, taking out three of the creatures in a row.  “Jarvis says they’re robots.  Just made to look like monsters.” 

  “Why the hell is that necessary,” Natasha asks, sending widow bites flying towards a robot that slipped past Steve’s shield.  “Aren’t evil robots bad enough?”

  Just then there’s a shrieking noise, and a circular object slams into the road next to Natasha.  Tony swoops in and flies her away as they all brace for impact, but there’s no explosion.  Instead smoke pours out of the device, and a noxious smell hits Steve’s nose.

  “Masks on,” Tony shouts into Steve’s ear.  “Unidentifiable, but probably not good.”

  “Smells like skunk,” Clint says.  “I hate skunks.  Why’d they pick skunk?”

  Steve pulls his facemask on, twisting to see if he can see if Bucky is doing the same.  Bucky really doesn’t like having anything on his face, and Steve hasn’t needed to ask him why – the muzzle he used to wear as the Winter Soldier is probably not something he wants to remember.  But after an incident last month where a mad scientist drenched them all in sleeping gas Coulson had insisted that Bucky be prepared to wear a face mask if necessary, and Bucky had grudgingly agreed.

  “Buck, you okay?”  Steve finally asks, unable to locate Bucky while simultaneously aiming his shield at the robots which are still coming at them.

  “Too fucking hot for this,” is the reply.  “Anyway, the smoke isn’t coming up here.”

  “Bucky, you have to wear it, smoke rises, you can’t take the chance-”

  “Calm your tits, Cap.  He’s got his mask on.”  Tony flies over Steve’s head and slams down next to him, shooting at robots all the while.  He’s probably smirking inside his helmet.

  Steve wants to yell at the both of them, but he’s too busy right now to get distracted.  Any more distracted, anyway.

  It’s a risk, he knows, going out on missions with Bucky.  Because Steve can’t help but worry about him.  Rationally he knows Bucky is more than capable of taking care of himself, but after all they’ve been through, to lose him to some random bad guy isn’t something Steve wants to contemplate.  But Bucky made clear early on that he wants to fight, and Bucky’s not so keen on Steve being out here without Bucky to watch his six, and so here they both are, sweating and cursing in a hundred-degree rainforest and shooting at lumbering robots.

  *****

Bucky did put his mask on, he’s not an idiot.  He can smell the vile smoke as well as anyone on the team, and he doesn’t actually have a death wish.  But his hair and skin are drenched in sweat, and the damn thing keeps sliding to the side and cutting off his ability to breathe through his nose.

  He shoves at the mask again, trying to readjust it, but it just gets worse.  Bucky tries to ignore it and focus on taking out the robots (they look scary, and there are an awful lot of them, but they don’t seem very good at evading Bucky’s shots), and he’s successful for a few minutes, but then he starts coughing and nearly chokes with the effort to get more air.

  He flattens himself against the roof he’s lying on and takes off the mask, trying not to breathe until it is firmly affixed on his face again, but he can’t stop coughing long enough.  The air he finally inhales is thick and leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat, but it doesn’t seem to do him any harm, and at least once he’s done he can breathe properly.

  It seems to take forever to stop all the robots, but no one gets hurt, and they finally make their way back to the quinjet.  They’re all sticky and miserable, except for Tony, who steps out of his suit clean and fresh as a daisy.  Clint kicks his shin as he struts by on his way to the front of the plane, and Tony just rolls his eyes at him.

  “Not my fault you don’t want a suit,” Tony comments, seating himself next to Steve.

  “I don’t need a suit,” Clint mutters.

  “What you need is a shower,” Natasha says, sitting down next to him.  “Shove over and try not to drip on me.”  Natasha has managed to find a towel somewhere, and she’s wiping herself off, frowning as she unzips her slime-speckled jacket.

  Bucky’s further back on the bench, peeling himself out of his tac gear.  His hair is drenched in sweat, and he catches the hair tie Natasha tosses him without even looking.

  “Thanks.”  He pulls his hair back into a little bun, relieved to at least get it out of his face.

  “Pozhaluysta,” Natasha replies.

  It amuses Natasha to speak Russian to Bucky.  It had bothered him, at first, an unwelcome reminder of so many bad things that had happened to him.  But as he has come to terms with things and focused on wiping out the red in his ledger, as Natasha phrases it, he decided he might as well put the tools that Hydra had given him to good use.  And it’s convenient to speak Russian with her when he doesn’t want the others to know what they are saying.

  It particularly drives Steve nuts, which is fun.

  By the time they get back to Avengers Tower (it’s a new one, but just as swanky as the first) the sweat has dried everywhere, and Bucky is considering throwing his clothes in the garbage.  They’re all spending the night here so as to be on hand for the debrief tomorrow.  Bucky doesn’t mind – the shower’s way better than the one in their Brooklyn place.

