#even the vultures are angry at his ass

[hidingfromsav]

fhjy spoilers ‼️‼️ (previews for episode 19)

all in due time oisin hakinvar. all in due time.

[artbyblastweave]

ask game; Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl aka Antares

I've always thought that Victoria's first appearance is quite the bit of deft needle-threading.

The thing about Interlude 2 is that Vicky is our first example of one of this setting's established heroes actively fighting crime- not just swooping in to vulture up the accomplishments of an up-and-comer- and a therefore a major goal of the sequence is to ensure that the audience comes away structurally unnerved by what counts as business as usual for the heroes, set the stage for the hurricane of ass-covering to come. So we have a sequence where she lords her power over a baseline criminal who has no realistic chance to fight back or get away, where she cripples and nearly kills him in a display of excessive force, where she uses her connections to other capes to duck out on the consequences of her excess once she realizes that she's crossed certain moral and optical Rubicons. All of this is gross, all of this speaks to an alarmingly cavalier attitude amongst even the most ostensibly accountable heroes. And from a protagonistic perspective, all of this serves to soften the blow of Taylor's actions at the bank in act three, because we're predisposed to see Vicky as an arrogant, overprivileged loose cannon who'd actually have a significantly higher body count than all of the Undersiders put together if not for the cushion afforded to her by her status as a superhero. A golden child up against the already put-upon underdog.

But. She also does all of that to a Neo-Nazi, who was fresh off committing a hate crime. I mean, if this was violence against a purse-snatcher, a drug-dealer- It would be very, very easy to block this sequence in a way that would set her up as a villain and nothing else for the rest of the work. In The Boys, for example, Homelander debuts by incinerating one bank robber's hand and throwing another a thousand feet into the air to land hard on a parked car, and the dissonance between that casual brutality and his chumminess with the onlookers is the thematic backbone for... basically the entire show, because he was in such total control of the situation that the only reason to do it that way is that he fundamentally doesn't care. In Super Crooks, it's made abundantly clear that the superheroes trying to arrest the titular supervillains are significantly more destructive to the city than the villains are, because their institutional backing removes any incentive to do anything but pursue the flashiest arrests possible for the sake of ratings. But Glory Girl? She's a sixteen year old putting her money where her mouth is on the unconsidered-dilettante suburban-left-ish tumblrite rallying cry of punching a Nazi. She's living out a near-boilerplate superheroic fantasy of righteous violence against an uncomplicatedly righteous target- likely a fantasy entertained at least once by the median cape fan, if we're being honest- and then, in the aftermath, blood on her hands and on the pavement, staring down the full weight of the prospect of actually having killed a person in an unconsidered spate of rage, is very much a panicked teenager about it, scrambling for a way to walk it back.

Which, independent of the specifics of whether this particular asshole had it coming, is the problematic element of this that generalizes- that superheroism in this world is a system that puts the social license to use concrete-shattering power in the hands of a kid with the judgement and attitude of someone scheming up ways to dodge curfew. She's done this before, she's gonna keep doing this, she's gonna keep being two-faced about it with her public-facing golden-girl image. But she wasn't wrong to be angry. And the fact that this is the kind of thing she gets angry about is hard to separate from later beats where she tries to do right by people, hard to separate from her willingness to put herself on the line against Endbringers and the Slaughterhouse 9. It's a bad situation, a horrible system that's guaranteed to incentivize bad behavior, they shouldn't be assigning any of this shit to a 17-year-old. But later on, when things go south for her, the seeds are planted so that she can retain audience sympathy in a way that she likely wouldn't be able to if this story was a banal hatswap, with unfairly maligned "villains" who do no real wrong against supervillains who happen to call themselves superheroes.

[redtsundere-writes]

Jinx | Sukuna Ryomen

mmafighter!sukuna ryomen x coach!reader

Part 2. The New Coach.

Beginning | Next →

Sypnosis: Sukuna Ryomen is a fighter with anger issues. Beating his ass once won't stop his shitty attitude. The training session is on. Contents: Jinx AU. Fighting. Cursed words. Sukuna is always angry. Itadori and Sukuna are brothers. Reader and Sukuna have top energy. Word Count: 2972 words. Author's Note: So I posted this in AO3 like two days ago, and I forgot to post it here lmao. Sowwy uwu

When Sukuna said he wanted to start immediately, he wasn’t joking. He ordered me to follow him to start right away. We returned to a gym full of confused fighters, witnessing the strongest fighter dragging his new coach by the arm. Nanami scolded him, telling him that he should be more careful around me, but Sukuna didn’t give a shit about it. He was really a tough one.

“You are not doing the sit-ups correctly. Don't bend your back,” I ordered as I watched Sukuna's posture like a vulture. His breath was shaking with each sit up, sweat was dripping from his forehead, and he was focusing on doing the exercise correctly. At the end of the day, he is a boxer, it is understandable that he doesn’t like leg workouts. He was visibly upset, but if he doesn’t want to be defeated by a floor fighter, he should start training and thinking like one. 

The secret to becoming a great floor fighter is flexibility. Using your legs in your favor will always lead you to the good path. Being a floor fighter requires being intuitive, and sometimes, creative. Most fighters are often used to only using their upper body to defend themselves and use their legs just to move fast, Sukuna is one of those. I needed to change his mindset. 

The sight of one of the fighters caught my attention. He must be one of the younger fighters in the gym. He was a thin, black haired boy with curious blue eyes. I didn't pay him any mind because maybe he was just a fan of Sukuna, and he was watching him and not me. 

I ordered Sukuna to do stretching exercises. Trying to reach for your toes sitting down is something that sounds easy in theory, but it's pretty hard in practice. I saw him struggling to even reach them with the tip of his fingers. Sukuna groaned under his breath, trying to do the exercise right. His black tribal tattoos stretched, following the flow of his tender skin. 

“I know you can do it,” I cheered behind him, pushing his sweaty back with my palms to make him reach further. 

I felt around his back with my curious fingers to learn his anatomy. His shoulders were wide, his shoulder blades; sharp, and his back was super tensed. It was like I was feeling a giant brick wall. My hand traveled to his shoulders, being careful enough to not tickle him. I squeezed the curvature to inspect them. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He yelled at me, abandoning his posture to look at me. I slapped the back of his head. 

“Look forward!” I yelled back. He squeezed his teeth to avoid saying something else, focusing again on the stretching exercise. “Can you just relax? You are tenser than a suspect of murder.” I said, pushing his shoulders downwards. 

“Sukuna is always tense, it’s in his nature.” A woman behind me said. A brunette with deep eyes and clear skin, aside from her tired violet eye bags. “My name is Shoko Ieri, I’m his physiotherapist,” she introduced herself. I introduced myself as well. She looked like a very serious and observant person. Even though she didn’t have a friendly face, I could see that she took her job very seriously. 

“Sukuna has a therapy session now,” she said. Sukuna sighed and stood up. Without seeing me or saying goodbye, he went to one of the healing rooms. I ground my teeth upon the lack of consideration, I had to remember myself who I was working with. Apparently today’s training was done. 

“It looks like you will accept the job.” Nanami approached me while I was putting away my stuff in my bag. His face was more relaxed than in the morning.

“I've wanted the job since I entered,” I answered, unwrapping the bandages off my hands. 

“Really? You didn’t look like it,” he said. 

He was right. There was an explanation for it. Last night I researched everything I could about Sukuna. If his manager told me that he goes all out to get rid of his coaches, I need to go all out as well. I had to make sure Sukuna could see that he needed me so he could maintain his champion title. 

“The key of a good coach is to make the trainee see the clear power difference. As a light heavyweight champion, Sukuna struggles to see that difference,” I explained with a wise voice. I knew what I was talking about from experiences. I was a woman in the middle of a male dominated world.

“You were planning to fight against him from the beginning?” He asked curiously. I just nodded. This was my only way to make him see and know what will be the result of his next fight if luck isn’t by his side. 

Nanami led me to his office, so I could sign my job contract under the conditions we previously talked on the phone. I had fixed schedules, which allowed me to continue teaching jiu-jitsu lessons on the weekends. The pay was excellent and made me feel like I was in the UFC again. I was happy everything went according to plan, I just needed to continue having Sukuna under my wing. 

Also, Nanami let me know that Sukuna had an upcoming fight in two months, so I had to be really strict with him so he could be ready. When I heard the name of his opponent, I knew I had to take things to the next level quickly. 

“It’s so nice having some time away from that brat,” Gojo said as he stretched his arms while sitting on the office couch. “I was praying for this day to come.” 

“What day?” I asked. 

“The day somebody kicked his ass. His ego meter has gone through the roof. I didn’t know if I could handle him anymore,” he explained, visibly irritated. 

“You don’t seem to be too fond of him,” I commented. 

“Don’t get me wrong. Sukuna is great, an amazing fighter, but he is just too stubborn,” he said. I thought the same way. His technique, adaptability, and strength were obvious. Yeah, he was an asshole, but a very impressive asshole. 

“How long have you been training him for?” I asked him, curious about how he got the job. Did he have to do something like I did?

“Sukuna and I went way back, I was his first coach. I met him when he was 12 years old.”  I knew Sukuna was 26 so that meant he had been coaching that little shit for over 14 years. 

Gojo must be a saint by this point. I bet Sukuna was one of those brats with too much energy and time on his hands. I could picture him bullying his classmates and running around the dojo while Gojo tried to give the lesson. 

“He was always like this?” 

“Nah, he was worse. His little brothers were the ones who got the nice genetics from his father.” Gojo pointed to the window to another pink-haired boy, he was with the black haired boy that caught my attention earlier. They were running on a treadmill while chatting. He had a bright smile and a friendly vibe. “A great kid. He works really hard, but Sukuna is on another level.” 

Exiting the small sports office, I made my way to the elevator to go home, but the boy with black hair and Sukuna’s little brother caught my attention again. Now, they were discreetly looking at me, whispering things to each other. I needed to know what they were whispering about. 

“Can I help you?” I asked them as I got closer to them. They looked at me with a spark of surprise in their eyes, as if I caught them in the act. 

“Hey, my name is Yuuji and my friend, Megumi, wanted to ask you something,” the friendly pinky said while pushing his friend to step forward. Yuuji seemed to be someone genuine and friendly. On the other side, Megumi was reserved and poker-faced. 

“Hi Megumi, what can I do for you?” I asked like he was a new student in my gym. 

“I saw the fight today, you are very talented,” Megumi complimented me. I didn’t know if he was being genuine or not because his voice was monotone. “I was wondering if you could give me some fighting advice,” he asked. I checked the time since I wanted to go home, but it was pretty early. I was still in the mood for some training, plus these two can be a lot of help because they knew more about Sukuna than I did. 

“I’ll do it if you buy me a sandwich later on,” I asked with a smile. They looked at each other in excitement before accepting. 

Training Megumi felt completely different to training Sukuna. Sukuna was a fierce beast with a destroyer punch, while Megumi was a strategist with a quick wit. His posture was great, his punches were connecting well, and his moves were well thought. He was punching my gauntlets with precision, following my pattern of moves. It was evident he spent a lot of time training.

“You are doing it great,” I said while attacking him with the gauntlet so he could match my speed. “But this is mixed martial arts, not fake wrestling.” 

My left gauntlet was supposed to move horizontally, signaling that he needed to dodge. Instead, I slapped him across the face and he dropped to the floor. Yuuji covered his face so as not to see his friend flop against the thin mattress under our feet. Megumi grunted, struggling to get up from the surprise attack. 

“You are talented, kid. You just need to act more by instinct and not mind, do you get it?” I asked. Megumi nodded, getting back on his feet with grace. “Let’s go. One more time,” I prepared myself with the gauntlets.  

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Sukuna asked me angrily, standing outside the area we were practicing in. Apparently, his therapy was over.  

“We are in the middle of something, don’t you see?” I asked, not paying him any mind. This wasn’t enough for him. He stomped closer to me and grabbed my wrists, trying to take my gauntlets away. I squirmed around to release from his tight grip. His hands were bigger than mine, so it was hard to get away. “What the fuck are you doing?!” I asked. I pushed him away from me with my elbow to keep distance.

“Who gave you the right to coach someone else?! You are my coach and only mine!” He yelled, catching the attention of the surrounding fighters. I scoffed as I took the gauntlets off, I wasn’t in the mood to train anymore. Megumi tried to defend me, but I stopped him. 

“My contract stipulates that I can’t coach other active UFC members and fighters. Coaching Megumi doesn’t interfere with my contract,” I explained, keeping my cool. 

“This is my fault, brother. It’s just a one time thing,” Yuuji said to Sukuna, trying to calm him down, but he was still throwing daggers at me. 

“I don’t give a shit what your contract says. If I say you quit training this little shit, you stop!” He screamed once again. 

“Megumi is a rookie and falls two weight classes under yours. He is not a threat,” I defended him. 

“But he is the son of my next opponent, you stupid bitch,” he groaned. 

This caught me by surprise. I looked at Megumi looking for answers, but I just needed to take a good look at him. The resemblance was so obvious, how I didn’t see it before? He was a compact version of Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna’s next opponent. 

I have watched Toji’s fight live and on TV, and he was a real menace in the heavyweight weight class. He fights so naturally, fighting for him is as normalized in his body as walking. He always looked so calm and bored while fighting that it was scary. 

“I only admitted him in the gym because he is Yuuji’s friend, so stop playing around and focus, or you’ll lose your job on your first day,” Sukuna threatened me. 

“Fine,”  I scoffed. Sukuna passed aside, pushing my shoulder to get back to his training. Yuuji followed him to keep trying to change his mind. I wanted to punch him so badly for the insult, but he knocked me out successfully. I humiliated him, and he humiliated me. We were even.

“I am so sorry, I should have told you before,” Megumi apologized. 

“Don’t worry, I should have noticed before. You looked like your father,” Megumi’s face softened when he saw that I wasn’t mad at him. 

“Everyone says that, do you know him?” He asked, taking his boxing gloves off. 

“Not personally, I used to train in the gym he started training in,” I explained. “He is an excellent fighter, why don’t you train with him?” Megumi shook his head at the idea. 

“He told me that if I wanted to ‘be better than him’, I should train away to get experience,” he explained. I could get behind that logic. 

“Well, I hope my advice today will help you to achieve that goal faster.” Megumi thanked me and continued with his training alone. 

A month passed by, and every training session with the champion was a challenge. Sukuna is not the type of person who likes to receive orders whatsoever, so I had to adjust my sentences every time I had to ask him to do something. For example, I have to say “Let’s do some pushups” instead of “Give me 50 pushups.” Sukuna is just a big brat waiting for a reason to throw a tantrum. I sometimes needed to remind myself why I was doing this in the first place. 

“A good kick is not just about strength, it's about precision and speed. It’s about focusing on a target.” I told Sukuna, who was focused on my words. “Show me your best kick.” I asked him while patting the punching bag. 

I stepped aside so he could have the room to himself. He breathed deeply and did a standard kick so powerful that it made the punching bag swing. It was quite impressive, and he was quite proud of himself. I applauded him for his execution. 

“Did you like that?” He asked me with a smirk. 

“Yeah, I do like it, but it was too slow. Anyone could dodge that with an arm block. You are better than that,” I said as I made him step aside from the zone. “I want a quick swipe.” I said before kicking the bag as fast as I could with perfect form. The bag barely moved, but it sounded way louder than Sukuna’s. 

I heard someone clapping behind me and I thought it was Sukuna, but I was totally wrong. It was a tall man with long, raven black and deep, piercing eyes. I could tell from his clothing that he wasn’t a fighter or a coach. He was wearing a maroon turtleneck with black pants and nice boots with a cross body bag. 

“That was a great kick,” he complimented me. 

There was an aura of mystery around him, a sense of depth that beckoned to be explored. He was like a riddle wrapped in an enigma, his heart guarded by walls built from his complex past. Yet, there was an undeniable warmth there, a flame that could ignite with the right touch. He was so hot. That aura was ruined by Sukuna of course. 

“What the fuck do you want, Choso? Can you see I am in the middle of training?” Sukuna scoffed at him. Choso’s aura completely changed from this cool, mysterious guy to a poker-faced boy who doesn’t want to deal with the king of the ring. 

“Where’s Yuuji? He asked me to bring him his lunch,” he explained as he pulled out a well wrapped lunchbox. 

“I don’t know. Maybe he is training, grabbing some water or fucking Megumi in the locker room, I don’t know.” Choso rolled his eyes and then looked at me. 

“You must be his new coach. Yuuji told me about you,” Choso greeted me with a respectful bow, which I reciprocated. 

“Oh, I see. Are you his friend?” I asked. Choso was about to answer, but then Yuuji came running up to him. 

“Hey, bro! Thanks for bringing my lunch, I was starving.” He excitedly said with a bright smile as usual. Choso smiled back at him and then checked his watch. 

“I should go back to work. It was nice finally meeting you,” Choso said goodbye and gave me a warm smile. After that, he quickly left the gym. Yuuji followed him on the way out. I followed them with my eyes until they got to the elevator. 

“I hate when people just distract me from training,” Sukuna scoffed as he practiced the kick that I showed him. 

“He was cute, who is he?” I asked him curiously. Sukuna smirked at me. 

“You are joking, right?” He asked. 

“Why would I be joking?” 

“I am not man winging my brother with my coach, hell nah!” I gasped as soon as he said that. 

“What? Your brother?” I asked in disbelief. 

“He is the middle one. Yuuji and him are pretty close,” he said before replicating my kick almost perfectly. Sukuna was a complete asshole, but he is an incredible fast learner. 

“You are not close to them too?” I asked him as I watched him prepare himself for another kick. 

“They are just another distraction,” he stated before kicking the bag perfectly. He is so insufferable sometimes. 

Next →

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[atopvisenyashill]

A timeline of the ruling princes and princesses of Dorne from Meria Martell’s death to the formal union of Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms in 187 AC.

Anything marked with a * means it’s a canon date. The rest are speculation and a lot of math on my part. I also made up the names for a few characters as well! Also rip the quality on this but when you click it, it looks better.

More explanation under the cut.

Where I ran into most trouble in trying to figure out this timeline when we have not nearly as much information as we do about literally every other major Great House of Westeros, is the line from Morion the Mad to Qoren Martell. There’s several quick changes in princes during that time and we don’t even know what their relation is to one another in several instances. So I tried working out the timeline in a few different ways - I tried it with Mara Martell, Morion’s heir, as his very young daughter, as a twin sister, as a younger sister, and I finally settled on her being his much older aunt as making the most sense.

