#he will tell you that he does so to shake Metal's resolve and distract him

[umbral-archives]

'Ego' Sucktember 2022 Day 4: Piercings

Worship at the altar of your corruption.

More Murdock, more dick suckin. I don't know lmao, I was feeling soft so we're gonna give some body worship, as a treat.

Rating: NSFW MINORS DNI

GN!Reader (GN!pronouns, Reader does have a vagina. Pussy snuck in unintentionally, help)

Pairing: Murdock (ISWM) x GN!Reader

Warnings: body worship (reader giving), blowjob, piercings, talk of breeding kink/risky sex.

Word Count: 2700

Murdock has piercings.

You learned about the tongue piercing soon after meeting him; the shiny metal bauble distracted you more than you expected when his tongue quested outwards across his lips to collect errant ketchup from his food.

You learned about the nipple piercings the first time you saw him without a shirt; he’d gotten motor oil all over one of his favorite shirts while working on his car. The sight of the man stalking up the apartment stairs while swearing under his breath and dragging the cloth over his head was ingrained into your mind even today.

You learned about the dick piercings during your first instance of being intimate together. The curved barbell of his Prince Albert had glimmered up at you like a sinful little hood ornament, coupled with the lorum at the base of his shaft. When you looked back up at Murdock with uncertainty, he’d disengaged long enough to remove them both, along with the tongue ring.

You’d clarified afterward that you didn’t want to hurt him somehow, given your unfamiliarity with them. While he was touched at that, any assurances on his end have always been met with your resistance on the subject. So, he takes them out when he knows you’re going to fuck, or he intends to initiate something.

Unlike today.

Suffice it to say, he’d fucked you absolutely senseless the night before, to the point that you were walking funny today. Murdock doesn’t expect to have your interest in intimate activities start up again for at least another day, so you know he has his gear installed again.

For some reason, you’ve been thinking about it. You’ve been thinking about him; his handsome face and that black hair your love to play with, those mesmerizingly dark eyes, his body, his physique- that strength, those hands and that fat fucking cock of his-

And his piercings.

You’ve been trying to get work done for the last 3 hours, but your mind keeps jumping back to him. It’s honestly starting to piss you off, but you can’t do anything about it but stew. He’s working on Carmilla right now, and you don’t want to interrupt him, even though you do.

Damn it.

After resolving that you’re not going to get anything meaningful done today, you decide to head into the kitchen and make something to eat for lunch. Though, as you turn the corner into the living area, you spy the frustration himself sitting on the couch, blissfully unaware of your plight.

When he notices your presence, the Killer smiles your smile and motions with his head to the kitchen. “Just the sweet little thing I was thinking about. If you’re hungry, there are leftovers from yesterday I’m warming in the oven.”

You nod absentmindedly, taking in that tight sweater that hugs his form and trying to suppress the urge to run your hands down his chest. “I thought you were working on Carmilla?”

His expression sours then, shaking his head and waving a hand in the general direction of his workshop. “She’s not being very cooperative today. I’ve had to order a part online because the damn carburetor is acting up again and-”

You stop paying attention as he devolves into a ramble about the criminality of part prices, instead focusing on his chest. Those thoughts are coming back again and it’s almost impossible to ignore them now with him in front of you. That bauble on his tongue glimmers teasingly as he speaks, and you find yourself wanting to kiss him, to feel it against you. Faint indentations around his nipples tell you all you need to know about those, and you’d just have to find out about his cock.

You want to find out.

“- Sweetheart?”

“Huh?” You blink dumbly and look back up at him, feeling like you’ve been caught with your pants down. Murdock regards you with more than a bit of concern, having shifted forward on the couch as if to stand.

“Are you alright?” he questions, poised to jump up off the couch. “You’ve been giving me this 1000-yard stare for the last minute and it’s got me worried.”

… Oh. Well, now you feel bad for worrying him. Yet, instead of apologizing and playing it off as your ditzy little brain again, your desire decides to steal your tongue and answer for you.

“... Do I tell you often that you’re fucking gorgeous?” you ask in a tone a lot softer than you expect, stepping toward him.

Murdock blinks, brows shooting up in surprise and confusion. Well, that’s not where he thought this was going. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before replying. “Well, yes, but you tend to speak with your body more than your mouth when it comes to that-”

"Because you are,” you interrupt him, much to his continued surprise, the man leaning back as you approach him, “you are absolutely stunning and I’ve been thinking about you all damn day.” You glower at him in a strange way, hands flexing at your sides while he just keeps looking at you. “I’m in there trying to work on projects yet all I can think about is you and your fucking piercings and the fact that I want my mouth on them.” 

Well.

Murdock’s surprise bleeds into a smug, preening satisfaction as he looks you up and down. There’s a subtle shift in the way he holds himself, chin lifting slightly and squaring his shoulders. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head, but right now you’re not going to give him the chance to turn this into something else.

Not before you can turn it into what you want.

You cross the room before he can open his mouth, shoving him back against the couch and climbing into his lap. When he tries to speak, you grind down onto his crotch and yep, there it is, just barely brushing against you. Good. You didn’t want to have to ask him to put it in.

The man almost seems out of his element, groaning softly and sliding his hands over your ass as he seeks out that friction again. “Sweet thing- Sir isn’t complaining, but-”

“Shh, don't-” you gently shush him with a hand over his mouth, eyes flickering over his face. “I’ve got more to say… a lot more.” Both hands are on his face, gently brushing over his jaw and up to pull his shades off. “Just, bare with me, please?”

He blinks, those intense eyes studying you with a new kind of curiosity before he nods wordlessly, still grinding gently up into you. With his okay, you finally lean in and kiss him, tongue grazing against his lips as if to ask for permission. Murdock easily lets you in, tongues mingling, his hands sliding up your back while your thumbs smooth over the apples of his cheeks. It’s a different kind of kiss, more exploratory, probing the slick muscle and investigating the metal intrusion that spears it.

You gently suck his tongue into your mouth, lightly biting on the barbell before allowing him to retreat and tugging on his lower lip instead. “I want to feel that someplace else later.” The way he groans into your mouth is all the answer you need to that.

Your lips deviate to his jaw next, meandering kisses along the thick stubble and up to his ear. “You have no right to be as handsome as you are. I don’t know how the hell you keep from giving me beard burn with this.”

He snorts softly and at this angle, you can see the blush starting to spread over his cheeks. Good. You kiss up along his brow, hyperaware of how his lashes flutter against your skin. “I could get lost in your eyes. They are so fucking intense sometimes, it feels like you’re trying to devour me with them.” True to word, when you look into them again, his pupils are wide, observing you with such a gentle intensity that it makes your breath catch.

Your fingers curl into his hair next, gently tugging at the black locks. His nostrils flare, pupils blowing out further. You grind down particularly harshly this time. “Sometimes I swear that your hair is better than mine, and that’s not fair.” He snorts. You tug lightly in a warning. 

Your hands begin to wander south now, over his shoulders and down his arms, fingers sneaking up under his shirt. The kisses your plant follow suit, and he’s helping you tug the article over his head before you even have to ask.

When his bare chest is revealed to you, your fingers and lips immediately wander to the scars indented into the skin. A starburst bullet here, a stab wound there; Murdock wasn’t always good at what he does, and the roadmap that is his learning experience makes your heart ache.

It shouldn’t. Despite the kinds of people he hunts, he’s still no better than they are. You’d made peace with your morals going askew a while ago.

"You are so strong-” you murmur against his collarbone, hands sliding down his arms again. “People spend years trying to attain this. And it isn’t even a bodybuilder’s physique as much as it’s trained. It’s…” You trail off, fingers trailing over his rib cage, catching the scar that meanders down his right side- one of his first. “... It’s discipline. It’s power. It…”

It’s the body of a monster who hunts other monsters. Your monster.

Your tongue grazes over the nipple closest to you and he jumps, groaning softly. You take the nub into your mouth, lightly tugging on the barbell with your teeth and soothing any irritation with gentle strokes of your tongue. His fingers find their way into your hair this time, making you grin against his flesh before switching sides and teasing the abandoned nipple with your thumb.

Your kisses trail down further as you slide out of his lap and into the floor, crouching before the now obvious tent in his pants. He’s blushing profusely now, looking down at you with such soft, possessive desire and ownership that your heart gets caught in your throat.

Instead of focusing on his cock, which is very obviously leaking and staining the material taught over his tip, you gently take his hands in yours. Your lips brush over each knuckle and down every digit, into his palms, and you just hold them against your face for a moment.

“These hands… what these hands do… how these hands make me feel…” you trail off and instead bring them down to your throat, curling his fingers around your neck and holding them there.

Here, crouched at his feet with his hands clasped around your neck, you are at his mercy. Yet, you look up at him with such trust, such devotion, that the man can’t handle being still anymore. Murdock crashes his mouth against yours, kissing you with such breath-taking need that it makes you feel lightheaded. Or could that be because he’s squeezing a little?

"You sweet little creature…” he mutters against your lips as he pulls back, gently petting your face, fingers running through your hair affectionately.

You lean into the touch eagerly but gently push back on his stomach again to give you the access you need. “I’m not done, Sir. I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.”

He relents, leaning back again and spreading his legs further while helping you ease his cock out of his pants. It stands erect, thick, cockhead glistening with pre and that interesting little barbell you’ve had your mind on all day.

Gently taking him in hand and stroking slowly, you drag your tongue flat against his frenulum and that metal, wrapping your lips around him and sucking softly while making wanton little noises. The taste of his cum is something you’ve become addicted to. With your free hand, you gently massage his balls, content to shower him with this gentle attention.

Murdock groans, rolling his hips up into your mouth while threading his fingers through your hair once more. You pull off so you can spread that wetness down his shaft, leaning your cheek on his thigh. “God, your fucking cock-”

You stroke faster, moving down to gently suck on his balls for a few seconds. “I didn’t think it would fit the first time. I still don’t know how it fucking fits, but god-” You whine, nuzzling his leg, tempted to bite his thigh. “It’s so fucking big, and it fills me so perfectly- Sir has no idea how badly I want to sit on it all day.”

Murdock grunts and you feel his cock twitch in your hand, which only prompts you to dart back up and take his cockhead again to eagerly lap up the pre you’ve earned. Your hand speeds up and you start to bob your head properly now, not trying to deepthroat so much as just stimulate him. You want his cum.

With your hand moving ever faster, you pull off again to speak, looking up at him with those soft, needy doe eyes. “And when I get Sir's cum? When I get his hot, fertile cum deep inside me, where it belongs-” Your eyes flutter shut while an undignified noise gets caught in your throat. His hips jerk up into your hand, now, groaning openly. “When he keeps me on his cock to hold it inside, to let it take- It’s not safe, not safe, but I need it. I fuckin-”

You whine and take him into your mouth for what will end up being the final time, sucking harshly while you bob your head, eyes rolling when you feel him hit the back of your throat. All this praise and attention has him more sensitive than he’d like, and your words certainly aren’t helping matters. One hand fists the couch cushion while the other holds your head, thrusting up into your mouth now, chasing that high.

“If you keep talking like that with that filthy little mouth of yours, you’ll be getting more than a mouthful of me, pliant little thing.”

You squeal excitedly around his cock, making him swear loudly, moving faster and squeezing his balls again. Your other hand moves up his stomach, pawing pleadingly at his abs.

When you pull off for the final time, he’s practically fucking into your fist while holding your gaze. You melt, arousal building in your gut. “Please, Sir?” you beg sweetly, fluttering those doe eyes at him again. “Please give me your cum? I promise I’ll swallow it all like a good girl.”

He groans, head falling back against the couch, fucking your hand even faster. “Fuck, little fawn, you’ve always been good for me- always- I-”

Murdock suddenly stiffens up, back arching while his hips stutter, and you barely get your mouth around his cockhead before that first spurt of warm cum hits the back of your mouth. You moan around his dick, tongue brushing the piercing intentionally with every twitch, massaging his balls to encourage as much cum out as you can.

Your Killer curls over you at some point, hands in your hair and squirming when your treatment enters the realm of mild overstimulation. Quid pro quo, no? 

After a little bit, you ease off his softening cock with a wet pop, smiling dreamily up at the man and opening your mouth without his prompting to show your prize. “God, Sweetheart-” He sighs and you swallow with a pleased hum, to which he curses breathlessly.

The sight of him flustered and spent like that is something you know you won’t get to see often, so you commit to memory as he drags you up out of the floor to kiss you stupid.

Yeah. It turns out, you like his hardware after all. 

[hopelesshawks]

Can I request a Compress x Reader? Babytrapping + Breeding?

Ohhh interesting, of course you can! I rarely write for the villains so this will be fun. You didn’t specify but because baby trapping I did fem!reader. I also just realized you might’ve meant reader baby trapping Compress but I wrote Compress baby trapping reader so I hope that’s what you wanted 😅

The following request contains dark content. Check the warnings before reading

Warnings for vomiting, pregnancy, manipulation, non-violent sexual assault (baby trapping), breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), minor dumbification? (reader is very no thoughts, head empty during the smut), minor size kink, minor pain kink

Three years.

Three years together and yet you never would’ve guessed that your boyfriend is the notorious Mr. Compress of League of Villains infamy.

You first met Atsuhiro while working at a hole in the wall theater company. He came up to you after performing one night and had been so effortlessly charming that you’d instantly been put under his spell. He was more intelligent than all of your exes combined and could make you laugh like no one else could. It hadn’t taken long for you to fall totally and completely for the charming man you met that night.

But all of that came crashing down around you when he came home from a “business trip” with a prosthetic arm and no amount of half-assed excuses about an accident on stage could assuage your suspicions. He managed to dodge a confrontation with you for almost a week before you’d finally put the final pieces together and went to him to demand an explanation.

“You’re a terrorist Atsu!”

“That’s just what the heroes want you to think my love, don’t fall for their propaganda.”

“It’s not propaganda it’s just a fact! People have died because of your actions!”

“And how many more have suffered or died because of heroes and the society they created.”

“You’re deflecting. I have always indulged your rants about hero society but this is too far! The man I fell in love with would never stoop to this level!”

Atsuhiro crosses the room to you in two quick strides, cradling your face gently with his hand while you feel the cool metal of his other find your hip, fingers slipping under your shirt.

“I’m still the man you fell in love with (y/n), I can assure you of that,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How could that possibly be?”

“Let me show you.”

He pulls you into a gentle kiss, reassuring in its care. As his lips move against yours, gently coaxing them to open so he can deepen the kiss and slip his tongue inside, you struggle to maintain your earlier anger. It’s a distraction and you know it is but it’s hard to resist as he starts to move you both back towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of your clothes and by the time your back hits the plush of your mattress you’re both already naked. His mouth finally releases yours to travel down your body, leaving bruises in his wake as he marks you as his.

“Atsu, wait we should, ah-” you start but he quickly shushes you before licking a long stripe up your waiting sex.

“Just relax Angel, let me take care of you. Let your thoughts drift away,” he all but purrs.

You try to focus on the conversation you know the two of you need to have but it slips from your fingers like grains of sand as he brings one hand to your swollen clit and starts rubbing slow circles. Your hands tighten in the sheets as he draws a low, keening whine out of you. His hazel eyes dance with smug satisfaction as he watches you try and fail to form a coherent thought. He doesn’t let up the pressure on your clit for even a moment as he drops his mouth to your waiting cunt and plunges his tongue inside. Your hand flies down to his curly hair on impulse, tangling in the brown locks and gripping tight. Your nails scratch along his scalp and your tight grip tugs at the roots of his hair but he loves the pain of it, knows it’s a sign he’s doing well as he brings up his free hand to add two fingers inside you as well. After so long together he knows your body just as well as you do and it takes no time at all for him to find that one spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your climax builds and builds until you finally crash through the peaks of your pleasure, walls fluttering around your lover’s tongue and fingers as he coaxes you through your orgasm.

You’ve barely had time to recover from your orgasm before you can feel his erection pressing at your entrance. “W-wait, Atsu, condom,” you pant, shifting in the bed to reach for the bedside drawer but Atsuhiro stops you. “We don’t need it baby, wanna feel closer to you,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your face as he eases you back down to laying flat on the bed. “But what if-” “You’re on birth control right?” he cuts you off. “I mean yea but-” “Then it’ll be fine, you worry too much.”

Any further protests you might’ve had are immediately silenced as a snap of your boyfriend’s hips has the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. You gasp as your body attempts to adjust to his girth. “You’re taking me so well baby, isn’t this so much better? Feel how close we are. Nothing between us, just as it should be,” he coos and it does feel good, good enough that despite the voice in your head telling you you should be cautious, you only nod and beg for more. The grin Atsuhiro gives you is almost blinding right before he presses his lips to yours, kissing you greedily as he slowly withdraws his hard cock before pushing back inside you again. You whimper and whine into his mouth as he starts to pick up the pace, each thrust more brutal than the last. Eventually he leans back and away from you, shifting your hips so he can plunge himself in deeper, but with his lips no longer occupied with yours he’s free to let his thoughts spill out and into the room:

“Gonna fill you up so well, fuck, my beautiful Angel.”

“You and me forever baby, gonna look so good round with my kids.”

“Taking my cock so well, can’t wait until you’re full of my seed.”

The words wash over you but barely register. There’s no room in your brain left for anything else as Atsuhiro takes over every corner of it. Language becomes a foreign concept to you, barely able to articulate your own pleasure in more than the sinful sounds dripping from your lips, let alone trying to process your boyfriend’s ramblings. His thrusts start getting sloppier as he brings one hand between you both to stroke your clit and push you over the edge with him. “I’m so close angel, I’m so close. Cum with me. Want you to finish with me while I stuff you full of my cum,” he pants and all you can do is nod as the coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter. As you clench harder around him he goes toppling over the edge first, crying out your name as he spills his load inside you. You never would’ve anticipated enjoying it so much but it’s that feeling that sends you over the edge, falling apart around his cock as he finishes filling you with his cum.

He helps you come down from your high with sweet kisses and whispered words of encouragement, but as the haze of lust fades, you start to remember the fight you both were having before. As much as you would like for this to be the kind of thing you can just kiss and make up over, it’s not and you know it’s a conversation that needs to be finished. Looking at your boyfriend as he settles more comfortably on top of you though, you can’t bring yourself to ruin the moment. Sleep is weighing heavy on your eyelids anyway so you resolve yourself to bring it up the next day.

Except the next day ends the same way.

And the day after that.

And the day after that…

Every time you try to bring back up Atsuhiro’s secret double life as Mr. Compress he manages to distract you just long enough to get you back into bed. At first you tell yourself it’s not a big deal that the conversation’s been delayed a couple days, but then it turns into a week. A week of very hot sex, mind you, but if the existence of Atsuhiro’s double life was a red flag then certainly his insistence on avoiding discussing it is an even larger one. After two weeks you finally resolve yourself to talking to him the next morning over breakfast, no distractions and no avoiding the issue with sex. Cooking helps with your nerves, giving you something to do with your hands and a task to focus on to help you ignore your roiling stomach. You end up making almost an entire breakfast buffet by the time Atsuhiro emerges from your shared bedroom to join you in the kitchen.

He barely has time to tell you good morning before you’re rushing him to the table and setting plates full of food down. You know you have to tread carefully so you use the time you both spend eating to organize your thoughts. This time for sure you’ll talk to him. You finally open your mouth to confront Atsuhiro once and for all but as you feel bile start to crawl up your throat what comes out instead is “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

No sooner have you said the words are you shoving away from the table and rushing into the nearest bathroom. You get to the toilet just in time, fingers clutching the rim of the bowl as you violently eject the contents of your stomach into the water below. It burns your throat coming up and your eyes sting, but a warm, comforting presence is by your side in an instant, one hand coming up to rub your back gently as the other pulls your hair away from your face. Only once your stomach is thoroughly emptied does the heaving finally stop and you’re able to sit back and catch your breath. “Are you ok my love? What’s wrong?” Atsuhiro asks with gentle care as he pulls you close. You shake your head, unsure yourself of what had turned your stomach. Sure, you were nervous to talk to Atsuhiro but not that nervous. It can’t have been something you ate since all you’d had was the breakfast you made and you know everything was cooked properly. You rack your brain for an answer only to go rigid when you start to settle on one.

“Atsu what’s the date?”

“The 22nd baby, why?”

Your blood runs cold.

You’d been so preoccupied with figuring out things with Atsuhiro that you hadn’t even noticed how much time was slipping past but there’s no doubt about it. Your period is two weeks late.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” you whisper. No way in hell you’ll leave this up to a drugstore test. There must be another explanation for your sudden nausea. Sure, you and Atsuhiro had pretty much abandoned condoms. Every time you started to reach for one, he’d remind you how good it felt not to use one the first time and convince you to forgo it again. But you’re on birth control! This isn’t supposed to be possible.

God bless him, Atsuhiro doesn’t press you any further on why exactly you want to go to the doctor instead of trying to find something at home to settle your stomach. He simply helps you off the floor and then grabs the keys to your car so he can drive you to the doctor himself. You’re incredibly grateful that he doesn’t seem to share your nerves. He’s a calming presence next to you as your anxiety kicks into overdrive.

You’d asked Atsuhiro to take a seat without you while you checked into the urgent care. You didn’t want him to hear you describe your symptoms to the nurse waiting there. The kind woman immediately suspects the same thing you do and leads you to the bathroom so you can pee in a cup. She’s sympathetic and reassuring as she tells you to return to the waiting room while the doctor runs the pregnancy test but it does little to soothe your frayed nerves. The air in the waiting room feels oppressive and when your name is finally called to go back and see the doctor, Atsuhiro’s hand in yours is probably the only thing that keeps you grounded. You take a seat on the examination table and instead of moving to sit down in one of the chairs in the room, Atsu stays by your side, whispering reassurances into your ear. “Whatever’s going on I’m here for you my love.”

The doctor strides into the room shortly afterwards, greeting you warmly even if somewhat absentmindedly as she moves to the computer to check for your details. She confirms your date of birth and then after scrolling for a bit her eyes finally land on the results of your test. She smiles and your heart sinks. “Well it looks like congratulations are in order, you’re pregnant!” she exclaims, beaming at you. A lump forms in your throat as tears threaten to fall, anxiety making your hands shake as the weight of the situation starts to crash down on you. The doctor misinterprets your reaction and as she leaves the room to get you pamphlets on what to expect and how best to take care of yourself during your pregnancy, her reassuring words that promise you’ll make a great mother are anything but.

As soon as the doctor leaves the room you break, tears cascading down your cheeks as your chest heaves. Atsuhiro pulls you into his embrace, letting you fall apart in his arms as you come to terms with the news. “I’m not ready to be a mom, I can’t do it on my own,” you cry, hands clenching onto his shirt. “I know my love, I know, but you’ll never be alone as long as you have me. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you,” he assures you, pulling you in even closer.

As you continue to cry into his chest, murmuring hiccuping thank you’s between heaving sobs, Atsuhiro can’t help but smile to himself.

He’ll have to remember to thank Dr. Garaki for the fake birth control pills later.

General Taglist: @ahtsuwu @oikawaandkuroostan @larkspyrr @oliviasslut @black-rose-29

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Distracted

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Very explicit content, pwp, slight degradation, rough sex, overstimulation, double penetration, threesome, oral (m,f), look the warnings on this one are a lot idk it's filthy

Genre: Smut, PWP, fluff ig

Summary: You notice Steve is distracted while sparring and offer some advice that lands you in an interesting situation

***

Hook left. Duck. Swing right. Dodge. Uppercut. Sweep kick. Tuck and roll. Stumble. Shit. Jab. Before you know it you sweep down and knock Steve onto his back jamming the knife towards him and stopping right before it touches his neck. He huffs out a breath, blinking up at you.

"You're distracted Rogers." You tell him standing up. You hold your hand out to him as you talk, "You're a super soldier standing at six foot something. I've never been able to knock you down in less than an hour and I just got you flat on your back in under twenty minutes."

"I'm sorry." He sighs standing up.

"Spill it." You cross your arms.

"What?" He frowns.

"Clearly something is weighing on your mind. You're too distracted to spar and I know you- you won't be able to get over it until you resolve the issue and if you haven't resolved it yet you obviously need to talk about it. So get talking or I'll tell Tony to bench you." You tell him.

"You wouldn't!" His eyes widen.

"Watch me star-spangled blondie if you can't focus to spar you can't focus to fight and that makes you a liability on missions." You tell him with a shrug. His head tips back and he sighs, running a hand through his hair and you can't help but notice the way his t-shirt tightens around his bicep as the muscles flex.

"Alright, fine. There's a girl." He says. There's you.

"Well, you don't have that dumb lovestruck look on your face which means this girl has you bent out of shape. So what is it? Does she not like you back? Is she taken? Does she not know you exist? Although I don't think there's a single New Yorker that doesn't know Captain America. Does she not know you're Captain America? Is it some online dating situation where you pretended to be normal and now you don't know how to tell her that you're an Avenger?" You rattle off some speculations.

"Where the heck did you get any of those ideas from?" He blinks at you.

"Movies, TV shows, books- the works. But that's besides the point- which is it Rogers?"

"None of the above." He shakes his head.

"Well what is it then? What's got the man with the plan all tangled in knots? I'm on the edge of my seat Cap!" You're being dramatic now, trying to make him laugh- he looks forlorn and you don't like seeing your friend in such distress.

"Buck also likes her." He says. Buck likes you.

"Bucky has a crush! Holy shit that's insane!" You squeal, excited for him. Your dear metal armed pal is so overtly closed off you can't help but be glad that he's opening himself up this way. The fact that he's told Steve means he clearly wants it to go somewhere. Your excitement dies as quickly as it came when you look at Steve's face "oh- shit my bad. I forgot you were- going through it. I'm sorry that was- insensitive to you." You grimace. Steve wants to chuckle at your reaction but he's busy sweating over how risky it is to have this conversation with you. As smart as you are it wouldn't be hard for you to figure out who he's talking about.

"It's fine. That's where we're at though."

"Well- does Bucky know you have feelings for this girl?" You frown.

"No." He says sharply.

"And why not?" You quirk an eyebrow up.

"Bucky deserves something good in his life, and this girl- she's perfect. You know how Bucky is. We both know. If I tell him that I like her- he won't act on his feelings." Steve sighs. You're perfect.

"Right- a few decades in the ice, his years as a hydra assassin not to mention the whole displaced 70 years in the future thing- he doesn't think he deserves anything nice." You sigh.

"The world hasn't been kind to him and if I tell him I like her-"

"America's Golden Boy is tough competition yeah." You nod.

"Yeah- and I can get any girl in New York if I was interested-"

"Well to be fair so could Bucky." You say, your finger trailing across your bottom lip as your mind conjures an image of the large man. You'll admit your friendship with the super soldiers is a conflicting one- at least for you. You do genuinely care about them both, and they're two of the closest friends you've made on the team, but you're also wildly attracted to the two men. You'd never say so- refusing to risk driving a wedge between any of the three of you.

"Y/n!" Steve says incredulously.

"Sorry! I'm just saying- Bucky's hot! And he's kind and funny and thoughtful and- if he saw himself the way we do he could easily have women wrapped around his fingers." You huff. Steve watches with an unreadable expression as you ramble about his best friend.

"All that aside- this is Bucky we're talking about! The fact that he likes her is incredible and that's the part that makes this so important."

"Does she know about his past?" You ask.

"Yes." He nods.

"And she didn't run for the hills?" The smile on your face lets Steve know you're half-joking.

"No! And that's why she's perfect for him." He sighs.

"Okay- so with all that as background I have some questions. Number one- do you plan on making a move on her?" You put up a finger.

"No."

"Ehhh. Number two. Do you plan on telling Bucky that you have feelings for this girl?" You put up a second finger.

"No."

"Wrong answer. Number three. Do you plan on helping Bucky make a move on her?" You put up a third one.

"Probably." He tells you.

"Also the wrong answer."

"What-?"

"Are you insane Steve? You cannot help him with her. Not at the expense of your own feelings." You shake your head profusely.

"He's gonna need help y/n and I'm his best friend."

"He can come to me or Sam. Nat even, Clint is married, I'm sure he can give some advice- I'd honestly rather he go to Tony or Peter before he goes to you for heaven's sake."

"Why?" Steve frowns.

"How much do you care for this girl?" You ask him. He hesitates before letting out a sigh.

"I love her." He admits.

"And Bucky?"

"He does too I'm sure."

"And so you think it's a good idea to help your best friend date the girl that you love?" You blink at him.

"He loves her too, and I know he'll treat her well. I care about them both enough to want them to be happy even if it means that I- that I don't get to be with her."

"And what happens when Bucky finds out you're in love with his girlfriend?"

"He won't. He doesn't know yet and I don't plan to tell him."

"Bucky is not an idiot. He might not know now but trust me- when she's his partner, he will notice. And your best bet is to come clean before he does- because if he finds out on his own everything you do around her becomes suspicious. You sit beside her when the three of you are hanging out, or you see something that reminds you of her and buy it because that's what you do for people, or you go to lunch with her and because you're the 1940s old fashioned gentleman that you are you pay for it- all of those things suddenly have potential to be read wrong by Bucky. And let's say you stop doing all the things that were previously normal in your relationship and she notices then she starts pressing you for answers wondering why things have changed between you- wondering if it has to do with her dating Bucky and gods forbid she puts two and two together that it has to do with Bucky then what? If your friendship means that much to her she might break up with him and if she doesn't it will no doubt put a strain on their relationship. Steve you have to tell him."

"I'd like to believe Bucky and I aren't going to be torn apart over this."

"Then tell him the truth. Because secrets are the easiest way to destroy a friendship. Especially for Bucky- he's got trust issues the size of the twin fucking towers." You tell him.

"I hate you." He mutters.

"I'm right." You shrug.

"I know." He sighs.

"I have another question; does she like either of you?"

"I- I don't know." He says.

"What?" You blink.

"I have no idea. She treats us the same. Sometimes I think she's flirting with me, but then Buck will tell me something she did that sounds like she's flirting with him. I can't tell." He runs a hand through his hair again.

"Well- in that case, you really need to talk to Bucky, because let's say she likes you and not him- he shouldn't be blind sighted by you reciprocating. Plus since you have no reason to assume she likes either of you more than the other- the two of you should have your ducks in a row and then the two of you can decide on the right approach- which may just be telling her the truth and having an open discussion. You're all friends." You tell him.

"I don't like this plan-" he frowns.

"Well it's better than yours." You shrug.

"Yeah but now I have to risk Bucky emotionally retreating."

"Again- you don't know if she likes either of you- she could not reciprocate and then he's crushed either way. But for the sake of your friendships you have to come clean. First to him and then to this girl- well, if that's what the two of you decide to do. Which I think you should because there's no point in stressing over a woman who doesn't want either of you."

"I hate this." He grumbles.

"Oh come on golden boy- honesty should be easy for America's hero." You joke.

"Y/n c'mon." He groans. You sigh.

"Stevie- I get it- this isn't a simple situation but your best bet- is to just be honest. You've known Bucky your whole life so that should be the easy part- hard part comes when you have to confess to your girl. Hey maybe you'll get lucky and she likes you both." You shrug nudging Steve in the side.