  Steve gets a call from Coulson as soon as they reach their floor, so Bucky happily snags the first shower.  It feels good to be clean, but he’s got a whopper of a headache settling in, so he pulls on some sleep pants and a t-shirt and crawls into bed.

  Steve joins him sometime later, curling up behind him and pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder.  He smells like coconut shampoo.

  “Buck, you okay?”  Steve smooths a hand down his arm, and Bucky slides back against him. 

  “Mmm, I’m fine.  Just tired.”

  “Me too.”  Steve shifts, settling against Bucky with his hand around his waist.  “Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  *****

When Steve wakes up, he’s alone in the bed.  This isn’t too unusual – sometimes one or the other of them just has too much energy in the morning to sleep in.  Although Steve had been hoping for a little not-safe-for-work activity this morning, he also sees the logic of waiting until they get back to their own apartment. 

  Steve spends a few minutes sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, reading the paper (an actual paper, one he can hold in his hand, thank you very much).  Turns out Tony likes to read real papers too, and has no problem having them delivered to anyone in the Tower who is interested – it was one of the things they had bonded over when Steve first joined the Avengers.

  Things with Tony are more complicated now.  After the whole war over the Sekovia Accords, with the Avengers taking sides and Tony trying to kill Bucky, well, it was probably too much to expect that everyone could just forgive and forget.

  But while Bucky was in cryo back in Wakanda, Tony had read the Winter Soldier’s file, and done some digging, and then some more.  Then he had helped organize a mission to take down a Hydra base, one that Bucky’s intel had led them to, and saw for himself one of the places they had kept Bucky, including the machine they used to wipe his memories over and over.

  Afterwards Tony had gotten a message to Steve in Wakanda, and they started talking again.  Steve hadn’t been present for the conversation Tony and Bucky had when Bucky came out of cryo, but the fact that Tony had made Bucky a brand new vibranium arm pretty much said it all.  Tony saves the best tech for his friends. 

  When Steve finishes his coffee he pulls on jeans and a thin sweater and goes looking for Bucky.  He’s not in the common area, or the gym.  Steve takes the elevator up to the roof and walks out on to the elegantly landscaped patio.  It’s pleasantly warm for early spring, and Steve smiles as he sees Bucky off to the side of the pool, facing the edge of the roof.  He’s sitting in some kind of twisty yoga pose, eyes closed, sunning himself like a contented cat.

  Bucky opens one eye as Steve approaches, and blinks lazily at him.  “Morning.”

  “Morning.”  Steve sits down next to Bucky and takes in the view.  He also looks at the city.

  “It’s not time for our meeting yet, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  Bucky untangles his legs and stretches out, shifting to rest his head on Steve’s lap.  Steve strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky moans softly.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  Bucky shrugs.  “Headache.  But that feels good.”

  “Okay.”  Steve doesn’t push, just keeps winding his fingers through Bucky’s hair and rubbing his scalp.  Bucky’s been doing so well lately, he’s allowed to have a down day.  Or maybe it really is a headache.  The serum doesn’t cure everything, at least not right away. 

  They sit there in comfortable silence until Steve’s phone pings with a reminder, and they have to go to work.

  *****

  Bucky’s up early, again.  Although, to be fair, he never really fell asleep.  It’s been this way for days, now, and it’s wearing on him.  He doesn’t think Steve has noticed – he stays in bed until Steve’s breathing evens out, and then puts in another hour or two lying next to him before he gives up and goes into the living room - but it’s getting ridiculous.

  He thought Steve might have been getting suspicious when he found him napping on the couch yesterday afternoon, but Steve just grinned at him and made him shove over, wrapping his strong arms around him and dozing off himself.  But sleeping during most of the daylight hours isn’t really constructive, and sooner or later someone’s going to notice and start talking about therapy again.

  The frustrating thing is, Bucky feels good.  He’s in a better place mentally than he has been in oh, what, seventy years or so.  But Steve won’t buy that, not when he finds out Bucky isn’t sleeping right.

  Bucky decides to take a walk, pulling on a light jacket and going down to the street.  There’s a bakery nearby that should be open already, and he and Steve both love their fresh bagels.  The morning is overcast, and Bucky hisses in displeasure as raindrops start to fall the moment he leaves the store.  His jacket doesn’t have a hood, so he’s left hunching his shoulders and dashing as fast as he can back to the apartment.

  Steve is awake when Bucky gets home, but the bagels distract him from the fact that it’s barely 6 a.m.  That and a text from Coulson Bucky apparently missed during his attempt to run between the raindrops.

  At least this mission doesn’t involve a rainforest in South America.  Instead they’re headed to somewhere in rural Maine.  It’s just going to be Steve and Bucky, following up a lead on a former intelligence officer who may or may not have gone over to Hydra. 