I think it makes the most sense because Morion is considered young and yet his father was Prince for a very long time; it doesn’t make sense that a ruling prince would wait so long to have an heir unless in a parallel to Jaehaerys’ later issue, several of his heirs die and leave the line of succession a bit uncertain. So I concluded that Morion’s father, who I named Voren, had several older children that died, likely during the Vulture King’s first war (we know it’s suspected Deria was funding him) so when Voren died, the throne went to his reckless, dumb ass youngest son, Morion. With Morion dying without any children, the throne passes next to Deria’s second child, Mara, and the Nymeros Martell line descends from them. This also makes sense because in canon, Morion was angry that his father didn’t send soldiers to kick the Iron Throne out of the Dornish Marches during Lord Rogar’s War; if Voren had children that had died in a previous conflict, it would make sense that he’d hesitate to get involved again.

Qoren was also a bit tricky. He had to be old enough to fight in the Stepstones War against Daemon, but young enough to not be married yet and be considered a potential match for Rhaenyra two years later. After a lot of wondering how in the hell I make that work, I finally figured - again, similar to Cregan Stark and Jaeherys, that there was a surplus of heirs at this time. Mara would have come into her throne already old with children and grandchildren, and her heir would come into the throne also already old, same as Meria/Nymor/Deria. Makes sense that the prince before Qoren was therefore a grandfather or great-grandfather, and that Qoren’s father never took the Sunspear Throne.

I stopped at the unification of the Seven Kingdoms simply because we get absolutely no information on what was going on in Dorne until Doran’s mother. Apparently, Dorne was real quiet during the Blackfyre Rebellions, hah.

And as for names...

Voren - we have several instances of Dornishmen with names that end in the -en sound. Doran, Oberyn, Llewyn, Yoren, etc. It seems like a common naming quirk, similar to the Northerners being really fond of -on and -ard endings. I thought Voren sounded the most like a real name.

Ellario - We have Elia and Ellaria so I figured there should be a male version of the name. I didn’t want to use Elio, so Ellario was born.

[rpking99]

So I came across a video where they put Batman against Spider-Man's villains but I ended the Video early cause for the very first villain (the Scorpion... so not even one of Spidey's biggest enemies) they said Batman would just call the Justice League for help... which really go against the idea of putting one Super Hero against anothers Rouge Gallery

So I wanna ask... how would Batman do against Green Goblin, Kingpin, Venom, Doc Ock and Kraven the Hunter?

And for Spider-man... how would he do against Joker, Mr. Freeze, Bane, Ra's al Ghul and Scarecrow?

Okay I'm gonna say this to start

Spider-Man? Walks through Batman's rogue gallery. Peter has to roll with any punch that hits him so people's hands are not SHATTERED. He can CASUALLY punch Scorpion's jaw off, who is MUCH stronger than a normal human.

Joker? Looses instantly against basic jokes at his expense. And he would not be able to effect Peter the same way some of Peter's own villains can. Because... Well Joker is no match for Peter physically or mentally, and the equivalent to the Joker for Peter has all the resources in the world

Anyone who is normal human levels like Two Face, Ra's, Riddler, Penguin, Anarky, Black Mask, Court of Owls, Killer Moth, Firefly, the mob bosses. All of them are easy to be taken out. Heck BANE would get his ass handed to him because Peter would still be too strong for him. Same with Killer Croc.

Mr Freeze would also be an easy win. But also Peter would be more than happy to help him and save him/Nora

The ones who would give Peter the biggest issue are the ones with chemical weapons or inhuman abilities. Clayface is the main inhuman one here, but even then Peter is use to fighting Sand Man and Hydro Man.

Some people claim that with his experience with Mysterio, Scarecrow would be easy. .... Mystero focuses on lights and sound and illusions. There is nothing tangible there, there is no hallucinations in play. Fear Toxin could potentially trip Peter up, as well as fuck up his Spider-Sense. He'd have to the will to power through, but it's catch him off guard.

Poison Ivy would probably be his biggest issue with the phermones and vines and Peter's weakness for lovely ladies and red heads. Especially since, most of the time, she's not a bad guy just doing things the bad way.

Spider-Man sweeps Gotham

But.... On to Batman?

Kingpin and other mob style/human level villains? Bruce wins against. Him, Vulture, Shocker, guys like that. Same with Doc Ock on most days (those days when Dan Slott isn't giving Otto god mode)

Kraven? Kraven is like Bane without the venom weakness. Bruce is getting hunted, exhausted and more than his back broken.

Sand Man and Hydro Man, and kinda Electro, would give him a LOT of problems. But problems he could handle, ones he could overcome. They'd be hard but he could do it

Venom? Carnage? Any Symbiote? Spider strength, spider speed, spider reflexes, spider sense, webbing, wall crawling. All of that, enhanced, alongside tentacle attacks and being able to turn invisible? Sorry, Bruce is dead. The only way he'd win is with fire and sonic attacks, but he'd need to know their weakness BEFORE the fight to do so. Which goes against this idea. But even if he didn't, symbiotes have fluctuated so much with what they can and can't take when it comes to fire and sonics that might not even work.

And Green Goblin?

....

Green Goblin?

Sure, let's give Joker enhanced strength and speed and all the tech he could ever want. Let's give him as much, if not more, money than Bruce Wayne. Let's make him vindictive, angry and petty instead of just a sadist jokester

...

Bruce is either dead or broken by the Goblin. He can't keep up physically, Norman matches if not exceeds his gadget usage, Norman plans just as if not more than Bruce and he is just as cruel and evil as Joker without anythig that makes him hold back for Batman

[keanureevesisbae]

For the ship ask: coach Cavill and Amelia 😍

Omg, COACH CAVILL AAAAH - i haven't thought about this couple in forever!!

Who asks the other on dates: Coach - definitely the coach!!!

Who is the bigger cuddler: Both - they both are cuddlers. Like BIG TIME

Who initiates holding hands more often: Amelia - because coach doesn't want to overstep, meaning he lets her decide when to hold hands and what not

Who remembers anniversaries: Both - not only are they both walking calendars, remember that Amelia is a mother and coach is a coach. They remember things!!

Who is more possessive: Amelia - 10000% Amelia, because have you seen the vultures that are married women in Luna Meadows? If Amelia doesn't mark her territory, these women will swoop in!!

Who gets more jealous: Amelia - read above ^^

Who is more protective: Coach - like, he is hella protective over her

Who is more likely to cheat: None - my characters don't cheat and if they ever do, it's more likely they're the literal villain in the story

Who initiates sexy times the most: Both - at first it was Amelia, because she wasn't ready at first, but once coach got a taste 👀

Who dislikes PDA the most: Amelia (?) - like, I don't think either hates it, but if someone does hate it, it's Amelia

Who kills the spider: Coach - is that even a question?

Who asks the the other to marry them: Coach - but only if he is a billion percent sure she wants to get married to him and does it with the help of the cute ass kids

Who buys the other flowers or gifts: Coach - he brings the entire family drinks, of course he buys her flowers

Who would bring up possibly having kids: None - because they both know they are not adding more kids to the bunch

Who is more nervous to meet the parents: Coach - though he has nothing to worry about and Amelia is probably never gonna meet his parents, since they are pretty strained.

Who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: Coach - obviously hehe

Who tries to make up first after arguments: Coach - he's a big softie

Who tells the other they love them more often: Amelia - she's a mom, she can't help it!

[incarnateirony]

Cackling.

Having a convo with a friend about certain gendery issues, and summarily about people who have transitioned without understanding the cultural element of the cultural argument in full, so we ended up back on when crackbear's cucktard really set this all off last June or so, and him whining about wanting respect, or how I should or shouldn't talk. I can't help but think about Mark's sobbing over being treated like a man who came to try to start shit over a woman, like son do you not understand how this song culturally goes.

And I thought about saying something else, but thought it sounded too violent, so didn't, and sent as is

Friend just replies [stares in breaking a man's nose over a woman for less] or something.

Oh. I was about to say in meat space that's how you get your nose broken or come up a few teeth short of a smile, but yeah, glad we're on the same page, because we understand what being a man takes.

When we transition to masculine cultural roles, we also choose to surrender other liberties associated with our assigned at birth gender. Being either gender sucks for various reasons, but ladies, I hate to tell you, those expectations you put on how men treat you, you really don't return the same, and by nature, men have their own high expectations of each other, in various shades of testosterone.

Climbing into bitchy DM warfare demanding to be treated like a princess and being angry that you're actually being treated like a man does none of us any favors. If this is all fucking new and foreign to you, well, you know what, I'm not allowed to say what I think, people like you have corrupted the system so we're not allowed to speak about it. But you probably finished the sentence in your head.

'But waaaah respect me. You have to watch your tone' Why. whomst. why are you even bothering me. I don't want her. Keep the fucking greasy hag. 'dont u talk about her like that' well then don't show up in my inbox to fight over a cow I don't want, retard. Literally exposed himself as a little bitch reading his gf's ex's blog in obsession for years, post by post, thousands of posts, until I dared voice on my own journal that everybody in my old life is glad I got away from the treacherous hag, and he had to try to do some bullshit internet warfare about it. I don't know how to tell you this, broskie. That's teenage girl behavior.

All the T shots in the world can't stop a little whiny fuckboy from being a little whiny fuckboy, presentation be damned. I could never take a shot in my life and have lived and walked as a man for a lifetime, writ into my bones she stole and enshrined and got him jacking off in the image of. I don't know what this whiny pissbaby bullshit we're supposed to tolerate shitting up the community because they weren't prepared, is. It'd be one thing if you were asking me to cater to a literal child, not a 30+ year old grown-assed-supposed-man. You goddamn knew better, you little bitch. what he wasn't used to, surrounded by a pack of echo chamber enabling women, is actually being treated like a man, and boy, he doesn't actually like that. Weird. And leaving the DM line he chose to start himself open made him UNCOMFORTABLE uwu after I already ignored him for four hours. Call your local Karen manager, herbert.

I don't know how to break it to you, buddy, but trans guys that don't float in estrogen social tanks have chatrooms to talk about fucks like you as a net negative impact on our community. Literally a whiny piss boy who is also a fucking vulture preying on a literal crazy lady he lies to and says he cares about while continuing to encourage her self destructive behavior that made her start ripping her hair out only AFTER they ran off together. Motherfucking fourteen-plus years this bitch had a beautiful mane of hair and in three years he ruined that too and then they blamed other people from their past. Toxic piece of shit, get out of the community. You don't represent us.

"It's the PTSD!"

Oh shocker. You have PTSD from making a choice you realized destroyed your life and ejected the things you valued most because you didn't realize what those were? Oh, wait no, no, the big mean ex she kept swinging back in for help from obviously trapped her hands in oven mits for 14 years to keep her hair on. It couldn't possibly be that she's ripping it out because she knows her choices, and her partner, have destroyed her, and she can't fix what's broken. Nono, it, like everything else, is always somebody else's fault.

They're going to implode on each other eventually, yall realize that right. Eventually, they're not going to be able to contain their mutual hatred they're hiding behind smiles and hard fucks. It is a literal bomb waiting to go off, two dishonest parasites making a fusion reactor of void behavior. And they're both aware at this point. He goddamn knows she groomed him to replace me, got them jacking off and romancing to my shit being relived. She knows she only lost her goddamn hair after her lemon incident she denied. They both know they've lied to each other their entire relationship or at best were following schizophrenic hallucinations that he enabled her on for his own gain. There is nothing left for them but pretending they're fine, together. And so, they will free ride each other to the void. She's already half there. Why you think she ripped her hair out?

And you know what?

He doesn't even care to actually stop it, he'll just medicate it and get her to shave it and say it's support.

If they haven't suffered a single or double suicide within a year, I'll be surprised. If they're still together in another three, it's because he'll have medicated her into being unable to take care of herself at all. Real easy to not have to deal with your toxic bitch if you put her in a coma from all those pills she's chewing.

There is a reason she must cast me as Big Mean Ex responsible for All Her Woes. She literally must disassociate me, from myself, that she insists is a god she has refused to learn a single lesson from or read a single book about. Because then she can hold that Aaron isn't Aaron, that over there is Hermes, Aaron doesn't know what his own identity is or what he's talking about, she totes has the right to argue that. And Aaron can't be Hermes, because Hermes Good, and Ex Bad, so she'll retroact her entire history to fit it into a narrative, rather than confessing she's been ripping her hair out because she's known the whole time he's gone, and unconsciously, she's always known why.

Her lover just exploited it. It won't hold forever.

A relationship inspired by usury, driven by hallucinations and disassociation, exploited for petty internet grudges, and rebuilt into a house of cards made entirely of lies from both parties to enable their end of the story or relationship? Yeah, sorry, that literally will never work out. And let's be real, the only reason they're trying anymore is "prove me wrong". Terrible logic by which to continue an irrational behavior. Which was always her pattern, and she found another rotten spazzoid that contributes until they went nuts in a bag jacking off to me together.

[kitkatpancakestack]

For @ktinaj who requested another outsider POV from our favorite Target employee of Buck and Eddie setting up their wedding registry. In light of recent unsavory events with certain guest cast members, please accept this offering of established buddie because they are telling a queer-ass love story and it is a beautiful fucking thing to behold.

You can go read this and the rest of the interior designer!eddie series on ao3!

XV

Tamara Boone’s Saturday begins like most of her Saturdays do: snooze her alarm clock five times, throw on whatever half-way decent red shirt she can find in her closet, drink directly from the coffee pot on her way out the door, and roll into Target five minutes late and still ten minutes earlier than everybody else.

She situates herself behind the customer service counter and pulls a piece of gum from the pack under the desk. There will be some time before the morning rush of returns, so she slides her tablet out of her bag and pulls up her resume. Weirdly enough, simply walking around with a master’s degree under your belt does not automatically grant you access to some unseen, prestigious job market. In fact, she somehow feels even more pigeon-holed than when all she had was an undergraduate psychology degree worth about as much as two cents and a candybar. The only thing that’s changed is the size of the student loan payment she makes every month.

Whatever. She won’t be a part of the red-shirted commune forever. She just has to keep telling herself that.

A slight drizzle starts up outside, which either keeps people out or compels them to descend on Target like a bunch of wet, angry vultures. About an hour into her shift, the store is still mostly empty, so she prays to god it’s the former. Sometimes she can’t stand the boring dull drum of an empty store, but she might not mind it today.

Of course, that’s when Shea crashes into her like a bat out of hell with her box braids—blue this time, Tamara notices—swinging wildly behind her.

“Code red!” she hisses, eyes wide, wrapping her hand around Tamara’s forearm. “Tam, this is not a fucking drill. I swear to god. I saw a ring this time. A ring.”

Tamara frowns, tries to transition her brain from her pathetic resume-building skills to the apparent crisis happening before her. “What?”

“Blondie!”

Blondie . . . “You mean Buck?”

Shea rolls her eyes. “Dude, you never name them. Can’t build that kind of attachment. Didn’t anybody ever teach you that?”

“That’s for animals, dumbass. Now please pretend you are capable of emoting like a normal person and tell me what is going on.”

“Blondie,” Shea continues, already tugging Tamara off the stool. “I was outside smoking—I mean, I was outside putting change in the Salvation Army bucket—and the three of them rolled up like they usually do on a Saturday, but I saw it, dude. Blondie’s left ring finger. That shit was catching the light, Tamara, and on a side note, aren’t they both firefighters? How the hell could Hot Brunette Guy afford that rock on a city salary?”

“You have to stop calling him that, Shea,” Tamara mutters, but inside her stomach is twisting. She stopped lying to herself long ago about how invested she was in her favorite quirky group of three, and this is a decidedly exciting development. “Where are they?”

“Where else? Home Goods.”

Tamara beckons over a newer employee, who jogs up to her in a crisp polo and even crisper khakis. Poor thing. That wouldn’t last long. “Mason, I need you manning customer service today.”

Mason nods, because he’s too new to know any different. “No problem!”

“Come on,” Shea persists, and then she yanks Tamara along with her to the Home Goods sections. They peer around the corner of an aisle, and sure enough, there they are, angled toward each other, bickering in front of lamp shades, of all things. The kid is nowhere to be seen.

Beside her, Shea bounces on the balls of her feet. “Wait for it,” she sings, dragging out the last word. And then it happens. Buck rests his left hand on Eddie’s shoulder, as if to emphasize whatever point he’s trying to make, and the ring effortlessly catches the stale, fluorescent Target lighting.

Not to be melodramatic, but something in Tamara is reshaped and reformed in that moment. “Holy shit.”

“I know, right?”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s what I said!”

“You don’t think . . .”

“Wedding registry!” Shea finishes, clapping her hands together.

Tamara tries to shush her, but it’s too late, and Eddie flicks a glance around to check what the commotion is, doing a double-take when he recognizes her. He says something to Buck, who also turns, and flashes his megawatt smile.

“Finally,” he says, toward Eddie, “I can get a third-party opinion to tell you you’re crazy. Tamara, can you help us out?”

Shea snickers. “Yeah, Tamara, go help them out.”

Tamara edges forward, and doesn’t fail to notice how Shea pretends to be busy so she can eavesdrop. She stops beside the two men. “How can I help? I should mention, though, before we start, that we still don’t have a wider selection available in the back.”

Eddie’s face warms and he averts his gaze. Buck shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and rocks back on his heels, looking pleased. “Apparently, I don’t have good taste in anything. We’re loading up our registry, and Eddie always said you have good judgement, so maybe you can be my eyes.”

The stoic, fussy brunette man before her said she has good judgement? Tamara Boone, Compulsive Student Loan Borrower, has good judgement? A revelation. “Wow,” she says, for lack of anything better, and then, “you’re getting married?”

“Oh, yeah!” His hand flies out of his pocket, and he shows her the ring. “Nice, huh?”

“Really nice.”

“Yeah. I told him he could wrap dental floss around it and I still would have said yes.”

Tamara flicks a glance over to Eddie, whose face is giving her shirt a run for its money. “I’m going to kitchenware,” he mutters. “Buck, please collect Christopher from the video games when you’re done.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and disappears from sight. Tamara doesn’t miss the way Shea sneaks after him, skulking through the aisles like a secret agent.

“You know,” she says, and Buck turns back to her, “Most couples do the whole wedding registry thing online. Benefits of the great technological advancements in this here twenty-first century, and all.”

Buck shrugs, hands returning to his pockets. “Yeah, well, my fiance is a different breed. There is, supposedly, nothing that can beat spending four-plus hours in person deliberating between two blenders that function the exact same, but apparently give different aesthetics. So. We’ve been together long enough for me to know when to back down.”

“You sure you want this for the rest of your life?”