"How would that be lucky?" He frowns.

"If you and Buck are open to it you can both date her. Make a cute little throuple." You laugh.

"A- throuple?" His eyes tell you he has no idea what you're talking about.

"Yeah- it's a fun word for relationships involving three people. Three plus couple equals throuple." You explain.

"Oh- you think that could happen?" His eyes widen.

"I can think of a lot of people who wouldn't mind being in a super soldier sandwich. Ooh alliteration."

"I won't get my hopes up for that." He shakes his head. You laugh.

"Well hey- if it were me I'd just date you both. Why choose?" You shrug walking out of the training room. Steve lets out a stressed sigh at your parting words.

Would you really date them both? It's one thing to say it as a joke but if Steve and Bucky asked you in all seriousness to date them- would you actually consider- no. He can't get carried away indulging that idea. First, he needs to talk to Bucky. Just like you said.

***

It takes him days to finally talk to Bucky. It happens when Bucky comes to him after spending the day with you. He's sitting on Steve's bed raving about how amazing you are and he can't help thinking about how he knows everything Bucky is talking about and the words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them.

"I'm in love with her." He tells his friend, eyes downcast.

"What?" Bucky says sitting up to look at Steve.

"Y/n. I'm in love with y/n." Steve says despite the churning feeling in his stomach.

"You're in love with her." Bucky repeats.

"Yes." Steve says even though he wasn't asked a question.

"Did you fall in love with her after you knew I did?" Bucky asks.

"No."

"And you knew you loved her when I told you?"

"I'm sorry Buck I didn't expect- I didn't know you'd fall in love with her. And I didn't know how to tell you- because I thought that if I told you- you'd give up on being with her and that's not- if it's between the two of us I want her to have you."

"Steve-"

"You deserve someone like her- she cares about you deeply. You don't even know the half of it." Steve tells Bucky.

"Yeah but let's be honest if her choices are you and me? She's not picking me." Bucky shakes his head. Steve is silent for what is probably too long for Bucky. He's trying to figure out how to phrase the next part.

"What if- she didn't have to make a choice?" He asks slowly. Bucky blinks at him.

"What?" Bucky scoffs.

"To cut a long story short I talked to her and-"

"You told her?!" Bucky cuts Steve off.

"No! Not technically! We were sparring, it came up, I just told her we were crushing on the same girl and she told me that we should talk to the girl- together. Then she made a joke about the girl dating us both- something about a super soldier sandwich- and that she wouldn't choose- she'd date us both. But I don't think she realizes that- that she's the girl."

"A super soldier sandwich?" Bucky questions.

"Apparently- there's a thing called a throuple. A couple but with three people- that's how she defined it." Steve tries to explain.

"You- You want us to go to y/n- our closest friend- and tell her- that we're both in love with her, and we both want to date her. Together. Is that what you're telling me?" Bucky asks.

"Well it was her idea, she just- doesn't know it's about her. We don't have to do it obviously. I just- wanted to bring it up- because now- if either of us confesses to her she's going to know that the other one is also in love with her and she probably won't make a choice for fear of coming between us or something." Steve tells him.

"It's not- the worst idea. But how would we navigate- dating the same woman?" Bucky frowns.

"I'm assuming a lot of communication. This wouldn't be the first time we've shared something." Steve says.

"Right but this is a human being we're talking about." Bucky says.

"I know- but it was her idea- besides I'm sure if we talked it out we could work out the details."

"You really want us to both date her?"

"Well the alternative is that she chooses one of us- or neither of us for fear of ruining our friendship- and I don't particularly like the odds of those options. So if there's an option that doesn't result in one or both of us losing her- why not?" Steve explains.

"What if she doesn't like either of us?" Bucky asks worriedly.

"I- genuinely don't think so- after our conversation- I think- I think she likes us. But- we can speculate all day, we should just talk to her."

"Well- how would we do this?" Bucky sighs.

"We need a game plan." Steve says.

"Then- let's, make a game plan. Tentatively." Bucky says. This idea is intimidating to him, but he'll admit he'd like to avoid the options that land him or his best friend heartbroken. Besides- he can't say he's opposed to the thought of sharing you with his best friend. The images flashing through his mind send blood rushing downwards.

***

You're sitting in the lounge with a bowl of chips next to you and your laptop in your lap typing away, your feet kicked up on the coffee table when Steve walks in from the hall- probably his bedroom.

"Hey Rogers." You say without looking away from your computer.

"Hey y/n." He calls over his shoulder as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. "what're you working on?" He asks coming over to you.

"Just finishing a report. What's up?" You look at him when he sits on the table in front of you.

"I talked to Bucky." He tells you. It's been over two weeks since your chat in the gym but you hadn't gotten the chance to ask for any updates. You close your laptop quickly, sitting up to give him your full attention.

"You did? Oh my gosh how did it go?" You ask him excitedly. You're criminally invested in the love lives of your two friends. You really hope things work out for them both.

"It went- better than I expected." He admits.

"Oh come on Stevie you gotta give me more than that!" You scoff.

"I kinda blurted it out very unceremoniously by accident and then I had to explain myself- and then I told him about your suggestion- you know, asking her to date both of us." He explains.

"Oh? What did he say?"

"He was- a little confused. Granted so was I. We probably should've just come to you about it admittedly since it was your idea." He says. You laugh.

"So did you talk to the girl yet?" You ask.

"We're- working on that step." He says.

"What's the holdup?" You joke with him. Steve holds up a finger indicating you to wait a second.

"Hey Bucky!" He calls behind him causing the man in question to join you two in the lounge.

"Oh hi Buck! Wait is this you guys coming to ask me questions about the throuple thing?" You ask looking between the pair as Bucky joins you on the couch.

"Something like that." Bucky mumbles.

"What does that mean-?" You frown.

"Did Steve tell you who the girl was?" Bucky asks. You shake your head.

"I didn't really need to know that to give advice- plus I didn't want to pry." You explain.

"You didn't want to pry?" Steve quirks an eyebrow at you.

"In my defense! I knocked you flat on your back in under twenty minutes while we were sparring. It was a valid inquiry to wonder what had you that distracted." You shrug.

"She beat you while sparring in under twenty minutes?!" Bucky looks at Steve.

"He left that bit out, didn't he?" You laugh.

"It wasn't important to the story Buck." Steve blushes slightly.

"You were that torn up about all this?" Bucky frowns- even though he and Steve had settled things on their end he didn't know the extent of Steve's distress over the matter.

"Not important anymore." Steve shakes it off.

"Hey on the plus side it seems like you two have sorted it out- at least half of it. Now you gotta tell de girl." You tell them, singing the last part to the rhythm of kiss the girl from The Little Mermaid. You throw your head back laughing at your own stupid joke.

"Y/n-" Bucky says placing his hand on your knee. The action stops your laughter. You look at him and note the intensity in his gaze. You glance at Steve and find him giving you a similar look and your mouth runs dry.

"W- what's going on?" You ask unsure of where your gaze should focus. The two of them share a look for a moment.

"We- have a confession to make." Steve announces.

"A confession? This sounds dramatic." You tell them.

"We're in love with you." Bucky says.

"Both of us." Steve adds. Your head snaps between the two of them a few times before your eyes settle on Steve.

"Wait I'm the girl you were telling me about?" Your eyes widen.

"Yes- I'm sorry for not telling you the whole truth the first time I was just worried about what could happen if I did. Especially since Bucky's feelings weren't mine to tell you."

"I understand why you didn't. You were practically in knots over the whole thing." You say.

"Right but then you told me to talk to him, and you told me that we should tell her together and you made that super soldier sandwich joke-" Steve trails. You let out a chuckle.

"Right- my alliteration. Super soldier sandwich. It just rolls off the tongue right? Still proud of that." You nod.

"Here we are confessing our feelings and she's going on about literary devices." Bucky scoffs.

"Make us squirm why don't you?" Steve jokes.

"Sorry- yes this is a serious conversation. We're being serious. Let me make sure I got this right- you're both in love with me, and you are now proposing to me an idea I gave Stevie. Yes?"

"Yes." Steve nods.

"This is ridiculous, isn't it?" Bucky shakes his head.

"Hey! It was my idea. Of course I don't think it's ridiculous. Bucky are you not comfortable with this idea?" You frown placing your hand over his that's on your knee.

"It's not that! I'm just- I'm nervous about this whole thing. I don't want this to ruin our friendships." He admits. "plus I feel like you're stalling because you're trying to figure out how to turn us down." He adds quietly.

"No! That's not it at all. I'm just- a bit shocked that you two have feelings for me and that two one hundred year old super soldiers are actually indulging this idea. You're both so old fashioned in almost everything you do." You tell them. "To clarify I'm- attracted to you both. I just want to make sure this is something you actually want and not something you're offering to me because you think it's what I want." You add after a moment of silence.

"It's what we want." Bucky says.

"And you're not doing this as a safety net?" You ask. When you joked about them dating the same girl you hadn't expected it to come to fruition, and certainly not with you in the middle. You know this isn't normal for either of them and you're worried they're doing this for the wrong reasons.

"A safety net? I feel like I'm risking my entire support system by doing this." Bucky chuckles.

"Bucky you don't have to do this if you don't want to. I promise I won't take it any kinda way." You tell him.

"No I'm not saying I don't want this- I do. I'm just saying this isn't a 'safety net' option for me."

"We're not doing this as a safety net. Bucky and I already talked about it in great detail." Steve assures you. You nod.

"I know this is very out of your comfort zone- for both of you. I just want you guys to be sure." You tell them grabbing Steve's hand and keeping your other hand on Bucky's. Bucky's metal hand comes up to your cheek, turning his head to face him. His icy blue eyes stare into yours intently.

"Y/n- we want this. We want you. We're sure of it." He tells you. Your breath hitches at the sincerity in his eyes.

"Now- the question is, do you want us?" Your head turns toward Steve at his question. He's giving you the same intense look that Bucky had and you find yourself unable to reply.

"Answer him doll." Bucky says. The soft command in your ear causes you to whimper quietly and Bucky's hand instinctively tightens above your knee at the sound.

"Yes." You breathe.

"Yes what?" Steve asks, leaning towards you.

"Yes- Yes I want you."

"Good girl." Bucky groans turning your head towards him again, this time to crush his lips to yours. His lips are soft but demanding as they move against your own in a way that is all-consuming. Steve shifts from the table to the other side of you on the couch. You don't notice the action until he starts kissing along your neck. The feel of his lips on your skin and the body heat on either side of you causes a gasp to fall from you. Bucky uses the moment to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your brain is foggy trying to focus on any one thing. Steve's hand is around your neck as he liters your throat with blooms of red and purple, Bucky's hands are sitting at your waist.

"Pick a room princess." Steve mutters against your skin. Bucky pulls away to let you answer. You blink a few times to focus.

"What?" You croak, your voice thick with want.

"He told you to pick a room babydoll." Bucky chuckles.

"If we're going to continue, we don't want our first time with you to be on the living room couch sweetheart." Steve explains.

"I- I don't know- does it matter?" You look between the two of them.

"Don't overthink it love, we'll fuck you all our rooms eventually anyway." Bucky says and you have to choke back a moan at his words.

"Fuck it let's just go to mine." You reply.

"Perfect." Steve groans turning you towards him to lift you into his arms. Bucky stands with him as you kiss Steve briefly. "c'mere." Steve mutters bringing your lips to his again as he walks down the hall to your bedroom. His kiss is gentler than Bucky's but just as dominating and you groan into the kiss as you tangle your fingers into his hair. Before you realize it you're being tossed onto your bed, the two super soldiers immediately sitting on either side of you. Bucky's hands are at the hem of your shirt tugging it over your head while Steve's hands help you out of your shorts, leaving you in your red bra and black panties. The pieces don't match, but neither of them seems to mind as they stare you down, taking in your half naked body. Bucky's lips are back on yours moments later while Steve peppers kisses along your chest, fleeting touches at the edge of your bra.

"You're so gorgeous princess." Steve mutters against your skin. You sigh when Bucky's lips travel to your neck, covering the areas that Steve left bare earlier. Your hands reach out and slip under Bucky's shirt, dragging your nails down his abs, reveling in the way the muscles contract under your touch and the hiss that falls from his lips. Steve's hands unhook your bra and toss it somewhere else in the room.

"Oh fuck doll, you have such pretty tits." Bucky tells you, taking one of your nipples between his fingers. His twisting and pulling cause whimpers to fall from your lips.

"Ah- B-Bucky." You mewl, your hands grasping at his thigh. Steve's lips suction your other nipple into his mouth. The combined ministrations send shots of pleasure to your core, your pussy aching for attention.

"Stevie." You whimper tugging at his blonde hair. Steve's lips cover yours again as Bucky travels further down your body, a kiss to your thigh alerting you to his presence between your legs. You gasp when cool metal slides up the outside of your leg, contrasting with heated fingers sliding up the other. His hands hook into your panties and tug them off so quickly he rips them. You gasp and pull away from Steve to look at the torn fabric in his hands.

"Did you have to rip them?" You frown.

"It was an accident- but don't worry, I'll replace them doll." Bucky winks at you as he kisses your thigh again.

"Don't get too attached to your underwear princess. We'll probably end up ripping a few more." Steve tells you bringing his lips back to yours.

"As long as you replace whatever you ruin." You mutter against his kiss.

"I like the idea of buying you things to rip them off you when we fuck you stupid." Bucky hums as his lips travel closer to your exposed cunt. Your head falls to Steve's shoulder when Bucky's tongue swipes along your clit.

"Fuuuck." You moan into Steve's neck.

"Holy hell you taste so good doll." Bucky grumbles against you. His finger dips into your hole to collect some of your juices. "Steve you have to taste her." Bucky holds his finger up to his friend. Steve wraps his lips around Bucky's outstretched finger, slurping your essence off of it with a satisfied groan. You can't help the way your walls clench around nothing at the sight.

"Fuck princess, you do taste good." Steve groans. Bucky buries his head back between your thighs, attacking your clit with sharp swipes of his tongue. You busy yourself littering Steve's throat with hickeys between your sounds of pleasure- satisfied by the way he responds to your lips. The feel of cold metal sliding slowly into your heat makes your back arch suddenly as you cry out.

"Ah- God that feels so good." You whimper. Bucky's fingers move quickly between your folds as his mouth focuses solely on your swollen clit. One of your hands threads through his hair, while the other wraps around Steve's arm, clutching him like a lifeline. Your breath is coming out in uneven pants as Bucky's fingers dance around inside you, stretching you, every movement so calculated you'd think Bucky knew your body better than you did, his tongue and fingers moving against you in just the right way to have you hurdling towards an orgasm faster than you thought possible. "B-Buck- ah fuck. I'm-" your attempt at babbling off a sentence is cut short when Bucky sucks particularly harshly on your clit causing you to scream at the sharp stab of pleasure.

"Aw, does our precious baby wanna cum? Is that it princess?" Steve asks forcing you to look at him. The look in his eyes could torch a forest with its intensity but you manage to nod frantically even as Bucky continues to toy with your cunt, fingers fucking into you quickly.

"Use your words for us darling. Tell Bucky what you want." Steve commands as you grind into Bucky's hand and mouth.

"P-p- please. Fuck. Please. I need to cum, please Bucky." You stutter out.

"What do you think Buck? Should we let her?" Steve asks.

"Stevie, Bucky please- please let me cum- I- I need- fuck- please." You moan. Bucky's right hand splays against your hips, holding you down as his fingers drive into you relentlessly.

"You beg so nicely princess." Steve's hand comes up to stroke your cheek and you lean into his touch.

"Please." You whimper as Bucky continues to tongue at your core greedily.

"I think we should let her Buck." Steve says looking down at his friend between your legs.

"Cum for us doll." Bucky growls between your legs. His fingers curl against the spot inside you that causes your body to thrash violently as your orgasm crashes into you like a large wave. Bucky continues to lap at your gushing cunt, working you through one of the strongest orgasms you've ever had.

"Holy fuck." You sigh once you come down. Steve chuckles.

"Are you okay princess?" He asks stroking your arm. You nod.

"I'm great." You smile. Bucky sits up with a smile of his own, his mouth and chin glistening with your slick.

"Hey Stevie, have a taste." Bucky winks at you as he grabs Steve by his neck and pulls him into a kiss that makes your mouth dry. You can't help but watch as Steve yields to Bucky's tongue and in that moment it's clear that in your relationship, Bucky is in charge. When they eventually pull apart Bucky's eyes fall to you. "Steve, why don't you tell her how she tastes." Bucky suggests.

"She tastes great-" Steve croaks.

"I think she liked watching you taste her on my lips. Did you doll?" Bucky continues fixing you with his stare. You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Use your words princess." Steve says looking over at you, seeming to snap out of the submissive state Bucky had him in.

"Y-yes. I- I liked watching."

"Good girl." Bucky says connecting his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss, the taste of yourself mingled with the taste of Steve and Bucky making your head swim. Steve taps your thigh as Bucky pulls away.

"Hands and knees princess." Steve orders. You rush to shift into position as Steve and Bucky move to where they need to be. Bucky is leaning against the headboard with his erection staring at you while Steve positions himself behind you.

"I'm going to fuck your pretty little mouth while Steve fucks your sweet cunt open. Alright doll?" Bucky says, his hand grasping your chin to make you look at him.

"Please." You whimper.

"That's our girl." He beams at you. You lick up Bucky's dick from base to tip once, twice, three times, before swallowing the tip. "Steve, take her." Bucky hisses at the feeling of your mouth as he turns his attention to Steve. Almost immediately you feel the blunt head of Steve's cock pushing past your entrance. You moan loudly, resting your head on Bucky's thigh as the feeling of Steve slowly filling you is almost overwhelming.

"Holy shit, she's so tight and wet and hot." Steve breathes.

"How're you doing doll?" Bucky asks, rubbing your shoulder.

"Good- fuck it feels so good. You're so big Stevie." You moan as Steve bottoms out. You return your attention to Bucky, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. He groans, tipping his head back for a moment.

"Fuck her Steve." Bucky commands. Steve's response is quick, his hips pulling back and snapping forward sharply. His movements are calculated, perfectly timed to push you towards the edge. Bucky's hands lace through your hair as his hips snap up into your mouth. He holds your head still as he fucks into your mouth, tears springing into your eyes as the tip of his dick batters against the back of your throat in time with Steve fucking your pussy. You clench around Steve as a particularly hard thrust has you moaning around Bucky. "Fuck, Steve- whatever you just did, do it again." He groans. Steve repeats the motion with ease, eliciting the same reaction from you as the first time.

"You like that princess?" Steve asks, adjusting his hips to hit that spot with every thrust, leaving you moaning uncontrollably and you choke on Bucky's cock in your mouth.

"Fuck her harder Steve. Wanna see her fall apart around you." Bucky says yanking you off his dick by your hair. You look up at him in confusion but Steve's increased thrusts don't allow you to hold the look for long as you're pushed forward with the force of his hips against yours.

"F-fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck Steve- you f-fill me up so well- fuck it feels good." You moan voice a bit hoarse from the throat fucking.

"Are you close doll? Wanna cum all over Steve's cock?" Bucky asks you.

"Yes- yes yes yes yes please can I cum please please please." You're begging desperately when Steve's hand slips between your legs to toy with your neglected clit. You buck your hips against his hand as he continues to plow into you.

"You look so pretty like this doll, all fucked out and stuffed full of one of our cocks. I bet you'd look even cutter stuffed with both of us." Bucky muses. All you can do is moan at his filthy words.

"Fuck I think she likes that Buck- she just clenched so tightly." Steve hisses.

"What a good little whore." Bucky chuckles and your cheeks heat at the way you feel your body react to degrading name calling. By the way his eyes light up you know Bucky noticed your reaction. "Oh this is an interesting turn of events. You like that? The idea of being our perfect little whore. Being a good little slut for Stevie and me to use however we want huh?" He asks forcing you to look at him.

"Yes- fuck- yes I like it. Bucky- I need to cum so badly. Please- please please can I cum." You beg him with wide eyes as your body writhes in pleasure.

"Fuck you look so good like this." He groans stroking your cheek.

"B-Bucky- Stevie- please- please let me cum." You continue to plead.

"You cum when Steve's ready for you to." Bucky concludes. Steve continues to pound into you, his fingers playing with clit.

"Stevie- please please make me cum please daddy please." You're barely aware of the words spilling from your lips as you beg, desperate for your release. So wrapped up in your own pleasure you don't notice the way the men look at each other until Steve stills behind you, making you whine out in protest. Steve's hand wraps around your throat pulling you up against him as Bucky moves forward, his face inches from yours as he grabs your chin.

"What did you just say Princess?" Steve asks, his lips brushing against your ear. You blink, trying to focus through your sex-clogged haze. What had you said?

"He asked you a question doll. Answer it." Bucky growls.

"I- um- please make me cum?" You reply uncertainly.

"What did you call me princess?" Steve's hand squeezes around your throat. You try hard to remember your last sentence. You called him Stevie- that can't be the cause of this- you'd called him that all night- your eyes widen when you realize what you said.

"Answer the question baby." Bucky smirks. He knows you've figured it out.

"D-daddy." You whisper.

"I don't think I heard you darling, what did you call me?" Steve asks again, squeezing harder at the sides of your throat.

"Daddy. I called you daddy." You choke out, your face heating up.

"Daddy huh, you want daddy to keep fucking you doll?" Bucky taunts.

"Yes." You moan.

"Yes, what?" Bucky asks- curious what honorific you'll assign him. You pause for a moment considering.

"Yes sir." You say. Bucky sucks in a breath- he likes the title.

"Well you'll have to ask him baby- ask daddy to fuck you." Bucky orders sitting back against the headboard.

"Please daddy- please fuck me- destroy my pussy with your cock- please!" You pant out, desperate to feel him move again.

"You heard her Stevie- fuck her open." Bucky says. Steve's hand around your throat slides down to the middle of your back, pushing you forward into Bucky, your face pressed against his abdomen as Steve's hips start up again. He sets a harsh rhythm of fast and hard thrusts that have you crying out in pleasure, your hands finding purchase in Bucky's thighs as Steve fucks you.

"Daddy- please can I cum- please daddy, please!" You plead. Steve's hand reaches around your waist and rubs rough circles around your clit.

"Cum for me princess- cum all over daddy's dick." Steve grits out and like his words control your body- your orgasm washes over you quickly.

"You look pretty when you cum darling." Bucky says.

"Thank you sir." You moan as Steve continues to fuck you as your orgasm fades.

"Fuck- fuck I'm close." Steve groans.

"Please- please daddy- fill my pussy with your cum daddy- please I want it so badly." You moan.

"You heard her Stevie- make her all messy for me." Bucky says. Steve's hips stutter as he paints your walls white, the heat of his cum causing you to moan.

"Fucking hell." Steve sighs. Bucky reaches behind you to caress Steve's cheek, helping to ground him. Steve pulls out of you slowly and lays beside you.

"How are you feeling doll?" Bucky asks you.

"Empty." You pout as your pussy pulsates around nothing, Steve's cum leaking out of you slowly.

"Empty huh? What's wrong doll? You haven't had enough yet? You wanna be fucked again?"

"Please sir." You nod with a whimper. Bucky slides off the bed and your eyes follow him as he speaks again.

"You're a greedy little slut aren't you." He scoffs flipping you onto your back. You moan in response.

"Please fuck me sir." You moan spreading your legs for him to get a good look at your messy cunt. The mix of your juices and Steve's cum dripping between your folds causes Bucky's eyes to darken, steel blue practically disappearing behind dark pupils.

"That I can do." He growls sliding into you, the sloppiness of yours and Steve's fluids making it easy. Your head falls back with a moan at being full again. Bucky is a little thicker than Steve but just as long. He's still inside you for one moment before his hips are snapping forward sharply. His thrusts are more forceful than Steve's were. He fucks you like he's trying to possess your body, like he's trying to own you completely.

"S-sir- fuck sir- you feel so good." You cry out when Bucky's thumb reaches down to rub your clit in rough circles.

"Cum for me doll- wanna feel you cum on my dick." Bucky huffs out. Your back arches as your orgasm washes over you.

"Pretty girl." Steve leans over to kiss you sweetly as Bucky continues to fuck you through it. You moan into Steve's mouth when Bucky's thumb continues to toy with your clit.

"Come on darling, gimme another one. I love the way your pussy feels when you cum doll. Do it again." Bucky growls.

"Sir I-I can't." You whimper. It's too much too soon but Bucky seems to think otherwise as he chases his own release.

"You can and you will. Cum doll." He orders. Steve's lips leave yours in favor of wrapping around one of your nipples, his fingers pulling and tweaking at the other one. The added attention soon forces you over the edge into another orgasm that takes you completely by surprise when it crashes into you. "Good girl. Such a perfect little whore." Bucky groans as your pussy clenches around him. A few strokes later, Bucky's hips stutter as he cums inside you with a shaky moan. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as the aftershocks of his orgasm wear off.

"Are you okay Buck?" Steve asks running his hand through his friend's hair. Bucky's silent for a moment before, with a sigh, he slowly slides out of you and rolls over to lay on your other side.

"Never better." He smiles before rolling out of bed.

"Where are you going?" You ask with a frown. He picks you up bridal style and you let out a tiny yelp of surprise as you wrap your arms around his neck.

"We are going to clean you up." He says kissing the top of your head. Steve follows the both of you to the bathroom where the two of them clean you up and get you into some new clothes. When they're done Steve carries you to his room.

"We're gonna shower and fix up your room. We'll be right back princess." Steve tells you before the two exit, Steve to his own bathroom and Bucky down the hall- presumably to his or your room. You force yourself to stay awake until both men have returned and climb into Steve's bed on either side of you.

"Now what?" You mumble into Bucky's chest.

"Now, we take a nap." Bucky says.

"Then when you wake up we can properly discuss our relationship moving forward." Steve says draping an arm around your waist.

"We did that a little out of order." You muse.

"When have we ever done things in order?" Bucky chuckles.

"Stevie likes order." You say tracing shapes in Steve's arm that's around you.

"Where you're involved I can live with chaos." Steve says kissing your shoulder. You're laying between your two best friends after having undoubtly the best sex of your life about to get into a relationship with them.

"Who would have guessed this is where we'd end up when I knocked you on your ass a few weeks ago." You mumble sleepily. You feel more than hear the two men laugh as sleep finally claims you as they both kiss you on the forehead.

***

[grumpyhedgehogs]

only following orders

Summary: Cody's communicator has been broken for weeks and he's been too stubborn to fix it; in other, related news, Order 66 isn't set off, Order 6 is, and the clones justify their overprotectiveness with military regulations in the aftermath.

Cody’s comm unit has been on the fritz for weeks now. It hasn’t gotten as bad as that one time when Rex’s got shorted out completely after an unfortunate fall into a river, nor as bad as when Waxer’s broke so badly it shocked him the next time he tried to turn it on. There’s just been some interference, a couple dropped calls (thankfully nothing too important--Cody’s been sure to take anything extremely delicate through the comm in his helmet, and he doesn’t really mind being able to truthfully tell some senators that, no, actually, he couldn’t get around to asking General Kenobi to give them special treatment, and you know what, they were actually breaking up a bit). He’s got to go to the quartermaster for it soon anyway; it wouldn’t do to have one of the highest commanders in the GAR be unreachable, especially so close to the end of the war. He resolves to get it switched out after the Utapau mission.

Cody is tired . The Separatists are in strong force on Utapau, and while Obi-Wan is more than capable of holding his own with Grievous, Cody worries. It’s a dignified worry, but he has to admit that it’s a little overwhelming when enhanced by nine or ten cups of coffee and about a gallon of adrenaline coursing through his blood. The fighting is over but he hasn’t seen Obi-Wan since returning his lightsaber, and he always feels better when he can keep his general within eyesight. It's driving him nearly to distraction. That’s his excuse for opening the call from a secure channel on his handheld comm rather than his helmet and Cody is sticking to it. The miniaturized figure makes Cody arch his brows behind his visor, all flowing robes and black hood. Very dramatic. Cody’s seen better at the Jedi Temple on a lazy Sunday morning before laundry day.

“Commander Cody, execute Order 6-- bzzt . ” The Emperor’s figure wavers, sways, and disappears as his order takes hold. The comm does, in fact, let off a static shock at that, but Cody’s already too far gone to do more than let it fall from numb fingers.

“Good soldiers follow orders,” Cody says, his lips moving like someone else is controlling them. He raises his boot and crushes the comm unit under his heel. It’s like Cody is watching all of this happen from very far away even though he knows he’s stuck in his own body. He grinds the broken plastic and metal into the dirt with vehement anger, then raises his hand to his visor and retransmits the order throughout the 212th. After, he reaches up and snaps off the transmitter on his helmet too, just for good measure. Parjai Squad is in the air again, and Sergeant Barlex can be trusted to transmit Order 6 throughout the rest of the GAR as soon as Cody’s relay reaches the 2nd Airborne Company before cutting off his communications too.

Order 6 is completed. All around him, the 212th is destroying their communication units as fast as possible; Boil chucks his straight off a cliff. Cody gives him a nod when he snaps to a salute afterwards. The Order still pricks at him, though, a strange, slick feeling, oozing along his spine into his brainstem. It burrows teeth into his mind, like the jaws of some great beast shaking its prey by the throat. “Good soldiers follow orders,” Boil says, still not dropping his salute, and Cody finds himself repeating the words back mindlessly.

Good soldiers follow orders. But his orders have been completed. What now?

“Orders, we need new orders,” he hears one soldier mutter nearby. His head pounds, Order 6 curling, white hot, through Cody’s frontal lobe. There’s no way he can make sure the order is carrying out across the other battalions and it stabs at him. What other orders do they have? Cody puts a hand to his bucket, desperate to rub at his temples. There’s a wetness on his face; he thinks his nose might be bleeding. Rex used to go over the rulebook with him before all the batchmates were tested on Kamino.

“Listen to this one,” Rex says, laughing in the semi-darkness of their bunk. “‘Order 49: in the event that communication with the Republic or Senate is unavailable under presumption of corrupted or compromised systems, secure Jedi command as quickly as possible through any means necessary. Treat any obstacles with hostile measures.’ They want us to secure the Jedi ? What do the Jedi need protecting from?”

“Execute Order 49,” Cody shouts; his voice breaks, weaker than it should be. This headache is killing him. He sees Boil jump into action, shouting Cody’s order to those nearest him. Then they shout too, on and on, until Order 49 turns into a wave through the ranks. The rest of Ghost Company immediately begin to get the ships ready for departure; some of the gunships take off, getting into position to escort The Negotiator to safety. The bombardment measures and cannons the 212th had set up to break into Grievous's compound are dismantled and put away in seconds. My battalion, Cody thinks proudly, is very good at following orders .

My battalion, Cody realizes, are not themselves. But then he hears a call of his name and rank and the thought is lost to him.

He turns just as General Kenobi’s mount reaches level ground and Kenobi disembarks. The ever present worry eases slightly at the sight, but then Order 49 slams into his skull. It is all Cody can do not to rush to the man and bundle him into the nearest airship. He has to secure the Jedi. He has to follow orders. Cody is a good soldier.