  “Can’t they send a junior guy to cover this kind of thing?”  Bucky asks, swiping through the information Coulson sent them. 

  “I guess if he is Hydra, he could be pretty dangerous,” Steve replies, although the look on his face says he agrees with Bucky.

  “But what’s he doing in Maine?”

  “Reenacting a Stephen King novel?”

  Bucky and Steve had gotten hooked on King’s books, first The Dead Zone, and then The Shining and The Stand.  Bucky started reading 11/22/63, but put it down after just a few chapters.  While the Winter Solider didn’t have anything to do with Kennedy’s death, a book about political assassinations just didn’t hold the same escapist value for him compared with King’s more straightforward horror stories.

  Steve frowns at Bucky’s comment, and takes another bagel out of the bag.  “I’d like those stories to stay fictional, actually.”

  “Like Hydra doesn’t do stuff far worse than Stephen King dreamed up,” Bucky retorts.  He immediately regrets his words, though, as Steve’s face falls.

  “Buck, I’m sorry, you’re right-”

  “Shut up, it’s fine.”  Bucky stands up and walks into their living room, stretching his shoulders.  He doesn’t want to fight with Steve, especially not when he’s feeling so dopey.  Right now, all he wants to do is collapse on the couch.  Which gives him an idea.

  “Hey, whaddya say we watch one of those Stephen King movies?  You know, in preparation for the mission?”

  Steve takes Bucky’s suggestion at face value and they quickly do some google research to find out which of his movies is most realistically set in Maine.  Turns out lots of them are.

  They’re barely twenty minutes into Cujo when Bucky falls asleep, his head resting heavily against Steve’s broad shoulder.

  When Bucky wakes up, he’s curled up with his head on Steve’s lap, a fleece throw blanket over his body.  The credits are rolling – and they’re not the credits from Cujo, they’re from the second King movie they selected.  Bucky’s been asleep for more than four hours.

  Steve waits until Bucky sits up, but then he takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Steve says, soft but urgent.  “Please.”

  Steve may be easy-going, but he’s not oblivious. 

  Bucky bites his lip and shakes his head.  “Nothing.”

  “Bucky,” Steve pleads.

  “No, I mean it.  Nothing’s really wrong.  I’m just not sleeping well.”

  But even as the words leave his mouth, Bucky knows he’s lying.  Because something is wrong.  He might have been fooling himself up until now, but suddenly he’s certain, deep in his bones, that something is wrong.

  Steve’s not buying it, either.  “I’ll call Coulson and tell him we’re not going tonight.  ‘Tasha and Clint can do it.”

  “Clint’s in Arizona, with Fury.  And Tony, and Natasha.”

  “Well, you can’t go.”

  “I can, Steve.  I don’t need that much sleep – you of all people should know.”

  Bucky sees Steve consider this.  It’s true, neither of them need more than a few hours of rest, and can easily get by on none at all for a day or two.  It doesn’t explain why Bucky is so goddamned sleepy during the day, but there is no scenario that includes Bucky letting Steve go after this Hydra goon by himself.  If it takes a little misdirection to get his way, so be it.

  “Fine.  But you’re going back to sleep when we get to the plane.”

  “Fine.”

  ******

Steve lands the quinjet in a field not far from the ramshackle house the target is staying in, and they jog quickly into place.  Bucky positions himself on the top of a nearby barn and watches through his rifle scope, even though Steve protests that guns aren’t necessary for the mission; they’re just there to watch and observe.  Better safe than sorry, Steve, have you learned nothing yet?

  Steve edges slowly up to the house, places listening devices by several of the windows, then withdraws to the shelter of a tree.  His hair glints silver in the moonlight, and Bucky frowns – he might as well be shining a spotlight on his head, the idiot.

  Bucky stares out into the night as the hours pass.  Much to his surprise, far from being sleepy, he feels as if all his senses are heightened. 

  When a man comes down off the porch and starts walking towards Steve’s location, Bucky feels a familiar calm settle over him.  It’s their target, no question.  The man is walking strangely, his arms held out just a little bit from his body.  Bucky focuses on the shape of his coat, noting the bulge around his midsection.  The man pauses, moves to touch one hand to his opposite wrist, but he never reaches it – because Bucky fires, two quick shots, and the man is lying on the ground.

  “Bucky!  What the hell!”  Steve is yelling through comm and sprinting over to the man.  “You weren’t supposed to shoot him, we need to follow him, he wasn’t supposed to know we were here-“

  Bucky speeds past Steve and reaches the man first, quickly pulling a band off his wrist.  The man is motionless on the ground, and Steve stares at what he sees when he unzips his heavy coat.  “Bucky… he was wearing a bomb.”  Steve’s voice is quiet.

  “Yeah, I know.” 