She says it in jest, mostly, but also with a degree of genuine curiosity, because she’s seen relationships completely crumble over significantly less. Buck stares off in the direction Eddie disappeared in moments ago, a sickeningly fond smile relaxing his face. “Yeah. He is without a doubt the fussiest, most annoying person I have ever shopped with my entire life, and sometimes he makes me want to put my head through a wall.” He looks back at her. “But, you know, he’s the love of my life. I wouldn’t put my head through a wall for anybody else.”

And, fucking hell, that should not be as romantic as it is.

“Anyway.” He claps his hands together, and her gaze is drawn, again, automatically, to the way the ring catches the light. “Wedding registry. Can you help me out?”

So, they spend the next indeterminate amount of time checking items off the registry. They pass Eddie every once in a while, who is always statuesque and lost in thought, and Shea is always there, mocking him when she catches Tamara’s eye. Once they check the final item, the familiar clack of a pair of crutches ambles up to them.

“Ah, Chris, there you are. I was just about to come find you.”

Christopher smiles, bumping his shoulder affectionately against Buck’s side. “I’m hungry.”

“We’re gonna stop at Pizza Hut on the way out.”

“Uh-huh. And where’s Dad?”

“You know where your dad is.”

“Having a mental breakdown because he can’t decide on a color scheme for the bathroom?”

Buck snorts, tries and fails to look reprimanding. “Chris, that’s extremely hilarious, but don’t you ever say that in front of him.”

“It’s true, though,” he mutters, but doesn’t press the point.

Tamara clears her throat. “Anything else I can help you with?”

Buck declines, and she more or less shadows them as they make their way over to kitchenware, where it is uncertain if Eddie has made any meaningful progress. She regroups with Shea, and once the two men resume their particularly fond brand of bickering, they begrudgingly return to the customer service desk.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Shea says, once Tamara has relieved Mason from duty.

She sticks another piece of gum in her mouth. “Nope. What’s it mean?”

“Next step is always a new house. And a new house means furnishing that house.”

“Shea, for someone who always gets at me for being too invested, you are reeking of hypocrisy right now.”

“I’m just saying.” Her eyes trail the group of three as they congregate at a check-out line. “Man. All I did was stalk the guy around Kitchenware, and I miss him already.”

Tamara props her tablet back on the desk. “You’re working late tonight, right? Don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

“There’s no way. Blondie would never let that happen.”

Tamara doesn’t say anything, because even though she doesn’t know them, she knows them.

And, sure enough, as predictable as the sun rising and setting every day, forty minutes before closing, Eddie makes his way to the customer service desk. His hair is matted over his head in wet tendrils, dripping onto the shoulders of his sweatshirt. Still raining, then.

“Hey,” he says.

Tamara perks up, catches Shea’s eye where she’s adjusting a wrack of athletic pants. “Hey. I have to warn you, we close in forty minutes, so whatever magic you need to make happen has a time limit.”

He winces. “No, it’s . . . it’s nothing for the registry. This is sort of something I couldn’t do while I was here.”

That piques her interest. “Oh? What can I help you with, then?”

“I ordered it ahead of time. The instructions said to come to the customer service desk.” He slides the receipt across the counter.

“Got it. Gimme one sec.” She eases off the stool and shoulders through the door to the back. Sure enough, there’s a single object sitting on the bench, with a receipt taped to it and Edmundo Diaz on the label. She hauls it back out and hefts it onto the desk. “Here it is.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He tucks it easily under one arm. He turns to leave, and if she doesn’t ask, she knows the curiosity will kill her.

“Wait,” she blurts out. “What is it?”

There are universes of memories and secrets in the tiny smile that crooks up one corner of his mouth. “It’s a breadmaker.”

“A breadmaker?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t want him to know you were buying him a breadmaker?”

The tiny smile blossoms into something warm and beautiful. “He probably won’t even remember, but we saw one on a call once, before we were engaged. Before we were even dating. And he said he always wanted a breadmaker, but it felt like something you only get when you’re married, because it should be shared with the people you love. It never made sense to me, but it made sense to him.” He shrugs, shakes his head. “Anyway. Thanks, again. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

He leaves, and Shea takes his place.

“What was it?” she asks.

And Tamara replies, “A breadmaker.”

“A breadmaker?”

“Yeah.” She rests her chin on her fist. “You know, Shea, I think they’re gonna be together forever. I think they were meant to find each other.”

“What is this? Miss True-Love-Doesn’t-Exist is waxing poetic about soulmates?”

“You need to quit accosting me and start closing this place down.”

Shea gives her signature dramatic eye roll before sauntering off. Tamara counts out the till, finishes her other duties, and then swings her bag over her shoulder as she exits the automatic doors. It’s still raining, and she turns her face to the sky, but it doesn’t feel like a punishment. It feels like a promise.

She smiles, and heads to her car.

[holylulusworld]

Zero decency - Kinktober 23

Title: Zero decency

Written for @winchesterandbeyondbingo ​​: Royal AU

Written for @spnabobingo ​: Accidental Scent Bond

Summary: An alpha kidnaps you, demanding he’s your bodyguard...

Kink: Scent Kink

Rating: Mature

Ship: Alpha!(AU) Dean Winchester x Omega!(Princess) Reader

Warnings: angst, kidnapping (kinda), scenting, possessive Dean, plot twist, true mates, scent bonds

Words: 1,8 k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Kinktober 2021

2021 Winchester and Beyond Bingo

SPN A/B/O Bingo masterlist

“How dare you carrying me around like a sack of potatoes, vulture,” you complain, wiggling in the man’s hold. “Lemme down or I swear, my father will kill you. He’ll take your head.”

“He’ll do shit, princess,” the man all but growls, ignoring you fight him with all you’ve got. Well, it’s not much, but it’s all you can do. He just grabbed you, threw you over his shoulder, and now he’s running away with you, dashing towards the woods.

“Ugh. Alphas! All muscles and instinct, no brains. Zero decency or delicacy! As if being omega wasn’t bad enough,” the alpha groans at your words but keeps on running toward the trees to hide in the shadows with his prey, you.

“Can you shut up for a moment, sweetheart? Will ya! I’m here to save you from getting kidnapped, spoiled little brat,” you huff at his rude behavior, but bite your tongue to not piss the angry alpha off some more. “Good thing we are living in the 21st century or people would accuse me of doing nasty things to you.”

“Bastard—" 

“Your daddy hired me to keep you safe,” he carefully places you back on your feet, immediately looking you all over. “Sorry, this was a case of emergency. Did you see the three alphas next to the huge table at your friend’s house?”

“Dude, that was a birthday party, not a hostage situation,” you huff, annoyed. “I was safe with my friends. The three tall alphas next to the large table are my best friends’ brothers, you—you lunatic,” hands-on your hips you glare up at the frowning alpha.

“They matched the description your father gave to me,” he gets his phone out to check the information. “Three men, tall, alphas, dirty blonde hair, will be at the party and watch my daughter. Keep an eye on my beloved girl for me.”

While you run one hand down your face, groaning deeply, the alpha doesn’t move a muscle. He just stares down at you, purring and crooning. 

You must admit, he’s not too bad to look at. Tall, bowed legs, chiseled chin, and his eyes, you never saw such beautiful eyes on a man before. 

“Uh—what’s wrong with you?” you take a step backward, eyes trained on the alpha. He acts strange and you don’t want to get involved in whatever is going on in his twisted mind. “Stay away from me, crazy bastard!”

“You smell so good, sweetheart,” he purrs, taking a step toward you to sniff in your direction, eyes glued to your mating gland now. “I can’t help it. The moment I entered the house I was enchanted by your scent and since I touched you, I’m losing my mind. I never scented someone that… sweet.”

“I showered, and I used that specific—” he pounces on you, making you squeak. “Hey, ow—what are you doing?” while the alpha noses his way up and down your scenting gland, you try to push against his shoulders to get him off you. “Fuck, you need to get off me. We—you—shit!”

“It’s too late,” he nips at your skin, tongue-tasting you. “You are mine; I can smell it. No other omega ever smelled like you.”

“If you don’t stop,” you fall against his chest, whimpering in distress. Your mind tells you to fight your instinct but the omega inside of your soul fights for dominance. That purring bitch wants to mate with the stranger, “we end up mated.”

“I wouldn’t mind marking your pretty neck,” the alpha croons while excessively licking your neck. “I think we already bonded, sweetheart.”

“No offense, but I would remember mating with you,” he snickers against you, hands already pawing at your ass. “Hey, I don’t even know your name.”

“Dean,” is all you will get for now. “Lemme check if you are alright. I can’t have you injured,” he looks you all over again to check every inch of you thoroughly. You’re lucky he doesn’t rip your clothes off to check for scratches…

“Okay Dean, we should go back to the party. My friends must be worried or already called the cops. Everyone watched you drag me out of their house. We need to explain what happened,” you try to calm the pumped-up alpha but he’s like a man possessed. 

“We can’t go back, they are going to hurt you or take you away from me,” you end up over his shoulder once again, complaining loudly as he trudges further into the woods, taking you with him. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I want to call my father right now,” he ignores you mutter under your breath, keeps on walking, all the while purring to calm you. “Dean lemme down. Stop acting like a caveman. Please let me down.”

“Stop being so loud, omega,” Dean uses his alpha voice, and you fall silent. Your omega whimpers in distress all the while trying to make up to Dean that you angered the strong alpha. “What if those guys followed us?”

“Shit, you need to stop fantasizing about people being—” you gasp when Dean stops in his tracks. He puts you back down, shoves you behind his back before he gets a shotgun out from under his coat. “Wait! Where did you hide that thing all the time?”

“I said,” he’s in your face, breathing heavily, “you need to stop talking. They found us.” Confused you follow Dean’s eyes to get a glimpse of three shadows coming closer. “I told you I did not kidnap but save you, sweetheart.”

“But—they are my friends,” you get a bad feeling, so you hide behind Dean’s back, head pressed into his back to inhale his scent. “Why are they after me now?”

“You took what should have been ours,” a familiar voice growls, “give her back and let her make her ours and we won’t kill you, little alpha.”

“Come and get her, if you are brave enough,” Dean growls, huffing when the alphas stop in their tracks. “I bet you don’t have the balls to do so.”

“What are you doing?” you wrap your hands around his left biceps to drag Dean further into the woods. “They are three, you are one cocky alpha with a shotgun. Stop putting me in danger, Dean.”

“You’re right,” Dean grasps for your hand to run deeper into the woods, to hide behind a large tree with you. He’s pressing his body against yours to cover your scent, rubbing his scent into your skin, clothes, and hair. “Shush, we need to be as silent as possible now.”

“This is officially the worst murder mystery game ever,” the alpha huffs in your neck. “Can you hear them? Dean?”

“Stop talking,” he grunts, head buried in your neck to inhale your scent deeply. “I can’t hear shit if you don’t stop talking.”

“You are talking yourself. All the time. Hell, you talk more than I do,” you push against Dean’s shoulders. “You’re the worst murder mystery game partner ever. Strawberry!”

“Mystery what? Strawberry?” Dean lifts his head to look at you. 

“Gosh, that was my safeword to end the game. You read the rules, right? If you don’t want to play anymore, you say your safeword. I’m tired, hungry and you are getting on my nerves.”

“Sweetheart, I’m a real bodyguard and this is a real shotgun,” he unlocks the gun to fire a round into the sky. “See.”

“Fuck! No, the boys are part of the game! You can’t shoot them,” you scream, losing your shit. “Guys, he’s not part of the game. HE HAS GOT A REAL GUN!”

“DUDE! Chill, this is all just a game,” Cole grunts. “Listen, we will stand here, okay. We are no harm. Please, let Y/N go. Pineapple!”

“See, that’s his safeword. This is just a game,” you whimper. “My friends and I paid for the game. I got my invitation last week, just like my friends. I—I don’t know why my father hired you, but I’m not in danger.”

“He read the messages you got. Someone threatened to kidnap you,” Dean whispers, unsure if you try to protect your friends or if your father got it all wrong.

“That’s part of the game. We get messages, letters, and stuff. I am the victim in the game tonight. They said someone will kidnap me and my friends are the heroes, rescuing me,” you explain. “Please, don’t hurt them. None of them will hurt me or you.”

“Sorry, her father hired me to keep her safe,” Dean still won’t let anyone get close to you, but he secured his shotgun and put it into the trunk of his car. “I had no clue this is all part of a murder mystery game.”

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” your best friend giggles. “This way the game was more fun. Hell, we cheered for you when you threw her over your shoulder.”

“I kidnapped a princess, awesome,” the alpha rolls his eyes. “How about we call it a day and head home. I think I got enough of games for a month or like ever.”

“Agreed,” you try to leave the room, but Dean is hot on your heels, following your every step. “What?”

“I’m still your bodyguard and, we still got that scent bond going on,” he insists, leading you toward his car. “I’ll drive you, home princess.”

“Can you stop calling me like that? It’s only a title, ya know. It doesn’t matter anymore, not really,” you explain. “Now drive me home so I can give my father a piece of mind for sticking his nose into my shit once again…��

“Great, now I’m stuck with a crazy alpha,” you groan but snuggle closer to Dean to sniff at his neck. He wrapped his body around your smaller frame and buried his face in your neck to inhale your scent deeply. “Can you not press your erection against my thigh?”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, licking your skin. “It’s just, we got a strong scent bond and all I can think about is to make you mine. Of course, I must ask your father first.”

“You are crazy,” you purr when he kisses your mating gland. “But I’ll let you stay the night if you promise to not use your shotgun…”

“Promised?” Dean lifts his head to grin down at you. “I played my role well, didn’t I?”

“Role?” you frown, watching Dean’s eyes darken. “What do you mean? You are a bodyguard, right?”

“He’s an Earl of Winchester,” your father steps into your room to watch your jaw drop. “What? You refused to even meet up with him. So, I thought it would be nice if he saves you in your stupid little game. My plan went well. Now that you have a scent bond, you’ll make a perfect match. And don’t worry, the shotgun is a faked gun.”

“Wait! What?” you begin to throw a tantrum, already pouncing on Dean to fist his hair. “You tricked me? What the fuck, dad!”

“The rest is up to you, Dean. Good luck,” your father flees out of the room when you threaten to use the shotgun on Dean and your father…

Tags in reblog.

[naggingatlas]

assigning oingo boingo songs to tf2 mercs bc my gf’s brain is so sexy

scout - sweat. the tempo the lyrics the overall character of it yesss yesssss yessssss i don't even have to comment on anything demo - helpless. griffins death pose ³ . oh he rrreally hit rrrock bottom oi. gene said this is the most she'd ever heard a character in a song. no mum killing tho. might have thought about it idk really, not a fan of sugarcoating how fucked up his upbringing was. anyway this being like the most acoustic song out of all of them? perfect. perfect demo material. also danny sounds like a yakuza character. spy - dead or alive + find you. 1. gene has a superbly logical explanation that it's about the dead ringer and is obviously not from his perspective. i adore it. i am also a schizo princess and like it when things don't make no fucking cents luv so its like spy and he's thinking about himself from someone else's perspective mb he's got like a little stanley parabola narrator in his brain and he panics at the thought of himself.......... and he Loves it. he loves himself :) 2. oh wow what the fuck oh wow what the fuck oh wow what th yeah pls listen to this shit above all else. gene recommends listening to them both as not from spy’s perspective but im evil and stupid im the devil on ur shoulder saying idgaf. soldier - vultures. gene review: "exceptional animatic potential". the acoustic in the bg swaying up and down adds so fucking much idk it's so classicky-sounding fits janey finely. рокетжампим товарищи. engie - wild sex in the working class. the actual fucking fact this title exists. the samples. the thoughts of dell workin his ass off on those oil rigs or whateva and then going to a gay bar!!!!!!!! fuck!!! pyro - only a lad. obv. oh the struggles of an unknowingly aggressive nd kid! the "perhaps a little bit confused?"-- fucking gets me!!!!!!!!!!! i don't take the lyrics seriously all the way she's got a pretty different backstory in my mind (has the oh fuck it's That kid stuff as well just diff) but it's still fun still fun sniper - on the outside. autism B) just a really good and realistic (like the bitch can get angry thank you) depiction of snipah. genie also thinks “this sounds like australian music idk” sakjdfhdskjh medic - perfect system + what you see. 1. ok so this is SO COOL ACTUALLY. first OBVIOUSLY perfect medic melody INSANELY MEDIC-LIKE VOCALS i want to ouroboros myself every time he sounds like he hits himself in the throat, sSECOND! see, in my head med hates all the governments the most out of all the mercs and i imagine him singing this to himself to ironically express how fucking much he hates it :) AND the . how the fuck do you call it. like med's bad at empathy and relationships and shit esp before misha and the "in love" parts are him mocking that institute of "this is how u should like people" that he had never fit into. omggg 97 personality disorders pride. ALSO the word brothers sounds so good and natural comin out of his mouth. + just figure that one out urself its simple and its more satisfying that way :) GIGAMEDIC VOCALS HERE AS WELL!!!! heavy - mary. gene was super uncomfortable talking about this one in any more depth than "no comment" and "the mountain symbolizes a lot of things but no not homosexuality. thatd be cringe". this is like neutral milk hotel levels of fucked up lyrics in the context of misha. fucked up in general. wow.

[storiesforallfandoms]

she’s a baddie ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1846

request?: yes!

“Hi! I have a request for mgk (if your requests are open still) but I was thinking maybe something like colson’s girlfriend is a total badass and like has a bunch of tattoos and maybe is a rapper herself and he is kind of just gushing over her and tells everyone he can about how cool she is? <3″

description: in which he loves to gush about his badass rapper girlfriend at every opportunity

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

The minute he walked into the studio and saw her, Colson was in love.

Dom had asked Colson to be on a song with him and a long time friend of his, a fellow rapper named (Y/N). Colson agreed - he always loved to work with Dom and he loved to meet new people to collaborate with.

He wasn’t sure what he expected of (Y/N), but it definitely was not what he actually got.

(Y/N) was in the booth recording her verse. Already, her rapping abilities were for beyond even Colson’s. He was extremely impressed with her lyrics. As for her appearance: she was wearing a pair of tight, ripped jeans, a white button up dress shirt that was completely open with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the sports bra she was wearing underneath.

With all that skin exposed, Colson could see that she was nearly completely covered in tattoos. Her arms were covered in tattoo sleeves, all the way down to her hands and even fingers. There was an undercarriage tattoo poking out from under her sports bra, and another poking out from her waistband around her hip. She even had one on her neck!

She radiated badass energy, and Colson was drawn to her.

Dom looked up from where he was sat and got up to hug Colson. “Hey mate! Just in time, (Y/N) is finished her verse!”

(Y/N) had stopped rapping when she noticed the commotion outside. She was looking at Dom and Colson, as if waiting for them to tell her what to do.

“(Y/N), come meet Kells!” Dom called.