“Commander Cody!” Kenobi calls again across a quickly clearing battlefield. The Jedi’s head swivels, taking in the soldiers preparing to leave. “We’ve made fast work of the end of the war, but I never thought your brothers would be so quick to get back to Coruscant.” General Kenobi nears him now, dropping the reins he’s been holding onto and patting the beast once on the neck before stepping to his commander’s side. He’s smiling. “That anxious to be rid of me, are you?”

Cody opens his mouth, a moment of clarity seizing him. Obi-Wan’s bright eyes gaze straight into his through his bucket and Cody thinks, what am I doing? But what comes out is, “Good soldiers follow orders.”

The general’s brow furrows. “Come again?”

“The Emperor has issued Order 6, sir.” Cody says. His jaw works, chewing over the words he actually wants to say, chewing over what is happening? Obi-Wan, what's happening to me?  “Communications are compromised. Order 49 is now in effect. Immediate retreat is necessary.”

“Emp--Order--Cody, what?” Kenobi’s hands come up, reaching out, and Cody tenses, but he only places them on Cody’s shoulders. The gentleness is strange. No commanding officer has gripped him so carefully before. “Cody, what’s wrong? What are you saying?”

“Order 6, General,” Cody replies, just as helpless and useless as Kenobi’s hands on his shoulders. His own hands, working independent of his brain, reach out and steady the man before him. The Negotiator is almost ready. Boil and Waxer will give the high sign when they’re ready to board. In the meantime, Cody slips Kenobi’s communicator from his belt, deftly palming it. He keeps a sharp eye on Kenobi’s expression at the same time, because the man is paling fast and looks a little green around the gills. Order 49 dictates he must see to the Jedi’s wellbeing and if that means he’s got to lend his bucket as a makeshift--well, bucket, then so be it.  

The Jedi reels. “What is Order 6? Who is the Emperor? Why--why would you--”

“The Emperor transmitted Order 6--get rid of all communication units, effective immediately--approximately twenty-four minutes and thirty-six seconds ago, General.” He raises Kenobi’s own communicator and, ignoring the man’s squawking protest, slams it into the rock beneath their feet. “Communications are compromised.”

“Why would you ever listen to--”

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Cody wants to scream, wants to rage. His chest fights to hyperventilate. His eyes are watering. His nose is bleeding even more now. There’s a pronounced trembling in his limbs; the Jedi must notice, because Kenobi reaches out and grips his hands, bringing them up to his chest, cradling them there. Kenobi's heart pounds underneath his knuckles.

“Cody, please.” Kenobi’s eyes search his; distantly, Cody wonders what he feels like in the Force. Whatever it is, judging from the look on his general’s face, it’s not good. “I don’t understand. Who is the Emperor?”

Again, his mouth opens on its own. “That’s classified information, sir. Order 7 includes a clause dictating that any ruling Emperor’s identity must be protected from public knowledge, for that individual’s protection and continued survival.”

“Of course it does,” Kenobi replies. “Because Force forbid any of this is ever easy .” He gathers Cody’s fingers into one hand and reaches up to place his other palm against the side of his commander’s neck. His fingertips brush the bare skin where Cody’s blacks end just before the bottom of his bucket. Cody’s spine snaps straight, shoulders coming up, but Kenobi holds on, gently, gently. In his mind, Cody screams.

Yes, yes, it’s me, I’m here, he pushes out with all his might. His Orders swirl through him, trying to push him back, keep him down. There’s a door waiting to lock behind him somewhere in his mind, hiding a deep, dark black Cody doesn’t think he’ll ever return from. He doesn’t know how the Force works, per se, but trying to push his thoughts out into it is better than surrendering to oblivion. I’m here!  

General Kenobi draws in a sharp breath and pulls away slightly. The hand Cody instantly pulls from Kenobi's and drops to his waist flexes involuntarily, but the Jedi doesn’t step back. “I heard you,” Kenobi says, quick and low, like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “I heard you Cody. I’ll help. Let me help you, alright?”

“Negative. Assistance is not needed; Order 49 states Jedi command be secured before all other forces.” Over Kenobi’s shoulder, Boil waves. Cody sends him a nod. “Order 49 is now in effect, sir. I have to ask you to get on the ship.”

“Cody--” Kenobi cuts off with a frustrated noise and drops their hands but stays close. Cody’s body stiffens, ready for resistance. Cody’s mind reels from the lost contact. “Commander. I--please state Order 49’s parameters for me.”

“Jedi command must be secured at all costs in the event of total communications failure, sir. Any hostile forces may be taken out by any means necessary to secure the Jedi. Any resistance from Jedi may be disregarded and treated as command being incapacitated. Power structure moves to next in line until threats to Jedi have been neutralized.” General Kenobi’s face does some interesting gymnastics throughout the explanation, but he doesn’t start yelling or running, which Cody takes as a good sign. He also seems distracted; this works in Cody’s favor, though, because Kenobi doesn’t realize his commander has begun slowly walking them both towards where Boil waits on the landing platform. As soon as they begin the trek towards the ship Cody’s headache eases.

“And all these orders come from the Emperor?” His face is still troubled. Within himself, Cody feels the old urge to reach out and brush his fingers over his fringe, hold on until the lines in Obi-Wan’s face smooth away, but he can’t seem to act on it. Then Kenobi’s eyes snap up to his visor again.

The Jedi stops moving. Cody takes another step and turns his back to the ship, carefully keeping hold of him. He doesn’t tighten his grip, but it’s secure; if Kenobi wants to get away, he’ll have to use the Force, which Cody knows he’d never do. Obi-Wan never uses the Force on his men. “Yes sir. If we could keep moving, Order 49 instructs us to get Jedi out of active warzones, General.”

The general doesn’t move. His feet drag when Cody takes a step back, pulling him along, but he doesn’t fight. “An Emperor--the Republic has fallen.”

“Sir?”

A Kenobi distracted is a Kenobi easily moved. Cody doesn’t mind keeping quiet if it means Order 49 doesn’t stab quite so sharply into the backs of his eyes. His nose has nearly stopped bleeding. It’s almost enough for him to be able to open his mouth and say something not pertaining to orders, but then he catches himself and his jaw shuts with an audible click.

“An Emperor with the power to topple the Republic--Only a Sith could--” Kenobi’s eyes are glazed over, far away, and within his own mind, Cody hides the bright beam of hope that lights in him. “But why would a Sith protect Jedi?”

“I don’t know, General.” Boil waves them in and Cody gives Waxer the go-ahead to raise the ramp after them. Something aching and nervous in his chest eases once his general has set foot on The Negotiator, but his shoulders are still tense and high. It’s not enough. Kenobi is shaking under his hands, he’s distant. His face is bruised, his clothes scuffed and battered. His hair is covered in dust. He’s fresh from battle and likely experiencing emotional and psychological turmoil. Cody would be operating within the parameters of Order 49 if he were to take Kenobi to rest in his private quarters--so he does. Kenobi doesn’t speak again until Cody’s gotten him settled on the edge of his bunk. He isn’t receptive to being pushed gently to lay down, so Cody gives up on that for a moment and goes to the bridge to confirm take off.

When he returns, the general is pacing the length of his quarters, gripping at his hair and muttering under his breath. Cody assesses the situation and drops his blaster and bucket by the door before entering, hands up like he’s approaching a scared animal. Order 49 was correct; command structure needed power taken from the Jedi right now. Kenobi is more rattled than he’s ever seen him. Inside, Cody feels about the way Obi-Wan looks.

“A Sith wouldn’t protect a Jedi!” Kenobi exclaims when he catches sight of his commander. Cody pauses and nods. Best to agree with him for now. “Unless they got something out of it--like, say if the Sith was at the center of the Republic and needed to make himself look good to politicians before setting off a galactic war! ” His voice rises in pitch at the end, his eyes wild. “I can’t believe it, I’ve been so blind--Dooku even told me--”

All the blood drains from Kenobi’s face. Cody lurches forward on the balls of his feet because for a second it looks like he might faint. Then General Kenobi whirls around and starts rummaging through his desk. “The Senate ! I sent Anakin there for years, I knew there was something off about the Chancellor, I knew it . And--and Padme, and Bail, Commander Fox, they’re all there-- Cody, where is my spare communicator?”

“Communications are compromised. The crew would have gone through each room to make sure no unit was left for us to be hacked or tracked with.”

General Kenobi turns back to him, looking near feral, a strange light in his eyes, just on the edge of hysterical. “Oh, well that’s just perf--urk! ”

He cuts off suddenly as his head jerks back on his neck like Cody's just struck him across the face. Cody, whose hands have been hanging uselessly by his sides, lunges forward to catch his commanding officer before he slides to the floor. He thinks for a moment that he has actually fainted now, but Kenobi’s blue eyes flutter open and shut once, twice, three times before he gasps and opens them wide. There’s burst blood vessels coloring his sclera as he pants. Cody adjusts his grip on the Jedi, wrapping both arms around him. He looks like he needs something solid to hang onto. Order 49 tells him Cody needs to provide that, and for once his inner voice doesn’t try to fight it. “General!”

Kenobi doesn’t come fully back to himself until Cody’s managed to heft him up and transfer him to the bed. It’s little more than a cot but it’s better than the metal floor; Cody lets Order 49 push his hands into bringing up the covers around his general, smoothing out the wrinkles. Kenobi mutters something under his breath but whatever happened, he’s definitely not all there yet. Cody goes to the ensuite and returns with a damp cloth. The process of wiping blood and grit from Kenobi’s face is familiar and warming; it’s almost enough to let Cody push his fringe from his face, to tell him he doesn’t know what’s happening but that he loves him, to tell him to run--

But then Cody stops himself because why would he do that? Order 49 says he has to keep watch over Kenobi, not let him flee.

“Anakin--” Kenobi murmurs. Cody leans closer to hear. “Something--Cody, something terrible has happened to Anakin--I can’t feel him through our bond anymore. I’m supposed to be able to feel him in the Force. I don’t know--I don’t know what to do .”

“The 501st will secure General Skywalker as per Order 49 stipulations after they have carried out Order 6, sir. He will be safe.” Cody hesitates, fighting himself, fighting Order 49, fighting the Emperor. Through gritted teeth that want to bite off his tongue more than let the words out, Cody whispers, “ I’m here, Obi-Wan. ”

Hands close around the sides of his head just as white hot pain lances through his skull again, the orders punishing him. Obi-Wan looks right into his eyes, bruised and beaten and just as lost as Cody, and says, “I know, Cody. I’m here too. I’m here with you.”

It’s all Cody can ask of Obi-Wan now. Cody curls as close as the body-which-is-not-his-body will allow and prays it will be enough.

“It’s--it’s alright,” Obi-Wan assures softly, a little too fast to be truthful. He’s bleeding from his nose too. Cody wipes it away. “I--we’ll go somewhere safe, just like you want, and we’ll find--we’ll find Ahsoka, she’ll be with Commander Rex and they can help find Anakin. We’ll--we’ll fight the Sith together, Cody. I swear it.”

“I have to keep you safe,” Cody says, and means it in every way he knows. “I will keep you safe.”

“In that, Cody, I have the utmost trust. I always have.”

[veilder]

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you" - North60

Another prompt fill that I actually managed to get done? What?! Well, you're as surprised as I am. XD Anyway, I have no idea if this is even good or not but I guess I'll post it anyway. This is set vaguely as the third piece in the North60 series I intend to write. (The first part of it is published already but I've been working on the second for a long time and it's still not done. >_<) So if anyone is a bit OOC, just blame it on some intended character growth that's already theoretically happened, lol. So yeah... here's to the very few of you out there who love this ship as much as I do. Enjoy? 😅

butterflies around the flame

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Sixty pauses, looking over to North as she sidles up beside him on the gangway. She wears her expression of steely determination just as fittingly as her slightly-singed tactical suit and Sixty can’t help the small burst of assurance both sights inspire in him despite his current irascibility. His scanners pick up a myriad of weapons on her person, knives and guns and batons and tasers, and it soothes some basic part of his coding that crows at him to keep her safe. She can look out for herself. Hell, she can look out for him too if the way she's muttered that phrase several times over the course of their friendship is anything to go by. Time and again she's looked out for him, vouching for him to her friends, taking him on as her second-in-command in the security corps, mediating disputes he manages to get himself involved in, etc.

And here and now too, apparently, she's decided to shoulder the responsibility for his actions. Even as he stares, she nods her head down to the burnt edges of his jacket and trousers, waving a lazy hand to the entirety of his ash-encompassed form. "I’m serious, I’ll talk to them. You did what you had to and I'll make sure Markus knows it. Losing one building is better than what would've happened without the distraction."

Sixty frowns, doing his best to nonchalantly lean against the metal railing as he peers down at the gathered deviants below. The deviants he had done his best to save during the pandemonium. The deviants who stood huddled and scared and singed because of his stupid plan. They were lucky... Lucky to make it out. No thanks to him.

"I could've taken the humans down myself," he says eventually, a scowl crawling its way across his face. "Far less collateral damage. Quick and efficient. You know I could've, North." He snaps his gaze back towards her. "This could've killed them." He nods his head towards the crowd below. "I could've killed them. And for what? A crazed mob of humans hellbent on destroying us?"

North shakes her head. "But you didn't kill them. You didn't kill anybody, Sixty. We have you to thank for everyone making it out alive. Even the humans." Her words are soft but her eyes shine brightly, that same righteous anger burning through them as courses through his Thirum lines. She's just as upset about the attack as he is. He knows this. After all, she'd been on guard when it all went down, too. She'd heard his transmissions, understood what he was planning. She'd led the evacuation of New Jericho personally and perfectly in sync with him springing his trap. And now, huddled in an abandoned warehouse near the wreckage of the original Jericho freighter, the harried android population coming full-circle in the worst of ways, they are the only two who can explain the full situation to Markus.

Somehow, just knowing how incandescently angry North is about all of this is enough to stabilize his systems a bit, his dangerously high stress levels sinking back down to a more moderate rate. "Well, can't have His Leaderness getting all up in arms with me for snuffing out a few organics, now can we? Not after last time."

North snorts, the sound inelegant and coarse, and Sixty feels his stress levels sinking even more. But when she looks up at him, she is far from amused, her eyes burning with resolve as a wicked, cruel smile teases the edges of her lips. "Your restraint is admirable, Six. Can't say I wouldn't have taken the shot if I were in your place."

Here in the dim light, her uniform practically fades into the darkness. Her vibrant hair is tied back and hidden, her hands are gloved, her face is cast in shadows. Every part of North is dimmed and defeated, even her muttered words wreathed in fury and despair.

But even with her glaring down at the assembly like an avenging angel, her palpable fury emanating from her like a physical thing, Sixty can't help but scoff. "You wouldn't." He smirks as her eyes snap back to his, the challenge in her gaze masking the vulnerability underneath. "You wouldn't take the shot," he says again. "You wanna know how I know?"

Hesitantly, she nods, enough suspicion in her gaze to make him cackle. (Which he does. Loudly.)

Sixty reaches out and takes her hand, giving her his own crooked, slightly deranged smile in return. "It's because I didn’t. And that’s because of you." He squeezes her hand, the pulse of her Thirium lines under the sensitive sensors of his fingertips as mesmerizing as it is reassuring. "You've always been better than you seem to think you are. You wouldn't take a life if there was another option. That's never been you, even at your lowest." He chuckles softly. "You always protect. Even when you hate someone or something, you always try to find the best option. You 'take care of things'. That's how I came to be here in the first place, isn't it?"

North's grip is firm in his own as he flashes her another grin and Sixty can feel it, the way she retracts her skin even with the barrier of cloth between them. Without thought, without care, he reciprocates, letting his own Thirium coating recede back into the magnetized nodes dotting his chassis. The two of them sink into the interface, the low hum of each other's minds a sweet and soothing backdrop to the chaos all around them. The interface is only surface level, not deep enough to be anything other than an awareness of each other, but it is enough to magnify North's words through his whole self as she speaks: "But I never hated you. Not like them."

Sixty merely laughs. "But you should've."

And there is no contestation. She knows as well as he the sins of his past. But she's never judged him for them, not once. It's perhaps what he loves most about her, her willingness to accept his flaws. Even here and now, with the ashes of their people's dreams upon his body, she never once hesitated to accept him. It's enough to incite a 0.33 second timing fluctuation in the steady beat of his Thirium pump. The error message that accompanies it is a familiar friend in her presence these days.

In the warmth of their interface, Sixty continues on: "But you know as well as I do that you don't need to like someone to do the right thing." He spares a brief moment to think of his hallowed predecessor and the complicated relationship between them.

North nods. "Yeah, I... I know, Six. I know." She glances up at him through her eyelashes. "When the hell did you end up the voice of reason?"

Sixty snorts out a laugh. "I have my moments."

Her smile is genuine this time as she stares up at him. "You sure do."

And though his records will later tell him that this moment lasted less than a second, Sixty swears they stare at each other for an eternity. Time slows as if his preconstruction software has started up, each prolonged moment a gift for his harried system. And when at last they draw apart, breaking the shallow interface at last, they both do so with a smile and severely diminished stress level.

"Alright, I still need to explain things to Markus and Josh and Simon," North reiterates. "I'm sure they're here somewhere."

Sixty nods. "Yeah, they're over in that corner," he says, pointing.

North's scandalized face is enough to have him laughing again. "Sixty! You knew they were here all along?!"

"Of course," he laughs, "I've got the best scanners on the market. They've been here the whole time. They've been delegating or something, I'm not sure."

"Why didn't you say something!"

"Well quite frankly, I needed a moment. And then you needed a moment. And then we were having a moment, so..."

"Ugh, I can't believe you! I need to go. Now."

But before she can walk off, Sixty sidles in front of her. "Whoa whoa whoa, I think you mean we need to go. Right?"

She stares at him, uncomprehending.

"Okay, lemme put it to you this way then," he chuckles. "We will go explain my actions to the Big Boss. Then we can check on the security team and see if they're still doing alright. And then we can go find a quiet spot where we can try and beat the shit out of each other for a bit. Y'know. Let off some steam. Relax." He gives her a wink and revels in how her lips twitch at the sight.

"...You wouldn't insist if you hadn't already made up your mind, huh?" She doesn't even wait for him to confirm it before continuing, "Well, alright. Because that... That sounds good, Six.” North says. And then quieter, as if she was speaking only to herself, she mutters, “What would I ever do without you?"

Her whispered question rings sincere through Sixty's audio processor. He saves the soundbyte for further review and answers, "You'd take care of things. You always do."

And she smiles, so soft and sweet that another Thirium pump error flashes across Sixty's HUD. "Yeah. I always do. But it’d be less fun without you here."

Sixty reaches out a hand again and thrills when she accepts it, the two of them walking together along the gangway down to where the rest of the Jericho leadership are stationed. He chuckles. “I knew you kept me around for something.” This time, it’s him who initiates, opening up another interface for them to connect with. North reciprocates immediately and it makes Sixty proud to feel how much calmer she is now. “But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. I pity the poor idiot who tries to make me leave now. You’d tear them apart.”

North’s eyes flash, a sinister gleam accompanied by another cruel grin. “I’d 'take care of them'.”

Sixty barks out a hearty laugh, so enamored, so proud. “And I'll take care of you."

She chuckles right back and squeezes his hand, a steady warmth pulsing through their connection. "And maybe I'd even let you." And with eyes facing forward with renewed determination, she pulls him along with her towards their goal. “Now come on, Security Officer. There’s work to be done.”

----------------

Bonus:

Markus: "So... You're saying that you're the one who blew up New Jericho?" Sixty: "Yep!" 😃 Markus: [turning to North] "And you're saying you... encouraged him to do this?" North: "Sure did!" 😀 Markus: [staring into the camera like it's The Office] "If ever there were a time for someone to invent alcoholic Thirum, it's now." Sixty & North: 😀😀😀

[peiperpotts]

December Writing Challenge

Day 18 - Road trip

Walter Schellenberg/OC

warning: ALL OF THEM. 

“Do I need a lawyer?” 

She asks standing still, as he circles her like a vulture. There’s another man on the street, the driver of the black car waiting for her - a sergeant, probably. She could give it a shot and try to run of course, but she could not escape them both at once. Marlene can feel her resolve crumbling and she takes a deep breath.

"Naivete is a fresh look on you.” Came his answer.

She scowled. “The innocent have nothing to fear.”

He broke a fraction before she did, a little chuckle.

"That’s a good one,” he said.“Schwing deinen Arsch ins Auto.” 

Marlene frowned. Then she did as she was told.

The door of the Mercedes slammed loud and harsh after her. 

She had her hands on her thighs. She sat quite calmly in the fine leather. Sedately. There was no reason for her hands to be shaking. Shivering. Trembling at worst. No reason at all, but they were.

“Am I under arrest?” 

She knew it was a distraction but she had to ask.

She does not get an answer.

Her heart missed a beat when the car turned into Avenue Foch, the main headquarters of the Gestapo stationing in France and the whole country at the command of its Brigadeführer. 

“Thought we were on the same side.” Marlene tries, but she couldn’t even make herself believe that.

“Are we? On the same side?” Schellenberg furrowed his brows. “We’re about to find out.”

He stared at her for several seconds. Until she was uncomfortable. Until she was nervous. Then he looked down, licked his lips, and nodded.

She knew that she had to listen to him and do as told – if he had wanted to kill her, she’d be dead already. Nevertheless, Marlene was at his mercy, and Brigadeführer Walter Schellenberg enjoyed every second of it.

“What are you really doing in Paris, Mademoiselle?” He looked deep into her eyes, sending shivers down her spine sitting across the table. A lone lightbulb was the only source of light in the dingy room that smelled faintly of piss, his cigarette in the ashtray and despair. 

“I live here. I lived here before you even set a foot in my country.”

“Why here? I heard your parents are living better off in Amiens. You wouldn’t have to scrub tables and drop your knickers for German officers there.”

She slaps him across the face, hard, and his front tooth nicks his bottom lip and it bleeds. He smiles with stained teeth and he strikes her back. 

Her mouth blooms like iron too.

“Are you seeing someone?” He asked suddenly and she gave him a deadly glare.

“Is that a part of the interrogation?”

“Your potential partner might work for the communist rebels.” 

“I am not seeing anyone.” Marlene grounds out. 

“That is the most suprising part” Schellenberg muses. “From a French whore.”

It’s his hands on her thighs now. They’re not trembling at all.

“For every moment you don’t tell me what I want I will take something from you.” He says coming to a stand, smoothly moving around the table.

“There’s nothing you can take from me that you haven’t already taken.”

He fits two fingers between her legs and he barely touches her. They brush the front of her underwear and then push past it, the pads of his fingertips seeking out the wetness there. 

“Oh I wouldn’t be so sure about that-“

Suddenly one hand grip the back of her neck, pressing her face into the desk, as he looms over her from behind.

Marlene is positively shaking as he grabs a fist full of her hair and draws it back from her face;  she looks guilty, ashamed – he likes that. 

“You’re beautiful, but pathetic.” He whispers, with a grin in his voice.

Something pokes at her entrance, something cold, and smooth not something that she could recognize - and it was metal, too.

“Do you know what this is?”

His voice was struggling to keep the formality, lust seeping into his throat and twisting his tongue.

“N-no... I don’t know.”

Suddenly, violently, it was inside. Marlene almost screamed - maybe she did, She couldn’t tell. Her mind went erratic with terror. 

He laughs, mouth against her ear.

“How about now?”

She clenches around it, trying to understand it’s form while also trying to stop it from going deeper.

Another sigh. He sounds so irritated, but Marlene knew he was anything but. He is loving this. Every second of it.

“You don’t seem to know much of anything. I’ll give you a hint.”

The chilled metal slowly drags out of her, and she instinctively bucks backwards. Schellenberg leans back, his arm brushiing past her as he raises it up, toward the ceiling-

BANG.

Dust and fragments of the ceiling’s surface clatters to the floor.  A strong, smoky smell overpowers the cigarette’s scent, and the sound rings in her ears.

It was a gun.

Before Marlene could fully process the thought it is back inside her again- hot, burning hot, from the heat of the bullet leaving the chamber. 

Schellenberg drags the weapon out and pushes it back in, slowly, so fucking slowly, and she trembles with so many emotions all at once she couldn’t keep track. He keeps it moving, letting her feel that weight of it inside, the power behind it, the lethality.

“How about now?”

She could tell he has a smirk on his face, as if he wasn’t pushing a deadly weapon inside her.

He leans in close, one hand on the back of her neck, the other cupping her backside.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says. “All you have to do is tell me, and I can spare you from the pain. From the humiliation. It won’t offend me in the slightest. All you have to do is tell me where the communist scum are…”

Don’t tell them. No matter what.

Marlene shut her eyes and the word escapes her lips before she can swallow it down. 

“No.”

And for one blissful second, there is silence.

It doesn’t last.

“Fine, then. Have it your way.”

Her throat is raw from screaming when he is done and the same sergeant who took her from home enters the room reporting for his superior officer.

 “We arrested all of them at the given location, Brigadeführer. None escaped.”

Her eyes fly open and Marlene stares at the man above her straightening his godforsaken uniform.

“Good. Prepare for the trials then.”

“Jawohl Brigadeführer.” 

No. It’s impossible. 

“I don’t understand,” Marlene whimpers when they’re alone again . “How did you...?”

“One of your friends told us days ago,” Schellenberg says as if discussing the weather. “My crew were very persuasive. It didn’t take her long to talk.”

He looks down at her, his eyes pools of twirling darkness. 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I bothered with you if I already knew?”

She nods breathlessly and he kneels down next to her.

“Because I know your type. Your pride, your loyalty…they’re immovable. I knew you wouldn’t tell me anything, no matter what I did. So, I might as well do whatever I want.”

Marlene could feel the tears forming behind her eyes. She wanted to vomit.

“I admire that. You’re like me.”  Schellenberg continues petting her har like one does a dog who did the trick right .

“I am nothing like you,” she sneers back.

He only smirks in response and rises to his feet and gestures to what’s left of her underwear on the floor.

“You might want to clean yourself up,” he says. “Our trip for today is over. I will pick you up tomorrow. Same time.”

And the door closes behind him, leaving her sobbing and shaking on the floor.

[sephirothisaslut]

Imaginary Friend

Sephiroth was never a normal child.

In fact, you could say he never was a child.

He was never allowed to be a child. 

Hojo made him to be the perfect son. The perfect puppet. The perfect soldier. The perfect General. Ever flawless, never faltering.

So it came as a surprise when he’s developed an imaginary friend. To say Hojo was perplexed was an understatement. He was livid. Sephiroth had not been exposed to any form of fictional works, nor the concept of an imaginary friend (or what a friend even is).

The mad scientist purged his employees. All nurses, doctors, assistants, and even janitorial and guard staff were interrogated. It wont do for a God to have something as childish as an imaginary friend. He fired those that have shown any unnecessary kindness to Sephiroth, and ‘fired’ those that have records of actively trying to treat him like a normal child. (As if a God would need to be treated like a lowly common child)

It all started with a question.

“Doctor, is he the new guard?” Sephiroth asked from behind Hojo.

Hojo had vaguely remember asking for additional security. With Lucrecia’s previous fling nearly killing him, and Gast’s near successful defection, he thought it was necessary. However when he turned to look, he could see no one.

“Boy, are you trying to purposefully fool me?” Hojo said with malignant eyes. His icy tone alone made Sephiroth writhe in panic. 

Sephiroth started to hyperventilate. What had he done wrong? Was he not supposed to ask questions? He wasn’t trying to fool Hojo. Then why.

Hojo slowly approached. A large glowing syringe in one hand. The other, tightening the bands holding Sephiroth down on the cold, steel table.

“Do not” Hojo stabbed the syringe into Sephiroth, purposefully hurting the boy, “do that” he began injecting the liquid, making Sephiroth thrash in pain “ever again”

Sephiroth started screaming. Whatever the good doctor had done to him hurt. Everything Hojo did to him always hurt. But this hurt much more so. His limbs tries to thrash, but the straps that held him were built for not so human patients. Every cell in his body cried and called out. He could feel tears starting to form. He tried clenching his eyes shut, preventing the tears from fully forming (preventing him from showing weakness). But it wasn't long until a second, more powerful wave of pain and hurt consumed him.

Sephiroth’s eyes darted around. trying to anchor himself on consciousness. He looked around, once more spotting the man. For some reason Hojo can’t see him. He tried focusing in the man. Trying to distract himself from the burning sensation coming from his blood.

Then he blacked out. 

The next time he woke up, he was back in his room. Sephiroth knew ‘cell’ was more accurate than ‘room’. One of the former caretakers he had when he was younger described their child’s room. It all sounded unnecessary. The frilly curtains, and bright colors. The toys that serve no purpose but to entertain. It all seemed useless. It all sounded foreign. it all sounded incredible.

He wanted to be normal. He wanted to be unnecessary. He wanted to just be. But Hojo told him not to. 

He sat up, breaking away from his dark thoughts. Then he noticed the same man in the corner of his room. Just leaning casually, hands crossed, observing Sephiroth.

Sephiroth is smart. He knew that the reason today’s test had hurt so much was because he mentioned the man to Hojo. And for some reason, Hojo cant see the man. He also knew that his room is bugged. A camera in the corner. Constantly watching Sephiroth. Collecting data of his behavior to be studied like a corpse laid out for dissection. So he opted to go to the desk, and pretended to take notes on a Tactics book. Making his movements obvious. Leaning to one side to clearly show what he’s writing to the man, but hiding it from the camera.

‘Why can’t Hojo see you?’ He writes. His plan wasn’t well thought. Sure, the camera’s can’t see what he’s doing, but it doesn't guarantee the man will read what he’s writing.

“Because I’m not really here”

Sephiroth blinked, stunned. It worked.

‘What do you mean?’

“My physical body...It’s not really here”

‘Where is it?’

“I don’t know”

This man is an enigma. He can hear the man behind him. If the man can be seen by the cameras, then guards would have swarmed in to apprehend him already.

‘What are you’ Sephiroth scrawls. Is he the ‘ghosts’ that he’s heard some of the technicians talk about?

“I’m no one”

Sephiroth huffs. He’s even more curious now. ‘You’re not no one. I can see you’

“How sure are you? I’m sure you’ve noticed, you’re the only one that can see me”

Sephiroth pauses. He’s read about hallucinations before. But they only occur in times of extreme stress. And the first time he’s seen the man, it was before the testing not during. And right now, he’s in a space he feels most comfortable in. He shakes his head, resolving to drop the subject.

‘What’s your name?’ 

“Cloud...Call me Cloud” The man, Cloud, decides. He moves to lean beside Sephiroth’s desk, putting himself in clear view of the child.

Sephiroth discreetly looked up at the man. Cloud’s most notable appearance is his ridiculous blond hair. Spiking around as if defying gravity. That was before Sephiroth noticed his eyes, It was blue, glowing, and it was slited. 

Just like me

“Kid, it’s rude to stare” Cloud snorted.