  “You – you knew?”  Steve looks at the device in Bucky’s hand.  “Where was that?”

  “On his wrist.”  If he had touched it, he would have set off the bomb – which from the looks of it would have blown Steve, Bucky, and everything in a ten mile radius to smithereens.

  “How the hell did you see that thing on his wrist?” 

  Steve’s right to ask, Bucky realizes.  Now that he sees it up close, the band is just a slim thing, narrower than a man’s watch.  And the bomb, while deadly, didn’t really take up much space under the target’s jacket.

  The question goes unanswered as they contact Coulson and wait until someone comes to retrieve the body.  But when they’re back in the jet, Steve turns to Bucky with a nervous expression on his face.

  “Tell me you agree – I know you’re a great shot, one of the best, always have been – but that was extraordinary, even for you.”

  “Yeah, Steve.   Yeah.  It was.”  Bucky presses his lips together.   He saw the detonator on the guy’s wrist – and he saw the bomb under his jacket.  From an impossible distance.  In the dark.

  “I can’t explain it,” Bucky goes on.  “But… it’s a good thing, right?”

  Steve looks away, fixing his eyes on the instruments as the plane lifts off.  “Yeah, of course.  Sure.  You’re right.” 

  They don’t talk about it again, not on the rest of the ride home, not in the car from the Tower back to their apartment, and not when they tiredly tug off their clothes and pull on pajamas.  They don’t talk at all.  It’s almost as bad as the terrible sense of wrongness that has taken root inside him.

  The sun is coming up by the time they fall into bed together, too shaken to do anything but hold each other tight.  Bucky’s grateful that it’s morning.  At least he can go to sleep for a few hours.

  *****

Steve wakes to Bucky’s mouth on his, and his hand sliding under the waistband of his sleep pants.

  “Bucky?”

  “Steve, god, you’re gorgeous,” Bucky murmurs, nibbling at Steve’s jaw and then back up to his lips.  “Wanna blow you.  Can I blow you?”

  Steve’s still half-asleep, but his body isn’t, and he quickly gets with the program.  Steve groans as Bucky slides down his chest and takes him in his mouth, bringing him to full hardness within moments.  There are things they should be talking about, he knows, but it’s been days since they’ve done this, and it can’t hurt to have a little fun first, right?

  Bucky pops off with a slurp and grins up at Steve, who apparently has been babbling his thoughts out loud.  “Definitely can’t hurt to have a little fun first.  Although…”  Bucky licks a stripe up Steve and swirls his tongue around the tip, “you should give yourself a break.  It’s really not little.”

  Bucky sucks him down again, and Steve can’t take his eyes off of him, his brown hair falling around his face and over Steve’s body, the muscles in his flesh arm clenching and releasing as his hands roam over Steve’s overheated skin.

  Bucky comes up for breath, letting his hands slide up Steve’s chest, stroking and caressing his pecs.  He braces himself on one hand and rolls a nipple with the fingers of the other, just the way Steve likes it, until Steve feels a sharp pain and draws back in surprise.

  “Steve?”

  “Fuck, that really hurt.”

  Bucky looks panicked for a moment, looking down at his metal hand, but it’s flat on the bed beside Steve, not in any danger of hurting him.  “Steve?  What’d I do?”

  Steve’s clutching his chest, and when he moves his hand to look, he sees three long scratches from his collarbone down to his nipple, blood welling out of the deepest one.

  “Steve?”  Bucky’s voice is high and breathy, and Steve struggles to calm himself down before Bucky loses it. 

  “Hey, I’m okay, I’m okay.”  Steve reaches down and pulls Bucky up towards him, ignoring the sting in his chest.

  But Bucky isn’t calming down, and he pulls away from Steve, scrambling off the bed.  “What’d I do?”  he repeats, looking around the room as it there’s a clue hidden in yesterday’s discarded clothes.

  “Bucky,” Steve says again, lacing his voice with authority.  “Bucky, you just scratched me.  It’s not a big deal.  Come here, let me see your hand.”

  Steve meets him at the foot of the bed, and makes him sit down next to him.  Bucky holds out his flesh hand, and they both freeze for a moment, looking at it.  His fingernails are long.  Really long, like Pepper’s when she’s dressed up for a charity ball.  And pointy.

  Bucky tries to pull his hand away, but Steve holds it tight.  He can feel Bucky trembling. 

  “Maybe it’s the serum,” Bucky says finally.

  They both know this makes no sense – it’s never made his nails grow long overnight before. 

  “We need to tell someone.”

  Bucky shakes his head.  “No.”

  “Really? You want to wait to see what other weird shit happens?  Think this through, Bucky.”

  Bucky stands up, pulling away from Steve.  He’s regained his composure, at least on the surface.  In some ways, this isn’t going to help – stubborn Bucky is a lot harder to convince than panicking Bucky.  And neither one of them likes going to the doctor.