She walked out from the booth and smiled at Colson. “Nice to meet you. Dom talks so highly of you, and I’m a bit of a fan.”

Colson smiled and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. Dom’s talked you up to me a lot, too. You definitely live up to the hype.”

(Y/N) tried to hide her smile to keep her cool status, but Colson could see the corners of her mouth tilting upwards. She put her hands in her pockets and shrugged modestly. “I’m okay I guess. Thanks though.”

“Her verse is amazing,” Dom said, bringing the attention back to him. “Just wait till you hear it when it’s finished.”

Colson sat with Dom to go over the verse he had written. (Y/N) sat behind them, distracting herself on her phone while the men worked. Every so often he would glance over his shoulder at her, hoping to catch her attention for even just a moment.

“She’s single mate, go for it,” Dom said in a low voice, but certainly not low enough that (Y/N) didn’t hear it.

Colson’s eyes widened and he quickly looked over his shoulder at her again. Her attention was still on her phone, but there was a knowing smile on her face.

When the three had finished in the studio and were preparing to go, Colson finally decided to talk to (Y/N). She was heading out the door when Colson approached her, falling into step beside her.

“Your tattoos are cool,” he said, immediately cringing at how lame the compliment was.

(Y/N) smiled brightly at him. “Thanks! They better be for how long they took and how much they cost. Yours are pretty sick too.”

“Thanks. A few of them are kind of old and I regret a little but that happens.”

“When you have as many as we do, you eventually regret one or two.”

There was an awkward silence as the two continued into the parking lot. Colson tried to wrack his brain for some way to save the conversation, but everything he came up with felt dumb or lame. He felt his heart fall to his stomach when (Y/N) pulled keys from her pocket and unlocked a car in front of them. He knew he’d eventually see her again, but he didn’t want their time to end just yet.

Before getting into her car, (Y/N) turned to Colson and put her hand out. “Give me your phone.”

He was taken back by such a direct request that his mind couldn’t comprehend what she had asked at first. “What?”

“Phone, unlock, give.”

Colson took his phone from his pocket and did as she asked. (Y/N) opened the contacts app on his phone and added her name and number, and even took a selfie of herself to set as the contact photo. She sent herself a text so she could have Colson’s number before passing the phone back to him.

“Let’s get drinks some time,” she told him before climbing into her car and starting it up. The roaring of the engine made Colson realize that even her car was badass.

He never would’ve guessed that that one encounter would’ve led to such a strong relationship between the two of them. Colson took (Y/N) up on her offer to go get drinks and, next thing he knew, he was waking up the next morning with her in his bed after deciding to be in a real relationship.

When the news hit the media, both of their fanbases exploded with excitement, saying how (Y/N) and Colson were perfect for one another. Even the tabloids couldn’t find a bad thing to say about the relationship. In fact, they constantly praised the two and complimented them whenever they were saw out together. As much as Colson hated the vultures that were paparazzi, it was hard to be as angry when they were actually saying nice things about him and the woman he loved.

And Colson couldn’t get enough of hyping his girl up. Even when she wasn’t there, all he did was talk about how cool and badass she was. It eventually got to a point that his friends would have to tell Colson that every time he mentioned (Y/N)’s name when she wasn’t around, they were going to hit him.

On the night of Dom’s album release, which featured the song that had brought Colson and (Y/N) together, Dom decided to throw a massive party to celebrate. Colson showed up with his friends, fashionably late as always. It didn’t take him long to navigate the large crowd to find his stunning girlfriend, who was wearing a skin tight black dress that hugged her body and came down to her thighs, paired with a pair of black stiletto heels and her hair pulled back in a braid. Colson couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over her body as he walked up behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, bringing her attention away from her conversation to him for just a moment.

“Sorry to steal her away,” Colson said to her conversation partner, “but I just had to tell my girlfriend how fucking stunning she looks tonight.”

A bright smile spread on (Y/N)’s face as the person she was talking to made a fake vomiting sound, but was smiling none the less.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, hot stuff,” she said with a wink. “Wanna grab a drink and I’ll be over in a minute?”

“Sounds good, baby.”

Colson kissed her head as his hand trailed from her waist to her ass, giving it a quick squeeze before walking away. (Y/N) turned and watched him go with wide eyes, but also with an amused smile on his face. He smirked to himself as he made his way to the bar.

Slim and Rook were already stood there, two empty glasses in hand but too distracted by their conversation to get refills. Colson ordered two drinks, one for himself and one for (Y/N), before looking back across the crowded room at her. An involuntary smile stretched across his face as he looked at the familiar tattoos that were peaking out from her dress.

“Bro, if you say one thing about (Y/N) I am going to punch you in the fact,” Slim said, snapping Colson out of his trance.

“What?” he said. “Dude I wasn’t going to say anything about her.”

“You have that look on your face man,” Rook pointed out. “The look that says the next thing out of your mouth is gonna be something about how badass (Y/N) is.”

The bartender passed Colson his drink and he immediately swallowed half of it. “I’m sorry for thinking my girlfriend is the coolest shit since sliced bread, but that’s how relationships are supposed to work.”

“That’s not how they’ve worked with you before,” Slim said.

“Yeah, before it was a lot of sex and PDA and eventual fighting,” Rook added.

“What I have with (Y/N) ain’t like that, guys,” Colson said. “I know I move way too fast in relationships and they all end the same way, but when I say that it was love at first sight for me with (Y/N), I mean it. I mean, look at her, how can you not love her? She’s not just another girl who wants to be all over me and gets jealous or upset when I’m gone for long because she actually understands that this is how my job works. And she likes to drink and smoke weed and party, so she’s actually fun to hang out with. On top of all that...well...just look at her! She’s smoking hot and badass as fuck. I’m sorry that I tend to talk too much about her and all, but I can’t help it. I’m really happy.”

During his speech, Colson hadn’t noticed that (Y/N) had finished with her conversation and approached the three of them. She joined the group just in time to hear how happy he was to be with her, which had managed to bring happy tears to her eyes. She tried to blink them away as to not ruin her makeup, but it was hard when Colson’s kind words were replaying in her head.

“You mean that?” she asked, causing the three men to jump and to look at her.

“Damn, you move quick girl,” Slim commented.

“How much did you hear?” Colson asked.

“Enough of it,” she responded.

Slim and Rook exchanged a glance before excusing themselves from the conversation. Colson held out (Y/N)’s drink to her and she gladly took it. She leaned into his side as he wrapped his arm around her again, fitting perfectly against him like two puzzle pieces.

“I meant every word I said,” he told her. “I think you’re the coolest chick I’ve ever met and then some. Way too good to be dating a dork like me.”

“You’re anything but a dork,” she said. “And even if you were, you’re my dork, and I can’t imagine having anyone else by my side.”

Colson smiled that adorable, goofy smile that (Y/N) loved so much. She mirrored it before leaning up to kiss his lips. His grip around her waist tightened as he held her close, never wanting to let her go.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 6) - Best Friends

Summary: While out with Jensen and some of his new co-stars, the reader bumps into her father again. This time Jensen knows the truth though and nearly starts a fight. After calming him down, the reader and he have an impromptu date that ends up with Jensen sharing a secret about himself...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, body insecurities, scars, smut (oral), mention of a dead parent

A/N: I love all of this part so much! Enjoy!

________

The room was toasty warm when you woke the next morning. It took a split second to remember you weren’t in your room and that there was a warm body next to you. Your did a tiny stretch and felt a weight over your waist. It pulled you closer and you smiled, lazily opening your eyes.

“Good morning sunshine,” he said, hair spiked up every which way, green eyes big and sleepy. 

“Morning,” you said, shutting your eyes again and nuzzling him.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more adorable in the mornings, I get to see you waking up,” he said. He played with a piece of your hair and you threw your arm over his waist, holding onto him. “You’re so fucking cute.”

“Cuddle buddies, remember?” you mumbled.

“I’m down for that,” he said. He squeezed you and giggled, kissing your forehead until you turned your head upwards. “Hi.”

“Hi handsome,” you said. He pecked a kiss on your lips, a trio of feet running down the hall. 

“The vultures are awake. Prepare for impact.”

“What?” you said, the door opening and three very small bodies climbing up on the bed.

“Y/N, what are you doing in daddy’s bed?” asked Arrow.

“Don’t you guys want to sleep in for like once?” asked Jensen. He pulled her down to his other side, Zeppelin doing a dive right between you and Jensen, while JJ plopped down behind you. A pillow was knocked over his face as the twins started crawling over him, Jensen chuckling and pushing it out of the way. His face poked out just as JJ started to jump behind you, a little smile there. “Welcome to my Sunday mornings.”

“Glad I was invited this time,” you said. He was about to speak when he squeezed his eyes shut and bent his body in half.

“Zeppelin,” he grit out. “No jumping on daddy’s lap, remember?”

“Oh. I forgot,” he said.

“Who wants pancakes this morning?” you asked. All three shot their hands up and you smiled. “Well you better go brush your teeth if you want some. Go on guys.”

They ran off the bed and out of the room, Jensen laughing when you moved the pillow away.

“Think you’ll survive?” you asked. 

“That kid is single handedly going to guarantee I can’t have more children,” he chuckled. He sat up and stared at you, looking you over. 

“That’s not a conversation for right now.”

“No, it’s not. But...are you interested in your own?” he asked.

“My mom didn’t have my blood but she was still my mom. I don’t need to make a kid to love it,” you said.

“I know. I wonder is all.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay,” he said softly.

“Are you, in more?”

“I don’t know. I’m almost 43, in like a month. I don’t want to…I don’t want to have a kid so late in life that they see me go early in their life, you know? That’d be cruel to do.”

“You got a lot of road ahead of you. You’re not like seventy, dude.”

“I know. Everything this year just…it’s just one more kid someday that’s gonna get hurt,” he said.

“It’s one more kid to love too though. Let’s talk about this much, much further down the line, okay?”

“Okay with me,” he said. You rolled out of bed and he followed after, holding his hands over himself. 

“You need an ice pack?” you asked.

“No, I’m good,” he said. “He’s a little...up this morning is all.”

“Oh I noticed,” you said. His cheeks went pink and you laughed. “Dude. Morning wood is normal.”

“Oh. Good. I thought maybe considering what you told me last night it might have...bothered you,” he said.

“I don’t got a problem with dicks or sex. I got a problem with people invading my personal space with them without my consent,” you said. “We cool?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna take care of this. I’ll be down in a second,” he said.

“Have fun,” you said, winking as you headed out.

“The view of you in my clothes is not helping,” he said. You swayed your hips and heard him groan. “You’re gonna pay for that.”

“I sure hope so,” you laughed. You changed into some fresh clothes in your room, something comfortable for the day before you jogged downstairs and found the three of them watching cartoons. “Okay. So who wants to help make breakfast?”

Two Weeks Later

“Shopping buddy!” said Antony when you and Jensen found your way over to the table where he and a few of Jensen’s other new cast mates were getting a drink and some food.

“Wow you really are too adorable when you’re not playing a psychopath,” you said, sliding into the booth beside him, getting a hug. “Hi. I’m Y/N, his shopping buddy.”

“Erin, Karl,” said Jensen. “Don’t you have a super huge crush on Karl, Y/N?”

“Yours is bigger,” you said, a waiter bringing over a pair of drinks and setting them down. You were about to order when you looked at the man and rolled your eyes. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“We’d like a new waiter. Now,” said Jensen. He stared at you and then Jensen before nodding and leaving.

“What was that about?” asked Erin.

“That was my father. We’re not on good terms,” you said. 

“Gotcha. So how’s a pretty girl like you end up with this ugly?” said Karl. 

“Aw, he thinks you’re pretty,” teased Jensen.

“I got eyes for you too, Jensen. Don’t be jealous,” he chuckled.

“Later guys,” said Jensen, arm over your shoulder as you headed for your car a few hours later. “Thanks for going. I’m still getting to know everyone.”

“I had fun. I like your new friends. I’d like to get to know Jared more when we’re back home.”

“Really?” he asked with a soft smile.

“He’s your best friend. You talk to the guy everyday. He’s important to you.”

“Yes he is. I’d definitely love for you guys to get along.”

“Me too,” you said, arm around his waist. 

“Y/N,” you heard behind you and froze, Jensen already spinning around and pushing you behind him.

“Buddy stay the fuck away from her. I’m serious,” said Jensen.

“That’s my daughter,” he said.

“I’d rather die than hurt my daughters unlike some people. Get your piece of shit ass away from us,” said Jensen.

“Y/N, I got help,” he said, looking past Jensen. “I did.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“Y/N-” he said, trying to get around Jensen and earning a shove for it instead. 

“I told you to back off.”

“Hey,” you heard from outside the restaurant, Jensen’s co-stars walking down from where they were waiting for their ride. “What’s going on here?”

“Leave,” Jensen told your father again.

“I want to talk to-”

“Excuse me but I think our friends asked you to leave them alone,” said Antony. You swallowed and noticed people starting to look. The last thing you needed was this turning into a fight and all of them ending up on the front of TMZ.

“Dad,” you said, brushing past Jensen. “Stay the fuck out of my life. Come near me again and I’ll call the cops.”

“I am sorry for what happened.” Jensen growled and you put a hand on his chest, pushing him back.

“You want to make it up to me?” you asked. “Move to Alaska, somewhere I’ll never have to see your face again.”

“Y/N-”

“Leave and never, I mean never, come back.”

He went back into the restaurant and you took a deep breath, glancing down.

“Sorry about that,” you said.

“You guys good?” they asked and you nodded. “Jensen?”

“Yeah I’m good. I’ll see you guys at work,” he said. You pulled him away and down the sidewalk, holding his hand tightly. “Don’t step in front of me like that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you near him. Ever.”

“Forget about him. Please. We had fun tonight. That’s all I want to focus on.”

“Okay,” he said when you got to the crosswalk. He pulled you into his side and kissed your temple.

“You’re shaking,” you said.

“I’m freaking out a little bit to be honest,” he said. You hugged him and walked across the street, pulling him into a bar. You found a quiet table in the corner and got him an old fashioned, leaving him seated while you got an order of pretzels too. 

“Eat this,” you said, placing the basket of warm soft dough in front of him. He picked one up and ripped it apart, dipping it in mustard and then the cheese.

“This is really good,” he said. You pulled off his hat and carded your fingers through his hair, Jensen glancing down. “I’m sorry. I should be taking care of you right now.”

“I’m okay and I happen to like taking care of you. Always have,” you said. He nodded and rested his head on your shoulder, eating quietly as you listened to an in house band play on the other side of the bar. “I like this place. It’s kinda quaint.”

“Try some,” he said, holding up the pretzel. You took a bite and hummed. “S’good.”

“Very good. You feel like you calmed down some.”

“I thought he might hurt you. I was so fucking angry it scared me.”

“But you still listened to me and calmed down for me. I’m not gonna be mad that you want to protect me from him.” 

“I feel like I can’t do anything to protect people I care about anymore.”

“Did she ever have to force you to relax?”

“Hm?”

“Your wife. Did she make you take time off or relax or have a lazy day?” you asked. 

“Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“I think your life has been so busy for so long you forget to have the quiet moments to yourself, even though I think that’s truly what you enjoy. I think you had more fun tonight than you would have without me because new people make you nervous. I think you were thrown on pause for so long after the accident that you didn’t realize that you can’t ever go back to how it was, no matter how much you want it to. You need to take more time for you Jensen. The fate of the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders. You can sleep in. You can take a day for yourself and not constantly be with the kids for hours and hours on end. You can take a second to breathe. You gotta. I’m okay. Even if something had happened tonight, it’s not the end of the world.”

He lifted his head up and blinked a few times at you. His hand cupped your cheek and he kissed you, tasting like bourbon and mustard, something different about it this time. Something possessive, something softer. 

“Better?” you asked, stroking his cheek.

“I’m better,” he said, turning into the touch. “You scare me most of all, you know.”

“Why?”

“Cause this is either going to turn out really good or really bad and I’m so fucking tired of being scared.”

“Don’t be,” you said quietly. He swallowed and you looked him up and down. “You’re my best friend. I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“You’re my best friend too,” he said, nodding and taking a deep breath. You scooted closer and hugged him, Jensen returning it for a long moment. You sat back against the corner and turned him to lean back against you, both of you watching over towards where the band played. He sipped on his drink and you played with his hair, picking at the pretzel while you held him. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, honey,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “That’s my job.”

He tilted his head back and looked up at you with the biggest green eyes you’d ever seen, a warm feeling filling you. You bent down and kissed him, Jensen grinning by the time you were straightening yourself out. 

A few minutes went by and some more, Jensen ordering a few more drinks and food while you used the bathroom. You returned to your table and picked at fat mozzarella sticks and chicken wings, sipping on a way too expensive scotch while you listened to the band play, tucked away in Jensen’s side. 

“Can I admit something?” he asked while you dunked a cheese stick into a tiny cup of marinara. “I kinda like this more than our date a few weeks ago. Our dress up one. Don’t get me wrong, you were gorgeous but this is kinda perfect all things considered.”

“I’m a cheap date Ackles. Give me some bar food, some music and a cuddle and I’m a happy girl,” you said. You held up your stick and he bit off the end before you popped the other piece in your mouth. “I like this date too. Found out I’m your best friend and all.”

“Do you wanna…” he trailed off. You turned your head up and saw the look in his eye. You nodded and smiled, the two of you getting into your coats and heading outside. You barely caught the name of the bar before Jensen was pulling you after him down towards the car. 

He turned up the heat when you were inside and drove out of the city, finding a quiet and dark little field not too far from the house. 

“Um, I wasn’t...expecting this,” he said. You smirked and sat back in your seat, Jensen turning off the car but leaving the heat running. “I don’t even know what I’m…”

“I’ve never made out in the back of a car before,” you said with a shrug. “I’ve also never made out in the back of a car with you either so…”

“I was thinking something more…” he said, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not on birth control,” you said. 

“I’m not having sex with you for the first time in the back of a car. I have more class than that,” he chuckled. You unbuckled your seatbelt and shrugged out of your coat, leaning over as he backed up against his door. 

“If you’re not ready for this, tell me and I’ll stop,” you said. He nodded and you put a hand on his chest, unzipping his coat. Your hand rested on his lower stomach, just over his belt and he shut his eyes.

“Wait,” he said. You sat back and he sat forward in his seat again, pressing his hand over his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you said. You kissed his cheek and sat back in your seat, sticking your arms in your jacket. “Seriously, don’t over think it.”

“I want to. Shit I want to do all sorts of things with you in that backseat. But I need to show you something first and it’s better at home if you find out.”

“Okay,” you said. “Let’s go home then.”