‘Sorry’

“You should rest. I saw what Hojo did. And he’s preparing a new batch tomorrow” Cloud gently instructed the child.

Sephiroth, finally realizing his own fatigue, nodded. And promptly carried himself to bed. He can figure the man out another time.

The next day, Sephiroth woke to the man sitting at his bedside. Looking down as if lost in thought. Sephiroth only nudged his foot discreetly to tell the man to move out of the way.

“Oh you’re awake” Cloud moved out of the way.

Sephiroth sat up, and checked the clock. 5:00 am, it read. He had enough time to prepare for Hojo’s next test.

He stood up and slowly peeled his clothes off.

Cloud cleared his throat, “What’re you doing?”

Sephiroth only turned to him and mouthed ‘Hojo’.

“Ah”

It wasn’t long after Sephiroth had completely dressed in his gown, that Hojo himself came busting into his room.

“Get dressed, we’re taking another-” The mad man paused. “I see you’ve already prepared”

“Yes, doctor” Sephiroth replied meekly.

“And how do you possibly know about today’s test. I haven’t informed you, nor my staff.” Hojo narrowed his eyes.

Sephiroth’s body stiffened. It was the man that had told him. How does the man know? What does he tell Hojo?

“Tell him the truth” Cloud said from beside him.

Sephiroth only briefly glanced at him in shock.

“Do not test me boy.” Hojo snapped.

In the heat of his panic, Sephiroth blurted out the first answer he could formulate.

“It was Cloud sir”

“Cloud? Don’t lie to me, there are no staff here called Cloud” 

“Tell him I’m your imaginary friend.” Cloud suggested.

Sephiroth only glanced at him, this time thinking ‘Are you crazy?’

“Well?!” Hojo’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“He’s my...imaginary friend...sir” Sephiroth’s voice flatered at the end. it all sounds so wrong. But it’s the best he’s got.

The doctor said nothing. Only narrowing his eyes, then sharply turning away. Gesturing for the boy to follow him.

That day, the battery of tests made Sephiroth hurt so much, he was incapacitated for a full week.

-----------------------------------------------------------

 “You Ok?” Cloud asked, running his hand through the now teenage Sephiroth.

They continued their entire spiel of discreetly communicating. After what Hojo did to Sephiroth that day, they’ve decided to show little sign of Cloud’s existence. 

However, there have been a few slip ups in the past years. Just like what happened that day, Cloud had informed Sephiroth of a scheduled test that Hojo hadn’t told anyone about. Sephiroth soon found himself in the mercy of a mutated Zolom soon after. Then when Sephiroth was writhing in pain on another metal table, he had accidentally called Cloud’s name. Begging for help. Hojo merely increased the dosage.

But after trial and error, they’ve managed to find out a system. It also helped that Cloud knew Morse code, and taught Sephiroth. This way, Sephiroth can communicate in taps, or blinking. Of course, it helped that the staff didn’t know Sephiroth knew Morse code, or even can understand it at all. (They’re scientists, not soilders)

‘Yes’ Sephiroth tapped.

“Good” Cloud sighed, then paused. He looked up at the ceiling, looking troubled.

‘Are you dying?’

He gazed up at Cloud. In all the years that his Imaginary friend has been with him, Cloud has never aged. Never changed. Of course, he’s never had any other imaginary friend, nor had he met anybody who had one. But it is to his understanding that they usually disappear after a certain age. And yet here Cloud is. The only constant in Sephiroth’s life aside from Hojo and the pain he brings.

However he’s noticed Cloud has been disappearing more frequently now. Sometimes fading, or growing transparent.

“So you’ve noticed” Cloud said sadly. He wasn’t dying per se. More like flickering. Disappearing. Dissolving. Leaving Sephiroth to fend Hojo on his own.

‘Don’t go’ Sephiroth tapped lightly. Afraid of what might happen. Cloud told him many things. From what it felt like to ride a chocobo, to how a motorcycle engine works, to the true nature of his birth. He told him about Lucrecia and a Turk named Vincent Valentine. How Hojo back stabbed them. How he killed Professor Gast (Sephiroth liked Professor Gast, he thought he’d merely been moved to another lab), and about Jenova. About what she really is. Sephiroth trusted Cloud, and believed everything he said

At first Sephiroth thought himself a monster. But after Cloud’s constant reassurances, he’d slowly accepted that he’s as human as anybody else.

“Sephiroth, I can’t stay for much longer” Cloud whispered, “Hojo’s gonna present you to the president soon. And I can’t follow you to Midgar”

‘What’ Sephiroth clenched his fist after asking.

“I can’t.” Cloud sounded pained, “I-...”

They stayed in silence. Inside Sephiroth’s room, full of grey steel. The quiet as thick as blood.

“It’s tonight” Cloud finally said.

“Please don’t leave me” Sephiroth whispered. The cameras be damned. He can’t. His friend is leaving him and-

“Sephiroth” Cloud gently apologized. “Remember everything that I’ve taught you, yeah?”

“...Please don’t. Stay. Please”

Cloud sighed, “I’ll stay as long as I can”

That night, Sephiroth cried. Unhibited, uncaring of the repercussions. Uncaring of what Hojo might do if he saw the tapes. All so he can mourn his friend properly.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Wutai war was finally finished. The streets of Midgar was filled with SOLDIERS and Infantrymen reuniting with their families, friends, and loved ones. The streets of Loveless avenue was full of hugging, kissing, and over all joy. It was practically a holiday. A festival.

Genesis had left with Angeal on a trip to a showing of Loveless. Leaving Sephiroth alone for his  homecoming. His friends asked him to join, but he politely declined. He’d much rather stay home than be carted around as a third wheel on their date.

So here he is, The Hero of Wutai. Alone on a joyous evening. He looked down on the streets. Quietly observing the goings on. He once wished for someone to return to. But the only person he’s ever remotely had was long gone.

He’s not even sure he existed.

Just then, his PHS started ringing.

“General sir?” An uncertain voice from the other side asked. It must have been the guards stationed in the lobby.

“Speak” Sephiroth only answered. Mildly annoyed.

“S-Sir, there’s a visitor for you.”

Sephiroth stayed silent. It’s most likely someone from his ridiculous fan club.

“Sir?”

“Where are they from” Sephiroth said coldly. He is not in the mood for dealing with crazed civilians tonight.

“Says h-he’s from Science sir!” The man answered sharply.

“Identification” Sephiroth asked. The only thing worse than a rabid fan, is one of Hojo’s men. 

He can hear the phone being passed to, presumably, the visitor. He had expected an update on a checkup, however the voice on the other end made Sephiroth stiffen.

“Sephiroth...It’s Cloud”

[kiapet2]

Aperture Sides Facility, Chapter 8: But I Think We Can Put Our Differences Behind Us. For Science. You Monster.

Masterpost

Chapter Summary: Test Chambers 2: Now Featuring More Things That Kill You!

Chapter Warnings: Death Mentions, Sex Mentions, Death Threats, Robotic Body Horror

Travelling with Janus is surprisingly chill, at least to start. He mostly seems to sleep, or whatever it is he does when his light is off, and you mostly focus on solving the puzzle Remus sets in front of you.

Said puzzle is actually pretty tame for the most part, which is pleasantly surprising considering who exactly is making the current test chambers, but also fills you with consternation about just what Remus might be cooking up in the meantime. Because there’s no way he’s just sticking to- what’s that blue spirally thing you just used to float yourself upwards? An Excursion Funnel? Yeah, you think that’s what Remus said. There’s no way he’s stopping at something as tame as Excursion Funnels, or at least ones that don’t end in spike traps or something.

Then you see the next chamber, and yup, that’s about what you expected.

“What’s the matter?” Janus says, noticing you hesitating. “The way forward is perfectly simple.”

You honestly can’t tell if Janus really does think the puzzle is easy or if he’s doing that sarcastic double-speak he seems to like. You can see the clearly intended solution of the puzzle easily enough- you need to jump into that horizontal Excursion Funnel, then redirect it using portals at the right times in order to switch the direction it carries you and get yourself over to the cube dispenser. What makes it not-so-simple, however, is the fact that these careful maneuvers would have to take place while hanging in midair over a freaking bottomless pit.

“I’m just not crazy about the potential for falling to my death,” you say. “Unless I’d be able to land on my Long Fall Boots, I guess?”

“He probably filled the pit with spikes,” Janus says.

“Great,” you mutter, nervously fiddling with the portal gun.

A large, black rectangle on the wall resolves into an image of Remus, and belatedly you realize it’s some sort of display screen.

“Hey dorks!” he says, peering down at you. “What’s the hold up?”

“Just… figuring it out?” you say, unsure how to respond to your current captor actually holding a conversation with you.

“Well get going! I need my orgasm, it’s time to Get. It. On!

He does a little shimmy during the last bit, his long, flexible body wiggling back and forth, before the screen once again goes black.

“His-” you choke, and Janus sighs.

“That body- my body- has a built-in euphoric response to testing. It can be… difficult to acclimate to, particularly if you’re not used to it. I was perfectly fine, of course, but Remus has all the self-control of a lemming on LSD. We may be in a bit of trouble here.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Why would Remus feeling good be dangerous to me? Don’t we want him to have a reason to keep us around?”

“You’re right, a human such as yourself is absolutely capable of fulfilling any and all demands necessary to accommodate an artificial intelligence who is literally addicted to the process of testing. You definitely don’t need to eat, or sleep, or take the occasional rest.”

“And once he gets bored with me…” you say, following the line of reasoning.

“He gets rid of you,” Janus confirms, “and likely me along with you. So let’s not do that, shall we?”

“We’ll call ‘not boring the out of control AI who wants to kill us’ Plan A,” you agree.

And that means actually doing the tests, instead of standing at the edge feeling scared. Staring down at the Excursion Funnel spiraling horizontally below you, you take a deep breath, then jump.

A few heart-stopping minutes later, you’ve successfully made your way over to the cube dispenser. Using portals you shift the Excursion Funnel so that it’s pointed upwards under the dispenser, then press the button. The dispenser drops a cube down into the abyss, and you wait patiently as the cube gently floats up to your level, buoyed by the spiraling Excursion Funnel.

Then the cube actually reaches your eye level, and you bite back a curse, stumbling backwards and falling on your butt.

Cackling sounds over the speakers as Remus once again appears on the tall screen. “Like my newest inventions, Tommy-boy? I made ’em just for you!”

“Why?” you groan, staring as the cube continues to rise, the two turrets that have somehow been fused into one of the cube’s sides chittering fearfully.

Remus laughs even harder. “It’s an improvement! I call it the Frankenturret: a true work of art.”

You shift the funnel away just long enough to let the- the Frankenturret, ugh, fall back down a ways before switching it back in order to lift the cube back up to your level. You gingerly reach out with the Portal Gun and grab the cube, before turning and practically running over to set it on the correct button.

You’re just congratulating yourself on another test solved when the turrets fused into the cube pop out legs and proceed to drag the cube forward and off the button, and okay what the fuck.

You shudder, then reach out and grab the Frankenturret again, watching it pull its legs back in as you do. You place it back on the button, this time upside down. You wait a moment, poised to grab it again, but the turret-cube seems to be staying in place.

You groan, practically falling back to sit on the floor. “That was a nightmare.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Remus says gleefully, popping back onto the screen. “Chop, chop, Tommy-pastrami, on to the next one!”

Your body feels like one massive bruise, and for a moment you’re tempted to sit a while longer or even lie down, Remus or no Remus.

Then you remember Janus’ warning: And once he gets bored… he gets rid of you.

Bracing yourself, you force yourself to stand, legs shaking, and make your way into the elevator.

When you enter the next test chamber, you find yourself stopping and staring. Instead of the enclosed test chambers you’re used to, this chamber appears to be missing the better part of one wall, giving you a view out into the massive cavern this chamber is apparently hanging in. As you watch, another large test chamber glides slowly towards you on a massive version of the Cores’ movement rails, grinding loudly against the cavern wall as it does so. You realize after a moment that the other room is on a collision course with yours, and you are just reaching for the wall to try and steady yourself when the other room connects with yours with a crash that sends you stumbling to keep your balance. The sides of the walls crunch and bend with the force, making a horrible grating noise of metal on metal.

Finally, the noise and vibrations subside, leaving you in a room that’s twice as big as it previously was, and also considerably more beaten up.

“Remus!” Janus yells, his yellow light flickering back to life. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Making a test chamber,” Remus says innocently. “I think it looks better now, don’t you?”

“The modular test chambers aren’t designed to be handled like that! You just broke equipment we have no way to replace!”

“Oh come on, Jan,” Remus says. “Who cares about some crummy old equipment when there’s testing to do? These chambers don’t just make themselves, you know!”

“This isn’t good,” Janus murmurs to you as you move forward to investigate the deep pit that the two halves of the chamber have formed. “He’s becoming more and more distracted from the well-being of this facility. There are functions that need to be maintained to keep the facility from undergoing complete destruction, and the longer he keeps this up the more likely he is to forget them entirely.”

It must be serious, if Janus isn’t even being sarcastic about the situation anymore. Mindful to not take too much time and risk boring Remus, you quickly redirect the chamber’s Excursion Funnel using a couple of portals, then use it to carry yourself across the newly created floor gap.

“How much time do we have?” you mutter as you press the dispenser button and get (oh joy) another Frankenturret.

“It depends on how far gone he is,” Janus says. “Days, if we’re lucky.”

You let out a breath. “Then it’s even more important to find a way to get out of here.”

Janus gasps melodramatically. “Of course, escaping! Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Just see what you can do, okay?”

The conversation comes to a lull as you finish up the level, using the Excursion Funnels to direct the cube back across the chasm, and in one heart-stopping moment, using a special panel to launch yourself into a Funnel’s path halfway across. You end the puzzle by floating the cube up and then sideways, pushing it into a button on the wall.

“Ah,” Remus moans as the cube presses the button inwards. “That’s… huh. That was kind of disappointing, actually.”

“Oh dear, it’s happening sooner than I expected,” Janus says as your blood turns to ice. After a moment he adds, “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

You don’t call him on the lie.

“I’ve got some old friends for you to see!” Remus says gleefully as you enter the next test chamber. The first “old friend” becomes clear as you see white Conversion Gel dripping from a pipe in the ceiling, into a chasm. Because there’s no clear surface the gel is falling onto, there’s no way to use your old strategy of shooting a portal onto the puddle of gel and letting the new drips fall through one portal and get shot out of the other. In fact, there doesn’t seem to be any way of catching or redirecting the falling gel, not until you notice the familiar moving spiral of an Excursion Funnel.

You’re just using the Funnel to move the gel to where you want it when you hear a voice that you’re pretty sure at this point is going to echo in your nightmares:

There you are.

Instinctively, you drop and roll, putting a wall between yourself and the several turrets that begin shooting at you. You’re just preparing to sneak a look at them, and hopefully figure out how to take them down, when you hear the familiar “AaAaaAa” and frantic shooting that accompanies turrets being knocked over. How in the world-

“Of course when I finally find you, you’re getting shot at.”

You probably jump about a foot into the air, adrenaline already on high from the dangerous situation. You turn and smile at the source of the surprise.

“Virgil! You’re here!”

He gives a two-fingered salute. “Sup, Thomas.”

You look him over, looking for dents or missing pieces and finding none. “Are you okay? What’s been going on out there?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil says, rolling his eye. “Being a worrywart is my job, stop stealing my thing.”

“Sorry,” you say, grinning, “I’m just really happy to see a friendly face.”

“Sorry it took me so long to find you,” Virgil says.

You shake your hand. “No, I get it. Remus has been moving things around a lot, it must be really weird from the outside.”

“Remus,” Virgil hisses. “What has that bastard been doing to you?”

“Mostly just testing, at this point,” you say. “But Janus thinks we might be in more danger soon.”

“Janus?” Virgil shrills, looking around wildly. “Where is he?”

“Right here,” you say, nodding down at where he’s speared onto your Portal Gun, currently inert.

“The- the potato,” Virgil says dubiously.

“It’s a long story.”

Virgil closes his eye and shakes his center plates back and forth so hard you hear rattling. “Never mind, it’s not important. What the hell are you doing, carrying Janus of all people around with you?”

“He said he’d help,” you say defensively.

“And you believed him?”

You think now probably wouldn’t be the best time to bring up the deal you and Janus made. “He’s in trouble as much as I am, Virge. And he can’t really do much as a potato- if he even thinks too hard he’ll blow a circuit.”

Virgil looks at the potato with a narrowed eye. “You still can’t trust him.”

“I trust him to look out for himself. For right now, that works for both of us.”

“I’ll be careful, Virge,” you add when he continues to glare.

Virgil sighs and finally breaks your gaze. “All right. What do you need right now?”

Your heart gives a little squeeze of pride at the question; Virgil has grown so much from the snide, antisocial Core you first met.

“I’m okay for right now. Go find the others- I’m going to find a way to escape, and when I do we’ll need to be ready to face whatever comes next.”

“Okay,” Virgil says, “but you’d better not die. If you do I’ll get Remus to invest in figuring out how to reanimate the dead, just so I can kill you again. He’d do it, too.”

You chuckle at that. “All right. Same to you, Virgil. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Virgil mutters, but you know him well enough to hear the smile in his voice. “See you later, Thomas.”

For a moment you get a strong feeling of deja vu. You had a similar conversation with Virgil right before Janus tried to kill you, you realize. Hopefully, that’s not a bad sign.

You shove the thought back down and do your best to smile at your friend.

“See you later, Virge.”

The rest of the test chamber goes by without much issue, as do the next few after that. Remus combines turrets, gels (which he gleefully compares to various... other types of fluids), deadly lasers and Excavation Funnels over bottomless pits with the frenetic glee of a kid at a Christmas party, while you just buckle down and do your best to survive.

It’s when you’ve just started the fourth of these chambers that Janus’ light flickers back to life.

“I think I have a plan,” he says quietly. “I’ll do it when Remus reappears. I’ll just have to be careful- hopefully the amount of power I’m using here is low enough that this won’t get me, too.”

That’s concerning, but Janus’ light goes dark before you can ask any follow-up questions, and you’re too preoccupied with getting through this chamber to dedicate too much brain power to it.

The test involves getting onto a long platform, then redirecting a laser to power it so that it moves to where you need to go. You use the portals to make the laser hit the right sensor and are feeling the pride of a task well done when a grid of deadly lasers suddenly flashes to life, right in the path of your now-moving platform.

You scream, images of hitting the laser field and coming out in pieces entering your head, and frantically shoot a portal to a different location, disconnecting the laser powering your platform and making it stop just as the lasers reach the center of your platform. The laser grid itself disappears when the platform stops, and running on the adrenaline of your near miss you move past the point where the lasers were, then restart the movement and hop off at the appropriate spot.

As soon as your boots hit solid ground you fall to your knees, breathing hard, and focus on getting your heart to stop beating out of your chest. That was a close one- a second later and you would have been filleted. If you had any doubt Remus is trying to kill you, that laser grid got rid of them handedly.

You’re just finishing up the test, still feeling a bit shaky, when Remus reappears on the display screen. “Hey, you did it! And all in one piece, too. Disappointing, but there’s always next chamber.”

Janus’ light flickers back on. “Alright, here goes,” he mutters to you, then yells, “This! Sentence! Is! False! don’tthinkaboutitdon’tthinkaboutitdon’tthinkaboutit-”

“Oh-ho-ho!” Remus says, his body shuddering and wiggling before coming to a rest again. “That was great! Like sticking a fork in an outlet and licking it! Give me another one!”

Janus sputters. “That was a logical paradox! It was supposed to temporarily short your circuits!”

“Aw, Jan,” Remus says, “you of all people should know I’m not a creature of logic. Hey, what about this one: A barber shaves only and all people who don’t shave themselves. Does-”

“Nope, nope, not listening!” Janus shouts, his light turning back off.

Remus cackles. “Ah, that was fun. Anyways, make sure to complete this test quickly, now. I’ve got a little surprise for you in a few chambers- one I’m sure you’ll be just dying to see.”

The screen goes blank, and you look down to see the potato’s light flicker back on.

“Was he… trying to be subtle?” you say.

Janus snorts. “Remus doesn’t do subtle. We’ve got to get out of here before he makes good on it.”

On that, at least, you’re both in agreement.

“Three more chambers until your big surprise,” Remus sing-songs as you enter the next chamber. The chamber has a large ditch in the middle, with a cube bouncing up and down inside it. A launcher panel is positioned in the middle of your current platform, clearly intended for use in reaching the other side.

“We’re running out of time,” Janus says lowly as you approach the launcher panel, trying to eyeball the timing you’ll need to catch the cube. “I think I can break us out of here in the next chamber. Just play along."

You step onto the launcher panel, then cry out as, instead of launching you forwards like expected it sends you careening sideways, the test chamber’s wall folding open to let you through. An excursion funnel catches you mid-flight and begins moving you forwards.

“Surprise!” Remus says. “It’s happening now.”

You look down to see yourself hanging over empty air, the ground too far away to see. Wherever it is you’re going, you don’t seem to have much choice in the matter. So just like always, then.

“I’ve got to hand it to him,” Janus says. “For someone who usually says every little thing that enters his head, that was quite a clever deception.”

“Aw, you flatter me, snakey-pie.”

The excursion funnel pushes you into another launcher, which sends you hurtling sideways with a yelp from both you and Janus. Hurtling towards a small platform, surrounded by giant metal plates. All of which are covered in spikes and poised to slam forwards.

Yeah, this is gonna suck.

[elaboratedbee]

Bigby x Reader

Request For: @strawberry-kitty-kat

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Female Reader

Summary: the big bad wolf makes it his mission to warm you up, and find out who you are.

Rating: E

Word Count: 6,206

Note: whoo, my first request! :)

A Dream Of Spring

Bigby

The first time that he saw her, it was in the elevator. Sees her was a slight overstatement, considering that her face was obscured by the overflowing cardboard box that she was holding in both arms, papers, files and stationary balanced precariously on top of one another. “Hold the elevator, please!” She called out, and her voice was unfamiliar to him. Wordlessly, he complied and stuck out a foot to jam between the sliding metal doors, triggering them to open up once more. 

Exhaling a sigh of relief, she hurried into the elevator beside him and now that they were standing side-on, he could regard her properly. Her face was still not one that he registered seeing before, and he thought to himself that she is striking enough that he would have remembered the first time. “Thanks,” she offered him a smile, which is genuine though slightly strained and he offered her a nod in return, his mouth occupied with his cigarette as he pressed the button for the business office. 

Bigby usually felt comfortable in silence, preferred it, even, but he felt compelled to introduce himself. Maybe it was because he found her so beautiful. He knew he would remember her and he wanted him to remember him too, desperately so. “Going to the business office?” He questioned gruffly, exhaling smoke into the little metal box. 

“Yes, it’s my first day,” she replied, which Bigby supposed explained the box of things. He connected the dots in his head as the elevator doors hauled themselves open once more with a groan of protest. It was a wonder the rusty contraption hadn’t broken down already. 

“You’re Snow’s replacement, her assistant?” It was barely a question as he asked it, considering that he already knew the answer and his tone was flat, “I’m going to speak to her now, I’ll show you in.” Bigby reached over and took the box from her arms, seeing that she was now straining slightly under the weight of copious books and stacks of paper. As he did so, their fingertips brushed ever so slightly, and a shock travelled through his body. They were freezing. 

“Sorry, I’m a little cold,” she apologised immediately, seemingly embarrassed by the incident as she hurriedly shoved her hands deep into her pockets. Bigby regretted letting his expression of surprise show so clearly on his face and masked it, though it was too late. 

A little cold? Sure, it was December, but it wasn’t cold in the building. Shrugging it off, he waved her apology away and they began walking down the hallway. “Takes more than a little cold to bother me,” he assured her, his words slightly muffled from his cigarette now that his hands were full with the box. 

“How’s that?” She asked curiously, and he was surprised again at the question. Most of the Fables would have known the answer, seen or heard about what he was capable of.

Setting the box down so that he could open the door to the business office, he removed his cigarette so that his words were now crystal clear.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the big, bad wolf.” He answered her in a low voice, swinging the door open and swiping the box off of the ground once more. To his slight annoyance, she proceeded to laugh at him and follow him into the large office.

“Alright, well, right now the ‘big, bad wolf’ is carrying my desk toys, so I’m not exactly shaking in my boots.” She teased him, and that startled a small smile out of the Sheriff. It wasn’t often that he came across someone who taunted him in good faith the first time they met him. The more common reaction to his presence was fear, anger, or some combination of the two. The office was empty, meaning Snow must have stepped out to take care of some matter or other and inexplicably, Bigby felt a small spark of excitement at being alone with the new assistant for a little longer. 

“What I am scared of,” she continued, sitting down on top of the desk and swinging her legs where they didn’t meet the ground, “is my first day on the job. You’re the Sheriff, you must know Snow pretty well, right? Is there anything in particular that I should do, or more importantly, not do? Like does she hate grammar errors or have an allergy to desk plants or something?” She stopped talking all of a sudden, and her pale cheeks made the light flush breaking out on them obvious. She flashed him an embarrassed smile to apologise for her nervous rambling. 

Bigby couldn’t help but stare, listening intently to her every word. The way her legs swung was almost child-like, she seemed so innocent. He was struck by the desire to pick up her box of things again and walk her out of this place before she saw anything less than pleasant. The business office was a hell of a lot less corrupt than it used to be, but the nature of the crimes and issues discussed in this room were still oftentimes disturbing. He didn’t want her to see that.

Or maybe, he didn’t want her to see him like that. 

“You’ll be fine,” he cursed himself for his absolute ineptitude as she listens to his utterly pathetic piece of advice. Was that supposed to be reassuring? She was going to think he was some kind of psychopath. Reminding himself that was exactly how he was meant to be perceived, Bigby finally extinguished his cigarette and looked away. 

To his surprise, when he turned back, she was smiling. “Thank you.” 

Bigby could tell when someone was lying and when someone was being ingenuine, and to his absolute disbelief, she was sincere. She stood from the desk and offered him a hand to shake, looking up at him with a sense of determination that didn’t shine as brightly as before. “You can call me Ro. I don’t feel as nervous anymore, now that I have you.” Her voice was bright and casual - it was nothing but an offhand expression of gratitude, but Bigby’s heart went still in his chest. 

His hand enveloped her small one almost completely, each of her digits branding a searing coldness into his warm skin. Bigby didn’t want to let go, he wanted to keep them there until they were warm. 

He didn’t.

They shook hands and pulled away, and she turned away from him and started pulling things out of the box, placing them on the wooden surface with care. Dumbstruck, Bigby stood like a statue for what felt like an hour but was thankfully only seconds, before he turned and walked away. Slowly, he closed his palm into a fist, swearing that he could still feel her hand in his. Whether that was from the cold, or for another reason, he didn’t want to consider. 

The wolf was already out of the building before he realised that he hadn’t even accomplished what he meant to do in the business office. He resolved to do it at another time, and as he raised a packet of cigarettes, he couldn’t help but smile just ever so slightly. If he tried, he could pretend it was the prospect of a cigarette and not the prospect of seeing her again. 

It was the next day before he finally got around to tracking Snow down again, and as he headed down the corridor to the business office, he could hear the faint sound of laughter behind the door. It was rare to hear Snow laugh at work, and he knew it must be Ro’s doing. Bigby didn’t know why he was getting nervous before he opened the door, he’d never been that way before, even when he knew he was on his way to be reprimanded by the deputy mayor herself. 

The Sheriff opened to door to a scene of veritable chaos. The new assistant was precariously balanced on one of the bookshelves, as Bufkin hovered nearby, concerned. Snow was laughing as she pulled one of the heavy ladders up to the shelves and he caught the tail-end of a discussion before they noted his entry. 

“- would’ve been fine, these bookshelves aren’t too hard to climb.”

“Next time that Bufkin is asleep on the job, you wake him up. Or, at least use a ladder.” Even if Snow was telling both of her teammates off, her voice was full of amusement for the two of them. With a triumphant grin, Ro swiped the desired book off the shelf before obediently returning to the ground via the ladder that Snow had provided. As he feet hit the ground, she saw him over Snow’s shoulder and her face brightened with a smile.

It made Bigby’s chest feel tight, that she was happy to see him. 

Snow turned around and gave him a wave, which he returned with a nod. Making his way over to the deputy mayor, he tried not to be distracted by the sound of his obsession’s voice, discussing some sort of financial matter with Bufkin as he reported to Snow. The princess preferred to be kept in the loop about the happenings of Fabletown, considering the criminal ongoing of the community often affected who walked in and out of her door needing a favour, and Bigby was happy to comply. Snow had proved herself a worthy partner, and mayor, many times over. 

Once they were finished, Bigby turned to leave slowly, hoping that he could think of some reason to stay a little longer, an excuse to speak to her. It would turn out that wasn’t necessary, as a call of his name met his ears. Ro waved him over to her desk and he raised his eyebrows at the sight. No wonder that box had been so damn heavy for her, the surface was covered in trinkets and ornaments. 

A garish mug that held her pens proclaimed, “I love NY!” Next to that, a glass jar of candies with the lid off, an offering to anyone waiting to see Snow. It was an odd and thoughtful gesture that he didn’t recall seeing anywhere before in Fabletown. An elegant wooden picture frame faced away from him, preventing the wolf from seeing the picture inside, sparking his curiosity. Besides the frame sat a small but ornate snowglobe, and he was afraid to pick it up, fearing that he’d be too rough and break it. Finally, a gathering of tiny plant pots congregated in the corner; a succulent, a Chinese money plant and a cactus. 

He huffed in amusement at the sight of it, “that is the ugliest fucking mug I have ever seen.”

Ro scowled at him, but her eyes were sparkling. “Shut up, Bigby, this is a very impressive collection, alright?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” The wolf’s words were sarcastic, but he raised an eyebrow in question, betraying his curiosity. He ended up leaning against the desk, fixated on her as she told him the story behind every object.

The mug was the first thing that she had bought after everything that happened, ending with all of the Fables moving to the city. 

The sweets, she explained, were for anyone who was mad at having to wait in a line for so long and especially for Toad’s son, who was, “extremely adorable,” according to her. 

Her tone was soft as she remarked on the snow globe, describing it only as, “a gift,” in a small voice that made Bigby want to find whoever had made her feel that way and rip their arms off of their body. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. Once again, she was positively freezing to the touch, and this time he even felt minute tremours wracking her frame. Looking up to meet his eyes, she didn’t pull away from him for a long moment. It was nice, to not be feared. 

The tension between them mounted, but he found himself unable to pull away from her. Thankfully, she did and brushed over the photograph, reaching for the cactus instead. “This reminds me of you.” She stated factually, holding it up to him. 

“How?” Bigby questioned, falling into her trap and watching the mischievous grin of delight appear on her face. 

“Prickly,” she laughed when he responded by flipping her off, which only made it worse. 

Bigby had to leave after that, heading over to one of the many bars in Fabletown to break up some sort of fight that was breaking out. After receiving a call from the owner, who had yelled down the phone that if Bigby didn’t get there soon then there wouldn’t be a bar left to save, he knew he was in for a fight. Fables didn’t give up easy, especially when they were pissed and drunk. It was not going to be a pleasant evening. 