  “I’m going for a walk.  Need some air.”

  Bucky stalks out of their bedroom, only to return a moment later to yank some clothes out of his drawers. 

  Steve sits on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths, and trying not to think about how much the stupid scratches on his chest hurt.  He can wait Bucky out.  He’s done it before. 

  And Steve’s not about to go behind Bucky’s back to Coulson or anyone else.  It has to be Bucky’s decision, to get help from someone more qualified than Steve.  Whatever else Steve thinks about this situation, that much is crystal clear.

  *****

  Bucky’s nearly ten blocks away from their apartment when he finally slows down.  He has no fucking idea what’s going on with him, but whatever it is, it’s changing him.  And he hurt Steve.  That’s unacceptable.

  He turns off into an alley, slides down on the ground and buries his head in his hands.  Two crap hands, now – a metal hand he still doesn’t trust, no matter how fancy Stark made it, and his one remaining flesh hand, now trimmed with deadly talons.  They’re both covered in black gloves at the moment, the ones he puts on to hide his metal hand, and he can feel the pointy nails of his right hand stretching the leather of the glove.

  Bucky knows he ought to tell someone.  But he doesn’t want to.  With every fiber of his being, he really, really doesn’t want to.  He doesn’t want to get poked and prodded and experimented on.  He’s not about to go into cryo and give up his agency altogether – that was a horrible idea, as it turned out, and he’s never doing it again.  He could run – get away, somewhere where he can’t hurt Steve.  But he’s tried to keep Steve safe by staying away from him before, and Steve isn’t very good at letting him go.

  He sits there for a while, until his butt gets sore and he realizes that he’s so hungry he’s considering picking up the crumpled McDonald’s bag on the ground a few feet away and seeing if anything is left inside.  Time to face the music, he thinks, and gets up off the ground.

  When he gets back to the apartment, after a quick stop along the way, Steve is sitting in the kitchen .  He’s got on a t-shirt with a flannel over it, and Bucky can’t help but wonder if he’s bothered to clean the scratches, or is just relying on the serum to heal them properly.  Steve points to the cup of coffee he’s got in front of him.   “Want some?”  Bucky nods as he puts the bag of groceries down on the counter.

  “What’d you get?”  Steve asks.

  “Nothing much.  Chicken and mashed potatoes from the deli.”

  Steve helps him plate it and they sit down together at the little table.  Bucky bought two servings for each of them, and it only takes minutes until they’re mostly finished.  Bucky gnaws at a drumstick while Steve refills their coffee mugs.

  “I know you’re scared, Buck,” Steve says.  “What can I do to help?”

  Bucky looks at Steve, so earnest and sincere.  “You’re not going to make me tell someone?”

  Steve fixes his eyes on Bucky.  “I’m never going to make you do anything.”

  “I’m… I’m not ready yet,” he says, hating the way his voice is shaking.  “I need a few days to…” To what? he wonders.  To be free, even if it’s just for a few more days?

  “Whatever you need, Bucky.”

  “Just… stick around, you know?  In case I get worse?”

  Steve nods solemnly.  “There’s not a damn thing in this world that could take me away from you.  Not now, not ever.  We’re gonna get through this.”

  Steve is well known for his stubborn streak, and his optimistic belief that he can conquer any foe.  But when it comes to Bucky, well, he tends to come out on top more often than not.  So Bucky will pin his hopes on this, on the word of Steve Rogers, and let the chips fall where they may.

  ******

They fall asleep in front of the television, after Bucky silently cuts his fingernails and files them until there’s no white left at all.  Steve wakes with a start to the sound of their front door closing.  He’s on his feet in an instant, alert for any sign of an intruder, but there’s no one there.  Not even Bucky.

  He makes a quick sweep of the apartment.  Bucky’s favorite leather jacket is still hanging in the hallway, his leather gloves tucked into the pockets.  He counts the guns he finds, and the knives, and lets out a long breath when nothing seems to be missing.

  Remembering the morning on the Tower when he found Bucky looking out over the city, Steve slips on his shoes and goes up to the roof of their building.  The light of the full moon makes it easy enough to see that Bucky isn’t there, either. 

  Steve doesn’t want to believe that he’s gone, not for long, anyway.  Bucky had said he wasn’t ready to tell anyone, that he needed some time, and that’s probably what this is about.

  But he asked me to stick around, Steve thinks.  He wanted me near him, in case something went wrong.  So why would he run away? 

  Steve wishes he could call Natasha, or even Tony, and get some advice.  Better yet, get some backup, someone to keep an eye on Bucky, at least let him know where he is, if he’s okay.  But he just told Bucky he wasn’t going to make him do anything, and he wasn’t going to bring anyone else into this.  Telling the Avengers that Bucky has gone AWOL, even if he doesn’t mention the weird changes in Bucky, would clearly be a betrayal of that promise.