Twenty minutes later the babysitter was gone and you were watching Jensen peel off his shirt in his bedroom, back to you. He dropped his jeans and kicked them aside, turning around in his boxer briefs. He started to pull them down when you shook your head.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No. I think I’m wearing too many clothes is all.” You turned and took off your top, your face hot as you slipped off your leggings. You dropped them to the ground and straightened up, taking deep breaths. You’d been naked in front of your ex before plenty. But Jensen was just so damn handsome and his body was…

“Y/N,” said Jensen, close behind you but not touching you. “You okay?”

“Didn’t really think through the you seeing me basically naked thing,” you said. He lightly tapped your arm and you spun around, forcing your head up. 

“Basically naked you is hot,” he said, cupping your cheek. 

“I have a stomach,” you said.

“So do I,” he said, patting his own. “You are beautiful, Y/N. Believe me when I say it.”

You nodded and started to relax, Jensen tensing up again though.

“What did you want to show me?” you asked. He walked over to the bed and glanced at it. You took a seat and he shut his eyes, taking a beat before he pushed down his underwear. A thick pink scar ran over his skin and curled down to his leg.

“One of my arteries was damaged in my hip, leg, groin, whatever area, when part of the car kinda...went in me. It’s um...it’s fine now but the scar is…I’m kinda...self-conscious about it...”

“Can I?” you asked. He nodded and you reached out your hand, Jensen opening his eyes as you touched the end closest to his hip. You traced your finger over it and down, curving it back around and to the top of his thigh.

“I know it’s ugly but laser scar removal can be a bitch to deal with, especially down there. I-”

“I love it.”

“What?”

“Scars mean you survived. I’m really happy you survived so yeah, I love it. I don’t give a fuck if you have scars, Jensen. You’re so handsome and attractive and this is not ugly. This is part of you and nothing about you is ugly.”

“It’s not attractive though,” he said, putting his hand over it. You put yours over his and moved it aside.

“You’re standing in front of me naked and you think this scar is what I’m thinking about?” you asked. 

“I haven’t done this with someone new in almost twenty years,” he said. “I’m nervous.”

“Me too. But I meant what I said. It’s just a scar, Jensen. I got ‘em. You got ‘em. I’m attracted to you but that sure as shit ain’t why I like you.” You gently thumbed over the skin and he rested his hand on yours, tracing over it with you this time. “Come here.”

He sat down and you knelt up on your knees, cupping his cheek and kissing him. He sank back and moved towards the middle of the bed, never breaking apart from you. 

“Relax,” you said against his ear. “This is gonna be fun. I promise.”

“Can I take off your bra?” he asked. You nodded and he shook his head. “Why do I feel like I’m doing this for the first time?”

“It is the first time like this. So we’ll move at your speed, okay?”

“How do…” he said, shutting his eyes. He fisted his hands in the sheets and you wrapped your arms around him, Jensen resting his head on your shoulder. “I don’t want to...do certain things bother you?”

“Like…” you said, Jensen taking a deep breath. He lifted his head and looked at you, pursing his lips.

“Do things having to do with sex scare you? I don’t need details or why but with what happened to you I don’t want to frighten you or do something stupid.”

“You’re too sweet,” you said. You stroked his cheek and shook your head. “I’m okay. Trust me. I’ve probably done kinkier shit than you have.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not scared of you, Ackles. I’ve had all the time in the world to work through that stuff. If you want to take off my bra and leave it at making out in bed naked, that’s fine. If you want to go further, that’s fine too. I’m not pushing you into anything. Ever. I literally can’t imagine being in your position. Take all the time-”

“Why…” he breathed out, resting his forehead against yours, hot breath fanning over your mouth. “Why are you so patient with me? You’re thirty. You could have anyone you want. Why would you want me?”

“Because you’re my best friend, Jensen. You’re the only one I do want.”

He leaned forward, hand sliding up to the back of your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. He slowly took charge of it and you let him, Jensen guiding you to lay back. You kept softly kissing him, matching his pace and cupping his face, running your fingers through his hair. A finger grazed your shoulder and then the other. You moved your arms out of the bra straps, reaching up for him again. You sat up as best you could, Jensen reaching behind you and undoing the clasp before tossing it aside. He didn’t move lower though, just kissed you lazily until he rolled back onto the mattress, pulling you to lay on top of him.

You shifted back and heard him groan when you nudged the tip of his cock. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, Jensen shaking his head.

“Take off your underwear,” he murmured.

“Jensen I don’t like to have sex unless I’m on birth control. It’s just a-”

“Of course not. There are other things we can do if that’s okay?” he asked. You nodded and rolled to the side, shimmying out of your underwear. He slid down the bed and ran his hands up your thighs, a shiver trickling down your spine. 

“What are you thinking?” you breathed out.

“Wonder how you taste,” he said, licking his lips.

“Are you sure you want to?” you asked. He nodded and you returned it. He leaned down and spread your legs out, large hands sliding up and down your inner thigh, getting closer and closer each time. “What are you doing?”

“S’called foreplay sweetheart,” he said, hands gliding up over your hips and giving a gentle squeeze.

“Jesus Jensen. I was not expecting this from you.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” He smirked and inched his fingers closer and closer to you, teasingly leaving kitten kisses over your hip. Painfully slow he made his way down, dipping his head down and swiping his tongue over your clit. He was soft and gentle at first but he increased the pressure when your legs wrapped over his back.

His hands pinned your hips down to the bed, your own wandering to his hair and running through it. He was very good and when he sucked you fisted his short strands, Jensen doing it over and over while still working his tongue. 

Your legs squeezed him as your orgasm snuck up on you, sharp and powerful. You moaned when the feeling died down but Jensen didn’t let up for a beat.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” you said, another orgasm tearing through you. You yelped and threw a hand over your mouth, this one even better than the last. You breathed hard as Jensen finally pulled back, smirking as he pulled his hand away from your mouth. 

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself,” he teased.

“I think you short circuited my brain,” you breathed out, staring at the ceiling. You giggled and he joined you, laying a hand over your waist. “How the fuck did you get me to come twice. That’s literally never happened outside of some alone time.”

“You find that groove, you stay in it,” he smirked. “You taste excellent by the way.”

“You’re a fucking dirty boy under that soft little face and I’m kinda super hot for it,” you said. He chuckled and you sat up, staring down at him. “Can I return the favor?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Do you want a condom?”

“You clean?” you asked. He nodded and you smiled. “You okay with me not using one?”

“Yeah. Just don’t expect me to last long.”

You smiled and kissed him before you scooted down the bed. He was hard and leaking a bit of precome when you gently wrapped a hand around the base of him. He tensed up and you flicked your gaze up but he took a deep breath.

“I’m good,” he said. You licked your lips and ducked your head, taking the head of him into your mouth. He breathed harder and you stilled, waiting until he was calmer before you moved your tongue around. You didn’t stroke the rest of him, merely gave him a few teasing touches while you bobbed an inch or two, lightly hollowing your cheeks. He let out soft sighs and quiet grunts that spurred you to take more of him in. You moved lower and faster, swiping your tongue over his head. He started to throb and you sucked hard, Jensen groaning before he came. You pulled off after a moment and swallowed, wiping off your lip with your thumb and sucking it clean. 

“How was that?” you smirked, Jensen throwing his arm over his face. He didn’t seem to be enjoying his post-orgasmic glow though and you tried pulling his arm away. “Hey, you okay? Was it too much?”

“No,” he said, flopping his arm down and staring up at you. “It felt great. I just...I came so fucking early.”

“When’s the last time you had a blowjob?”

“Well over six months. I still-”

“Coming early ain’t a bad thing to me,” you said. “Shit I came after like five minutes which doesn’t happen like, ever. I just care that you had fun.”

“I did,” he said, a smile coming onto his face. “I liked that little under the tip thing you were doing with your tongue.”

“Never met a man that could last longer than a few minutes with that little trick,” you said. You lay down and wrapped your arms around him, Jensen brushing his nose against yours. 

“How many guys you been with? If that’s okay.”

“Three including you,” you shrugged. “Highschool party. The ex which was off and on for a long time. You. You got the nicest dick, that’s for sure.”

He chuckled and you kissed the tip of his nose, Jensen pulling you closer.

“You?”

“Oh I’ve not been with any guys,” he chuckled. 

“Go gentler on the dick than you think you should. They go nuts for it,” you said.

“I will keep that in mind for when it happens,” he laughed. “Pretty much all of my girlfriends in adulthood. Seven or so I’d say.”

“I don’t know why I expected that number to be higher.”

“More than that have tried. I’m not really the hook up guy. Sure I acted like that guy when I was younger but never really was him, you know?”

“You’ve always been sweet. Probably even as a dumb teenage boy, weren’t you.”

“I was a very dumb teenage boy,” he chuckled. “But I didn’t really get in trouble. Flirted with that line once or twice but you know. Teenagers are idiots. I bet you were a good girl, weren’t you.”

“I spent most of my teenage years with my mom sick and then after that I was...I wasn’t really the girl that got involved with that stuff besides some parties.”

“Was it cancer? Your mom?” he asked.

“Radiation poisoning. She’d been accidentally exposed as a little kid on her family’s farm when she got into some supplies she shouldn’t have. Hit her harder later on in life. She’d known since she was a kid that dying young was a strong possibility. It wasn’t easy but I felt kinda better that her first husband Dan was like, maybe waiting for her or some shit. I don’t know. Ray and I used to say that to each other sometimes.”

“Why don’t you talk to Ray anymore?” he asked quietly, playing with a piece of your hair over your shoulder.

“It wasn’t like we had a fight or anything. I just got older, moved out for a nanny job at eighteen. He started to date again and he has this nice little life now with his wife and kids. The idea of a father scared me.”

“My dad’s nice if you ever want to talk to a dad sometime,” he said. He smiled before he cocked his head, his lips parting. “They have no idea I’m dating you.”

“It’s not been that long,” you said.

“I should tell them, before they hear from some tabloid or friend or something,” he said.

“Do you think they’ll have a problem with me?” you asked, his head shaking. “I mean, I’d be leery of me if I were them. I sound like a fucking movie plot. The young nanny gets with the older single dad.”

“My parents want me to be happy again and you make me happy for the first time in a very long time. There’s no way that they couldn’t love you,” he said. You nodded and closed your eyes, covers pulled up over top of the two of you after a few moments. You felt a kiss on your lips and you smiled, inching closer to him. “Thanks. For tonight.”

“You too, Jensen. It was perfect.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

Aftermath

Warnings for: Blood and Injury, biting, drugs

Aftermath

Vanderohe sits in the vault waiting for the turn, arm burning as the city falls over him loud and crashing. He is pissed at himself for getting bit, for ending up in this vault he does not know how to get out of, for not saving Dieter. He was not supposed to make it out of that fight, he knew where it was going when he pushed Dieter behind him, he knew he could not win even if he had hopped a little. He is angry at Dieter too, for not taking his chance, for not letting Vanderohe save him, for instead saving Vanderohe and getting his own life taken by the alpha.

 The locks start clicking, gears shifting inside and Vanderohe rises to his feet alert, ready for a fight, bite wound carefully covered by his scarf. It is a little early for would be rescuers but not for vultures descending on the remains of a decimated city looking to make a profit. He is out of ammo and he dropped his belt leaving him with nothing to defend other than his fists that feel better than they had when he first got tossed in here. If he gets lucky and they do not shoot first, question later he might have a chance of getting out of here.

 Vanderohe blinks as a flash light catches him in the eyes, taking away what little sight he had, making him tense up further as he tries to squint past the spots marring his vision. “I saved you again Mr. Vanderohe” Comes a familiar sing-songy voice that has the tension draining from him, has him blinking harder to get rid of the spots.

 “You’re a fucking idiot.” Vanderohe hisses as his vision clears enough to find Dieter in the low light, moving forward and catching Dieter by the shoulders dragging him close.

“I have to agree.” Dieter says with a weak chuckle, his face where he leans it against Vanderohe’s neck is wet, too much to just be sweat. Vanderohe forces him back, gets a look at his face covered in blood, a big bloody cut from his hairline to his jaw, just a few centimeters in front of his ear. Vanderohe pushes him back a little more and Dieter stumbles, only managing to not land on his ass because Vanderohe keeps him up. “I’m not feeling too well.”

 Vanderohe eases him to sit on the ground, hand on his shoulder keeping him from slumping over when he tries to slide. He takes up the flashlight and really looks at Dieter, makes him meet his eyes and he definitely has a concussion, paler than normal covered in dusty gray from the partial cave in of the ceiling. “You hurt anywhere other than your head?”

 “My back is killing me.” Dieter says it with a little pained smile like he is trying to make a joke to lighten the mood but it just makes Vanderohe frown. He moves around to Dieter’s back carefully keeping a hand on his shoulder, every time he pulls away for even a second the man tries to slump down. Dieter hisses as Vanderohe drags his shirt up and Vanderohe starts cursing up a storm, Dieter’s back is covered in contusions, severe ones of red and purple and black, it is not good, not good at all. “Oh” Dieter breathes out a sharp panicked thing like he knows he is dying and maybe it is Vanderohe who gave it away with his cursing or maybe the way his grip tightens against Dieter’s shoulder like he is trying to keep him anchored to this life.

 Before he can open his mouth to ask or confirm Vanderohe is shushing him in his own world of denial about Dieter’s fate. "It could be worse." Not a lie, it could be, Dieter could already be dead instead of dying. Vanderohe helps him move to his side, making sure he does not just flop over and agitate his injuries more. Dieter groans but goes easy, it is what he has been trying to do since Vanderohe sat him down after all.

 "I'm going to see if I can find anything" To ease your suffering he does not say, he is stopped before he can move away by shaky hands catching his arm and holding on tight. Frightened blue eyes stare up at him imploringly. "I'm not going far, I'll be right back. I'm not leaving." Not yet, not while Dieter is still breathing, he should get out away from whatever they used in the bomb, escape the fall out and any vultures coming to scavenge the remains of the decimated city but the idea of leaving Dieter just makes his gut sour.

 He has to physically uncurl Dieter’s fingers from his arm and that hurts, each finger a stab through his soured gut. "I'm not leaving you." He reassures, smoothing a hand over Dieter’s sweaty bloody brow waiting for the nod before he backs away, flashlight in hand looking for something, anything.

 He moves around the small space, around the debris from the crumbled ceiling finding dead zombies and Maria's corpse. He spares a moment to mourn and close her eyes dully staring at nothing before searching her gear. He makes a noise of triumph as he finds her first aid supplies, finding what he is looking for, after watching so many of their own fall to both zombie and non-zombie deaths they all started keeping a small stash of the good stuff on hand. You never know when someone is going to fall, or get caught in an explosion in unstable places like Vegas, they all kept some for when the kill shot is too hard when a friend is staring at you and you just want to ease their suffering before you inevitably pull the trigger.

 He pockets the kit and starts searching the rest of her for anything he can use, his arm burns as he flips her over and he remembers the bite, he is just as dead as Dieter down here and it gives him an idea as he takes the weapons from her body before laying her flat again. He keeps looking around, flashlight swiveling searching, he spies his saw though the door to the little side room and what looks like a possible way out cut through the thick wall.

 He moves back to Dieter, his groans and whines of pain quieting too much for Vanderohe’s taste and his worry goes up a notch. It has him rushing quickly back over the smaller pile of debris separating the two ends of the hall, the left side completely collapsed. “Dieter” He calls as he moves closer the man too still for his taste “Dieter!” He shouts a little more urgently when he does not get an immediate response.

 Vanderohe kneels down in the rubble and gives Dieter a shake despite his injuries, hopefully those will not matter here soon. Blurry blue eyes crack open with an annoyed mumble in German, slurred and Vanderohe knows he has to act fast if this has any chance of working. “You with me kid?” Dieter gives a small yawn that just leads to him groaning again, flinching and complaining as he shifts and aggravates all of his injuries.

 Vanderohe stills him and waits until he gets those blue eyes on him again “I have a plan, do you trust me?” Vanderohe does not know if this will work, does not know if biting Dieter now will leave him a shambler if it does anything at all but he knows if he does nothing Dieter dies anyway.

 “Of course Mr. Vanderohe.” Dieter offers him a wide bloody grin that just leave Vanderohe even more determined to try and save him, they are already both doomed why not be doomed together instead of separately. Vanderohe pulls the syringe from his pocket taking off the safety bits as Dieter watches, he sets it down long enough to tie his own scarf tightly around Dieter bicep helping him find the vein. 

 “So it’s auf wiedersehen dead after all.” Dieter says as Vanderohe pricks him and pushes the plunger on the syringe down, emptying the syringes contents into Dieter’s vein before removing the needle and tossing it aside as he takes his scarf back.

 “Not if I have anything to say about it.” Vanderohe affirms, getting another bloody smile from Dieter who raises a hand up slowly, smoothing it over the scruff of Vanderoh’s chin cupping his cheek.

 “I was hoping there would be more in this life, an after Vegas.” Dieter admits softly as his eyes wet and there is that pain in Vanderohe’s belly again.

 “There will be.” Vanderohe promises, means it, feels his veins burning with it, arm throbbing where the flesh is torn. He knows Dieter does not understand even as he nods, smile a sad thing as his eyes start drooping closed again. “I’m going to be right there when you wake up.” Vanderohe catches his hand as Dieter loses the battle with staying conscious and brings his wrist up to his mouth.

 Vanderohe looks at Dieter’s pale dirty wrist with a moment of hesitation. Dieter might not want this, Vanderohe probably should have explained his plan before he passed out. Vanderohe frowns, Dieter’s pulse is weak under his fingers and he toys with the thought of letting his life snuff out. He hates the idea, makes his gut sour worse than before and he bites down into the tender flesh of Dieter's wrist, keeps biting until blood gushes in his mouth.

 There is a mumble of complaint from Dieter’s weak bloody mouth, the tiniest of jerk as his eyes crack open. Dieter’s mouth drops open just a touch but if he understands what is happening before his eyes fall shut again Vanderohe does not know. He pulls Dieter’s wrist from his mouth, the imprint of his teeth deep and hard to see as blood wells up, he digs out the first aid kit and dresses the wound, cleaning and pressing the wound along Dieter’s face as well. 

 Vanderohe cannot tell for sure if this is going to work. All he has is a gut feeling to go on an instinct, he hopes he can trust it. The ground makes another great shift above and more of the hall collapses, an aftershock from something somewhere above them collapsing. Vanderohe decides it is time he got them both out of here before they end up entombed. 

 -

 When Dieter wakes three days later his wounds have healed greatly and his eyes are still mostly blue, just a yellow ring around his irises giving away the change, he looks otherwise healthy. Vanderohe is right there leaning over him, the same yellow ring around his own eyes, he knows he has seen his reflection in the mirror of the little shack of the house he got them too after carrying Dieter on his back through the dying city and deserted desert.