When he returned home much later, with blackened eyes and bleeding knuckles, he stopped by his office to grab some case files before heading up to his room. 

There on his desk was the little cactus. 

A kind of warmth that started in his stomach crept through his body like it was travelling in his veins, reaching his heart and making it hurt. This was bad. Bigby had it really, really, bad. 

The next time that he saw her, it was snowing. A soft dusting of white was beginning to layer on the sidewalks and rooftops outside of the business office, where she stood on the side of the road. Darkness was falling as she attempted to hail a cab, but rush hour traffic meant that she could be waiting for a little while. Approaching, Bigby noted that she was shaking, even more violently than the last time they had met and frowned to himself. “Ro,” he greeted her, as not to frighten her as he came closer.

“Bigby!” She greeted him with a wide smile, despite her chattering teeth. 

“It’s getting dark. I’ll wait with you.” He stated, leaving no room for an argument or dispute. Fabletown was a shithole and he wasn’t about to abandon her on the side of the road as dusk fell. She heard his tone and didn’t bother to put up a fight, opting to instead enjoy his company. Once again, she shivered and Bigby couldn’t take it anymore. Uncaring if he was crossing any boundaries, he shrugged off the long coat that he wore in the Wintertime and draped it over her shoulders, still warm from the heat of his body. He was a wolf, he didn’t exactly run cold.

Her mouth fell open in surprise at the sudden weight around her shoulders, and she glanced at him with wide eyes. “You’ll be cold,” she protested, but the shivering had stopped. Bigby would do it a hundred times over.

“I’ll be fine. You’re fucking freezing at the best of times,” he pointed out and she sighed with disappointment at the reminder. It made him curious. “Is there a reason?” He pushed for more information and didn’t receive an answer. The silence stretched out between them and he immediately regretted his decision to ask. After a minute, he felt a pressure at his side. 

She was leaning against him. 

Bigby felt a surge of panic as he wondered if she could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest when she was so close like this, which only made it beat faster. Her cold frame was tucked into his side, and he thought he might die on the spot. “I don’t want you to get cold,” her voice was soft. Bigby didn’t care that her temperature didn’t exactly provide him with any real warmth, the hot blood rising in his cheeks was enough to make him feel warm with embarrassment. He counted his blessings that her eyes remained on the street ahead, scanning for a cab.

Eventually, one pulled up on the curb and Bigby stepped forward, opening the door for her. Taking off his coat, she folded it carefully before handing it back to him. So careful with his things, she treated the old, beaten coat like it was of the finest silk. She stepped inside the car and he lingered for a moment, arm resting on the door, the freezing metal no different from Ro’s body temperature. 

“Goodnight, Bigby.” She hesitated before leaning up and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Her lips were like ice and he wondered how they weren’t blue. He liked it anyway. Stepping back and shutting the door, Bigby waited on the sidewalk until the taxi was long out of sight before he turned and headed indoors. 

He was starting to like the cold.

That night he couldn’t sleep. He had so many questions about who she was, what her Fable was, that it was impossible to take his mind of her as he laid awake in his chair, his eyes fixated on the ceiling. He knew that it must be something to do with her temperature - how else could she be so freezing to the touch all the time? She was constantly shivering and shaking, and it only seemed to be getting worse each time he saw her.

Closing his eyes, he remembered how she felt against his side. Her touch was addictive, worse than the nicotine in his cigarettes. Every time that they came close, it made him need it all the more. His fingers came up to hover over his cheek, where he had kissed him. In his mind, she hadn’t stepped into the cab at all. In his mind, he had taken her into his arms there and then, and kissed her senseless. She would be here in his apartment, pressed up against him and they would be more than warm as - 

Bigby shook his head fervently to rid himself of the thoughts, feeling guilty. Tomorrow, he would get answers, he promised himself.

The sun hadn’t fully risen in the sky as he left his apartment the following morning. Heading straight for the business office, he wasted no time in using his keys and opening the door. Switching on the lights, he stepped into the room and looked around. “Bufkin?” He called out, wondering if the winged creature would be present, or awake. There was no answer, so he headed toward the stacks.

This was going to be difficult, considering he didn’t even know her name. That made using the mirror a fruitless task, and while what Bigby was doing by looking her up wasn’t exactly moral per se, looking at her while she was most likely asleep was not a good idea.

Heading over to her desk, he wondered if she would have her real name somewhere. Bigby didn’t spot it, and he was distracted by her collection of things. A fond smile crossed his face, and he picked up the little snowglobe, holding it carefully in his palm. Inspecting it more closely, it was a field covered in snow, and in the centre, there were two figures. A boy and girl, who seemed to be dancing, while he played the flute. Shaking it, he watched the glittery flakes dance and flurry around the little glass sphere.

Thankfully, he had placed it down on the desk before a cough resounded from behind him. “Fuck!” He swore as he spun around to see Bufkin, swallowing his surprise and glaring instead.

“Bigby?” The flying monkey was surprised to see him, “what are you doing?”

“Well,” Bigby hesitated before explaining, which is exactly how he knew what he was doing was a terrible idea, “I was trying to find Ro’s fable. But I don’t know her real name.”

“Ah, I see,” Bufkin seemed thoughtful before he answered, “as always, if you find her real name then I will help you as much as I can, but I can’t help but suggest that you ask her. I’m not sure that she’ll appreciate if you find out without her knowing.” 

Hanging his head, Bigby sighed, “I know.” Considering the way he did his job, Bigby wasn’t much used to having the truth withheld from him for long. In the instances when it was, he had never done nothing about it. This was different, he should know that. Looking back at the desk, he saw the space where the cactus used to be and felt ashamed. She had been kinder to him than anyone he had ever met, the first person not to assume he was every bit the beast he once was, and he was already proving to her that she should have treated him like a monster all along. 

Bufkin patted his shoulder warily, seemingly relieved that the wolf had come to his senses. Bigby started to walk away from his desk when the sound of keys entering the lock made him freeze. At that moment, Bigby had two options. He could stand there and face whoever it was head-on, or he could try and hide. It was fight or flight, and Bigby had never been much of a flyer. 

Upon realising that the door was already open, the person on the other side entered the room. Of course, it was Ro. She stared at him in surprise, obviously shocked to see him in the office so early and without the presence of Snow. “Bigby?” The confusion was evident in her tone, “can I help you with anything?”

His guilt intensified. Only she would assume he was here for a noble cause, for a case he was working on or an urgent business matter. Of course, her first question would not be what he was doing but how she could help. He didn’t know how he ever thought he could deserve a chance with her. Well, this was his chance to ruin it.

“I came here to find your fable. I wanted to know who you are.” Bigby stated bluntly, and he watched as her face fell. Her usually bright eyes went dim, and her ever-bright smile went cold. It was a crushing pain, but it was almost tinged with relief. He had known he wasn’t good enough, known that he was a monster.

At least now that she knew, he could stop pretending. 

She didn’t say anything as he walked past her and left.

You

The slam of the door shutting behind him rang in your ears, as you struggled to process the information. You feel tears beginning to sting your eyes, and you’re glad that the wolf walked out so that he didn’t see them. How could he do that to you? 

You keep your gaze on the floor as you head to your desk, embarrassed by the display of emotion and not wanting Bufkin to see them. Slamming your papers down on your desk a little harder than you would normally, you sat down and tried to work, but the words were blurry in front of you. Bufkin is quiet behind you, offering a few words of consolation, “If it helps, Miss, he didn’t succeed. In fact, he stopped what he was doing of his own accord before you arrived.”

It was nice of Bufkin to try and comfort you, but his words didn’t fix things, and you were afraid of what kind of sound would come out if you opened in your mouth. You started your paperwork in silence and went about confirming Snow’s schedule for the day until she arrived later. As soon as she arrived, she could tell that something wasn’t right. You greeting was a little quiet, your smile not as genuine, no matter how much you tried to put up a front.

I guess I’m not like Bigby, you thought to yourself bitterly, I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.

Snow didn’t comment on the situation until after you’ve left and returned from the office, delivering papers to the thirteenth floor. When you returned, it was obvious that Bufkin must have reported to Snow what had happened by the pitying look in her eyes. “Don’t,” you pleaded with her, not ready to talk about it and too embarrassed to explain. 

“Okay,” she agreed, before biting her lip. “I’ve known Bigby a long time, and you know what that means for a Fable. I’ve seen him grow and change from a heartless monster into a man that cares about Fabletown - maybe even more than anyone else. But he has a funny way of showing it. He yells, and he fights and he pushes everyone away, but at the end of the day, he’s the one out there in the dead of night keeping us safe.”

“What’s your point?” You asked and your voice was tired.

“My point,” she continued patiently, “is that Bigby as a friend is a lot like Bigby as a Sheriff. Even though he pushes you away, he really cares. Now, I think that’s something worth fighting for, and I do, God knows we’ve argued in the past. That doesn’t mean you have to, but it would mean a lot to me if you’d consider it.” After she was done, she continued with her business, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

That woman was a damned good politician. 

The next few days were torture. Bigby avoided the business office, and you avoided him. His presence in the Woodlands was already scarce, but now it seemed that he was never home. The few glimpses of him you caught in hallways were brief, and neither of you met one another’s eye line. The closest you come is when you see him enter the elevator as you walk into the building.

This time, you didn’t call for him to wait and he doesn’t. 

But you did meet his eyes, not on purpose, as the doors were closing and it made your throat constrict. They were filled with guilt. For a split second, you think of saying something, anything. Of calling his name and having it out right then. But the doors closed, and he was gone again. You started to shiver, feeling colder than you ever have before.

The next time you saw him, you thought that he was dead. He was collapsed in a chair in the business office, as Doctor Swineheart’s elegant fingers moved back and forth. He performed surgery like he was playing the harp, his digits moving surely and gracefully across the strings, the thread following his crescendos up and down, in and out of Bigby’s skin. You wanted him to open his eyes so badly that you could no longer breathe. You closed your eyes and wished you had called out at the elevator. You called out now.

“Bigby!” 

Snow, Bufkin and the Doctor turned to look at you. The latter didn’t bat another eye, simply returning to his suturing while the other two gave you a sympathetic glance, but their concern was lying in front of them. As you got closer, you could see the rise and fall of his chest underneath all the blood, and you felt all of the air leave your lungs. The relief was crushing you, and you could have wept if you were able to take your eyes off of him. 

“Bigby,” you whispered again, and it’s a broken hush at this point. Reaching out your hand to touch him, you stopped yourself, withdrawing. Your hands were ice, they wouldn’t be any comfort to him. Useless. 

At the sound of your voice, he stirred. Eyelids flickering ever so slightly, a low and pained grown escaped his battered mouth. The Doctor was apparently done with him, even though there seemed to be copious amounts of blood to deal with and stood up. “No silver,” he announced, and his tone was calm enough to reassure you all, “he’ll be just fine. I could waste my breath and tell him to take it easy, but I think we all have better things to do.” A chorus of gratitudes accompanied his exit and Snow sighed with frustration. 

“He never learns,” she attempted to sound angry, but there was no heat behind it. “Can you take him upstairs? I need to deal with the culprits.” At this time, Bigby finally opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings with a slight air of panic. Once he recognised the faces around him, he calmed, but it was clear that his body is on fire from the pain. Nevertheless, he pushed himself to his feet, clenching his teeth to prevent the howl of pain from escaping. Rushing forward, you placed yourself underneath his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but lean on you for support. Together, you managed to stumble to his apartment, and you patted him down for his keys. Retrieving them from his front pocket, you managed to open the door and turn on the light, revealing the cramped apartment. 

It suited him. 

You managed to push Bigby into the only available armchair and stood in front of him. Tiredly, he met your eyes and offered you a bloody mockery of a smile. It was a horrible sight. 

“Shame they had to go and ruin your pretty face,” you broke the silence, too worried and horrified to put up any defences against the man. Not tonight. You cupped his swollen jaw with one of your hands and he let out a strangled moan, leaning into the touch.

“You ‘fink I’m pretty?” His voice was a slur, due to his broken nose, cut mouth or some combination of the two. At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humour. The pain was making him more candid, you thought. “S’nice,” he continued, “like an icepack.” You realised he was talking about your hands and gave him a strained laugh. At least you could be somewhat helpful. Using the other one to cover his bruised knuckles, you let a silence fall between you again. It wasn’t awkward, anymore. You supposed a near-death experience could do that.

Ignoring his growl of protest, you eventually moved away to grab supplies. A glass of water, towels and real ice. He seemed deeply disappointed in your decision to bring him water of all things. “Whiskey,” he demanded. 

“You know what, how about when you can walk over there and pour yourself a glass, you can have some?” You drawled and he let out a frustrated huff, letting his head drop back against the back of the chair. Slowly, you cleaned the blood away, starting with the cut on his forehead and making your way downward. You applied ice to his bruised lip, and slowly and carefully dabbed at the blood from his bullet wounds. It seemed endless. 

“Jesus, Bigby.” You breathed out, the metallic scent of blood was thick in the air. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice was quiet, unlike how you’d ever heard it before, it was almost frightening.

“Don’t be, you did your job and -”

“Not that.” He cut you off, and stared up at the ceiling, unable to meet your eyes.

“I know.” You cleaned the last of the blood from his chest and decided to wait a while to change the bandages, even though they were already soaking through with blood. After disposing of any blood-soaked materials, you returned to the wolf and carefully pushed his hair back from his forehead. 

“Can I do anything else?” You asked, and he flinched at the words. Perhaps it reminded him of the argument you had, or perhaps he was just in too much pain. 

“Stay,” his voice was certain, his tone commanding, but his eyes were pleading. Begging. How could you refuse? You sat on the arm of the chair, close by his side as if your mere presence would heal him. Even in the short time that had passed, he looked considerably better than he had when you’d seen him lying on the table, especially without the excess blood staining his skin. With great effort, he turned one of his hands so that it was lying palm up. You knew what he wanted, and you slid your hand into his. He hissed at the temperature, and you wondered if the fact that you’re worried sick makes it worse.

“Bigby,” your voice was slow, and it felt like a loaded question when you asked him again, “can I do anything, else?” He clenched his jaw like he was trying to stop himself and can’t, sitting up and leaning close to you, until your lips were an inch away from his. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at you while you breathed one another in. He’s alive, you thought, and I’ll never forget it. Eventually, he closed his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore.

“Kiss me,” his voice was hoarse. With pain or vulnerability, you didn’t know. But you complied, leaning forward and meeting his lips. He pushed hard and fast, like he had been starved of you for too long, but you pulled back and kept it soft. His poor mouth had been bleeding not too long ago, and you didn’t want to hurt him more. You could tell he didn’t care. Your hands came up to cradle his face, one under his rough jaw and the other firmly gripping his hair. You held him like he was fragile and precious and loved. Slowly, the temperature of your hands started to rise, unnoticeable at first. As you placed gentle kisses on his mouth, and then his cheeks, one on his crooked nose and along his bruised jaw, you felt yourself grow warm, for the first time in your life. It was indescribable. 

“Your hands,” Bigby covered one with his own, marvelling. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you acclimatised to the feeling of not feeling cold, feeling pain, wracked with shivers. The wolf raised a hand to wipe them away, letting himself linger on your cheeks now that they weren’t freezing to the touch. 

When you were ready, you took a breath and explained to him who you were. “Snegurochka is my real name. You can probably see why I shortened it. But the more common name is The Snow Maiden. I was made of snow by an old couple, they were beautiful. Kind and generous and good, but they could have no children. When Father Frost saw how sad they were, he made me real, so that I could be a daughter to them. But I could never,” you paused, struggling to explain, “I was always cold. I felt cold all of the time, no matter how much I loved them. Soon, I found a new kind of love. At least, I thought that was what it was. I think I just wanted to feel it so badly that I made myself believe it. A boy from the village played music for me, and we played in the snow, enjoying Christmas. When Spring came, I thought that our love would be enough. He led me to the village, to the edge of the woods that I had lived in my whole life. I ignored every warning and stepped out into the Sun. It was an indescribable pain, and I could not follow him.”

Bigby stared at you in silence, listening intently. “The next Winter, I waited to see him again, in the woods. But when I saw him, he had taken another. They played together in the snow, where we once did, and I thought then that I would be cold forever.” Your voice trembled as you recounted the story of your heartbreak before you looked at him. 

“But you, you kissed me and meant it. You broke the spell. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you before, about who I was. To be honest, I think I was hoping that you would.” It was a lot to take in, and Bigby seemed speechless for a long moment. Wordlessly, he pulled you close and pressed a hard, forceful kiss to your lips. 

“Never again,” he promised, “you’ll never be cold again.” 

It was a fairly hard task that Bigby had undertaken that night, but he went about it dutifully. You still got cold far more easily than almost anyone else, your fingertips icy and the tips of your ears going red. The wolf liked to cocoon your hands within his, warming them up whenever the two of you stood still in the cold. Before you went outside in foul weather, he would drape a coat around you, or hang a scarf around your neck. More often than not, he would dress you in something of his. He didn’t admit it, but you were fairly sure he just liked to see you marked as his for the rest of the world to see.

It was sweet, the way he pressed kisses to your cold fingertips when nobody was looking and tucked you under his arm if the wind was howling, but really, the cold didn’t bother you anymore.

No matter how much the ice froze, the wind pushed, the rain poured and the snow danced, as long as you had Bigby, your love for him burned hot in your chest like a roaring fire, warming you from the inside out. 

[123goth]

Your move

Listen: I would scream if I had a mouth. I have a story. So that is what I will use.

You have seen him before. He might as well live in your periphery. He is tall and seems to carry his weight in his chest and shoulders. He has a narrow waist and legs that taper down to small leather shoes. 

Not that you've noticed any of this before. You've been distracted, haven't you? If I told you this same man walked by your home every day, paused to peer into your window, you wouldn't want to believe me. But you couldn't say for certain that I'm wrong.

I'm not wrong. 

He might be very close right now. He might even be in your house. After all, there are so many excellent hiding places, aren't there? The back of a closet, behind the shower curtain, inside a cabinet…

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I promised you a story. And perhaps we still have time for it.

Understand: This man is not from your time. Spare me your disbelief. There are things beyond your comprehension. You are too old to think you know the universe.

Twenty years from now, this man lives on the coast with his five-year-old daughter. Their house, a patchwork creation of driftwood and corrugated metal, clings to the side of a rocky cliff. When the tide crashes in, the salt spray splashes against the windows. The sky is the color of steel, and the water is foam-flecked black. 

Everything is cold, harsh, and wet—except for inside the house. Warm yellow light spills out from a window, and a steady finger of smoke curls up from a slanted chimney.

Inside, the man reads to his daughter. He sits in a faded orange armchair by the fire, and she lays on her stomach in front of him, alternating her focus on the flames and the pages turning in her father's hands. 

"When you finish this story, can you read another?" 

He makes a show of looking at half the book that's remaining and then looking back at her. "Already tired of this one?"

She shakes her head. "No, I just don't want this one to be over. I don't want them to ever end."

He smiles and agrees, even though he knows she'll be asleep long before he'll have to pick out a new book. He knows how she feels. He doesn't want any of this to be over. He wants to hold onto every second, close his fingers around them and keep them safe, keep them from marching on.

And it is at that moment that everything goes white—a blast of blinding light that disintegrates the scene into dust—and then fades.

He is wedged into the cliff's face when the man comes to, soaked, hanging a few feet above the waves. Above him, the remains of his house: a couple of stumpy wooden beams and one amputated orange limb of his armchair. Below him, inky black ocean.

His daughter is gone. He will search for her for a long, long time. 

What he finally finds is not what he is looking for. He discovers a way to go back. But innovation is never as neat as any of us would like. He can only travel back a set number of years, way before his daughter is born.

So before he goes back, he does his homework. He researches. He spends hours in the archives of war museums, flipping through files, searching for someone new.

Searching for you.

And then he makes the leap, jumps back a few decades, emerges the same if a little nauseous for a spell, into a world transformed. The colors seem brighter here, the smiles wider, flashing ferociously, the eyes emptier and hungrier.

But of course, that's what he would see. He, an interloper. Here, a brave old world.

On his third day back, he finds you, speaks to you. He asks you for the time. His hands are trembling; his eyes never leave yours. Do you remember? It was a year or so ago. 

Your paths keep crossing, but he gets more cautious, becomes a flickering shadow, in and out of the corners of your life. Waiting. Watching.

So where is he now? Soon you might know better than me. 

He is tightening his resolve now, like a noose. 

Listen: You killed this man’s daughter. Not yet, not now. Twenty years in the future. Will it make you feel better if I say it was for a “cause”? Or for the “greater good”? It’s true. At least it’s true that you’ll tell yourself that when the time comes.

I understand you are not a killer. Neither is this man with wide shoulders and tiny shoes who may be in your house right now. But the years change us. Stories change us. You will be protecting your family, your friends, when you send bombs across the sea. And he thinks, by killing you, he’ll be avenging the memory of his daughter.

Maybe you still don’t believe me. But think: Is there a limit to what you would do for love? Is any price too high to pay? You will have an answer for thPaulaat soon, in the trying years ahead, whether you can face it now or not.

You two are very similar. Do you find that interesting? Relevant? Perhaps not. You both love words and tales and the drama, mystery, and madness of being alive. 

See: His story is partly your story, too. 

But no more of this. I fear it may be too late, and I’ve done all I can. Please, listen. 

Not to me.

A sound. Can you hear it? It’s inside your home. Maybe the creak of a door or a soft muffled step on the carpet. Or a shallow inhales of breath that’s not yours...

He is there, right now. Do not run. Do not call for help.

Remember the story. He doesn’t want this one to end, not like this—and not deep down, not where it counts. Do you? 

The shadow in the corner. It’s not a shadow.

Okay. Your move.

[imagine-loki]

Atlas: Space, Jupiter

TITLE: Atlas: Space

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: 7/12

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine narrating episodes of Loki’s life with the Avengers based on the songs from Sleeping At Last’s “Atlas: Space” album. 

RATING: T-M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Welcome to my Sleeping At Last’s Atlas: Space challenge, aka Another writing project I do not have time for, but my brain insisted on doing.

This series will be less like a multichapter fic and more of a one-shot compendium, but that they all interconnect in one way or another. It will revolve around Loki and Becca’s relationship (Taking Turns, Glow, Helmet Heists–don’t worry, more Loki-Charlie stuff will be along) and I will use those one-shots as reference to the timeline. Each chapter will be one song, used as inspiration for the story.

Chapter 7: Jupiter

Summary: Tony has warned Loki and Becca about their heart eyes interfering with their work. So, what do they do? They sneak around in secret, of course. Well, sort of secret. (Post Taking Turns.)

Warnings include: Language, annoyingly soft domesticity, self-sabotage (I wonder who -.-). Fluff. All the fluff. 

=

Wrote it down in the winter of 1610 Just a secret under lock and key until then While collecting the stars, I connected the dots I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not I’m just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit, in orbit Like a magnet it beckoned my metals towards it, towards it

Loki sat basking in the warmth of the mid-morning sunshine at the corner of the development lab. He had cleared out a small corner of one of the lab benches and settled in with a few reference books and an empty notebook. In his head, his goal for the day was to uncover the secrets of an ancient tome he had only just found on a trip off-world. Ink marred his fingers, the ball-point pen running as he hurriedly jotted down notes, but his focus was somewhere else entirely. It was with the empty side of his bed that morning, and the faint smell of vanilla and sugar lingering on his pillow; with his favorite jumper, and the fact that it had been unceremoniously tossed on a chair.

He had set course for the lab as soon as he was able, like a magnet searching its opposite charge.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention and he cut his eyes towards it. Becca’s form caused him to double-take. Quiet and concentrated, she tinkered with a prototype for the Spiderboy’s suit. His stare grazed over the elegant column of her neck, craned at a slightly awkward angle as deft fingers took care to place tiny components onto a circuit board. Loki forced himself to continue working, though his body would betray him, only to stare blankly at the object of his affections, like a fool. Shaking his head, he turned back to his notebook and promptly groaned when he noted that part of his notes had been obscured by a rough sketch of Rebecca, bent over her work.

Loki had never been one to indulge in drawing or any other form of art, though he certainly did not lack the ability. His lines were smooth and deliberate, and though looked true to model, they lacked the same warmth and light Rebecca naturally exuded. It did little to capture the dainty shadows of her eyelashes on her cheekbones or the soothing aura that enveloped him as soon as he got near arm’s reach. Nor did it portray his overwhelming need to act cool and collected when he was in her presence, when all he wanted to do was talk until he had discovered every last secret of hers, and she of his.

“What are you doing?” The voice appeared in his ear so suddenly that he started. He slammed his notebook closed a second later. “Jeez, since when are you so jumpy?”

“I was distracted. Didn’t think I’d be snuck up on in the middle of the day in the lab,” he grumbled, turning in his seat to face her.

Almost compulsively, his hand sought to pull her closer, resting at the point he knew that bullet had pierced her skin, months ago. He shouldn’t want to pull her into his arms and kiss her and promise her the world, when he knew full well it could hurt her. But he got so easily swept up in the delicious sweetness of her character behind closed doors and the way her eyebrow quirked when she was about to say something clever and sexy.

Becca brushed some of his dark locks out of his face and behind his ear, taking care to brush her fingers all the way down his neck before retreating. She smiled, something secret and intimate, before sighing. “You know better than to come in here while I’m working, Loki.”

“I wanted to see you,” he breathed, leaning forward until his forehead rested on her collarbone. Becca immediately petted his hair back as a shiver ran down his spine. “No one was here and Stark–”

“Already warned us about dating interfering with our work, and you know it.”

“I’m sorry I cannot resist the temptation of your charms.” He pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat and ghosted his lips over her neck until he felt her resolve melt. “Do you want to tell Stark you’re sick and go someplace else?”

She snorted. “It’s Saturday, Loki. I can go wherever I want.” He righted himself, quick as a flash, narrowing his eyes at her with a frown. “Seriously, glance at the calendar, every now and then.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“My boyfriend was deep in slumber this morning, so I kept myself occupied.” She grinned brightly, cocking her hip to rest her weight on one leg, the shift causing her curves to stand out in stark relief. His fingers shifted from his thigh to the spot where her wide hips flared and just the barest bit of bone jutted out delicately. He was fascinated with how his hands fit so perfectly onto her body.

“Why, pray tell, would you not just sneak into my bed and wait for me to wake?” He growled playfully.

“I wasn’t looking for disappointment so early in the mor–” The wind left her lungs in the form of a yelp as she was thrown over Loki’s shoulder and he blipped out of existence from the lab.

Make my messes matter Make this chaos count Let every little fracture in me Shatter out loud

Despite the fact that every member of the team had accommodations at Stark Tower, Becca had maintained her small apartment in the city. It was across the street from a small community park, filled with trees and laughing children, and not a single concern about HYDRA or alien races or some other world problem. It had quickly become their little escape spot whenever they felt the tower was staring at them too hard or too often.

Becca had been apprehensive of bringing Loki here. No one could ever say that she lived in the lap of luxury or that she had the best and most comfortable furnishings in the land, but this little shoebox was her safe space–her own little world. She feared Loki would have more than a few less than kind things to say about it. Instead, he embraced the familiar coziness of the small sofas and huddled into the warmth of the afghans she would wrap him in when he inevitably fell asleep while intending to devour her book collection. Not only that, but he looked so at peace in her little world. Every morning she woke to him neck-deep in bedsheets and duvets, looking as if he had been sharing that bed with her from the moment she got this apartment, just after her doctorate.

“No, Tony, I don’t know where Mischief is,” she said into the STARKphone balanced on her shoulder as she played with Loki’s hair. The man in question smirked up at her from his place on her lap. “Did you check his room? The library? What does his GPS say?” She contained a giggle when Loki turned to blow raspberries into her stomach to make her laugh. “I’m at home, working on that plasma cannon patent you wanted.” Biting down on her lip, she smacked Loki’s shoulder to deter his agenda of making her break. “OK. Talk to you later, Tony.” When Becca hung up, her eyes narrowed at the giggling man with the bright blue eyes. “I will have to find some way to punish you for that.”

Loki chuckled, his long arms drawing her torso down so he could kiss her. “Mmm… punish away, love.”

“Kinky bastard.”

He frowned momentarily. “You’re the one who insists on following Stark’s rules, not I. Why am I the one being punished?”

Becca rolled her eyes, as if she hadn’t answered this question a million times before. “If he knew you the way I do, we wouldn’t need any damn rules.”

“Darling, if he knew me the way you do, I would have swindled him out of his company with a thorough fuc–”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” She groaned, but promptly bent down to recapture his lips with her own. He pretended he was unaffected by the precious ache that tore his soul whenever she indulged his ridiculousness, every time she tended to a fissure in his dry, sarcastic armor.

Make my messes matter Make this chaos count Let every little fracture in me Shatter out loud

The breeze that blew through the summer leaves was perfumed with flowers and the lingering scent of petrichor from an earlier shower. It sweetened the secretive meeting under the great oak tree. Loki had walked away in a huff after a disagreement with Thor, and Becca had been at her home all week, working on some paperwork for Stark. It wouldn’t be long before Thor, Tony, or even Natasha went off to search for him, so they enjoyed each other’s company for as long as they could.

“Have you ever been off-world?” Loki asked, back against the tree with Becca resting on his chest, between his legs. He was playing with her hair, making long braids and twisting them into patterns on her head.

Becca laughed. “Have I been to space? No. I have not.”

“I should take you somewhere. There’s so much more than dreary Midgard.” He kissed her cheek as he pinned a braid behind her ear. “I could take you somewhere pretty.”

“I’m sure traveling with someone who’s pissed off half the galaxy is a grand idea, Loki,” she teased, and he pinched her side lightly before chuckling.

“They don’t hate me everywhere.” He considered it shortly while twisting a strand into a rose. “Just most places.”

She half-turned in her spot, leaving Loki to stop his work to attend her focused stare. “Loki, I love…t-to travel. It’d be fun to go off-world with you.” Her cheeks were a deep shade of red when she turned back around, leaving Loki to smile, almost proudly to himself. The smile faltered almost, instantly, the darker side of him chiming in about how it was a bad idea to get attached. She had not been wrong–his reputation would more than likely land them both in hot water. It took more than a minute to bring himself back to the whimsical state of mind he had been in a few seconds prior.

Becca’s phone buzzed and she turned it over to see a text from Tony that read Need to discuss web-shooter patents, followed by Tell Lokes I said hi. “Oh, busted.” She giggled before getting onto her knees and turning to face him. “I’ll see you later, Loki,” she muttered, cupping his face in her hands and kissing him before getting up and dusting the dirt off. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind you when you leave.” She was out of sight a moment later.

Her smile felt like a balm to his troubled soul. But it was still troubled. Why did every little morsel of affection feel like a wound and why did he want them so badly? Was it because of the affection or the pain? Did she deserve to live with this darkness? Would it dim her light? Could he even think about letting her go?

Groaning, he banished all thought from his brain and made his way back to her apartment. He would worry about this later.