  Steve sits back down in front of the television, mindlessly switching channels.  He watches a crime procedural for a while, wincing at the predictable stories.  Amazingly, one of the plotlines involves a family whose son has gone missing, but the police won’t let them file a missing persons report until twenty-four hours has gone by.  Bullshit, Steve thinks.  The worst stuff happens right away.  Waiting twenty-four hours will only increase the chances of something terrible happening to your loved one.  And yet that’s what Steve is doing, too.  Waiting.

  *****

Bucky stumbles back into the apartment in the wee hours of the morning.  He’s disoriented, and finds himself in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat with his head in his hands.

  He remembers feeling an irresistible need to be outside, and then the urge to run.  But now he’s back home.  His whole body aches, like he’s been in a fight, but he doesn’t remember fighting.

  Bucky gets to his feet and finds some painkillers in a drawer.  He swallows a handful down dry and turns to leave the bathroom when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  He leans closer, and sticks a metal finger in his mouth, pulling his lips aside to see his teeth.

  Holy mother of god.  He’s got fangs. 

  Bucky staggers backwards and bumps into a shelf, sending shampoo bottles crashing to the floor.

  “Buck?  Everything  okay in there?” 

  No, nope, no, definitely not okay in here, Bucky thinks, but he can’t seem to form any words.

  “Bucky?”  Steve sticks his head into the bathroom, face radiating concern.  Bucky hadn’t even closed the door behind him.  “I heard you come in.”

  Bucky can see Steve struggling not to ask him where he’s been.  Damn it, he didn’t mean to run out on him.  What the hell is going on?

  Steve apparently wins his internal battle, and refrains from chastising Bucky even a little, opting instead for a heartfelt, “You all right, Buck?”

  “Yeah, I’m all right.”  Bucky grabs the bottles off the floor and puts them back on the shelf, avoiding Steve’s eyes.  “Just needed some air.  Sorry to worry you.”  He tries to keep his mouth closed as much as possible as he speaks.  He thinks he might hyperventilate, though, and that would give him away for sure.

  Steve’s face softens, and he steps closer, setting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.  It grounds him, just a little, and he focuses on his breathing.

  “It’s okay,” Steve says softly.  “I’m just glad you’re back.”

  “Me too,” Bucky says.  He doesn’t miss the confused look that passes over Steve’s face.  He wants to cling to Steve, bury his face against his warm skin and let the world go away, but he’s all too conscious of the freakishly sharp teeth in his mouth and he can’t relax.   “Think I’m gonna shower.”

  Steve backs up a step, always so considerate when Bucky asks for space, even though part of Bucky wishes that for once he’d push back. 

  “Okay, sure,” Steve says, flicking his eyes up and down Bucky’s body, as if reassuring himself that he’s all in one piece, whether or not he’s truly okay.  “I’ll, um, I’ll go for a run.”

  ******

Steve pounds the pavement so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t leave cracks in the sidewalk.  He knows recovery isn’t linear, knows from his own experience that even when he thinks he’s doing fine, he can have a down day or three for no reason at all.  But he doesn’t think that’s what’s going on with Bucky.  It’s not a Winter Solider thing, it’s something new, something more that happened to him, and it’s getting worse.

  Yesterday Steve thought that at least Bucky was opening up to him about it.  Neither one of them seemed to have a clue what was wrong, but at least they were on the same page in their cluelessness.  But none of it explained Bucky’s disappearance last night, and the terrified look on his face when Steve found him in the bathroom this morning.

  Bucky has that look on his face sometimes when he wakes up from a nightmare.  Although they’ve been getting less frequent, it still breaks Steve’s heart every time.  But each time Bucky has let Steve hold him, seeming to find comfort in his arms.  He doesn’t pull away, not like this morning.

  Steve cuts his run short, suddenly certain that whatever is going on, Steve doesn’t want to leave him alone.  That’s what Bucky asked for, yesterday, before he disappeared – for Steve to stick around. 

  When he gets back to the apartment Bucky is curled up on the sofa with a book.

  “Hey, babe.”  Steve crosses swiftly to him and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

  Bucky startles.  “Hey.”  There’s a wan smile on his face, and Steve supposes it’s progress.  “You stink.”

  Steve grins.  “Sorry not sorry.”  He leans down again and tries for another kiss, but Bucky turns his head to the side, digging his face into Steve’s neck.

  “Guess I can live with it,” Bucky mumbles into his skin, his arms coming up to hold Steve tight, his hands bunching in Steve’s t-shirt.

  “I was gonna take a shower, but I can stay…” Steve says, trying to gauge Bucky’s reaction.