 Dieter smiles up at him before his features contort brow pinching as he pulls his arm up, wrists over his eyes, scabbed over bite hard to miss. “You bit me!” Panic is in his voice a high reedy thing as he lets his arm flop back against the bed starting up at Vanderohe waiting for an explanation.

 “You were dying.” Vanderohe points out as he climbs onto the bed a growl to his voice unbidden, a part of the change inescapable, he presses into Dieter’s space, covering him, arms boxing him in on either said as he hovers over him. Vanderohe watches him and knows the moment those words really click, the moment Dieter remembers he was truly dying, when he had thought that fate was inescapable.

 “You saved me.” Dieter says softly with just an undercurrent of the rumble that has taken up residence in Vanderohe’s vocal cords, not as far along in his own change. Vanderohe nods as Dieter reaches a hand up and cups his jaw “What becomes of us now?"

 Vanderohe did not know what would happen when he made the decision to bite Dieter and he still does not know. They are not like the zombies in Vegas not yet at least and maybe they never will be who knows how the radiation from the bomb has affected the virus. Vanderohe does not really care what they are now or what they do, he does not care what happens as long as he has Dieter with him. “We’ll find out together.”

 Dieter nods and slides his free hand up over Vanderohe’s back, tracing over his ribs, his shoulder blade before slowly curling around the back of his neck. Vanderohe waits, eyes watching Dieter’s face, tracking the flick of his pink tongue as it traces over slightly chapped lips before a smile splits them. It is the gentle tug of Dieter’s hand on the back of his neck, the edge of his thumb trailing over Vanderohe’s soft bottom lip that has him letting the rest of his weight drop on to Dieter as he catches his mouth in a kiss. 

[thompsborn]

Can i please get “I know hurts, but you have to stay awake, okay?” With hurt Peter and a really worried Harley 💙💙

(read on ao3)

-

He knows it’s part of the job.

It’s what happens, when someone’s a crime fighting superhero, or an Avenger, or an Avenger in Training, or whatever it is that people want to call it. He knows that the danger comes with it. He’s known for a long time, would be naive to ever try and believe otherwise.

But he’s never been this close to it before.

“Oh god,” Harley says—his voice is shaking almost as badly as his hands are, where he’s got them hovering uselessly. “Oh my god.”

The fight had been close to the tower, is the thing—as in, only a block or two away. When the alarm had gone off in the lab, none of them had been prepared for it, but then Friday had said something including the words, “Green Goblin,” and, “Bombs,” and, “Fire,” and that was all that had mattered, Tony and Peter both suiting up right as Friday tacked on the fact that it seemed to be a team up, that Gobby had apparently brought along some friends.

Harley sometimes thinks about it. Joining them, in a suit that he made a long time ago, that he works on and upgrades as if he’s got plans for what it’ll be for. He thinks about stepping into it and flying off to help them out, but he isn’t ready for it yet. For now, he still works long distance to help out—stays on the comms, gets in contact with first responders, helps use Friday’s scanners and any other tech in the lab to help him get an eye on what’s going on, just to let the team know more, to help out however he can from where he is.

Today, he almost used the suit.

And he would have—if Peter hadn’t been thrown through the window instead.

“We’ve got this,” Tony tells him, sounding out of breath and angry, worry tinging the ends of his words, as he knocks Green Goblin out of the way in order to prevent him from following Peter into the lab through the window. Harley wonders if they really have it at all, but can’t bring himself to ask. “Is Peter alright?”

“I don’t know,” Harley answers honestly, a waver to his tone. The reason he was about to use his own stupid suit is because Gobby’s been targeting Peter the whole fight, like he’s got a personal bone to pick, a grudge to settle. And Peter—the strongest, most capable person Harley has ever met—had stated that he wasn’t going to hurt Gobby, that he wasn’t going to fight back. That he was going to take it.

Well, he took it. He took a lot.

Gingerly, Harley reaches up, peeling Peter’s mask up, up, up, until it’s off completely. He winces at the blood crusted under his crooked nose and dripping from his busted lip, but sighs in relief when bleary brown eyes blink at him. “Hey,” he murmurs. “How’re you feelin’?”

Peter inhales sharply, and lets the air out with a low whine of pain. Harley can’t blame him in the slightest—there’s more rips and tears in his suit now than there are in the shredded remains of his homemade one that he still has, the one that had the Vulture’s metal talons rip through the cloth just to dig into his skin. It would be impressive if it didn’t mean each and every mark on the suit signifies pain underneath.

“Well,” Harley says, a waver to his words but a forced smile on his face. “You look great.”

It makes the airiest of laughs push past Peter’s lips, and he offers Harley a dazed, lopsided little grin. There’s blood on his teeth. “Thanks,” he rasps, wincing slightly. Before Harley can do much more than convulsively swallow back the bile that rises in his throat (his heart coming up with it), Peter suddenly sobers up, and he looks dead serious—not in pain, not dazed, but firm. He reaches forward and grips onto Harley’s shirt, leaves bloody streaks where the glove of his suit has been burned away and the skin beneath has been burned with it, and he says, “Harley, they—they can’t hurt him.”

“Who?” Harley asks, confused.

“Green Goblin,” Peter breathes, shifting his eyes until he’s looking out the window he was thrown through, features strained. “It’s not… I’ve been hiding a lot, about—about that, ‘cause he asked me to and he’s my best friend and—”

Harley furrows his brow. “Wait, wait—what? Back up, Pete. Hiding what? Who asked?”

Peter looks back at Harley, and mixed with the blood and the bruises is a meek sort of guilt. “Harry,” he says. “The Goblin, it—it’s his dad, Harls. It’s Norman. Or, it was, and we—he didn’t want his dad to die like this, but he wanted justice, so we were gathering evidence, everything we could, so we could turn it in and get him arrested, and I wanted—I—I wanted to tell you guys but you know how complicated Harry’s feelings about his dad are and I couldn’t break his trust once he asked me not to and we were so c-close to being able to t-turn him in but then he fuh-found out and—and—”

Harley carefully cups Peter’s face in his hands, being sure to avoid any scrapes and bruises encompassing the skin there. “Breathe, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re still hurt. Don’t push yourself just to tell me this. Take a breath.”

But Peter just shakes his head, sounding urgent as he continues with, “No, you d-don’t—he found out! He—He’s got c-contacts, I don’t know who with, but there’s—there’s a way to control people, and it sounds insane and I know it does but—but—but last week the Goblin showed up, right? And I confronted him but it wasn’t Norman, it was Harry, and he was fighting me and while he was fighting me he said he didn’t want to do it, and—and I don’t know how Norman’s doing it but he’s got Harry under his contol and—and it’s him, Harley! Out there, right now, in that suit that everyone is fighting against—that’s our friend in there, and we… we gotta help him, we have to… we…”

“Peter?” Harley lightly taps his cheek when he sees Peter’s lashes start to flutter, the tension in his body bleeding out, just a bit, leaving him a little bit more limp where he lays on the ground. “Peter,” Harley says again, trying not to let his fear tint his voice too much. “Hey—”

“Tell them,” Peter murmurs, grip on Harley’s shirt starting to go a little weak. “T-Tell ‘em that ‘s ‘arry. Can’t hurt ‘im. You gotta tell ‘em.”

Harley sucks in a shaky breath and tries to compose himself a bit. Knowing Peter as well as he does, it’s not worth insisting reevaluating priorities right now—his stubborn ass boyfriend will deny help until either getting what he’s asked for or falling unconscious, whichever comes first, and with the injuries he has (the ones that Harley can see; who even knows what’s hidden beneath the suit, what bones have been broken and muscles have been torn?) falling unconscious isn’t an option until someone in the Medbay says it’s safe. Because of this, Harley just nods once, reluctantly leaning back a bit in order to address the comms, knowing Friday automatically disconnects and reconnects when it’s clearly necessary. “Guys,” he says into the wave of sound that greets him, overlapping voices and background fighting noise clashing together.

Instantly, the voices go hush. “Harley?” Tony sounds worried already, likely expecting an update on Peter and fearing the worst.

“Goblin,” Harley tells him. “Green Goblin. Peter said—he said it was Norman, and him and Harry were working together to get evidence and get him arrested, but Norman found out. He says that Norman’s got him under some kind of control now, somehow. Like, he’s literally controlling him. Like mind control, I think. The point is, it’s Harry in the suit.”

Sam speaks up, sounding equal parts skeptical and resigned. “Did you say mind control?”

Before Harley can snap at him, Natasha speaks up, telling them all, “Trust me, it’s out there. Unless someone else found a way to do it, I’m assuming this is something left behind from the Red Room—maybe someone found out how she did it, or… I don’t know. I’ll find out how Norman got his hands on it later, but the good news is, as long as it’s the same stuff, I can get my hands on some antidote. He’ll be okay.”

“Fucking antidote?” Sam repeats. “Nat, what the fuck? When did you learn about mind control? What does that have to do with the Red Room? Why do none of us know this?”

Sounding beyond amused, Nat casually says, “Have I mentioned that I have a sister?”

“Oh my god,” Tony murmurs. “Okay, shut up, we can talk about—all of that after this is over. For now—message received, Harley. We’ll try to just knock him down or something so that we can bring him into the tower and have Nat do whatever it is she just said she can do. For now, you worry about Peter. Is he okay?”

Harley looks at Peter, his breath hitching. “Maybe,” he answers. “He refused to let me help him until after I told you guys to not hurt Harry. I’ll keep you updated, though.”

“Sounds like him,” Tony chuckles. “Focus on him and you, don’t worry about updates. Friday can keep me in the loop. You’ve got this, kid.”

The comms disconnect then—Tony’s doing, no doubt, in the hopes of helping Harley from getting distracted by the battle. Harley gets why, but the sudden silence that overcomes the room is startling. For a moment, he freezes.

“Thank you,” Peter breathes, shattering the quiet—and then he promplty blacks out.

“Shit!” Harley leans forward, eyes going wide as his hands, once again, hover uselessly in the air, unsure of what to do. He has to swallow back the lump forming in his throat, and finally settles on checking Peter’s pulse—irregular, and a bit weak, but still there—and trying to wake him up as he asks, “Friday, where’s Doctor Cho? Or—Or Bruce, or fucking Stephen, or—where the hell is an actual doctor?!”

He taps at Peter’s cheek, cautiously shakes his shoulder, not wanting to agitate his wounds or cause any pain, but needing him to wake up. There’s movement behind Peter’s eyelids, but they don’t open, not quite yet. “Doctor Cho is currently at the compound, as well as Mister Banner. They are getting ready to leave for the tower to assist in post battle injuries, but will not arrive for a minimum of thirty six minutes. Contacting Doctor Strange now.”

Okay. That’s something. Harley tries to let himself relax, but it just won’t work—not when Peter is splayed out on the floor in front of him, bleeding and broken and not waking up—

“C’mon, baby,” Harley murmurs, ignoring the waver in his words. “Come on. Wake up.”

It looks pointless—hopeless, almost—but, after a moment, Peter sucks in a sharp breath and his eyes flutter, just a bit. His eyes are glazed over and unfocused, barely even parted at all, but he’s awake and murmuring unintelligible nonsensical sounds that don’t seem to equate into actual words.

Harley breaks out into a grin—one that doesn’t last too long, but the relief is flooding. He moves over his hands until he’s cupping Peter’s face gingerly in his palms. “Hey,” he says, breathes it, really, so much air to his voice that it’s a miracle he’s making any sound at all. “Hey, Pete, look—look at me, honey. Can you look at me? I’m gonna get some help, but until they get here, I need you to try and look at me, okay?”

“Mm.” Peter’s head rolls towards the sound of Harley’s voice, blinks more like little flutters of his lashes as he furrows his brows, mouth twisted up in a pained grimace. “Wh…?”

Progress. Good. “Hi, baby,” Harley whispers, thumbs brushing over the apples of Peter’s cheeks. “You in there? Can you hear me?”

There’s a moment where he gets no response, but, eventually, Peter lifts his chin in a barely noticable nod, and then lowers it to turn his cheek into Harley’s palms. “H’rley?”

“I’m right here, honey. I’ve got you.” Tears burn the backs of Harley’s eyes, well up and threaten to roll down his cheeks. He blinks them away in order to keep his vision clear. “Friday?”

Instantly, Friday responds, telling him, “Still attempting contact with Doctor Strange. I have managed to reach Wong, who has assured me he is getting my message through. Until then, I recommend keeping Mr. Parker awake and trying to slow the bleeding from his abdomen.”

Harley’s gaze flickers down, and he bites back a curse as he notices that Friday’s got a point. While Peter’s enhancements, specifically his healing, makes it possible for him to survive a much larger blood loss than the average person, that doesn’t mean it’s any less worrying to see that there’s a slight puddle beginning to form beneath him. Especially under his midsection, where a large gash across his abdomen is sluggishly yet steadily dripping .

It’s going to suck, putting pressure on a behemoth of an injury like that—Harley has to even out his breathing from just the thought of how much pain it’ll add to the agony Peter is already in—but he has to do it. If he doesn’t, he risks Peter not lasting long enough for Stephen to get here, and Stephen is their only hope.

“Okay,” he mumbles, looking back up at Peter’s pale features, trying for a shaky smile. “Alright, baby, we—we’re gonna have to pull through this next part together, okay? It’s gonna suck, but I’m gonna be right here the whole time.”

Peter looks confused, trying to process Harley’s words and struggling to blink his eyes into focus. “‘Kay,” he slurs out blearily.

Harley reluctantly pulls back his hands, being quick to yank his sweatshirt over his head, balling it up in his grasp and then reaching over with one hand to cup Peter’s face again, the other poised and prepared. “Ready, Pete?”

“Mhm.” It’s clear Peter still isn’t quite sure about what Harley is saying, but he’s agreeing anyway, and—shit, Harley loves him.

Swallowing roughly, Harley nods, just once, and steels his nerves, and presses the hoodie down.

As soon as there’s pressure against the wound, Peter gasps—a horrible, horrible sound, strangled with an agonizing cry, his eyes snapping fully open with clarity shining in them, no longer fogged over and dazed. His back rises off the floor, body instinctively trying to curl in on itself, hands scrabbling to weakly push Harley and the sweatshirt away.

“Hey, hey, hey!” There’s an urgency to Harley’s tone that makes his words come out in a strained sort of rasp. “Peter, honey, you—you gotta calm down, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I gotta slow the bleeding. It’s okay.”

His words seem to help, or the sudden pain spurred on a rush of adrenaline that’s fading as quickly as it came , or perhaps some combination of the two—Harley isn’t sure what it is, exactly, but Peter collapses back onto the floor with a whimper in the back of his throat. “Harley,” he murmurs—barely coherent, words slurring together. “Harley… ‘m tired.”

His eyelids are fluttering. Harley panics. “No,” he says. “No, no, baby, you—you gotta keep those eyes open for me, alright? I’m so sorry, honey, and I—I know it hurts, but you have to stay awake, okay? Stephen will be here soon, and he’ll fix you up, but you gotta—you—”

Peter’s eyes fall shut. Harley sobs.

“I still need to—t-to tell you that I love you!” Peter’s chest stutters with every every rise, with every fall. “We gotta—we have to finish college, Pete, and—and get an apartment together, and grow up all the way, okay? And one of us still has to propose one day, and—and—and we still need to h-have a wedding, where we make fun of Tony for crying so much, but—but it’s out of love, so it’s okay, and—we could have kids, too, Pete! You have to—you have to make it, ‘cause there’s so much left for us, for—for you, and I can’t—baby, please open your eyes, please—”

A second sob bubbles up from the center of his chest when the only response he gets is another stuttered breath. He tries to remind himself that at least that means Peter is still breathing, just in time for Friday to speak up, softspoken as she says, “My message has officially reached Doctor Strange. ETA should be any second now. Boss has been informed.”

Only a moment later, there’s an orange glow from behind him, but Harley doesn’t look, too busy keeping the pressure steady and firm against Peter’s abdomen with one hand, the other now pressed to Peter’s pulse on his neck to assure himself that his heart is beating—his own breaths uneven and choked off as he cries.

A hand lands on his shoulder. “You did good, Harley,” Stephen tells him gently. “Let me take it from here, alright?”

He doesn’t want to let Peter go, but he knows he has to, if he wants to make sure Peter makes it out of this alive. Body trembling, he pulls his hands away, doesn’t stand up (he isn’t sure if he could, with his legs feeling so weak) but manages to scramble back a few feet to give Stephen enough room. “Is he—is he—?”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Stephen assures him, already creating another portal with one hand, using the other to lift Peter off the ground, his Cloak moving over quickly to aid in levitating him. “And I’m good at what I do.”

He leaves with that, disappearing through the portal with Peter—and Harley remains where he is, sitting on the concrete floor of the lab, hands covered in his boyfriend’s blood, sobbing.

Outside, the fight goes on.

In here, the world stops turning.

—

—

—

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, or how much time has passed. He doesn’t know if the fight is over, if they got Harry, is anyone else got hurt. He doesn’t know anything, not for what feels like hours. He just sits, head bowed, face buried in his arms, uncontrollably shaking.

Inside his mind is a jumbled up mess. Part of him can’t stop picturing it—Peter, battered and bleeding out right in front of him. Part of him keeps picturing the future he had been blubbering about, forms images in his head on the two of them at their ESU graduation together, getting the keys for the apartment that they refuse to let Tony help them pay for, maybe bringing in a pet or two, probably alleyway strays that Peter finds on patrol. A ring, not horrendously expensive but still undoubtedly perfect and special, and a wedding, small and wonderful.

Kids. God, he could have kids one day, and Peter could be the guy he has them with.

If Peter makes it out alive.

A shuddering breath wracks his frame, body trembling at the idea of Peter doing anything but. He’s so caught up in all of this, in these two conflicting trains of thought, that he doesn’t hear the door to the lab open, or the footsteps that cautiously approach. It isn’t until a gentle hand settles on his knee that he even realizes he’s no longer alone, and even then, he doesn’t lift his head until he hears a shaky, “Harley?”

It isn’t Tony, or Rhodey, or Sam, or Stephen—it isn’t anyone that Harley would have expected to be the one to come in here right now—but, when Harley looks up, bleary and bloodshot eyes widening a bit, he isn’t all that surprised.

Harry is kneeling in front of his, looking a little bit worse for wear. There’s an abundance of scrapes and bruises scattered about his face, the knuckles on the hand resting on Harley’s knee busted open and an angry looking red. He’s got on the light grey sweatpants and the white cotton shirt that are stocked up in the Med Bay, but the clothes are all rumpled and askew. He looks tired, and heavy, and sad. But, when he sees Harley looking at him, he tries for a smile. “Hey. How you feeling, man?”