[stevenroguers]

we are soldiers

Summary: ‘The last time Steve had lost him, on the train, there had been no goodbye. 

It’s only fitting that this time there is a month for farewells and loving kisses and broken words that mean more to them than anyone will ever be able to understand.’

Something is wrong with the serum in Bucky’s body. At least he has Steve. 

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Terminal Illness, Main Character Death. This fic ignores the latter part of CACW. Basically, Bucky joins the Avengers after HYDRA is destroyed. 

Rating: Explicit. 

Word Count: 4.2k (yes, I know, it is very long for a Tumblr fic but I had a lot to write for them.) 

A/N: This fic has been written for @youngmoneymilla ‘s 15k challenge and if you’re not following her, you totally should because her writing style is mature, fantastic and so captivating. The background score I used as inspiration is here. 

The first time it happens, Bucky is making coffee. 

He feels the tremor in his right shoulder, just as he picks up the cup and before he knows it, he’s spilt burning coffee all over his front and the granite countertop. 

Burns hurt Bucky more than he’s willing to admit, so when Steve comes in to the kitchen, bleary eyed and adorably rumpled from sleep, it’s to the sight of Bucky dabbing a dry, wet cloth to patches of reddening skin on his chest, wincing in pain. 

‘Jesus, Buck, what happened?’ Steve asks, eyes widening as he takes in the overturned coffee cup and Bucky’s shirt lying discarded on the floor. 

‘Spilt the damn coffee,’ Bucky mutters through clenched teeth. ‘Hurts like a bitch.’ 

Steve shakes his head and the fondness Bucky sees there still makes his heart clench with wonder. ‘The way you’re fucking going at it, rubbing like that, it’s going to hurt even more. Put that rag away, I’ll get you some ice.’ 

He turns towards the refrigerator, the rays of sunlight coming in through the windows arcing off his back like golden dancers and Bucky stares, momentarily distracted from the pain. 

Steve is fucking gorgeous. 

Bucky realises it in the stolen moments when he knows only he’s looking, really looking at Steve. 

The few moments of calm after a battle, when everyone is just taking in the surroundings, the wreckage, the disaster– Bucky looks at Steve. Takes in the line of his jaw, the set of his shoulders, the relief and grief battling in his eyes which go from clear blue to overcast skies in the matter of seconds. 

Some mornings, he wakes up before Steve and has the privilege of watching the way his blond hair fans out behind his head, almost like a halo, making him look like the goddamn angel he is. He’s soft in sleep, his eyelashes fluttering, his lips parted and his forehead free of the lines that usually crease them. 

And now, as the sun dances over the expanse of Steve’s back, Bucky hungrily drinks his fill, feasting his eyes. 

They’re soldiers- every moment is precious. 

Steve turns back around and picks up Bucky’s shirt from the floor, wraps up a bunch of ice-cubes in it and walks over to where Bucky’s standing, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

His brow furrows up in concentration as he presses the ice to the reddening patches of Bucky’s skin. 

‘You don’t hafta be so… diligent, Steve,’ Bucky says, his voice gruff. ‘It’s going to heal in a couple seconds anyway.’ 

‘Doesn’t mean I like to see you hurt,’ Steve says immediately, looking up at Bucky through his fucking perfectly curled eyelashes. It makes Bucky want to lean down and kiss him stupid, so he does. 

Their kisses go from chaste and soft in the mornings to heated and filthy in the showers to longing and desperate when one or both of them are about to go away on a mission. 

Now it is gentle, searching, soothing as Steve traces his tongue over Bucky’s bottom lip, making him smile into the soft touch. 

It makes him forget the strange feeling that made him drop the coffee all over himself in the first place. 

– 

Bucky wakes up after a particularly vicious mission where his ribs had been battered and bruised beyond belief, feeling achy and sore. 

It isn’t something he’s used to- the serum heals him in a few hours, maybe a day at most. 

He’s been hospitalised a couple of times, of course, but that’s only when he’s lost a life-threatening amount of blood or when he’s been hit in the head particularly terribly or something else that makes Steve turn pale and his mouth draw into a thin pinched line. If Bucky dares object at being shoved into an ambulance and rushed to a facility, Steve turns furious eyes on him and picks apart his battle techniques and self-esteem issues. 

‘You think you’re fucking dispensable,’ Steve had told him once, almost on the verge of tears. ‘How do I make you understand you’re the most precious thing I have left?’ 

He stopped objecting after that. 

But this mission had been harsh and he’d definitely pulled almost every muscle in his body and sprained a couple joints, but nothing too serious. 

Which doesn’t explain the pain he’s feeling everywhere, because it’s been almost twelve hours and if not completely healed, all he’s supposed to feel at this time is a slight twinge here and there. 

He gingerly walks to the bathroom and takes off his shirt and has to bring his hand up to stifle the gasp that escapes when he encounters his reflection. 

The bruises across his abdomen that are supposed to have healed by now are going from red to an angry purple. There’s red lesions everywhere that haven’t healed and a particularly nasty gash on his right arm which seems to be bleeding slightly. 

He brings up his metal arm to touch one of the bruises and winces as his muscles seem to shrink away from the touch. The pain is tolerable- Bucky’s been through much worse but he knows this isn’t how it is supposed to be. 

So he turns the warm water on (there are perks to living in a tower made by Stark- there’s warm water all the time, anytime) and draws himself a bath, sinking down and hoping the issue resolves itself after a good night’s sleep. 

It does- he wakes up the next day to a body that feels and looks untouched by war and detriment but something about the experience leaves an uneasy feeling curling in his gut. 

– 

Steve notices something is wrong when they’re fucking on the couch. 

He’s riding Steve, and it feels like fucking heaven because Steve knows exactly where to touch him to make him see stars but with one particular thrust Bucky arches too far back and cries out from the pain that shoots across his spine. 

Steve is on alert in a second, reaching out to grip Bucky’s shoulders in firm hands, pulling him down to meet concerned blue eyes. 

‘What’s wrong?’ Steve asks, worry dripping from his tone. ‘Did I hurt you?’ 

The slight incredulity in his voice stings and Bucky scowls (which is laughable because Steve’s dick is still in him) and says, ‘I don’t know why I bother fucking you, if you’re going to be such a fucking pussy each time I make a sound.’ 

He cringes the second the words leave his lips and Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. His dick is going soft inside Bucky. The discomfort and embarrassment make Bucky pull off and fall onto the couch beside Steve where he curls in on himself, facing away. 

A hand rests on his shoulder and he leans into the touch, even as Steve remains silent, waiting for him to explain. Steve knows by now that sometimes, Bucky says things that he doesn’t really mean when he can’t get across what he wants to say. It all comes out anyway, because Bucky is Bucky and Steve is Steve. 

‘The rogue SHIELD branch in Ukraine,’ Bucky murmurs after a while. ‘One of the fuckers got me in the lower back.’ 

‘But–’ 

‘I know,’ Bucky sighs. ‘I still haven’t healed.’ 

He feels the tug on his shoulder and turns around to face Steve with a resigned huff. The concern on his face is overwhelming. 

‘It’s been a week, Buck,’ Steve says, worry shrouding his irises. ‘How are you still feeling it?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Bucky responds, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. 

‘Bullshit,’ Steve says immediately, tone flat. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’ 

Bucky sighs and shakes his head. ‘It’s nothing, really. Nothing to worry about anyway. Just that, these days… the healing, it’s not working as well as it used to.’ 

‘What?’

‘Couple of missions, really,’ Bucky hastens to explain, almost frightened by the shock in Steve’s voice. ‘The ones over the last couple of months.’ 

‘Last couple of months? Buck, what the fuck?!’ 

‘Steve–’

‘You don’t fucking talk to me! You’ve not been healing for a couple of months and you didn’t fucking tell me!’ 

‘Steve–’

‘No!’ Steve’s eyes are blazing and he’s pointing a finger at Bucky. ‘No, you don’t get to fucking Steve me right now. We’re going to Bruce tomorrow morning and you don’t get to argue.’ 

Bucky would very much like to argue. But one look at Steve’s shaking finger and the fear in his eyes makes him shut up. He nods in acquiescence and Steve pulls him into a hug that’s even tighter than the ones he usually delivers. 

‘I love you,’ he murmurs into Bucky’s hair and presses a kiss to his temple. ‘I love you so much, fuck.’ 

‘Fuckin’ sap,’ Bucky mumbles into Steve’s chest and that’s that. 

– 

Bucky pleads with Steve to let him go to Bruce alone and finally, after an hour of arguing, Steve says fine with a scowl and stalks out. Then he comes back, scowl still in place, kisses Bucky hard and brutal on the mouth, nipping at his lips and pulling on his tongue. 

When he pulls away, he still looks upset but his voice is soft when he says, ‘I want you to tell me exactly how it goes.’ 

Bucky pulls him into a gentler kiss in response. 

Bruce looks alarmed when he hears what Bucky has to say. 

‘You’re telling me,’ Bruce says, looking at Bucky over his spectacles, ‘that the main property of the super-soldier serum is not… working for you?’ 

‘It isn’t the main property, strength is,’ Bucky says. ‘Isn’t it?’ he adds dubiously. 

Bruce shakes his head. ‘Strength is a result of that property. The reason you have that much strength is because the serum heals you against weakness, if that makes sense.’ 

Bucky shrugs. ‘Well then, yeah. It’s not working.’ 

‘I need to do a blood test. Send it to the lab and get some results,’ Bruce says, looking more worried than Bucky thinks he should. 

‘What could be wrong?’ Bucky asks him. 

‘Any number of things. You didn’t get Erskine’s serum like Steve did. You got whatever mutation Zola managed to come up with. There’s no documentation of what actually went into your body all those years ago. I don’t know what could be wrong and that’s what’s worrying me.’ 

Bucky feels the first shred of fear curl around his chest. 

Bruce’s eyes are kind when he says, ‘Look, Barnes, I didn’t want to sugarcoat it for you. Figured you’d appreciate no one lying to you. But don’t worry about it till the blood comes back with a bunch of papers telling me what’s wrong with you.’ 

Bucky nods. 

‘And Barnes?’ Bruce says, tone a little sharp. Bucky looks at him in askance. 

‘Don’t lie to Steve.’ 

Bucky shudders. 

– 

He tells Steve who buries his head in his hands and stays silent and unmoving for long minutes. Bucky doesn’t know what to tell him so instead he crawls up to Steve and runs his metal fingers through Steve’s hair. It usually relaxes him but this time Steve reaches up to take Bucky’s hand in his and though Bucky can’t really feel anything, the sensors Stark put in this arm lets him know just how hard Steve is gripping it. 

‘You’ll be okay,’ Steve murmurs, focusing on Bucky’s chest instead of his face. ‘You’ll be okay.’ 

Bucky doesn’t know if Steve is trying to convince Bucky or himself. 

– 

As it turns out, Bucky isn’t okay. Bruce comes into their rooms with a sheaf of papers and a grave expression, telling them both to sit down and Bucky immediately knows something is terribly wrong. 

He hopes for Steve’s sake that it’s bearable. 

Bruce hesitates before he begins and Steve’s grip tightens on Bucky’s waist. 

‘You’re dying,’ Bruce says and as soon as the words leave his mouth, he looks horrified. Steve jerks in shock and Bucky still hasn’t really processed what the words mean so he looks at Steve for cues on how to react but Steve just looks… there isn’t really a word. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Bruce says, taking his glasses off and wiping them against his untucked shirt. His hair is a mess and there are shadows under his eyes. ’I never practiced, I don’t have a good bedside manner so I don’t have a clue how to do this but… it’s true. Barnes is dying.’ 

Steve screams. 

It’s so uncharacteristic that both Bucky and Bruce startle. In one swift move, Steve pulls Bucky to him and screams into his shoulder and all Bucky can do is bring his hands up to Steve’s hair, brush through the golden strands and try to process what dying even means. 

When Steve finally stops, his voice is hoarse as he asks Bruce why and how and what. 

The serum Zola put in him is losing potency at an alarming rate, Bruce explains, his voice detached and clinical. His systems are now dependent on it and so they’re going to shut down in due course because there will be nothing to sustain them as putting anything new into Bucky’s body is basically asking for either a painful death or genetic mutation. There’s no way around it simply because of that, Bruce says, hands clenching and unclenching. They don’t know what’s in Bucky’s body. It’s been tested and though isolated elements have been found and explained, the risk is too much. 

‘We’ll keep testing,’ Bruce says, as though it will make Steve’s blank, lost expression disappear. ‘We won’t give up.’ 

Bucky knows they don’t stand a chance.  

– 

They make love that night, on the bed in their room. 

Bucky’s on his back, his nails digging into Steve’s back as Steve gently fingers him open with first one finger, then two, brushing occasionally against his prostate. Bucky cries out, letting all his inhibitions go, pushing into Steve’s thrusts with eager wantonness. He’s always been vocal but today he’s being loud and filthy as he screams Steve’s name into the air surrounding them, heavy with the impending conversations and pain. 

‘Fuck, fuck, Stevie, more,’ he cries out as he turns his neck to the side, gasping into the cool sheets underneath. ‘Give me more, please.’ 

Steve’s barely said anything since they received the news, looking far off into the distance but holding Bucky close with an iron grip. Bucky read and watched one of their favourite films on TV but nothing helped– Steve looked just as blank as he had when Bruce had left. It’s only when Bucky had gently kissed him on the neck, hoping desperately for some reaction that some life had reentered Steve, his eyes brimming with tears as he pulled Bucky into fierce kisses, pushing him down on the bed, holding him there and kissing every inch of him, sucking hickeys down his body, worshipping him. 

That’s how they’ve ended up here with Bucky gasping and arching on the bed with want and Steve going agonisingly slow, nothing like the fast, brutal pace he sets in the bedroom. It’s driving him insane. 

Steve works in three fingers and Bucky howls with the feeling of them sliding in and out of him, the lube slicking their way. Steve relentlessly targets his prostate, hitting it with every thrust and Bucky has had enough so he finally says, ‘Swear to god, Rogers, if you don’t put your cock in me now–’

Steve jerks his fingers out, leaving Bucky whining and empty from the lack of contact. In seconds, the blunt head of his cock is nudging at Bucky’s hole, gently slipping in, filling him up, piecing him back together. 

‘I love you,’ Steve says and his tears fall on Bucky’s face as he moves up Bucky’s body, pressing open mouthed kisses to the corner of his lips, to the shell of his ear. ‘I love you, Buck.’ 

He’s barely thrusting now, just shifting and moving deep inside Bucky’s body. One of his hands curls around Bucky’s cock and the other moves to Bucky’s metal arm. Bucky runs his own hands all over Steve, touching him, feeling him, committing him to memory (as though he hasn’t already). 

‘I love you, too,’ Bucky says, looking up at Steve and for the first time since he’s been informed that he’s going to die in a matter of months, the tears rise in his eyes. ‘Stevie. My Steve.’ 

And this time, Steve’s crying as he buries his head against Bucky’s shoulder and speeds up his thrusts, making Bucky in turn cry out at the feeling. 

He’s nearing orgasm, he can feel it being pulled from him with every stroke of Steve’s hand against his cock and he begins clenching his rim around Steve and the pleasure of it is so unbearable for both of them that they hurtle over the edge almost simultaneously. 

When the high wears off, Steve moves away from Bucky’s shoulder and looks into his eyes. There’s a desperation there Bucky hasn’t seen since the last time he slipped into the Winter Soldier’s headspace which had been almost eight months ago. 

‘I can’t follow you there like I did in the War,’ Steve says and his voice is so small that Bucky’s heart breaks. The truth of where ‘there’ is hangs like an unspoken weapon between them. ’I can’t follow you there, Buck, so where will I go?’ 

And because Bucky has no answer, he pulls Steve close and lets him cry against his chest. 

– 

Bucky gets worse as the days pass. His strength is disappearing so fast that he wakes up each morning feeling like he’s aged ten years. His ninety years are catching up to him now and when he says as much to Steve, Steve gets a hard, cold look in his eyes and tells Bucky to stop joking about something like that. 

It’s weird because usually sickness has medicine but Bruce is against putting any foreign substance into his body and that leaves Bucky with an incurable illness and no medicine. When Natalia comes to visit, he tells her and she pulls his head into her lap and they sit in silence for three hours. 

Bucky’s accepted it, he thinks. 

He knows what’s coming- he knows the end is near and there isn’t anything he can do about it. 

‘Your life is not your own,’ Steve had once said when he’d found Bucky standing on the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the lights and busy roads of Manhattan. ‘Keep your hands off it.’ 

The dead do not know what comes after, but at least they find out. 

The living must deal with never knowing. 

For those who live, the concept of Heaven and Hell is a comfort. It is a blanket of warmth in a world of cold, hard truths. For those who are about to die, those concepts feel like a tightening noose. 

Bucky hopes the afterlife is a void, that is to say he hopes there is no afterlife. 

He cannot live somewhere else, knowing that Steve is apart from him, mourning him. 

Or worse, forgetting him. 

And the possibility of himself forgetting Steve is far too painful to contemplate when those baby blue eyes haunt his dreams, nightmares and waking moments and so Bucky hopes for the void during the sleepless nights where Steve’s breathing beside him is shallow and disturbed from nightmares. 

This he tells Stark, who looks at him like he understands and there’s a silent agreement between them that Steve will never know about these thoughts, these conversations. 

They make love every night and though Bucky sometimes wants it hard and fast and brutal, the achingly slow pace Steve maintains these days is comfortable. 

It gives him more time to appreciate Steve in the throes of passion– that moment before he comes when his eyes fall shut and his lips are swollen and bitten, the moment he first slips into Bucky, the moment when Bucky slips into him. 

They are soldiers, every moment is precious. 

– 

The day Bucky knows he is going to die the minute he wakes up, he coughs blood onto the white sheets, staining them a coppery red. 

Steve says nothing, just lifts Bucky up and changes the sheets. He’s stopped going on missions for the past month, opting to stay in the tower. 

Sometimes Sam comes over and it had been a weird moment when he’d gone all misty-eyed as he’d insulted Bucky for being on his death-bed. He knows that’s Falcon’s emotionally stunted way of saying he’ll be missed but it had been… strange and Bucky hadn’t known what to do with it or the mist fogging up his own eyes. 

The last time Steve had lost him, on the train, there had been no goodbye. 

It’s only fitting that this time there is a month for farewells and loving kisses and broken words that mean more to them than anyone will ever be able to understand. 

Natalia says goodbye and though she tries to keep it short, unemotional, almost clinical, the long silences she spends in his company speak otherwise. 

Stark comes in late in the evenings, sends Steve out to socialise with the others in the tower for a couple of hours much to his chagrin(‘being cooped up here with one person for a month will end up in you becoming some sort of cryptid and we need you, Cap’) and they sit and talk about science and war and sometimes death. It’s both easy and hard around Stark but Stark has accepted that Bucky will die with a sort of stoic cynicism and after Steve’s inability to accept it at all, there’s comfort in Tony’s dark humour. 

Bruce comes in one day, sits on the floor and shatters a bunch of glasses against the wall because Bucky is too far gone for any research progress to help him now. Bucky tries his best to comfort Bruce but he doesn’t know what to say that won’t make him sound suicidal so he says nothing. 

Wanda once came in awkwardly with a bunch of baked cookies and cried on his shoulder for an hour before telling him that if he ever wanted it, she could come and put him to sleep and ensure he enjoyed some good dreams. 

And he’s glad he’s gotten all the goodbyes out of the way as Steve wipes the blood from his chin because he knows, somehow that today is the day he finally finds out what comes after. 

He thinks he should tell Steve but when he pats the spot beside him on the bed, Steve sits and the look in his eyes tells Bucky that he knows too. 

So Bucky closes his eyes and asks Steve to read to him and Steve does, in his soft, lilting voice the last few chapters of the Great Gatsby. The fact that Steve picks this book makes him smile, and he forgoes the pillow in favour of Steve’s lap and falls back asleep, surprisingly content with the reality of his death. 

When he wakes up again, he can barely breathe. 

He looks around him and they’re there– Stark and Bruce and Wanda and Natalia, even Sam and Vision. They aren’t surrounding the bed but they’re milling about, in the bedroom, in the living room that he can see from the bedroom and probably in the kitchen because he can hear someone using the sink there. 

‘Steve,’ he rasps and beside him, there’s movement and Steve is gripping his hand so tightly that Bucky thinks that strength alone is enough to breathe back life into him. 

‘Water,’ he manages and there’s a straw in his mouth that lets him sip in water little by little. 

‘They’re here for you,’ Steve whispers and Bucky smiles. 

‘No, they’re not. They’ve been here for me for the whole time I was dying. Now that I will, they’re here for you.’ He’s breathless and by the time he’s done speaking, he’s panting hard. 

Steve has cried himself dry and Bucky isn’t surprised by the lack of tears in his eyes now. They’re red and swollen but dry as they fix on Bucky. 

‘I’ll miss you,’ Bucky says, suddenly, looking at Steve, who clenches his eyes shut. ‘So much.’ 

‘Wait for me, then,’ Steve says and his eyes are wide, entreating pools of blue that reminds Bucky of the sunshine he hasn’t seen in days. ‘Wherever you are, wait for me.’ 

He takes him in, the slight stubble Steve hasn’t shaved off in a couple of days, the tense set of his broad shoulders, the warmth of his hands. He can feel his life slipping away and he knows Steve can too because the pain intensifies on his face. 

He knows he has just moments left and he can feel his eyes closing but he struggles to keep them open as long as he can, spending those last seconds staring at Steve, falling in love again and again and again. 

They are soldiers. 

Every moment is precious. 

When his eyes finally close, the world turns white. 

[markswoman]

slow hands | ml

mark’s lips are soft, warm, and sweet. they feel perfect pressed against your cold, dry ones. you think it must not be very pleasant, kissing your weak, dying lips but mark doesn’t seem to mind, kissing your breath away at any given opportunity. it probably isn’t good for your health, being breathless so often.

but death by kisses sounds like a nice way to go.

pairing | mark lee x terminally ill!reader | fluff + angst | 11.6k |

warnings: swearing, depressing thoughts, death

cr to haechanforpresident2020

“I want ice cream.”

Taeyong frowns at you. You know what he’s going to say but you don’t want to hear it. You really, really want some ice cream.

“I haven’t had anything but soup for the past two weeks! Please, Taeyong, please!”

“But—“

“Please, please, please,” you cut him off. You know Taeyong is stubborn but you’re even more stubborn and you’re going to get some ice cream if it’s the last thing you do.

Taeyong starts saying “You-,” but, before he can get anything else out, you cut him off again.

“I need to get some fresh air. I’ve been cooped up in here for five hundred years; you need to let me out if you don’t want me to go crazy!”

You can see Taeyong‘s resolve breaking. You put on your biggest pout—Taeyong’s one and only weakness—and bat your eyelashes. He rolls his eyes at you but when you hear his resigned sigh, you know you’ve won.

“Fine—but don’t start celebrating just yet,” he snaps at the look of triumph that spreads across your face. “You have to be back in 20 minutes.” You enthusiastically nod your head and Taeyong sighs again. “Put on some sunscreen; it’s really sunny. Take an umbrella too. And put on your cap. Also, don’t forget—“

“Yongie,” you cut him off for the third time and you’re sure Taeyong would’ve yelled at you this time if you hadn’t called him Yongie. You never call him Yongie.

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Stop worrying,” you flash him your cute, kittenish smile and walk to the door. “It’s not like I’m going on a five-week hike through the desert. The ice cream parlor is literally just ten minutes away.”

“Still! Are you sure? Do you want me to come with you?”

“No!” You’re already rushing out the door as you call out, “Thanks, Taeyong!”

You hear his faint, “Be careful” and chuckle, slowing down.

You cheerfully swing the umbrella you grabbed on your way out and hum as you make your way to the elevator. Just as you get to it, the shiny metal doors open and an old man, followed closely by his daughter, hobble out.

“Hello!” He greets you happily. “Going out?”

“Yup! For ice cream. Would you like to come with, Mr. Kim?”

Mr. Kim shakes his head, smiling sadly, “I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got a hot date with my bed.”

“Well, then don’t let me keep you,” you laugh. “But you should join me one day.”

“One day,” Mr. Kim’s smile grows even sadder. “If I’m not dead by then.”

You frown but don’t say anything. What could you even say to that? Fortunately, you were saved from having to come up with a response by Mr. Kim’s daughter, who mumbles, “Stop saying stuff like that,” and drags him away.

“Have fun, kid.” Mr. Kim waves you goodbye.

Still frowning, you wave back. “Yeah… thanks.”

With spirits significantly dampened, you trudge into the elevator. You know it’s not Mr. Kim’s fault but you still blame the old man for ruining your mood. You’re finally going to get ice cream after two weeks of craving it and now, thanks to old Mr. Kim, you can’t even enjoy it properly.

You grumble to yourself about your day being ruined but, as soon as you exit the elevator and slowly walk out of large, white gates, you instantly feel better. You love going out, leaving that horrid building you have to live in, breathing in air that smells grassy and windy and just so natural.

You walk slowly, swinging your umbrella with every step.

The sight of the ice cream parlor brings a smile to your face. You and Donghyuck used to go there all the time. Both of you went there so often that everyone who worked there knew you. You wonder if they still remember you. You haven’t been there in a while.

As soon as you enter, the first thing you notice is how many people there are. The place is absolutely crowded, which is understandable since it is the middle of summer but you were definitely not expecting to see so many people. You look around and nervously adjust your cap.

“Wow, is it really you?”

You jump and spin around to see, Chenle, your favorite employee at the ice cream parlor, smiling very happily at you from behind the counter.

“Hey, Chenle,” you grin, “Long time no see.”

“I know!” He exclaims and, after a moment, asks, “The usual?” Even though he knows the answer.

He’s already scooping your ice cream by the time you say, “Yep!”

After paying and thanking Chenle, you look around again. There’s no place for you to sit and you don't want to go back to Taeyong and his constant fussing just yet. Sighing, you walk out of the parlor to find a place to sit outside.

As soon as you leave the cool, air conditioned interior of the parlor, a gust of hot, sticky air hits you square in the face, making you wince. There are a few empty benches but all of them are directly under the sun. The only bench protected from the harsh rays is occupied by a boy and his guitar. Unfortunately for you, the boy doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up anytime soon.

You think about sitting in the sun before concluding that that’s a very bad idea. The only two options you have left are going back or sitting with the stranger.

You observe him for a few seconds. The boy looks to be around your age, maybe a year or two younger. He’s wearing a bright green cap, has a cone of bright white ice cream with blackish brown bits in his hand and has a very bright smile. Overall, he seems like a very happy person. He definitely doesn’t look mean or particularly threatening in any way and, even though you aren’t great with strangers, you’re by no means a shy person. So you slowly walk over to the bench with your friendliest smile on your face.

When you are just a step away, the boy finally notices you. He smiles kindly and the first thing you notice is his tiny dimple. You’re distracted by it for a second before you finally snap out of it and ask, “Can I sit here?”

The boy smiles a little wider, nodding. He makes room for you, scooting a little bit to the edge of the bench and dragging his guitar with him.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down a little awkwardly because you seem to have forgotten how to act in front of ‘normal’ people. “Can I have your name?”

The boy shows off his tiny dimple once again. “I’m Mark.”

“So, um…” you decide to try and make conversation. Nice ice cream.”

You mentally scold yourself for sounding so awkward. That’s what lack of practice does to a person. You make a mental note to tell Taeyong about this to convince him to let you go outside more often so you don't become completely antisocial.

Mark doesn’t seem to think you’re too weird though because he flashes you another smile. “Yeah, it is. Cookies and cream. What’s yours?”

“Brambleberry crisp,” you proudly say. Not many people share your taste in ice cream which makes you feel very important and hipster.

Mark’s eyes grow a little wide. “Brambleberry crisp? I’ve never tried that before!”

“Well, you should,” you say seriously. “It’s the best ice cream flavor out there.”

“Really?” Mark looks skeptical. “I don’t know, I really like cookies and cream.”

“Cookies and cream is okay, I guess. It’s really sweet and perfect for little kids—”

“Hey!” Mark interrupts you, looking mildly offended. “Cookies and cream is not just for little kids!”

He’s flailing his hand around and trying to scold you but all you’re looking at is how the ice cream on Mark’s cone is dangerously close to falling off.

“Um Mark,” you try to warn the boy. “You might want to stop moving your hands so much.”

“Huh?”

Too late. Mark hasn’t even realized he’s holding an empty cone; he’s just staring at you with wide eyes, still looking somewhat offended.

“You dropped your ice cream.”

Mark’s face goes through a series of highly exaggerated expressions once he realizes what you’re talking about. First there’s confusion, of course. Then shock. Then anger. And then finally, despair.

“My ice cream!” He whines, staring at the fallen treat. “My baby!”

You laugh. “Stop being a drama queen. Just buy a new one.”

“I can’t just buy a new one,” Mark turns to glare at you.

“Why not?”

Mark sighs, deflating. “They’re all out of cookies an cream. I got the last scoop.”

“That’s perfect!” You jump to your feet. “Now you can try brambleberry crisp and see what you’ve been missing out on your whole life.”

It takes a bit of persuasion but you manage to convince Mark to spend the rest of his pocket money on, what you tell Mark will be, a life changing experience.

When Mark takes his first lick, you watch very closely. If Mark wasn’t so preoccupied with his ice cream right now, you’re sure he would have been creeped out by how intensely he’s being watched.

“Well?” You ask, a little apprehensive. “Do you like it?”

None of your friends are fond of brambleberry crisp. Donghyuck had even called it an ‘abomination’ once. You don't understand why. Even though you love it, you don't think the ice cream is interesting enough to deserve that title.

“It’s good!” Mark exclaims. “Not as good as cookies and cream, though. But still good.”

You groan, deeming him a lost cause.

As you both finish your ice cream, you just talk. You don’t really talk about anything in particular, topics ranging from the importance of ice cream in daily life to Mark’s adventures in Vancouver to which superpower would be the most fun to have.

“I’m not going to be all mainstream and say invisibility or flight,” you declare. “I think the power of lightning would be super cool.”

“The power of lightning?” Mark laughs. “So what, electricity?”

“Okay, not just lightning. Storms. The power of storms.”

“That sounds kind of lame to me,” Mark giggles at your gasp. “It also sounds very destructive. If I could have any superpower, I’d choose the power to heal.”

A year ago, you would have poked fun at anyone who’d choose healing as their superpower. But now, you think Mark may be on to something.

“What would you heal?”

Mark must have been expecting you to make a snide remark at his choice of power because he takes a minute to answer. “I’d heal hearts,” he finally says. “Broken hearts and corrupted minds and lost souls and, of course, ill bodies. I’d heal anything that needs healing and stay far away from things that don’t because, you know what they say, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’” Mark says the last bit in English and you burst out laughing.

“Don’t tell anyone I said this,” you tell Mark when he’s finally gotten all his giggles out. “No one would ever believe you even if you did. But your superpower might actually be better than mine.”

Mark beams at you, smile so bright it almost blinds you.