  “Nah, I’m okay.  Go get clean.”  Bucky lets him go, his eyes flickering up to Steve’s for a moment before he turns back to his book. 

  Steve rushes through his shower and is soon joining Bucky on the couch.  Bucky doesn’t say anything, just shifts around until he’s curled up, head in Steve’s lap, eyes quickly drifting closed.  Steve strokes his head and Bucky hums in appreciation.  This position seems to be a favorite of Bucky’s lately.  Not that Steve minds, but it’s different.  And difference is not a welcome visitor, not when it seems to be imposing itself on Bucky without his consent.

  Bucky sleeps nearly all day.  Steve orders pizza for them, but Bucky just picks at it, eating all the pepperoni and sausage and leaving most of the rest.

  “You could have said, if you didn’t want pizza,” Steve says.  Bucky usually isn’t quiet about his desires, not when it comes to food (or sex, for that matter).

  “What?”  Bucky looks down at his plate, as if seeing it for the first time.  “Oh.  Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry, dummy.  You want something else?”  Steve opens the refrigerator.  “Roast beef sandwich?”

  “Nah, it’s okay.”  Bucky retreats back to the couch, leaving Steve to put away the leftovers.  Steve  busies himself for a few minutes emptying the dishwasher and going over what he wants to say to Bucky.  He’s hoping to get him to agree to talk to someone about this tomorrow.  He thinks they should start with Coulson – it’s relevant to their job, frankly, and Bucky probably needs to be evaluated before he can go out on any more missions.  If Coulson wants to handle it differently, well, they can discuss it.

  But when he returns to the living room, Bucky is fast asleep, and Steve can’t bring himself to wake him.  Maybe it’s just a virus, or some form of the flu, and all this sleep is his body’s way of fighting it off.  Sleep is good.  He’s not going to argue with sleep.

  But he’s not going to let Bucky sneak out on him again, either. 

  This time when Steve joins Bucky on the couch, and lets him curl up against him, Steve doesn’t go to sleep.  And when Bucky wakes up and slips out of the apartment, Steve is close behind.

  In the light of the full moon it’s not hard to keep an eye on him, at least for the first few blocks.  But then Bucky turns into an alley and by the time Steve gets there, there’s no sign of him.  Fire escapes on either side provide possible options as to where he’s gone, but Steve spends hours looking, with no luck.

  He traces the path they often take when they run together, and adds a few detours, finally ending up down by the docks.  It’s even emptier here than usual, no shifty looking characters staking out their territory.  It strikes Steve as odd, but no more odd than everything else that’s been going on.

  There’s an abandoned warehouse several blocks in, and when Steve sees a broken window that hasn’t yet been blocked up, he thinks he may have a lead – that, or he’s found the drug dealers newest favorite hiding spot.

  He breaks a bit more glass out of the window and carefully steps inside.  The first room he comes to is empty, but in the second, there’s a lump under a blanket on the floor that could definitely be a person.  Steve’s heart beats hard against his chest.  Oh, Bucky, what are you doing here?

  Steve walks quietly over and crouches down, but then he freezes, one hand in the air on its way towards Bucky’s head.  Because it’s Bucky’s face, but… different.  His dark hair now extends down his neck and over his shoulders, and his ears are pointy and covered in a light coating of dark fur.  Bucky’s flesh hand is clutching the edge of the blanket, up under his chin, and it’s got dark fur on it, too.  And those sharp nails.

  Steve has a sudden flashback to finding Bucky in Zola’s Hydra lab, a horrible chorus of no no no this can’t be happening to Bucky running through his head.  But Bucky seems to be sleeping peacefully, curled up tight under this ratty blanket.  He doesn’t seem to be in any pain. 

  As Steve watches, a long tail flicks out from under the blanket, waves back and forth a few times, and then drifts down over Bucky’s body.

  It’s surreal, and Steve can’t quite believe it.  But then in the past few years he’s fought with a giant green rage monster, and a god with a mighty hammer, and a man who can shrink himself down to the size of an ant.  Not to mention T’Challa, who might have something interesting to say about Bucky’s current situation. 

  Steve may be a man out of time, but he’s never been short on brains.  If he’s willing to suspend disbelief, it’s clear what has happened to Bucky.  He’s a werecat.  Werepanther.  Leopard?  Something big, and strong, and definitely feline.  Huh.

  Steve lies down on the cold floor next to his friend, his lover, and lets his mind process this information.  He doesn’t flinch when Bucky shifts closer to him, as if instinctively seeking his warmth.  Bucky’s ears twitch, and then he settles, nuzzling against Steve’s chest.  He’s still Bucky.  And Steve is still Steve.  He’s not going anywhere.

Read  chapters 2 and 3 on A03 .

[ithinkimsoberyeah]

I’m not sure what I’m doing.

For the first time I truly feel a stable clarity. It’s shocking yet endurable, and humiliatingly honest in ways I’ve never felt before.