“Like shit,” Harley rasps, bring up a hand to scrub at the sticky dried tear tracks on his cheeks, only to freeze just before his hand can come in contact with his face, remembering the smears of dried blood coating his skin. His eyes water at the reminder, but he blinks it away, dropping his hand and clearing his throat. He eyes Harry, frowning. “What about you? Pete… he, uh—he said Norman was controlling you…?”

Huffing out something that’s a bit too hollow and bitter to really be a laugh, Harry nods, looking away with a smile that’s so twisted it looks more like a grimace. “Yeah,” he says. “I still don’t really know what it was, or how he did it, but—yeah. Natasha got me free of it, though, and she said, uh—she has a sister, I guess, who went through the whole… mind control, or whatever the hell that was, so she’s gonna get ahold of her and have her—I don’t know, visit, or something? I think Nat just wants me to talk to someone who knows what it feels like. But…”

He trails off, and Harley—Harley sees, suddenly, how stricken and haunted Harry truly looks.

“But I don’t want to talk about it,” he decidedly says a moment later, eyes downcast. “Not yet. Or ever, really. I mean, how do you even try to talk about the fact that your own father just used some kind of mind control to force you into trying to kill your own best friend, right?”

The way that Harley’s stomach twists and turns on itself makes him swallow back bile. “Is he…”

Harry glances back up at Harley, one side of his lips twitching up. “He’ll make it.” The barely there smile fades into a grimace, and he looks back down. “No thanks to me, of course.”

“I…” Harley isn’t sure what he wants to start with—the relief of knowing that Peter is going to pull through, the irrational anger within him that makes him want to blame Harry for it, the logical majority of him knowing that Harry isn’t the one to blame, that Harry has been traumatized by what just happened and is as much a victim as Peter, if not more so. He settles on murmuring, “It’s not your fault.”

“My hands,” Harry counters. “I did it to him.”

Harley shakes his head, reaches out—pauses, when he sees the dried blood flaking off of his skin, but then—settles his hand on Harry’s shoulder anyway. “Your dad did it,” he corrects. “He used you like a puppet, and that isn’t on you. Peter won’t blame you. I don’t, either.”

“You should,” Harry says bitterly. “I mean, Pete wanted us to tell you guys about it all—about my dad being Green Goblin, when we found out, but I—I was so stupid to think we could do it by ourselves, and so selfish, asking him to keep it between us, all because me and my fucking daddy issues decided it was better that way. Look at where it got us. Where it got him.”

“If you had any sort of idea,” Harley starts, “that anything like this could have happened, would you have made the same choices you made?”

Harry looks offended. “Of course not!”

Harley shrugs. “Then I don’t think you’re the bad guy here. Now, before either of us sinks deeper into our own little depressive spirals here, I think—I think I wanna go see him.”

But that’s not it, is it?

“Need to,” he corrects. “I need to see him.”

Though he still looks conflicted, Harry offers him a nod and gets to his feet, hand outstretched to help Harley stand. “Let’s go.”

—

—

—

There’s a lot of bandages, and bruises, and waxy pale skin. Harley falters in the door, taking the sight of it all in, and then steps forward, again, and again, until he’s falling into the chair situation by the head of the bed heavily.

“I, uh…” Harry trails off, still standing in the doorway. It’s hard for Harley to rip his eyes away and look over, but he does when he registers the waver in Harry’s voice, and finds that the guy is staring intently down at the floor with a furrow to his brows. “I can’t—I can’t be in here. I know you’re right, logically, that it isn’t really my fault, but I was—I remember causing… all of this, okay? Even if I wasn’t in control, I still remember, and I don’t think I can—y’know?”

Be in this room, Harley knows is what Harry’s trying to say. He can’t be here and see Peter like this, when he can so vividly remember his hands causing these wounds, control or no control. Harley swallows roughly and nods, just once. “Where are you gonna go, then? Because I don’t think being alone is good for you right now. Like… I don’t know. Call Flash, at least. He’ll rush over to keep you company and make sure you’re okay. I think you might need that.”

Harry’s eyes flicker up, barely glancing over Peter with a flinch before settling his gaze on Harley. “I will,” he assures. “I’ll call him.”

“I’m gonna ask Friday in twenty minutes if you have yet,” Harley warns. “And if you haven’t, I’m gettin’ ahold of him myself. Understood?”

A half hearted partially there smile punctuated by an eye roll. “Yeah, I got it, you mother hen.”

“Good,” Harley says, nodding.

Moments later, Harry is gone.

Harley turns, slowly but surely, to face Peter once again. It causes a pang in his chest, seeing his boyfriend so beaten down, attached to various machines and IV’s, all there to keep him stabilized, but he finds comfort in the rhythmic beeping that signifies every beat of Peter’s heart, reaches out to hold one of his hands in both of his own, careful and gentle and loving.

Because he loves him. Because Peter is everything, and Harley is in love with him.

“When you wake up, I’m gonna tell you,” Harley whispers, thumb lightly stroking over Peter’s bruised knuckles. “And I’m gonna tell you that I’m in this for the long haul, okay? And if you don’t feel the same, or just aren’t ready to say it back, then that’s okay, ‘cause I just wanna make sure you never get hurt like this without knowin’ how much you mean to me. Sound like a plan?”

Peter’s eyes move beneath his eyelids, his chest rising and falling, fingers flexing, just barely, against Harley’s palms.

Harley beams, eyes watering. “Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Definitely a plan.”

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 6

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black-furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 6: And So It Begins

“I’m back,” MK tiredly said as he dragged his form out of the blazing sun and into the cool restaurant, “orders delivered, traffic long and people angry, but food is delivered.”

“Great, but you still have another delivery,” Pigsy replied as his back was turned.

“Just one,” he grinned, “compared to the other ten this will be a piece-,”

He slammed down 30 orders down in front of him on the already bustling counter.

“Of cake,” he deflated as he saw the monumental amount of food. “What the-Are we feeding an entire town?!”

“Close. Party, though I should have charged their ungrateful asses extra for the rush order,” he growled out, “who gives an hour warning Huh?!”

“Apparently them,” he groaned as he picked up and carried the whole load into the car.

“And when you get back, there are a dozen more orders to take care of,” Pigsy called out.

“Got it bossman,” he yelled out, then he slammed the door closed and he sat up straight with a grin, “alright this won’t be so bad.”

“BEEF? BEEF?!! I WANTED MISO! GET IT RIGHT YOU STUPID DRIVER! The voice yelled out at MK as the two stood at the doorway.

“I’m sorry but-,” he winced as he was cut off by the rude woman screech.

“You better be sorry! I could have your job for this big of a screw up! You are nothing!”

“Technically I just delivered your food,” he whispered to himself.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing!” He put on his best service smile, “I’m very sorry about this, how about I take your food back so that I can-.”

Splat

MK watched as the woman threw down her food in a fit of rage.

“There’s your damn food, now pick it up and get me a new one,” she spat out.

MK looked down at the pile of food that Pigsy put his sweat and blood into slowly dripping off the stone stairs. He took a deep breath as he put his hand in his pocket to subtly squeeze the stress ball and looked at the woman.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” he deadpans and walks back to the car.

“What?!”

“Also,” he rolled down his window when he got in the car, “if you would like to order for a party, next time call ahead of time.” He then quickly drove off until he could no longer hear the yells of the angry woman.

He rode until he reached the grocery store, parked at the edges of the lot where there were barely any cars, unbuckled his seat belt, and laid his head on top of the wheel.

“I. Hate. People. Sometimes.” He lightly banged his head with each word then he leaned back and took out the ball and squeezed it a few times. “I really do.”

He likes to think of himself as a pretty optimistic person, after having his whole life turned around and learning things can get better, he likes to think that the world can be good. But days like these, people like those, make him really put that side of him to the test and today he very much failed that. He should be glad that he didn’t go off on her, like what Pigsy did when some dude tried to scam him or Mei when she is feeling very competitive over some a-holes, but at the same time that sounds amazing.

He squeezed the ball a little tighter.

“I really want to see Dad right now,” he muttered to himself. It would be so easy, just one yell to him and he would be over in less than a second. “I really want him right now…but I made a promise to myself that I would do this without him.”

So he took a deep breath, lifted his head, put on his music, put away his rainbow stress ball, and slowly began his drive back to Pigsy restaurant.

It was during that drive back that he got a call, “Hello?”

“Hey MK, it’s me,” he stopped as he heard Pigsy's voice, he had a feeling he knows what this is about.

“Heyyy Pigsy, I’m almost at the store,” he tried and failed, to sound casual.

“I just got off a call with a very rude customer who said that you threw down her food when she was being oh so kind,” he bluntly said, “even mentioned about assaulting her.”

“That is so not how any of that went down!” He immediately said, “she yelled at me for saying that I made her food wrong and I told her that it can be redone, but she decided to instead throw down all of that food herself and told me to clean it up! Who does that?! And all of this was after she put her hand all through that food, which is so gross by the way, I mean other people are eating that, cause I know she ain’t-,” he was cut off by Pigsy chuckles.

“You don’t need to explain anything, I know you for far too long to even think that you would put too much salt in someone's food let alone throwing it down on the ground.”

“Oh,” he calmed down as he released the tension from the wheel, “that’s good.”

“Yeah, I told it to her straight just exactly how I felt about her being an utter ass to not only myself but my employees. Let’s just say that she was not happy about that and threaten to sue,” he could almost hear him shrug.

“What no!” He tried to stand up, only to realize he was still in the car and he was still buckled up. “I am so sorry!”

“Don’t be, cause jokes on her the world we live in has become pretty up to date with security and, more importantly, security cameras,” he said with a grin, “I don’t think she’s gonna get a single cent when everything that went down was all on video.”

MK let a smile spread across his face, bless technology and all its glory. “That’s good.”

“It sure is. Do you want to take a breather when you come back? I know that woman was more than a handful that what you're used to,” he asked in concern.

“Nope,” he cheerfully said, “I am A-Ok! Just get those next orders ready for me so I can deliver!”

“Well if you're certain, get your ass back here on the double,” he said, but the teenager could tell it was more playful, “we got orders waiting to be delivered.”

“On my way!” He saluted to no one and hung up. “Alright! Let’s get a move on!”

‘Make sure to add the cohesive before the mixing,’ the voice silently thought to himself.

“It would be so easy just to make that jump, hell my youngest kit sister can make that and she’s not even a month old,” a voice bragged.

‘Combine the Feins roots with the Elia petals first to dilute the solution.’

“All I’m saying is that if you try to jump off the cliff of perils then I sure as hell am not catching you,” another voice deadpanned.

“Nahhh I would be fine.”

‘…dice the Oran berries and Pecha then add when the next stage is ready.’

“If you count being splattered into tiny little pieces fine, then, by all means, go ahead,” another voice sighed.

‘Make sure that the color is a deep orange hue and not dark yellow, that can-,’

“Ye o little faith.”

“No, you are of little sanity. Even my younger gremlins know better,” she shot back.

‘That can easily violate the substance,’

“But they don’t have the certain skills like I do,” they bragged.

‘…leading to a-,’

“It still wouldn’t be a wise thing to do,” a deep voice pointed out.

‘Leads to a-,’ his vial cracked in his hands as he was once again interrupted.

“No, but it would be fun-.”

“I swear,” everyone turned to face the irritated monkey, “to all things good in this world and the next, if you dumbasses don’t shut the fuck up in the next five seconds I will make the Piñata fiasco at the Boiling Isles look like a god damn nap compared to what I’m gonna do to you.”

“Sorry, were we disturbing you,” Yanyu cheekily said.

“You little-”

“Awwww I’m soo sorry,” Daiyu mocked.

“I swear-”

“We didn’t mean to interrupt your monologue,” Minsheng smirked, “you know it kinda reminds me of Flicker when you do that.”

“That’s it!” He slammed down his ingredients, opened his drawers, and took out a roll of duct tape, “come here you little bastards!” He yelled out as he began to chase down the three annoyances.

“Same as usual,” Bohai sighed as he drank his tea.

“One would think not to mess with Mac when he’s like this,” Ahmed commented.

“Especially when he’s in his mood.”

“Especially that.”

“Now shut it,” he proudly said as he sat on top of his third victim.

“Hey hey!” Daiyu struggled to break free, “we were trying to lighten your mood fuzzball.”

“By annoying the shit out of me,” he growled as he taped her beak shut. “Fat chance, anyone else,” he looks over to his other two remaking friends.

“I say nothing,” the jellyfish put his tentacles up in surrender.

“While they may have been a bit well-,”

“Fucking annoying,” the monkey bluntly said.

“Yes that, they did have a purpose to their madness,” the lion pointed out.

“What? What could they possibly want badly enough to annoy the absolute fuck out of me?!”

“You have empty bird nest syndrome.”

“…what?”

“I said-”

“I heard you the first time!” Macaque interrupted, “I do not have that! I am use to MK not being home day to day, so why the hell would you thi-,”

“For days,” Yanyu said once she ripped the tape off her mouth, “but not for longer than a week.”

“Same difference!”

“Nah pal it ain’t,” the bunny demon said as they chewed on their own tape, “I can see it as bright as day, you have been extra moody and hella sad these past couple of days. It’s just like mum, whenever one decides to leave the warren, she gets all glum and broody for days.”

“I am not broody!” His tail swished violently.

“But you do miss him,” Ahmed stated.

“I don’t-”

“And it’s okay if you do.”

“I don’t miss him, I can visit anytime,” he stated.

“You still miss him being there, being next to you,” the lone human gave his ponytail a playful tug and sat next to Mac, who was still sitting on top of the tied-up vulture. “Take it from a big sister, when Shu moved out to live in the dorms I was so happy for him, but as time went on I noticed that I didn’t hear his off pitch singing in the afternoon nor did I hear his voice amongst my gremlins over who gets the last brownie. I didn’t miss him, hell I could video chat with him anytime, but I missed his presence, you know.”

Macaque just gave her a hard look before sighing, “He used to hum to himself whenever he was bored,” he admitted as he got off his friend and slumped down next to her.

Yanyu just patted his shoulder as he continued.

“I know I can just visit him, but my kid is growing up, he’s learning to stand on his own and he should have his own life separate from me.”

“Yeah imma stop you there,” Sheng rolled his eyes, “you are being one over dramatic monkey right now if you think that just because he’s doing his own thing, doesn’t mean that he doesn't have time for you. Hell, you are the one demon he will always have time for no matter what.”

“But-”

“Ain’t no buts about it fuzzbrain,” Daiyu squawked out once she feared the tape off, “your hatching adores the shit out of you and if you don’t think he won’t spend time with you then you are dead wrong.”

“He should have that time to himself, he is just starting out all on his own…without me…,” he slumped in depression, but quickly shot up due to a shocking touch, “OW! FUCKING WHY BOHAI!”

“You're being an idiot,” he smugly said as he lowered his tendril.

“Thanks,” Yanyu nodded to him, “and he’s right. I know that this whole thing won’t end with this so here’s what we’re gonna do. The six of us are going to go to Qián city.”

“…why the fuck are we going to the underwater city of Shanghai?” He incredulously looked at her.

“Cause you seriously need to relax.”

“I don’t-”

“You spent most of your time in the garden or prepping medicine that you don’t need,” Ahmed calmly said as he cleaned up the mess that Mac made.

“…you may have a point, but I don’t really feel like I should leave, what if MK or Mei happens to call?” He said.

“Well one, I know damn well that your hearing exceeds that city's borders,” Sheng points out.

“Okay true.”

“And second, we have the beauty of phones, which allows people to fall from far away,” Yanyu slowly told him as if he was a child, “I taught you this in one of our first lessons.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered, “but I don’t-”

“You either go willingly or Kit Kat over here is going to drag you,” she pointed to Ahmed.

“He wouldn’t-”

“I really would,” he had to stop a smile at the utter betrayal in the monkey's face.

“I could beat your ass again,” he grumbled.

“You very well could,” he agreed, “but then you would also have to go against everyone else and they will happily drag both you and me off.”

“Fine!” He throws his hand in the air.

“Got ‘em!” Sheng high-fived Yanyu.

“Told you he would cave in eventually,” the vulture grinned.

“But we are going there to strictly relax, that means no explosions, arsons, paralyzing, hacking, or prison riots.”

“What about stealing and graffitiing,” the bluenette raised her hand.

“If there assholes, be my fucking guest, but your ass better not get caught.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be more stealthy than sneaking into the police hub to get rid of the evidence,” she cockily stated.

“What?”

“What.”

“…you know what the less I know the better.”

“Good choice, so let’s get packing!” She excitedly said as she, Daiyu, Minsheng, and Bohai exited the infirmary.

“So are you gonna tell them that the game dealers there are more than likely to scam them before or after they get robbed?” Ahmed curiously asked.

“After, they need a lesson on not annoying the fuck out of me when I’m working,” he gave a mischievous grin.

“Quite rude of you,” he grinned.

“But you're smiling too.”

Ahmed chuckled lightly as the two left the infirmary.

It was a quiet day at the restaurant, the dinner rush had just ended and all that was really left to do was wait for the store to close and clean up what’s left. The only customers inside were Mei and Tang, both of whom have long since finished eating and are currently just chatting, or laying down, with MK over the counter.

“So how’re your online classes treating you?” Mei asked.

“Great!” He perked up as he took his eyes off the creepy butterfly in the corner of the restaurant, “I’m just about finished with my general study.”

“Ooo, does that mean you finally have a major in mind,” Mei leaned in.

“No I do not.” He cheerfully stated.

All of them, including Pigsy who was listening in, facepalmed.

“Mkkk,” the nineteen year old groaned.

“I knowww,” he slumped down, “but it’s hard deciding what to do for the rest of your life.”

“Well that is okay,” the historian softly said, “you're still young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Besides, college is not for everyone.”

“Yeahhh, so how’re your classes going Mei Mei?” MK turned to his friend, “I know you been taking some of the engineering courses.”

“Ugghhh, don’t get me started,” she slumped down in her seat, “I love it, but that is seriously kicking my ass right now. If I didn’t like to make sweet ass rides then I would have totally just dropped it.”

“Let me guess, for racing,” MK said as he sprayed down the counter.

“Duh, I’m gonna be so fast that when they're only halfway, I've already passed that finish line baby!” Mei screamed.

“Shhhhh,” Tang hushed as he held his head against the cool counter, “not so loud please.”

“You okay there Tang?” Pigsy asked as he moved closer to his friend, “you’ve been like that ever since you got in.”