Eventually, you remember you have a curfew and reluctantly check your watch. You almost have a heart attack when you see you spent not 20 but 80 minutes at the ice cream parlor. The thought of leaving Mark has you unwilling to get up. You’ve known the boy for an hour but it feels like you’ve known each other for years.

“Hey, Mark” you force yourself to say, interrupting Mark’s story about how he once got attacked by pigeons at his friend’s house back in Canada. “I kind of have to go now.”

“Oh,” Mark frowns, looking as disappointed as you feel.

“Yeah, I'm already late,” you sigh. You have to get back quick, before Taeyong files a missing persons report. Mark nods, waving a tiny wave when you stand up.

“See you around!” You wave back and hurriedly walk away, ignoring the little pang in your chest because you know you probably won’t ever see him around.

On the walk back, you feel sad but you also feel incredibly happy. You feel normal, something you haven't felt in a while.

Unfortunately, your happiness is gone as soon as you step in through the dreary hospital gates and come face to face with Taeyong. He has his phone in one hand, your phone in the other and a look of pure malice on his face.

Oh, shit.

“Where were you!” He screams, charging at you. “Twenty minutes. I said twenty minutes and you took over an hour! And you didn’t even take your phone with you! Why aren’t you using your umbrella? Are you tired? Are you alright? How could you just leave your phone? Seriously, what if something had happened?”

Taeyong keeps fussing over and chastising you all the way to the elevator.

“Sorry. Lost track of time,” you mumble, trying to tune out his incessant shrieking. He’s still lecturing you as he walks you to your room.

Forcing you into your bed, Taeyong tells you to rest. “Isn’t your hyper friend coming to visit today? You need to store up some energy to deal with him.”

You yell at Taeyong that you’re not tired and Donghyuck isn’t that hard to handle, but as soon as the nurse is out of the room, you slump down, exhausted, and fall asleep almost immediately.

Almost as soon as you fall asleep, you’re woken up by an obnoxiously loud voice yelling, “Holy shit!” right into your ear.

Groaning, you open your eyes to glare at your best friend. “What are you doing here so early? Weren’t you supposed to come at four?”

“I’m actually late,” Donghyuck pouts from where he’d just tripped over the chair next to your bed. “It’s already five o’clock.”

You’re a bit amazed because you’re so sure it was still two in the afternoon and that you had just fallen asleep. You feel more than a bit disoriented because apparently you’d been asleep for three whole hours.

“Why are you so late, then?” You eventually ask.

“Got sidetracked,” Donghyuck shrugs from the floor, not bothering to get up after his ungraceful fall. “There was this cute guy downstairs. He was singing to kids and looking so hot…” he trails off dreamily.

You roll your eyes. Typical Donghyuck. “Well, it’s almost time for my radiotherapy so we can’t hang out for long.”

“But I just got here!” Donghyuck starts whining, finally picking himself up off the floor.

“That’s your own fault.”

“It’s not my fault! If anything, it’s the cute guy’s fault! He’s hot and plays guitar, which means he’s exactly my type.”

You choose to ignore him and close your eyes, trying to go back to sleep until Taeyong comes to take you down to radiotherapy.

“Speaking of hot people who play guitar,” Donghyuck continues, “where’s Dr. Park?”

You wrinkle your nose, “Gross, Hyuck.”

“Don’t be such a downer.”

“I’m not being a downer,” you force yourself to open your eyes in order to glare at him. “I just think it’s creepy you have a crush on a fifty year old woman.”

“She’s not fifty!” Donghyuck squawks indignantly. “She’s like 35 tops! And it doesn’t even matter anyway,” he says, climbing into your bed. “Age is just a number.”

“Not if it’s illegal,” you snort.

“It’s not illegal, you twat. I'm already a legal adult!”

“Donghyuck, Dr. Park was already at least 17 when we were just babies—”

“Love is love!”

The door suddenly opens and Taeyong comes barging in. “What are you two yelling about? Donghyuck, get off the bed unless you want to attend radio too.”

You bid farewell to Donghyuck, who pouts again and hugs you, saying, “I’ll come back sometime next week. My parents are taking me on another stupid trip.”

You chuckle at his sour expression. Donghyuck’s family is always going on vacations, road trips and adventures. Donghyuck hates it but you’re actually kind of jealous of him.

Dr. Cho is already there when you get to the radio room, as you like to call it. It sounds a lot less scary than radiation lab.

You end up falling asleep in the middle of your radiation therapy and is woken up by a gentle pat on the arm by the doctor.

“You must have been really tired if you were able to sleep in that head mask,” Dr. Cho smiles teasingly.

It’s true, you were very tired. You’re still tired. All you want to do is go straight to bed and sleep until your mom gets back from work.

But no, you’re going to go up to the roof first because it’s part of your routine and you love it up there. It’s the only place you’re allowed to go that doesn’t smell like a hospital. It’s the only place where no one comes to bother you.

Well, except Taeyong who comes to drag you back to your room once it gets dark.

So, for the sake of your sanity, you slowly trudge up to the roof and, you breathe a sigh of relief as you open the door to greet the slowly darkening sky.

No one’s ever there at this time of the day, so you’re taken aback when you see someone already occupying the little ledge you usually sit on. At first you’re annoyed. The roof is the one place you can hide out without having people constantly fussing over you and now it’s been stolen from you.

But as you inch closer to the person, you realize something. You stare at the person’s back, their guitar, their suspiciously familiar bright green cap.

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Mark?”

Mark, or maybe it’s not Mark, yelps and jumps onto his feet, clutching his guitar to his chest. Your heart leaps. It’s Mark. All thoughts of your safe space being invaded are gone in an instant.

When he sees you, Mark’s startled expression morphs into one of absolute delight.

“Hey!” He exclaims, putting his guitar down and scrambling to you. “What are you doing here?”

“No, what are you doing here?” You ask, barely believing you’re actually seeing Mark.

“I’m a volunteer here,” Mark says, proudly. He stands a little straighter, showing off his stupidly handsome again. “Today is my first day, actually. I play songs for the kids. Help cheer them up and stuff,” his smile wavers a little and then comes back in full force, his beauty almost blinding you for the second time today. “What about you? What are you doing here? Are you also a volunteer?”

“Uh, no,” you shift uncomfortably. “I'm a patient.”

Mark just nods a little bit and, thankfully, doesn’t ask any more questions.

“So,” you start, eager to change the subject. “You play guitar for sick kids, huh? How noble of you.”

Mark blushes and walks back over to the ledge where his guitar is sitting. “It’s nothing like that. I just love playing and, for some reason, kids seem to love my music. Plus,” he smiles when you sit yourself next to him, “my motives aren’t entirely selfless.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, watching Mark play with the strings of his guitar.

“I know one of the kids and,” he pauses. “He’s not doing too well. So, I want to spend as much time with him as possible and make him smile as much as I can before…”

You ignore the familiar feeling of heaviness in your chest and gasp at Mark. “You monster!” You clutch your heart, “And here I was thinking you were some sort of kindhearted saint but no, you’re just a disgusting, self-centered asshole.”

“Sorry you had to find out like this,” Mark solemnly bows his head while you shake your own, muttering, “selfish, selfish, selfish.”

You continue teasing Mark, who laughs loud enough to wake up the entire hospital.

“Those kids were really sweet,” Mark says, looking at the ferris wheel in the distance once you’ve run out of clever ways to tease each other. “I wrote a few songs just for today and they seemed to really enjoy them.”

You want to ask Mark to play something but Taeyong decides to pick that moment to show up.

“You little br–!” He yells, swinging the metal door to the roof open only to come to a stop. Both you and Mark turn to look at him.

“Oh, hello.” He says, clearly surprised to see another human on the roof with you. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

All of a sudden, he smirks and, from the way his eyes are flitting from you to Mark, you know exactly what Taeyong is thinking.

“Okay, well I guess that’s my cue to leave,” you hastily jump up and scurry over to Taeyong before he can say anything embarrassing. “Bye, Mark!” You call out before completely disappearing from his line of sight.

You’re given a lot of time to feel guilty about abruptly leaving Mark. As soon as you step in the elevator together for the second time today, Taeyong starts nudging you.

“Who was that?” He asks, looking a little excited.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “A friend, I guess. His name is Mark. He plays guitar for the kids downstairs.”

Taeyong keeps asking questions about Mark even when you’re all tucked up in bed.

“Taeyong!” You yell when he asks you Mark’s shoe size. “First of all, why do you even need to know that?” You narrow your eyes at him. “And second of all, I literally just met him today; I don’t know his whole life story for god’s sake.”

“I’m just curious okay!” Taeyong defends himself. “And I'm glad you’re making friends who seem well-mannered and polite.”

You chuckle at the obvious shade Taeyong is throwing at your best friend. You love Donghyuck but Taeyong is right about the boy not being the most polite and well-mannered teenager out there.

You hear your mom enter your room a few minutes after Taeyong leaves.

“You’re up!” is the first thing she says when she sees her child. “I was worried you’d be asleep and I wouldn’t get to talk to you.”

“It’s just ten o’clock, Mom. I don’t get sleepy until at least after midnight.” A yawn immediately follow your words.

Your mom smile knowingly at you, sitting down next to your bed. “Taeyong told me you went to get ice cream all by yourself today.”

“Yeah, I’m a big kid now, aren’t I?” You bat your eyelashes at your mom who giggles.

“My baby is so precious,” she coos, pinching your cheeks.

“Mom, get off me!” You flail, pushing your mother away. “I thought you said you wanted to talk to me, not manhandle me.”

“Oh, yeah,” her smile disappears and she looks a little guilty. “I have to go out of town for a few days. I’m so sorry, honey. I wish I could skip it. I really don’t want to leave you. I even told my supervisor that I can’t go but this is a very important business trip and they really need me and—”

“Mom,” you cut off your mom’s rambling. “It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. I understand.” You say it as sincerely as you can, trying to show your mother that you really do understand.

She has a job that keeps her so busy she can barely see you even though you live together. Sometimes you feel bad for your mom. She works from early morning to late at night every day, sometimes even on weekends. You know she mostly does it because she genuinely loves her job, but also so she can pay your hospital bills without having to give up food for a month.

“I should tell Taeyong,” she says, grabbing your hand. 

“I need to make sure he takes extra good care of you. And doesn’t let you run away.”

“I'm not going to run away, Mom.”

—

When you go up to the roof the next day, Mark is already there, strumming his guitar, looking lazily at the large wheel in the distance.

“Hello,” you say, sitting down.

Mark stops playing and, immediately, you miss the soft music.

“Hey,” Mark smiles. “Do you come up here every day?”

You nod, “Every day after radio.”

“Radio?” Mark asks, slightly frowning as he puts his guitar back in its case.

Oh dear. Usually you avoid talking about all things related to your shitty health so you won’t have to see the looks of pity being thrown at you. You hate yourself whenever you accidentally let anything slip.

“Radiation therapy,” you tell Mark.

Just like the other day, Mark just nods and asks no further questions.

You wonder if he’s uncomfortable.

For a second, there’s a bit of tense silence, then you pout a little bit and point at Mark’s guitar case.

“Hey, why’d you put it away?”

“What? My guitar? Mark asks, looking confused.

“Yeah,” you pout even harder. “Can you play something for me? Please? Please, please, please?”

Mark laughs, “You’re worse than the kids.”

He takes his instrument out of its case a little excitedly, spurred on by your begging, almost banging it on the hard floor.

“Mark! Holy shit, calm down!” You yell.

Mark smiles sheepishly and positions the guitar on his lap.

“I’ll play you the kids’ favorite song,” he says, eyes crinkling. “They made me play it nine times today!”

Mark plays a happy tune and starts singing in what sounds like English. He has a nice, soft voice that makes goosebumps appear on your arm.

Without realizing it, you start swaying side to side with the beat, laughing when Mark gives you a smug look and says, “That’s the power of my music.”

Mark plays more songs for you and you hum along to some of them, making Mark look even more pleased. Mark tells you that you should come down to watch him play for the kids one day.

When Mark puts the guitar down, you immediately starts showering him with compliments.

“Those were some pretty impressive fingering skills, Mark Lee,” you tease, making Mark burst into a fit of giggles and blush a deep red.

Mark, in turn, compliments your humming, although his compliment actually has innocent intentions. You tell him you’d been in your high school’s choir and you used to love singing all the time.

“You don’t anymore?”

“Not really.”

Mark doesn’t ask why.

When Taeyong finally comes to get you, the only source of light on the roof is the tiny crescent moon above the two of you and the lights from the ferris wheel; but it’s too far away to actually light up anything.

“See you tomorrow!” You say, getting up and dusting off the bottom of your pants.

“Looking forward to it!” Mark calls back as you rush inside to catch up with Taeyong.

It’s your third meeting with Mark when Mark finally asks what you’re in the hospital for.

“What do you think I'm in a cancer hospital for?” You tease, laughing a little at the panicked look that settles on Mark’s face. “Don’t worry,” you say, putting a hand on Mark’s knee. “I’m just messing with you.”

Mark doesn’t look reassured though, so you decide to just tell him.

“Brain cancer. Or anaplastic astrocytoma, but I personally think brain cancer sounds less scary, don’t you?”

Mark’s eyes widen comically and he looks so concerned, you almost feel bad for telling him. Mark seems to realize he’s making a strange expression because he quickly changes it into a poker face, though you can still see hints of worry and sadness.

“Oh,” he says.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you apologize, removing your hand from where it had been resting on Mark’s knee.

“No, no, no!” Mark hurriedly says. “Don’t be sorry! I was the one who asked.” After a pause, he hesitantly asks, “Is it—are you getting better?”

You honestly don’t know if you are. You can’t really say you feel much better but according to Dr. Cho, you’re recovering really well and according to Dr. Park, you’ll be better in no time. You don't even know if you want to believe them because it seems way too good to be true.

You don’t want to burden Mark though, so you just tell him, “Yeah, my doctors say I’ll be fine.”

At this, Mark looks relieved and continues asking questions that you’re tired of answering.

“I had a pretty rare tumor that was all tentacle-y and gross and it looked like long fingers were holding my brain,” you explain. You sneak a look at Mark, who’s wearing an unreadable expression. “Anyway,” you continue, “I had surgery and they removed it, or as much of it as they could. Now I'm doing radio to get rid of the rest.”

Mark nods, softly saying, “I'm sorry you have to go through all of this.”

“Well, it’s not the most fun thing in the world,” you chuckle. “But at least I'm still alive.” For now.

“And,” you add, “I get to miss school.”

Mark mumbles something about never complaining about his life ever again, making you smile.

You don’t talk much after that, both of you lost deep in your own thoughts. You’re just watching the ferris wheel spin round and round when Mark’s phone suddenly rings, filling the strange silence wit his jarring ringtone.

“It’s my friend,” Mark tells you before answering the call.

You try not to listen but it’s quiet and you’re the only ones on the roof so you still hear Mark’s say, “Hey Yukhei,” and, “No, I'm still at the hospital.” And, “Yeah, I'm coming.” And, “No, it’s okay.”

When he finally hangs up, Mark looks a little disappointed. “Sorry, but I think I should go now.”

You wave off the apology and say goodbye to Mark with a small wave. You stare at the ferris wheel for a few more minutes before thinking you might as well go back too. It’s a little strange Taeyong hasn’t come to drag you down yet.

What’s even stranger is, when you enter your room, your mom is already there.

“Where have you been?”

“Roof,” you tiredly tell her, climbing into bed.

Your mother smiles and walks over to sit on a chair next to your bed. “Were you getting some fresh air?”

You sleepily nod.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet,” your mom frowns, shaking you fully awake. “I brought you soup!”

You groan. “Soup, really? I think I’ve had enough soup for a lifetime.”

“It’s homemade! You won’t get to have my homemade soup until next week.”

You groan again but graciously accept the soup when your mom hands it to you.

The next morning, you’re softly woken up by your mother, who quietly whispers, “I'm going now, okay? See you in five days. I love you. Bye.”

She kisses your forehead and you mumble, “Bye, mom.”

You hear her chuckle before falling back asleep.

It’s one of those days when you’re bored and hate your life. Why are you stuck in a hospital? Why do you have cancer? Why is your life such a mess?

Taeyong tries to cheer you up whenever this happens. He usually just calls Donghyuck who always comes running over to hang out and effectively make you feel better. But Donghyuck isn’t here.

“Why don’t you hang out with your roof friend?” Taeyong suggests.

“I can’t,” you moan into your pillow. “We only meet on the roof after radio.”

“Didn’t you say he plays for Dr. Kim’s kids downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t you meet him there?”

You end up excitedly running all the way to the pediatric wing. You bump into Dr. Kim on the way and the poor doctor almost falls. “Sorry, Dr. Kim,” you hurriedly call out, still running.

You don't know if you’re more excited to see Mark so early in the day or to see Mark play for the kids he never stops talking about. Probably both.

As you enter the pediatric wing, you can see Mark surrounded by children, and even a few parents, in the tiny waiting room. Smiling at the sight of a dozen little boys and girls looking up at Mark in awe, you quietly step in the room, careful not to attract any attention to yourself.

You find a small unoccupied beanbag chair and drag it to a corner of the room to watch Mark in peace. Mark still hasn’t seen you and you’re glad you can see Mark in his element.

Most of the songs that Mark plays are the same ones he plays on the roof and you find yourself humming along to more than a few.

Mark finally sees you in the middle of a song and pauses for a beat, flashing one of his blinding smiles. As soon as the song is over, Mark announces that it’s time to take a break and hurries over to you.

“You came!” Mark squeals like a little girl. “Did you like it? How was it?”

Before you can answer though, something small runs into Mark’s legs and wraps two tiny arms around them, yelling, “Mark hyung! You were so good!”

You laugh at the look of shock on Mark’s face as the little boy gives his legs a squeeze and runs away. “Well, there’s your answer.”

“That’s Jisung,” Mark tells you, who’s watching the kid run up to Dr. Kim. “His mom is friends with my mom.”

“Is he your selfish reason for coming here?” You ask.

Mark smiles, plopping down on the edge of your bean bag chair. “Yeah, but now that I’ve grown way too fond of all the kids, they’re all my selfish reasons for coming here.”

You shake your head, sighing. “I’ve never met anyone so selfish in my life.”

Soon, Mark goes back to the middle of the room to play again and, minutes later, Taeyong arrives to take you to radio. Mark is too busy to notice you leaving but it’s okay because you see each other again on the roof.

It becomes a sort of routine for you. Every day, before radio, you go to see Mark play for the kids. Then, after radio, you go to see Mark on the roof, and usually make him play again. By now, you have almost all of Mark’s songs memorized, sometimes even singing along with him even though you have no idea what he’s saying.

Whenever you sing along with him, Mark lowers his own voice so he can hear yours better. That is, until you catch on and seal your lips, shaking your head at a pouting Mark.

—

One day, Mark asks you where your parents are. It’s so out of the blue that you’re a little taken aback. Mark looks embarrassed and apologizes for being nosy. You tell him he apologizes too much.

“My parents are divorced,” you say. “And yes, I know my life sounds like a sad John Green book; the kid with cancer has divorced parents and was raised by their single mother who is never around.” Mark cracks a smile at that so you continue. “Anyway, my dad lives in China with his wife, and my mom is currently away on a business trip.”

“Does she go out of town a lot?” Mark asks cautiously, as if he’s afraid of overstepping boundaries.

“She used to,” you shrug. “She stopped after I got sick but apparently this was unavoidable. She works a lot though. Like, all day long. That’s why I'm here, actually. You don’t actually have to stay at the hospital just for radio but my mom didn’t want me home alone.”

Mark looks hesitant to ask any more questions and you don't really want to talk about this anymore so you poke Mark’s guitar. “Aren’t you going to play for me today?”

Mark’s smile, once again, tries to blind you. “Of course I am.”

When you get back to your room that night, you have the urge to call your mom. All that mom talk on the roof made you miss her.

She sounds a little breathless, albeit happy to hear from you, when she picks up.

“Mom, are you busy?” You ask, instantly regretting calling and disturbing her.

“A little bit, but it’s okay. Is something wrong?”

“No, I just missed you,” you mumble, snuggling into your covers.

The line is quiet for a minute and you think your mom must have hung up on you until you hear a sniffle.

“Oh,” she says softly. “I miss you too. So much.”

“Are you about to cry?” You ask. “Mom, please don’t cry.”

“No, no, don’t worry,” she tells you, voice breaking.

You sigh, “So, things are really busy?”

“Yeah,” your mom sounds like she’s already crying. “I know I was supposed to come back this week but things are really not going according to plan and it looks like I might have to stay longer.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” you soothe, wishing you could be with her to make her stop crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she keeps apologizing in her shaky voice. “I shouldn’t have left you. Now that I'm here, I can’t just get up and leave until everything is done.”

You keep comforting your mom, telling her that it’s okay and you understand until you hear someone on her end calling her name. You tell her not to cry one last time before you hang up and tell yourself the same thing before you go to sleep.

It’s one of the warmer nights on the roof when you leave your jacket up there. Unfortunately, you only remember about it when you’re already comfortably sitting in bed. Feeling grumpy, you stomp your way back up to the roof to retrieve it.

When you get there, though, you’re surprised to see your jacket is not on the ledge where you left it, but with Mark, who still hasn’t left.

“Mark!” You yell, startling him. “What are you still doing here?”

“Uh,” Mark looks at you and then the jacket in his hands. “I was going to give this to you.”

“So, you stayed up here for half an hour to do that?” You raise your eyebrows.

Mark shrugs, “I didn’t want to go home just yet.”

“Are you going home now?”

“No.”

“Then come to my room!” You poke Mark’s nose. “We can talk some more.”

The next day, when Taeyong comes to whisk you away, you ask Mark, “Are you going to go home now?”

When Mark says no, you smile.

“Well then you’re coming with me!” You latch yourself to Mark’s arm and drag him downstairs with you.

It becomes a new routine. You stay up on the roof, talking while Mark plays his guitar as background music. Then, when Taeyong comes to take you down, you take Mark with you.

One day, while you’re both on the roof, you ask Mark why he doesn’t like going home.

“I wish I could go home,” you say, trying to keep the longing out of your voice. “Or at least leave here. I’d never voluntarily spend time at this place.”

“Well,” Mark says, not looking at you. “I like spending time with you.”

You’re glad it’s dark outside because you can feel your cheeks heating up.

“How about before you started coming to my room?” You ask. “Why didn’t you go home then?”

“I don’t know,” Mark shrugs. “I just don’t like going home I guess.”

You know there’s more to it than that but you let it be. For now at least.

—

Donghyuck finally comes back from his family vacation on one of the rare days you don’t have radio. He barges into your room early in the morning, shouting, “I’m here! Did you miss me?”

Taeyong, who had been fussing over you, groans. “Hello, Donghyuck. Welcome back.”

“Thanks, Yong,” Donghyuck winks at him, hopping onto your bed and hugging you. “I missed you!”

Before you can tell him to get off, Taeyong glares at Donghyuck, sternly saying, “Lee Donghyuck. Get off the bed now.”

Donghyuck whines but still complies, mostly because not even he has the guts to disobey Taeyong. Still, when the nurse leaves the room, Donghyuck climbs back on the bed, cuddling up next to you.

Donghyuck and you talk (nonstop for hours because it’s you and Donghyuck) until you realize it’s way past the usual time you go to see Mark downstairs.

You think about ditching Donghyuck but you’re too nice and end up taking Donghyuck, who’s still talking with you.

Donghyuck loudly gasps as soon as he sees Mark and has you instantly regretting your decision to bring him.

“He’s that guy!” Donghyuck whispers into your ear when you sit down at the back of the room together. You wrinkle your nose at the feeling of your best friend’s hot breath in your ear.

“What guy?”

“The guy I told you about!” Donghyuck says excitedly. “The one who’s hot and plays guitar!”

“Oh yeah,” you remember.

“You know him?” Donghyuck asks, wide eyed.

“Yeah we’re friends.”

Donghyuck gives you a look.

“What?” You ask, sensing trouble.

“Are you fucking?” Donghyuck smirks and you choke on your spit. “Doing the do? Sexing each other up?”

“Donghyuck!” You hiss, looking around to make sure nobody heard Donghyuck’s obnoxiously loud voice.

“Are you?”

“No! We’re just friends!”

Donghyuck gives you a disbelieving look. You choose to ignore him.

“So, what’s his name?” Donghyuck eventually asks.

Reluctantly, you tell him, “Mark.”

“Not Korean?”

“He was born in Canada.”

“Interesting…” Donghyuck looks thoughtful.

“What,” you halfheartedly ask.

“Nothing, it’s just,” Donghyuck leans in a little closer, “Mark is really hot, man. If you don’t want him, give him to me.”

You laugh. “What about Dr. Park?”

“Alas,” Donghyuck sighs dramatically. “I am in love with two beautiful people!”

Once Mark puts down his guitar and finishes saying goodbye to the kids, you take Donghyuck over to him to introduce your two friends to each other.

Surprisingly, Donghyuck doesn’t flirt with Mark.

You'll never admit it, but you’re kind of relieved.

—

Two days before the end of your radiation, Mark and you walk into your room to find someone sleeping on the chair next to your bed.

“Uh, you,” Mark says. “There’s a stranger in your room.”

You smile. “Looks like Mom’s back.”

On your last day at the hospital, you have a checkup with Dr. Park and then radio with Dr. Cho. You go to see Mark during the five minutes you have between the two.

“I want to hear you play again,” you whine, poking Mark’s guitar.

“Hopefully, you will soon,” Mark smiles, pulling you into a hug.

“Hopefully not here,” you mumble into Mark’s neck, making him giggle and push you away.

“My mom is talking to Dr. Park right now,” you tell Mark. Mark hums. “Guess what?” You sound way too enthusiastic for what you’re about to say. “She said I’ll have to come back for a checkup every week.”

“Am I hearing right?” Mark gasps, pulling away from you. “Are you excited about having to come to the hospital every week?”

“It’s not because of you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you glare at Mark. “I'm excited because I’ll get to see little Jisung again.”

Mark pouts. “So you’re not happy, you’ll get to see me?”

“Seeing you will be the only downside of coming back.”

All throughout your radio, you try to come up with a plan to try and see Mark as much as you can. Maybe you can convince Mark to visit you at home since you don't actually want to visit the hospital aside from your weekly checkups.

You’re still thinking about it when Dr. Cho pats you on the back at the end of your last radiotherapy session. “Your hair is finally going to grow back,” he says with a grin. “Maybe not as nicely as you wish, though. It’ll probably be very patchy. Actually it might not even grow back at all. I once had a patient who…”

As Dr. Cho keeps rambling, you decide that you'll invite Mark to your house today. And then you’ll keep on inviting him. And that can be the new routine. Mark can come over to your house every day.

You don’t even realize Dr. Cho has stopped talking until the man pats you on the back again and tells you to take care.

Satisfied with your plan, you rush up to the roof to find Mark, your mom yelling “Don’t take too long!” as you whizz past her. You’re out of breath by the time you make it up there.

“What?” Mark says, surprised. “Aren’t you—”

“Come over to my place!” You breath out. Mark looks stunned and you laugh. “Let’s hang out at my house! It’ll be fun and my mom will drop you off later.”

Slowly, Mark smiles. “Are you sure? Haven’t you gotten tired of me?”

“Shut up,” you shove him. “Have you gotten tired of me?”

Mark’s signature smile shows up with his tiny dimple blinding you for the millionth time since you’ve met Mark. “Never.”

“Then come on!” You wrap your hand around Mark’s wrist and pull him all the way to your mom’s car.

—

Your plan ends up working. Mark doesn’t come over every day, but he does visit you a lot. Those days are your favorite days. You get to just sit at home and talk to Mark almost all night long.

You’re in your room, texting Mark, when your mom comes in, pouting. It’s one of her rare off days and since the moment you woke up, she’s been hovering around you and pouting.

“Mom, why have you been pouting all day?” You ask, putting your phone down. Your mom’s eyes light up a little and she sits down on your bed.

“I was thinking,” she says excitedly. “Since we never get to spend time together, how about we have a fun day!”

“A fun day?” You repeat. “Right now?”

“Yes! Come on! We’ll have so much fun! We can have ice cream and play board games and do puzzles and watch your favorite cartoons!”

That’s exactly what you and your mom do. Normally, you wouldn’t consider playing board games and solving puzzles to be fun activities, but you actually enjoys spending time with your mom doing, what you tell her are, old people activities.

Even though not much physical exertion is required to do those old people activities, you’re exhausted and sleepy by the time the sun goes down.

Your mom notices you falling asleep in the middle of the cartoon marathon and drags you to bed, tucking you in. She sits down next to you and starts singing you to sleep, just like she used to do when you were seven years old and missed your dad.

“Hey, Mom?” You mumble, opening your eyes a tiny bit to look up at your mother. “Aren’t you tired of being single? I mean dad’s already married and you haven’t even dated anyone since,” you shudder, “Dr. Cho.”

Your mom laughs, “I’m married too, you know. To my work. And I can honestly say it’s the best husband I’ve ever had.”

You roll your eyes under your closed eyelids. “But aren’t you lonely?”

“Of course not! I have you.” She kisses you on the forehead, “Now sleep.”

—

Your fourth weekly checkup ends up being on the day your mom has a meeting and Donghyuck has to leave for another family trip. You’re not upset though because it means you can, after a whole month of just hanging out with Mark in your room and occasionally the children’s waiting room, finally hang out with Mark on the roof.

Getting to the hospital is a bit of a hassle. You have to take the bus and walk a little so by the time you make it to Dr. Park’s room, you’re almost completely worn out.

Dr. Park gives you good news, telling you that you can come for your check up in three weeks.

You thank her and eagerly go up to the roof. Mark isn’t there yet so you decide to hide. After exactly 14 minutes, Mark arrives, humming one of his songs. You quietly creep up behind him, crouching a little. Mark is too preoccupied with his humming and doesn’t notice you getting closer.

You’re not sure if you should pounce on Mark or push him or just yell ‘BOO!’

You decide none of the above and inch close to his neck. As quietly as you can, you suck in a breath and blow.

The reaction is immediate. Mark screams, falling to the floor and clutching his hands to his neck. He buries his face in his knees and cries, “Get away! Please! I don’t have any money!”

You start laughing so hard you can barely breathe. You fall to the ground and point at Mark, who has finally lifted his face from his knees and is looking at you with shock and betrayal all over his face.

“I wish I saw your face,” you wheeze. “That scream was priceless!” You start rolling around on the dirty floor, clutching your stomach and still laughing.

“You’re so mean!” Mark yells, crawling over to you and climbing on you. “I hate you, go away!”

You try to roll away from under him but Mark pulls you back and, somehow, you two end up wrestling on the dirty roof, getting dust and who knows what else all over your clothes.

“I concede!” You finally give up, tapping your cap on the floor when Mark has you pinned down underneath him. You feel like you don’t have a single breath in your body and you’re sure your face is bright red. And not just from exhaustion.

“What kind of monster are you, fighting a sickly person?” You pant as Mark helps you up.

“You started it,” is all Mark says before ruffling your hair.

When you settle down, you smile at the ferris wheel.

“I missed that guy,” you say, pointing at the large, circular structure.