I’m not sure who I am or what I want to be.

I’ve told myself I am a writer but have abandoned the daily practice long ago. I’ve told myself I’m destined for great things, though I’ve only made every opportunity to advance into a masterclass of self sabotage. I’ve had vivid dreams yet lackadaisical vision. I have no plan or purpose further than “I write, therefore fate will happen“.

I can’t think of one thing I’ve done to help myself professionally. I have slummed at the lowest point possible to exist my entire life; just fully expecting base living will somehow pan out to amazing, unheard of success and riches. Is everyone who has ever felt even a particle of this and come into self awareness, just as incredibly embarrassed and devastated as I feel right now? Would that even matter? The immaturity of my character, still wants pity and pleasure to be my just reward from myself and others.

I went into a second interview today with an advisory group, and the Director made his career at Carlyle Group. It was the worst interview I’ve ever given anyone. I purposely drank too much coffee, didn’t reread materials, and performed some sort of insane anxiety attack in front of him. His facial reactions tells my soul he hasn’t been exposed to quite a unvarnished circus for his entire professional career. So, at least, I provided him something unique in that respect. Leaving their Santa Monica fourth floor cement fortress I was in a panicked shock of my behavior and complete failure to show up -- at all. He surmised I was a drug addicted maniac that has scoured the streets of los angles haunting up more directionless absurdity with scant hold on reality, let alone base work ethic to literally just take lunch orders and answer the phone. My god.

Of course then, the monster within that set all the habit traps to make such a mess was waiting as I walked back to the bus about to be tear driven into oblivion, but this time, the repetition of Og Mandino’s Scrolls, daily affirmation practice, AA meetings and new, bright and thoroughly uncomfortable journey into self realization has truly reached a foundation to build upon this time. Perhaps I truly am at my rock bottom, a feat I never thought possible before. But somehow it all stopped me from crying, from using it as an excuse to self destruct, or run home, as it were.. and to finally have the realization that as long as I have this terrible sticky-note notion stuck to my brain that my parent’s home is some sort of backup -- that I’ll never truly be a man. An adult. or on my journey forward at all.  -- A 34 year old, still thinking maybe a trip back to my parent’s quiet sensible home to impose my selfish insanity on further and further until basically I’m just drooling from a bed I can’t get up from so I don’t have to face my reality is how far out of control I’ve been.

To think I’m ready for anything, let alone a job at a sophisticated political lobby group, thinking it is just simple job responsibilities, yet can’t see how unprofessional I’ve become, shows me at least I have a centimeter of growth accomplished. I see the full ruler of the measurement that is my life, and I have a billion light years to go.

I teased in my first week back to sobriety that it’s a long hard road out of hell, I had no idea of the fresh hell and burning mountain I have to first navigate carefully out of until I can even fathom healthy normalism -- or even rightly develop that vision I’ve quite obviously lost as a wide-eyed curious Colorado boy.

So for now. I work at Burger Barn. I clean up vomit from their bathroom, intensely wash heavy steel equipment until my bones hurt at one thirty in the morning, and I endure the humiliation of having every person who has ever known the smug, self-righteous idiot I’ve been my whole life come and gawk at the freak show scrubbing tables at a fast food restaurant. The multi-verse has sent me one person per shift from my past into my current path. It’s been everything I thought it would be, especially having to face my past with harrowing clarity and heartbreaking-in--the-moment reactions to those I have faced so far.

With the best part being a true taming of the ego, that no one really cares. No one is really thinking about me, and this is really, truly.. it. This is my life. No one is coming for me. No random chance. No lottery win. No going back. No place to go escape to. Nowhere to run. No one to blame.

Nothing but a completely blank future, nearly improbable self made destruction to recover from and a wafer thin, sober clarity and sense of genuine maturity I can only become incredibly dedicated to so it doesn’t become a fleeting moment, as has my entire life has been thus far.

Oh, and I came home from the interview to find the ex off his sobriety kick while I’m still dodging the process server for eviction. The look in his drunk blood shot eyes is of that same animal insanity and sabotage as he nearly growls at me to destroy myself and lose focus once again, only to help the monster sized addict in him. I see my living predicament, terrible life choices and lazy habits like never before, all in this moment I’ve created, all to make sure to sabotage any real escape.

I finally hear the universe screaming at me, and it wasn’t what I thought it was saying this entire time, which was ‘RUN AND START OVER’. No it’s saying ‘GROW UP AS YOU’LL BE DEAD WITHIN THE YEAR’.

If I can manage that, then I can finally clear the burning mountain of my own demise and see, from a vantage point unseen in my life before -- my actual, simple, in the now, as good as it gets, self-realized, life. 

May I get to experience some of that truth before I pass on.

and may god help me help myself.