“Yeah, it’s just this headache has been killing me and my usual medicine isn’t doing a thing,” sighed as he leaned into the warm hand touching his head.

“Doesn’t seem like you have a fever at least,” the pig mutters.

“Do you have any coughing, sneezing, nausea, or any other symptoms?” MK curiously asked as he sat up.

“I have been feeling a bit nauseous,” he murmured.

“Sharp ringing in your ears on and off?”

“Yesss,” he groaned out.

“Hmm hold on,” MK quickly went upstairs, everyone heard faint shuffling noises before he came back down as fast as he was carrying a small baggie, “Can I use your stove and teapot?”

“Go right ahead,” Pigsy agreed.

MK gave a quick smile and they all watched him make a pot of tea, but instead of teabags, he added some of the plants that were inside the bag.

“Here you go,” MK presented the tea to the historian once it was done.

Tang hesitated for a moment before accepting the cup, “…what is it?”

“Medicine. Drink,” he gave him a wide-eyed look.

“...alright,” he shrugged his shoulders and joked, “if this kills me, just burn my corpse.”

“Drink,” MK commanded once more.

Tang drank his tea instead of retorting back and his eyes widen at the taste of it.

“Are ya dead?” Mei asked.

“Feel the poison seeping in,” the pig demon joked.

“This is really good,” he complimented MK and he began to drink more.

“Thanks, it’s Dad’s special recipe diluted when it comes to dealing with migraines,” he happily announced.

“Diluted? I can already feel my migraine already going away, how bad is his if this is diluted?” Tang asked with much concern.

MK grimace as he shared a look with Mei. He can’t help the memories all filtering in of his father lying in bed clutching onto the headphones as it tightly covered all six of his ears. There is never a pattern to when this happens, but he knew to keep a pot of tea hot and a bowl of mango or other non-citrusy fruit available on those days.

“It’s pretty bad,” was all he said.

“Oh,” both adults shared a look before Tang put on a grin as he slurped down his tea, “well this really works, what in it?”

“It’s Feverfew Tea with some Pika berries,” said MK.

“I’ve heard of Feverfew, but I don’t think Pika rings a bell,” Pigsy hummed totally missing Mei’s shocked face.

“Why I never-,”

“No, it’s not pokemon,” MK quickly shut that down before she got to her rant.

‘’Awww,” she deflated.

“It’s from Kunlun peak.”

Tang immediately choked on his tea, “AK! Did you just say Kunlun peak!”

“Yep!”

“What’s so special about that,” she glumly asks.

“Mount Kunlun is known to be a mythical mountain that hikers and historians have been searching for centuries,” Tang began, “It’s said to hold both mythical animals and plants, each having extraordinary potential within them as even the Gods from above go down there for certain herbs and items needed for their potions. It just lays there on top of the highest peak, but no person nor demon has ever had a straight map leading there and you’re telling me your Dad, Macaque, went there?!”

“He goes there a few times a year,” the teenager proudly says.

He looks down at his tea with sparkles in his eyes, “I’m drinking magic tea made from the legendary mountain,” he gave a big slurp as he inhaled it and stood up.

Pigsy eyed the drink, neither teenager knew if it was in envy or jealousy.

“But I’m impressed MK,” Mei playfully punched his shoulder, “look at you being all smart about medicine.”

“Well I hear Dad mutter on and on about different types of herbs and their properties on a day to day basis, that it eventually gets stuck in my head you know,” he joked then he paused as an interesting thought occurred to him, “wait a moment.”

They all watch MK have a silent conversation to himself, complete with waving hands, multiple facial expressions, draw a few sketches on his notepad, and finish with a final glow of his eyes as he leaped up in the air.

“That’s it!”

“What’s it?” The owner said.

“Why didn’t I think of this before!”

“Think of what before?” The historian asked.

“It was seriously in front of me this entire time!”

“MK, I swear if you don’t tell us what’s up right now I am not liable to my next actions,” Mei threatened.

“I can be a Doctor!” He leaned forward in excitement, “or at least something along those lines!”

“You can be pop’s assistant!” Mei started to get excited alongside him, “how the hell did I not think of it either?!”

“I don’t know!”

“It does suit you,” the demon agreed. He knows the kid is smart, he has seen his grades, so it’s not far fetched to assume that he can do this rigorous task. “Hope you have good study habits, I know mines was absolute garbage back in school.”

“With notecards and all,” MK hates studying, his brain goes brrr during those times, but he can’t thank Yanyu and Bohai enough for teaching him different tricks to help keep focus. “Now I’m thinking maybe of being a pharmacist, cause I don’t think I do well with surgery.”

“There are also the ones who diagnose the disease using the X-ray thingie,” she snapped her finger as she tried to remember.

“Radiologist,” Tang called out.

“Yeah that!” She pointed to him.

“Ooo that also sounds interesting,” MK and Mei continued their animated talk as both adults watched.

“It’s nice to see them so happy,” the noodle lover let out a content smile as he drank some more of his tea.

“I hear that,” Pigsy then looked at the man cup in confusion, “by the way you’ve been drinking, I thought you would have already been finished by now.”

“With my first cup yes, I’m on my third one now.”

“How in the-I didn’t even see you leave this area!”

“Magic tea is magic,” was all Tang said.

Pigsy exploded, “That doesn’t explain shit!”

“Well too bad,” he gave a loud slurp once more.

SLURPPP

“You know what, two can play that game,” the human was confused when the pig demon got up and left the room. He was no longer confused as he came back with a cup of tea in hand.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tang threatened the pig.

The pig looked him straight in the eye and, with a sly smirk, drank down the tea.

SLURRPP

“You heathen!” He shrieked as he banged his hands on the counter and stood up, “how dare you drink my magic tea!”

“Well next time don’t be rude as fuck!” He shot back and got in his face as well.

“That’s rich coming from you!”

“Says the freeloader!”

“Oh here we go again! You know, if you wanted some tea you could have asked!”

“My stove, my cups, my pot, mine.”

“But it was made for me!”

“Yeah well-wait hold up, you feel better right,” Pigsy dropped his screaming as he softly asked his friend, “no drill pounding in your head?”

“Yeah I’m fine now, it really does work miracles,” Tang also lowered his voice.

“That’s good.”

“…they really do act like an old married couple,” Mei announces, MK facepalmed as both adults separated from each other and yelled.

“WE ARE NOT!”

“I’m really sorry about such short notice,” the panda bear demon on call apologized once more to Macaque as he was quickly gathering his ingredients.

“Don’t apologize, shit like this happens,” he waved him off, “I’ll take me a couple of days, a week at max, but I’ll be there before the poison reaches its peak.”

“Thank you,” the panda bowed to him.

“Make sure to store away any semblance of caffeine, alcohol, or anything high in potassium, those are the fastest ways to speed up the process,” he instructed him.

“I’ve been meaning to take away Mink coffee stash, now I have a reason,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Will do bossman,” he hung up the call and called another number as he continued to pack. Once it picked up he put a smile on his face, “Hey Comet, how’s it going?”

“Good!” The twenty year old happily responded. “You wouldn’t believe it, but the classes are actually kinda easy to understand. They’re still tricky, especially the tests, but Yanyu was right about you teaching this. It made almost all my classes so much easier thanks to you.”

“Aww, that’s another one for my ego,” he joked then he put on a more serious tone, “but I didn’t just call you here for a chat kiddo.”

“Why what’s up? Is there something wrong?” MK suddenly asked as he leaned in, “Do I have to get Mei here and help kick some asses?!”

“Snrk, no nothing like that,” he let out a snort, “you know Po right?”

“Yeah, he’s the panda demon who comes in to get pain relief, muscle relaxants, and other types of medicine for his students? Does this have something to do with him?”

“Close, his disciples messed up big time and accidentally inhaled a bunch of toxic fog when they faced off against an elephant demon.”

“How can an elephant make poison?” MK questioned.

“Magic can do the weirdest of things, I mean I’m a monkey that can do shadow magic,” he pointed out.

“True, okay so he’s gonna come over to pick up the antidote? I don’t see what’s the big problem?”

“Here’s the bad part, Po can’t make a round trip, cause the time he gets back, all of his students…might not be alive,” he gently told him.

“…oh, so what’s gonna happen?”

“Well, I’m going to have to make a house call, which means I'm gonna have to go away for a bit and it’s pretty far, so I won’t be able to hear you.”

“…okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!” MK gave a big grin to him, “Don’t you worry bout a thing! I’m an adult now Dad, I will be just fine!”

“You have grown up,” he gave a gentle smile, “I’m glad to hear that, but remember to call if there’s any trouble. I may be far, but I will come running if you need it.”

“I will! Now finish packing and save some lives!”

“I will, I’ll see you in two weeks shooting star.”

“See ya later old man!”

Macaque hung up the call with a smile as he resumed his packing. He wished he could have hugged his kid goodbye, but he was in a time crunch as he zipped everything up and quickly jumped out of the treehouse and began to move within the shadows of the trees.

He really does love his shadow powers during these times.

“Duh du Duh,” MK hummed out as he danced his way over to the food delivery destination with the headphones blaring in his ears. He then lifted it to call out the order name when he heard a silky voice interrupt.

“It feels like I waited for an eternity for this moment, is everything in order?”

“Just making the final adjustment mother,” another voice replied and this is when he opened his eyes to see that this was no ordinary food order as an ominous group stood before him.

“Nope,” he immediately whispered as he silently jetted off to hide behind a pile of rocks, but he peaked his head carefully out to see and his eyes widened.

“Finally after all this time,” the woman continued.

‘No way.’

“We have the means to lift Monkey King staff.”

‘It is!’

Standing before them all, wrapped in vibrant viridian vines and burrowed underneath a garden left untouched by the destruction laid around it, was the legendary Monkey King staff.

Things were about to get interesting.

No joke, the delivery scene with the lady is something I had to experience before. There are people who truly treat food workers lower than dirt, which is stupid to me cause why would you disrespect the people making your food? It’s like insulting the people who manage your money.

[subverbaldreams]

Asylum in Winter

Chapter 9:  Sir

(smut)

Pairing:  Bucky x Steve in this chapter. (storyline also contains Bucky x Venom and Bucky x Rumlow)

Overall Synopsis: Venom and Rumlow help Bucky escape Hydra to go find the man from the bridge. Mayhem ensues. And sex…lots of sex.

This chapter: loving, dominant Steve, Bucky’s memory loss, Bucky waking up after having his trigger words spoken, jealous Steve & Rumlow, 1.7k words

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

Steve’s stomach is in knots. Every time Bucky’s breathing changes he leans forward in his chair, hopeful yet terrified to see those eyes open. It’s not fear of another attack, but fear of the emptiness. Fear that nothing remains inside the body of the man he’d loved except Hydra’s killing machine. No compassion, no conscience, no heart.

Calm down, he tells himself for the hundredth time. He escaped from Hydra for a reason.

Unless, his mind whispers, that reason was Rumlow.

Bucky is laid out on a plush leather couch, towels underneath him to keep blood and dirt off the furniture. The scratches on his throat have all vanished, but there’s a suspicious row of bruises still tattooed into his skin that look like—they can’t be—hickeys. 

Outside, birds wheel joyously around fir trees and sunlight reflects up from the water below. He’d had to call in a favor to get access to this lake house, but he trusts Tony Stark at least enough to stay out of this one. He may have told a slightly skewed version of the truth to get here, but for Bucky’s sake he’d do a lot worse.

Bucky’s been out cold for the last four hours, after being put down twice more by whatever that black stuff is; Rumlow refuses to tell him. The scumbag finally, finally got out of Steve’s hair to go shower a few minutes ago; he’d been hovering over Bucky like a vulture protecting its meal.

A sharp intake of breath. Steve leans in. Bucky’s eyelashes flutter, then his eyes slit open.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes.

Bucky’s face contorts as if in pain. Steve reaches out to touch his shoulder, but Bucky jerks back from him, eyes flying wide open.

 ***

 Blue eyes. Blond hair. A voice. A name.

“Bucky,” the man murmurs, and the sound itself means nothing but the voice—that voice. A flood of longing roars through the soldier’s chest, so barbed with the edges of forgotten dreams that he’s lost in it for a second.

Only a second. Then he realizes where he’d been only a moment before, on the field of battle, and there had been a voice in his head, changing him, owning him. Everything after that is a blur like spilled paint. All he knows for certain is that Hydra had taken him back, at least for a time.

He jumps up, rolls off the furniture while reaching for his knife (it’s gone) and then his gun (also gone) while doing a quick sweep of the room. They’re alone. 

His agent should be here. The soldier can think of only one reason why he isn’t.

“Did I kill him?” he blurts out, his voice cracking over the word “kill.” 

“Who? Rumlow?” The man’s voice goes hard as he says the name. The soldier tries to remember if that name fits the right person.

Yes, Venom interjects. Brock Rumlow is the name of our agent. The soldier nods and the man answers, “No. He’s fine,” in a voice cold as ice.

Have to find him, the soldier thinks, but Venom responds: He is here. He and the Cap have been antagonizing each other for hours and he went to a different room. Finally, it adds in a grumble.

The cap? the soldier repeats, confused all over again. But the blond man has stood up and is walking toward him, one hand slightly lifted as if to touch him. The soldier backs up warily. His mission is complete, it seems; he’s found the man from the bridge, but nothing is any clearer. The pictures in his head are just as elusive and disjointed as ever.

“Hey, easy, Buck. D’you remember me at all?”

The soldier shakes his head. One backward step after another. “I don’t know you.”

But I knew him.

He draws in a hiss of breath. 

He is here, inside of your mind, Venom affirms. You know him.

“No,” the soldier says out loud. His heel hits the edge of the wall, forcing him to stop his retreat. He should raise his arms. Protect himself. But he’s utterly still as the man’s hand closes the gap between them and lightly brushes against his jaw. The man’s face shows no aggression. His eyes are soft—and, the soldier realizes with a strange, giddy swirl, full of tears.

“You know me. You do,” he insists when the soldier shakes his head. “That’s why you left Hydra, isn’t it?”

That, the soldier can’t answer. Because it’s true, he had left Hydra to find this man, but now that he’s got him, the soldier doesn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t planned beyond the search. There is no plan beyond any search, except to eliminate the target.

Everything has changed.

“My name’s Steve. Remember? You used to call me Stevie.”

He shakes his head again. The man’s fingers have traced behind his ear now and it makes the skin tingle all the way down his neck on that side.

“And your name is Bucky Barnes, and you know me.”

“No, I don’t!” The soldier shoves the other man with both hands, sending him skidding back six feet. Venom whirls through him, forcing calm into limbs which feel electrified with adrenaline. He’s shaking all over. “That’s not my name. I don’t know you.”

He is our mission. We came to find him.

“Shut up,” the soldier hisses between his teeth. He feels weightless, like he’s stepped out onto a tightrope and it’s fallen suddenly out from underneath him. Like he’s falling and falling and he doesn’t know what’s down below. He takes no defensive measures as the man closes back in on him. Line of heat across the front of his body, heavy weight pushing him back against the wall. The man is breathing as heavily as he is, though there’s no reason for it. He isn’t afraid, isn’t angry—not exactly—nothing about his behavior makes sense. 

His knee wedges between the soldier’s legs. The soldier knows he should move, should block that leg and make space between them, but there’s this scent, along with the weight and the position. It smells like crawling under barbed wire and drinking arm in arm at night. It smells like being held, and being held down, but not in the ways he’s known with Hydra. 

Something deep and old inside his chest rips open and comes out of his mouth in a strange, whimpering moan.

“Tell me you don’t remember this,” the man growls in his ear, then his thick thigh rises between the soldier’s legs, a kick against his instep lifts one of his feet off the ground and a hand on his ass guides his hips so he’s riding that thigh, cock grinding against the junction of the man’s thigh and hip. Another hand on his throat; the grip is firm, bordering on cruel. The man takes nearly all of the soldier's weight onto his thigh and moves the hand from his ass to fist in his hair and jerk his head back. Another whimper wrenches out of him as the man’s mouth crashes down onto his, not to kiss but to bite, painful and wet, pulling his lip away from his teeth. He grabs wildly at the man’s shoulders, starts to twist away but he can’t make himself do it; that grinding leg has him pushing right back like a dog humping its master and something about that…about all of this…

The man’s tongue dives into his mouth and any coherent ideas fly from his mind. There is nothing but sensation. Head forced into a sideways bend to open him for the man’s ravaging mouth. Fingertips and thumb clamped around his throat, making his head light. Fist pulling his hair back, controlling him. Five o’clock shadow scraping his lips raw, the man’s heavy, insistent weight, that scent which is everything he never knew, never thought he needed to know and it’s all so much, it’s cresting, it’s crashing over him—

“Aaah!! Aaaaaahhh!!!”

The man eats the screams out of his mouth as the orgasm takes his whole body in a hurricane blast. He ruts helplessly into the man’s thigh, grinding out every last shudder.

“There’s my boy,” the man grunts, face rooting into the hair behind his ear and thick body pushing him even harder into the wall, panting like he’s just run for miles. The soldier feels the man’s huge, hard cock pressed up against him through their pants. He’s locked into that eternal moment between one breath and another when the man’s voice, rough with hunger, growls against his neck:

“Sir is very happy with you.”

The soldier’s next breath doesn’t come. His eyes fly wide open. Venom, swimming drunkenly inside him on the waves of their orgasm, freezes as well and it’s as though they’ve become no more animated than a photograph. A snapshot in time. Something like warm sleet, if there were such a thing, rains through the soldier’s body from head to toes and turns his legs to water. He can’t hold himself up and the man doesn’t try to help him do it, either; the man controls his fall, putting him on his knees, and this is RIGHT. He BELONGS here. It’s better than a memory; his entire being knows this. He looks up into a face that’s flushed and panting. The man’s eyes have turned wild and dark: an endless ocean filled with starving predators. His rigid, clothed cock is just inches from the soldier’s mouth. The man cradles his face in both hands to gaze down at him, one angled to cup his throat in a gentle reminder of a crueler grip, and the soldier reaches up to hold the backs of the man’s hands with a reverence that shivers down to his very core. The smell of him, his touch, his voice, what he’d said—

Sir. The title dances just behind his tongue. 

He doesn’t know what will happen if he says it out loud, only that it will be different than any other time he’s said it; to this man, to the two of them, it means something different.

And I KNOW him.

The soldier’s mouth opens.

Click-clack of metal against metal. The soldier reacts instinctively, twisting into a crouch, ready to spring in any direction as he and the man both swivel toward the sound.

His agent stands there, gun pointed at the man (at Steve) in a two handed grip. He’s shirtless, belt off and his hair dripping wet.

“Back the fuck up, Cap. NOW.”

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

The rest of the story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950409/chapters/79128799