“He missed you too,” Mark ruffles your hair again.

You swat his hand away. “You have got to stop doing that,” you warn, giving Mark the most threatening glare you can create.

In response, Mark does it again. “You’re cute,” he laughs when you scream.

—

One day, Mark shows up to your door unannounced with two tubs of ice cream. One cookies and cream and one brambleberry crisp.

“Today was my last day at the hospital,” he tells you, as he searches through your kitchen for two spoons.

You walk over to help him, asking, “Why? Did you get tired of it?”

“Of course not!” Mark gasps. “I just won’t have time to go every day now because school is about to start.”

Oh yeah, school. You forgot that was even a thing. The last time you had gone to school was the day you fainted in front of everyone in the cafeteria.

“So,” you start, handing Mark a spoon and leading the way to your room. “You’re probably going to be really busy, right?”

Mark’s dimple shows. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ll still come visit.”

“I wasn’t worried!” You quickly protest but you don’t bother hiding the huge grin that spreads over your face.

—

“You know,” Donghyuck says, lying with his arms and legs spread out like a starfish on your bed. “I’m worried Mark is going to steal you from me.”

You snort, shoving Donghyuck off your bed. “You’re the one who never visits anymore.”

“You know that’s because my family is always taking me to places I don’t want to go!”

“Yes, yes,” you rub your temples. “Now, will you please stop screaming, you’re giving me a headache.”

“Sorry,” Donghyuck whines, climbing back on your bed, this time pulling you with him. “Go to sleep, babe,” he coos, snuggling into your chest.

Donghyuck ends up falling asleep first, your headache keeping you awake. You think about how you really do spend a lot more time with Mark than Donghyuck. But Mark won’t steal you away from your best friend.

Hanging out with Mark is different than hanging out with Donghyuck, or any of your other friends for that matter. Whenever you’re with Mark, you just feel

different.

You never really feels great, health wise, but two weeks after your last checkup, you’re at an all time low. You haven’t done anything all week but you’re still tired. You’re still only eating Dr. Park approved food but your stomach hurts. You’re sleeping well and haven’t been exposed to any loud noises, not even Donghyuck, but your head hurts.

On top of all that, Mark and Donghyuck both started going back to school, so you don’t have anyone to help cheer you up or distract you either. All in all, you feel sickly and weak and just awful.

You mope around the house, complain to your mom as soon as she gets home and send your two best friends lots of sad texts on a daily basis. Donghyuck usually replies with some nonsense only he understands and Mark doesn’t even reply, which only makes you feel worse.

“Aw, is your boyfriend ignoring you?” Donghyuck teases you whenever you complain about Mark’s silence.

“Shut up,” is always your clever retort.

—

Your moping has risen to a max by Saturday. It’s the weekend, which means Donghyuck and Mark don’t have school but they still can’t visit you because Donghyuck has to go to a family get together at his grandmother’s and Mark is still missing.

By Saturday afternoon, you just want to crawl into a little ball and sob. Why do you only have two friends? Why does your mom work on weekends? Why are you too sick to go to school? Why are you so desperate for human interaction that you want to go to school?

So many questions and no answers.

Frustrated to the point of insanity, you yell, “Shut the fuck up, will you?” At your phone when it starts ringing. You think about chucking it out your bedroom window until you see who’s calling.

Mark •̀ᴗ•́

You scramble to pick it up, almost actually throwing it out the window in the process.

“Mark!” You yell. “Where were you?”

Mark laughs, “Missed me?”

“You wish,” you spit, it’s not like Mark can see you’re smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Are you free right now?”

“No, I'm very expensive.”

“That sounds like something Donghyuck would say,” Mark groans. “Just answer the question, will you?”

“Yes, I'm free. Why? Are you coming over?” You’re already excited. So much so that even your headache goes away.

“Yeah, and I'm taking you out so put on some decent clothes. No pajamas.”

“Out?” You inquire. “Out where?”

“It’s a secret. See you in ten,” Mark says before hanging up.

Your mind is a complete mess but you somehow manage to make yourself look presentable by the time Mark rings the doorbell.

Mark doesn’t even give you time to say hi, pulling you out the door as soon as you open it. “Lock it, fast. We have somewhere to be!” He says, jumping up and down.

“Calm down,” you laugh, closing the door. “So, where are we headed?” You ask once you’ve checked, and Mark’s double checked, that the door is locked and you can finally leave.

“It’s a surprise,” is all Mark says.

Mark tries to blindfold you but you refuse right away. “People are going to think we’re some kinky couple, Mark,” you hiss, shoving the blindfold Mark handed to you in your pocket.

“But how will you be surprised if we know where we’re going?” Mark frowns.

You sigh,“How about I close my eyes?”

“Okay!” Mark looks satisfied. “But you have to keep them closed the whole two bus rides there, okay? No peeking?”

“Two bus rides?” You nearly shout. Mark nods excitedly and you have no choice but to sigh again and mumble, “Fine.”

Agreeing to keep your eyes closed may not have been a bad idea, you think as Mark helps you off the second bus with a tight grasp on your hand. Mark held your hand the entire time. Even while you both were just sitting still inside the buses.

You kept your promise and didn’t peek, partly because you wanted to be surprised as much as Mark wanted to surprise you, but also because you didn’t want to see the disapproving looks you knew strangers were giving towards you and Mark.

“Okay,” Mark says, after what feels like an hour but was probably just a few minutes of walking. “You can open your eyes now!”

At first you have no idea what you’re looking at. All you see are a bunch of gears and metal rods. Then Mark lifts your head a little bit and you realize you’re standing in front of a ferris wheel. The same ferris wheel you and Mark used to look at every day from the roof.

You’re touched.

“Mark,” you say, prying your eyes away from the wheel and looking at him. You don’t know what to say but Mark saves you from having to come up with anything.

“You’re welcome. Now come on!”

You ride the ferris wheel four times together—even though it actually isn’t all that exciting—just because you want to and you can. You still feels overwhelmed as Mark takes you around to all the food stalls lined under the wheel.

Even as fatigue starts to make you a bit wobbly, you don't want to leave. You’re filled with so many feelings towards Mark you can’t think straight. You look closely at Mark’s face as he’s shoving some corn into his mouth and talking about all the types of barn animals he’s met.

Mark has a really nice face. It’s smooth and clear and houses that wonderful dimple. You just can’t get over how cute that dimple is. You just want to poke it. It’s so tiny and charming and right next to Mark’s lips. Mark’s lips are really nice too. They’re full and pink and, even though his bottom lip has a bit of corn on it at the moment, they’re perfect.

You wonder what it would feel like to kiss his lips. Your head spins a little at the thought. Maybe you should try it. If Mark doesn’t kiss you back, you can just pass it off as a joke.

“Mark,” you say, still staring at his lips.

Wait, why does Mark have four lips all of a sudden? Aren’t people supposed to have two? Or is it one? What’s the average number of lips on a person?

“Are you okay?” You faintly hear Mark ask, his four lips getting closer. If Mark’s lips are so close, why does his voice sound so far away?

You’re about to call Mark’s name again and ask why everything feels so weird but before you can even open your mouth, everything goes dark.

—

The first thing you find out when you wake up is that your tumor is back. It’s regrowing, and at an abnormally fast rate.

After crying for nearly an hour, you call Mark to apologize for fainting on him in the middle of a public space at almost ten o’clock at night, but Mark doesn’t even let you get the words out of your mouth.

“You’re up?” He screams into the phone, making you wince. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

“Calm down, Drama Queen,” you smile. “I'm calling you now.”

Mark seems to know why you called him because whenever you get close to apologizing, he says, “Don’t you dare,” and changes the subject.

Your first surgery had been scary but the second one is even scarier. You hear Dr. Park telling your mom that your chances of survival have gone down, that it’s a fairly simple surgery but the fact that your cancer cells have started regrowing at an alarmingly fast rate could mean you might not wake up.

Your mom holds your hand the entire night before the surgery, squeezing it so tight, you lose all feeling in it.

Even though they have school, Donghyuck and Mark come to see you before you’re wheeled in. You wish everyone would stop looking at you like you’re about to die. Well, you are about to die but you don’t appreciate the looks.

“Stay with us,” Dr. Park tells you before sticking a needle in your skin.

You blink a few times before you can’t open your eyes anymore and, for the second time that week, everything goes dark.

—

This time when you wake up, the first thing you find out is that the surgery went well, but you’re still very sick. No one needs to tell you for you to know that. You can feel how sick you are when you try to move or speak or even think.

Donghyuck and Mark still visit but they visit a lot less because of school. You’re actually glad your friends can’t visit you often. You don’t want them to see you like this.

Somehow, things start to get even worse after that. Everything hurts. You can barely think, your mind is constantly screaming, your ears are constantly ringing. It hurts to open your eyes, it hurts to breathe. It hurts to be alive.

You lose the ability to eat without the help of a tube, and Mark starts visiting you every day. You know Mark has school but still doesn’t question why he drops by every day. You never have the energy to entertain Mark, so you just stare at the ceiling and listen to Mark quietly play familiar tunes or softly tell you how his day was.

You want to be able to give Mark your full attention, you want to be able to reply to Mark’s questions or laugh at his bad jokes, you want to be able to ask Mark why he still doesn’t go home until late at night. You want to be able to be close to Mark without constantly having your thoughts drift off to how tired you feel and how pathetic you are and how much everything hurts.

You’re tired. You’re tired and you just want this to end.

You look at Mark as he plays with the strings of his guitar on the chair next to your bed. You think about the ferris wheel and how happy Mark made you the day he took you there.

“I wanted to kiss you,” you speak for the first time in days.

Mark immediately stops what he was doing and stares at you, eyes impossibly wide.

“What?” He whispers.

“At the ferris wheel,” you clarify. Your voice is rough and scratchy. It doesn’t sound like your voice at all.

“You wanted to kiss me?” Mark looks stunned.

“Yes. Even though you had corn on your mouth.”

“Why?”

Mark doesn’t see you rolling your eyes. “Because I like you, silly.”

There’s a moment of silence and you’re too tired to even feel embarrassed about your impromptu confession.

But then Mark kisses you.

“What was that for?” You squeak, your voice the loudest it’s been in the past month.

Mark smiles, but it’s not one of his normal smiles. It’s not happy and sweet and there’s no dimple in sight. “I thought you said you wanted to kiss me.”

You sigh, “Mark, you didn’t have to do that just because you feel sorry for me. I know I may look like it but I'm not some charity case.”

“No!” Mark says loudly enough to make your ears start ringing. “I didn’t kiss you because you’re sick, I kissed you because I like you too.”

You're not sure if you believe him but even so, you ask Mark, “Then can you kiss me again?”

And Mark does, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

And for a moment, you don’t feel like you’re dying. You don't feel like you’re sitting on a hospital bed, losing your brain to cancer.

You feel like a normal person kissing the boy you like until neither of you can breathe.

Mark’s lips are soft and warm and sweet. They feel perfect pressed against your cold, dry ones. You think it must not be very pleasant, kissing your weak, dying lips but Mark doesn’t seem to mind, kissing your breath away at any given opportunity. It probably isn’t good for your health, being breathless so often.

But death by kisses sounds like a nice way to go.

—

Your condition is not getting better. Even though your love life is suddenly thriving, your body cannot seem to do the same.

You have conflicting thoughts. You want to feel better and fight for your mother, your friends, your boyfriend, and yourself. But it’s so hard. You just want it to end. You want to give up.

You start sobbing one day. It’s never going to end. You’re never going to feel better. There’s no point in even trying anymore.

Mark holds you and comforts you, or at least tries to, but you’re already hysterical. You hear Taeyong run into the room after you scream, “Just make it stop! Please!”

Mark is holding your hand, and playing with your fingers. He occasionally brings them up to his lips and presses tiny kisses on them.

He’s so handsome and kind and caring. He’s perfect. And he deserves so much better than this.

“Mark,” you whisper so softly you’re not even sure Mark can hear you.

But he does and looks up at you with a soft smile. “Hey, how long have you been up?”

“A while,” you try to smile back. “I’m sorry Mark.”

Mark frowns and you want to scream at him to bring the smile back. “Hey,” he brings your hand back up to his lips. “Please stop apologizing. None of this is your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, smiling slightly when Mark narrows his eyes at you. “It’s just that you deserve someone who can do things with you and for you, someone who doesn’t constantly worry you, someone you can grow old with and have little mini Marks with. Not someone who… could drop dead any second.”

“Stop that!” Mark says sharply, surprising you by how angry he looks. His face softens and he sighs. “You are that person, okay? You are not going to,” he sucks in a breath, “die anytime soon, do you hear me? You are not allowed to come into my life and make me fall in love with you and just leave.”

“Mark,” you start but Mark hushes you. He squeezes your hand and looks straight into your eyes.

“You are going to get through this. We are going to get through this. Just, please don’t give up.”

You don’t tell him you already have.

—

July is coming to an end and you’ve never felt worse. You can’t do anything but try not to scream in pain every waking moment of every day.

You’re lying down with your eyes clenched shut and your mother rubbing your arm. You vaguely register Dr. Park telling her they can do another surgery. She’s saying the same things she said before the last one. “It’s extremely risky but this time, I believe we’ll be able to get rid of it once and for all.”

“Once and for all?” You say through gritted teeth. Your mother yelps, probably because she thought you’d been asleep.

Dr. Park also looks surprised to see that you’re awake. “Uh, yes, but I must tell you, you, this procedure is more high-risk than the other ones we’ve done.” She looks back at your mom, “There’s a higher chance you might not wake up.”

“But if I do,” you look at both your doctor and your mom with pleading eyes. “It will be gone, right?”

“Most likely, but—”

“I know it might come back later but it also might be completely gone, right?”

“Yes,” Dr. Park looks at you with concern.

“Please, mom,” you start begging. “Please, this might just be the end of all this. Please.”

Your mother is reluctant but you keep pleading. You’re determined to make it through this.

Your surgery is scheduled for August 1, which means you’ll probably miss Mark’s birthday. This leaves you in a grumpy mood the entire day.

Before you’re wheeled into the operating room, your mom gives you a tight hug, getting your chest wet with her tears. Donghyuck also hugs you and makes you promise not to die.

You turn to Mark when Donghyuck finally lets go.

“Mark,” you start but Mark stops you.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re going to say, probably ‘I love you’ or something like that, but you’re saying it like it’s goodbye and I don’t want to hear it.”

You smile weakly.

“You can tell me when you come out,” Mark crosses his arms.

“I’ll try to be out in time for your birthday.”

You know the clock is ticking and it’s almost time for you to go in. You don’t know what’s going to happen, but you want to do something, just in case things don’t go well.

“Kiss me?” You ask Mark.

Mark smiles, his tiny dimple still so blinding to you, and then he kisses you. It’s still the best feeling in the world.

You’re smiling when Mark pulls away, whispering, “I’ll be waiting.”

You think about the kiss when a deep voice says, “We’re putting you under now. Stay with us, okay?”

Then everything goes dark.

But this time, everything stays dark.

[mobius-prime]

228. Sonic the Hedgehog #160

Birthday Bash! (Part One): Giving and Receiving

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Welcome to the beginning of Ian Flynn's reign, everyone! As many of you will know, Ian is a fan favorite amongst readers of the comics, and for good reason. Objectively, I'd say he has a much better sense than any previous writer of how to construct dynamic and interesting stories, as well as a great head for writing dialogue. Every character has their own unique voice when speaking, and as someone who takes a particular interest in dialogue in her own writing, it's something I admire a lot, especially given how stilted and unnaturally formal a lot of dialogue by Karl and especially Kenders often sounded, regardless of who was speaking. That said, I think that it took a good year or so for him to fully come into his own as head writer for the series, so some earlier issues are a bit strange and not up to par with a lot of his later work. Some of this, to be fair, is due to him essentially playing clean-up for this first year, untangling a lot of the bizarre leftover plot threads that Karl and Kenders left behind, and generally trying to make the world of the comics conform a little better to that of the games. All that aside, anyone reading the comics will likely notice an immediate and apparent improvement in the overall quality of the work starting with this issue. This is helped along, in addition, by none other than the very talented artist Tracy Yardley! who always (well, almost always) introduces himself in the story credits with an exclamation mark. It's kind of his calling card. Tracy took a while to really improve his art as well, so while his earliest issues sometimes have some strange proportions and poses, later on his style became easily one of the most visually attractive and recognizable ones in the series, simplifying a lot of the inconsistencies that many character designs had as well as doing away with the strange pseudo-human proportions that some artists tended to favor, particularly with the female characters. All this said, I will say that Ian isn't going to be immune to my criticism, as while I do recognize his skill as a writer and the good things he brought to the table, there are definitely some problems I have with the way he handled certain things. We'll cross those bridges when we come to them, however, so for now, let's dive into the new world he's creating and see how he does!

Elias and Sonic are walking on the outskirts of Knothole as Elias explains why his father approved the Metal Sonic troopers from last issue. We don't even really get to hear the explanation, but to be fair, we hardly need one, as the idea was so insane to begin with that the only true explanation is that Kenders needed a plot device. Sonic tries to make Elias promise that "you royals" won't hit him with any more weird surprises, and Elias says they only have one more, leading him to a building next to where the Great Oak Slide into the village ends.

I mean, canonically he's supposed to be turning seventeen here, even though realistically he should be turning eighteen, because remember, for him to have turned sixteen in StH#68, had the Robians be deroboticized in early June in StH#123, and still have managed to spend close to a year in space before turning seventeen, literally everything in between the two aforementioned issues would have had to take place in the span of a few weeks - yes, that's counting the month-and-a-half time span that Sonic was confined to Knothole, as well as major events like Eggman's return and the entire Green Knuckles saga. You can see why this huge discrepancy still bothers me, right? Hmph. Anyway, no sooner has the party begun than an explosion destroys the door, and two new players enter the scene - Bean the Dynamite and Bark the Polar Bear from Sonic the Fighters! Nack's been part of the comic for long enough now, so it's cool to see these two make their first appearance. Bark is totally silent - as far as I remember, he never says a single word during the entirety of the comic - but Bean, in the absence of an obvious personality to draw from in the game, has subsequently been given the personality trait of "criminally insane" in the comics.. He's erratic, he talks to himself, he cracks jokes where jokes really shouldn't be cracked, and most importantly of all, he loves his goddamn bombs. Bean starts chucking said bombs left and right at the various Freedom Fighters in the base, while Sonic tangles with Bark. He seems to think these guys are only after him due to something Evil Sonic did in his place, something which he has by now apparently finally explained to all the women of Knothole, and manages to break away from Bark to stop Bean's bombing spree by pinning him to a wall and asking about Evil Sonic. However, Bean happily insists there's been no mistake and he wasn't even aware of Sonic having an evil twin, nor does he particularly care. Oh, speaking of Evil Sonic…

Huh, it seems that Evil Sonic has actually explained his true identity to Rouge in between their previous failed attempt and now. I'm surprised she hasn't outright abandoned him by now due to Rouge not exactly being evil-aligned to begin with, but I guess the pull of the shiny is just too strong for her to resist. And as it turns out, Bean suffers from a similar insatiable need! Fiona pulls out a ring of keys and shakes them around, completely distracting Bean from his current activity of bashing Sonic's head in, and throws them out the hole he made in the wall, prompting him to immediately abandon everything to chase after them. Fiona then advances on Bark, who by now has gotten himself cornered by every Freedom Fighter in the room, and convinces him to stand down as he's outnumbered. Outside, Bean plays with the keys and talks to them, seemingly convinced that they're a beautiful woman with an "adorable accent" who wants his number, when a suspiciously-Shadow-shaped shadow converges on him, prompting him to try to invite him into smashing Sonic as well. Good luck there, buddy, I don't think Shadow usually runs with crazy…

Geez, Sally, cut Fiona some slack. Not everyone had a squeaky-clean record - hell, just look at Shadow! Back in the Chaos Chamber, Rouge and Evil Sonic begin to battle Locke, who tosses Evil Sonic to the side as he perceives Rouge to be the bigger threat. However, that turns out to be a bit of a bad idea, as with Rouge tied up in the fight, Evil Sonic takes his chance to go after the Master Emerald without her, obviously recognizing it as more than just a shiny trinket.

Back in Knothole, Shadow explains that he's only here to thank Sonic for saving Hope, as he knows he wouldn't have been able to do it on his own, and reminds him that as soon as he leaves this building they're back to being enemies, as Shadow's still aligned with Eggman for now. Sonic, to his credit, seems to recognize that Shadow is only allied with Eggman because he doesn't yet know better, and cheerfully invites him to come back here whenever he cuts out on that deal in the future. It's at this point that everyone realizes Bean has quietly snuck into the brain trust's comms room to casually let Eggman know that he and Bark failed to take Sonic down, and when Fiona ushers him back out of the room, Eggman is only too happy to let Sonic know personally that he wishes him a happy birthday and he's sending him a new, more metallic present. Within seconds a thud outside alerts them to the arrival of this present, and everyone rushes out to see a strange figure emerging from an egg pod - a figure which resolves itself into the combined forms of Crocbot and Octobot, now merged into the singular entity of… Croctobot! (Don't worry, Ian knows just how silly this is and even acknowledges it next issue.) But what of Evil Sonic and Rouge? How is their fight faring against Locke after the former got knocked aside? Well, Evil Sonic takes his chance to dramatically emerge from behind the emerald as the other two get ready to continue their fight…

Plot twist! How many people actually didn't know by now that Evil Sonic and Scourge were the same person? I'm guessing there had to be at least a few of you. You can actually already see Ian's new plans being put into action - it's very telling of his intentions when the very first issue he ever pens immediately makes a point of distinguishing a rather tired and boring character into a new and improved version of himself, with a unique name and new, visually distinct look. Apparently Kenders, who if you recall is the original creator of Evil Sonic, never liked this and continued to insist on referring to him as Evil Sonic, but screw that, Scourge is a much more interesting character and this was a change that sorely needed to be made.

Sonic Rush (Part One of Two)

Writer/Pencils: Tania Del Rio Colors: Ben Hunzeker

So unfortunately, Sonic Adventure 2 isn't the only case in the preboot of a partial adaption of a game being included without any actual ending. Sonic Rush, the game, introduces Blaze, a cat from an alternate dimension that is controlled by the Sol Emeralds rather than the Chaos Emeralds, and most of the plot revolves around the Sol Emeralds ending up in Sonic's dimension and her trying to recollect them to bring back to her own world. However, things are a bit different in the comics universe. In this story, Blaze comes to Sonic's dimension because, apparently, she's been having nonstop dreams about him, dreams which show her visions of Eggman threatening the Sol Emeralds and Sonic helping her protect them. She's frustrated that she would have to rely on anyone else to help her protect the emeralds at all, believing them to be her sole responsibility, but nonetheless she's tracked Sonic to Knothole. However, while deliberating her next move, a squad of swatbots - yes, ordinary ones, it's been a while since we've seen them rather than shadow-bots - happen upon her and decide that they should take her in for interrogation.

Yeah, I guess Blaze doesn't understand the dangers present in this universe yet, does she? An hour or so later, Rotor sends for Sonic, informing him that they caught the aftermath of Blaze's capture on their video surveillance. Neither of them know who she is, but they decide she can't be from their village, since she left several disabled swatbots behind, while most people in Knothole are noncombatants and those that aren't are accounted for elsewhere. Sonic rushes out to find their trail and tracks them to a nearby facility set up amidst the trees, and while he begins fighting his way in, the scientific robots in the building go about studying their new specimen.

Sorry, but why the hell would Eggman be looking to add some random Mobian to his team? He only likes robots anyway, and tends to either betray or enslave every living being that comes to him. Blaze suddenly awakens and becomes furious - not that she's been captured, mind you, but that they took off her coat while studying her. She must be really goddamn attached to her coat, because she starts absolutely trashing the place, exploding into flames and screaming so loudly that Sonic becomes genuinely worried about her wellbeing, rushing to where he last heard her. The door of the lab she's in is completely blasted off its hinges by the force of Blaze's explosions, but thankfully after this she seems to have found her coat, because the blasts subside and she appears in the doorway wearing it once again, staring down at an utterly shocked Sonic with a look of fiery fury (the literal flames coating her entire body probably help with the "fiery" bit). Uh… good luck dealing with that, buddy boy!

[blue-mood-blue]

She looks just like her brother.

Jane knows that’s what they’re thinking. Every time someone glances in her direction instead of staring at the ornate box they’re all gathered around in the noonday sunshine, she can practically hear it, whispered silently into the air around them: Oh, she looks so much like him, what a shame, how awful that she didn’t make it back in time. She doesn’t pay them any mind; she’s not here for any of them.

The strange pair standing together at the edge of the crowd, though, hanging back - they catch her attention. Jane’s never met them, but she knows exactly who they are. Duck told her things, little pieces of whole he wasn’t ready for her to see yet, so she knows Aubrey Little and Ned Chicane. If everyone else is only glancing at her, Aubrey is staring with a stricken expression and Ned is looking at everyone and everything else instead of her.

More importantly, she knows why they’re here and why they haven’t come any closer. 

To Aubrey’s credit, she tries. Jane sees her creeping closer after the casket is in the ground and people have started to leave, waiting patiently behind Jane to introduce herself.

Jane decides to save her the trouble. “Aubrey Little, right? Duck mentioned you a couple of times.”

Aubrey hesitates, and Jane guesses she was caught off guard. “Um, yes! Yes. You must be Jane. I’m so sorry —”

“You’re part of that... neighborhood watch thing, right? Keeping the town safe?”

Her hesitation is longer this time, weighted. Aubrey says a lot by not saying anything at all, and it’s the answer that Jane is looking for.

Duck was a shit liar, but sometimes he could slide by the truth if it was close enough to being honest. Sometimes he’d tell her just enough. “Had to visit the hospital,” he’d say, without saying how bad the injury was or how he’d gotten it. “There’s something weird going on in Kepler and the police could use an extra set of eyes,” he’d explain, without ever mentioning if the police agreed with his assessment. Jane had known for a long time that Duck was doing something dangerous, she just didn’t know the details. And she hadn’t even thought of trying to stop him, because if Duck was voluntarily doing something dangerous, it meant someone was in danger.

She should have stopped him. If she’d come back sooner, if she’d been here when it happened... but she didn’t, and she wasn’t. She got on a plane after his last phone call, all veiled worry and forced calm, telling her that if anything happened and she needed better answers, she should find someone named Mama. “You won’t need to but... figured I’d mention it, since I won’t be able to call for a little bit.” The implication that something might happen was enough to bring her home so she could ask Duck about those better answers directly, and by the time she got to Kepler he was already gone.

And this Aubrey Little knows more than Jane does about why her brother is in the ground and not filling her in on the local gossip. And maybe it isn’t fair - it definitely isn’t fair - but that makes Jane hate her, just a little bit. “Yeah, he told me. Not nearly all of it, but I’m gonna find out the rest.” When Jane turns to look at her, Aubrey looks pale. Even guilty, maybe. “Were you there, when it happened?”

“I —”

Jane shakes her head. “You probably shouldn’t answer that, actually.” Jane turns around to leave, well aware that there is more of her brother left in the forests he loved so much than in this patch of meticulously maintained lawn of headstones. “See you around, Aubrey.”

When Jane glances to where the two of them had been standing together, Ned Chicane is already gone.

Jane has a dream that night that she’s talking to a woman made of light. The woman seems to know her brother, but Jane has never seen her before. She calls Duck a warrior, which seems inaccurate, and she calls him merciful, which sounds a lot more like the Duck Jane remembers.

“I do not know if you wish to continue your brother’s fight, Jane Newton,” she says. There’s something in her voice that speaks of old grief, and Jane has the strange thought that this woman will miss Duck more than half of the people at the funeral who offered her empty condolences. “You do not have to. But his sword is yours, should you choose to accept it.”

Jane is about to tell the woman how insane the thought of Duck carrying a sword is, but she wakes up in his apartment instead, surrounded by half-packed boxes. There’s a sword on the ground next to her, and she’s sure it wasn’t there when she fell asleep.

The sword is looking at her - she’s sure of that, even if she doesn’t know what makes her think so. She doesn’t know what compels her to pick it up.

“Jane Newton, I presume.” The voice comes from the sword, the sword that has a mouth that she can see now that it’s moving, and she almost drops it. “My name is Beacon. You, now you have the spirit of a warrior. You would wield me in battle, would you not Jane Newton? Your brother never did use my full power, pacifist that he was...”

The sword says it like an insult, and Jane squeezes the hilt as if anything she could do to it would actually hurt a metal object. She remembers the coroner’s hesitating, uncomfortable report, spoken with long pauses as if Jane might change her mind about wanting to know how Duck died. Every detail was followed by a silence as if to say are you sure, do you really need to know, wouldn’t you sleep easier if you let me tell you kinder lies. Jane kept asking for the truth, and she barely slept at all that night.

“My brother died fighting, didn’t he?” Beacon doesn’t answer and she shakes him, aware that it’s a useless gesture. “What more did you want from him? He fought, and he defended people, and he died. That’s not enough of a warrior for you?”

Beacon is silent for a long moment. Finally, quietly, he admitted: “Yes, Duck Newton fell in battle.”

Jane takes a deep breath. She reminds herself that she already guessed as much, but it’s different to know for sure. “Yeah. So, I don’t want to hear you talk shit about my brother. I don’t need a fucking sword, and I’ll throw you in the river to rust if you start with that shit again.”

She might be imagining the hint of respect in his voice when he says “Understood.”

Leo finds her a couple of days later, when she’s unlocking the door to Duck’s apartment. He doesn’t have any more answers than Minerva does, can’t tell her the why or how of any of it, but he points to Beacon and tells her that he can teach her.

“I’m not an expert but I know a few things. Better than nothing, right?”

He’s one of those people Jane almost knows, the kind she’s seen around but probably hasn’t had an actual conversation with in years. Duck was always better at that kind of thing than her, was always around to remind her of names that had slipped her mind. If she was going to do this, if she was going to stay and protect these people, she was going to have to get better at that. She couldn’t be Duck, but she would have to make the effort.

Jane takes him up on the offer. It’s... surprisingly good for her, actually, to swing Beacon and take her anger out on targets. Leo seems to get it; Leo just gets a lot of things, a lot more than she would’ve given him credit for on first impression. 

“I’m sorry about Duck,” he tells her eventually. They hadn’t talked much about Duck before then. Jane’s pretty sure Leo didn’t know how to start the conversation. “You’re brother was a good guy. He’d be proud of you, you know.”

Jane likes to think she knows, but it’s good to hear it from someone else. It’s good to be sure.

When Jane finds Mama, she’s on the porch of the Amnesty Lodge. Mama sees the family resemblance and the sword on Jane’s hip, and she doesn’t have to ask why Jane is there.

She does ask if Jane knows the details of how Duck died, and if she’s sure. Jane is sure, and Mama doesn’t question her resolve. She just tells Jane the truth, hands her a patch, and welcomes her.

Jane sits beneath the trees for a few hours, staring at the patch. She wonders how Duck felt when he was given his. She could guess, she could ask the other members, but she couldn’t talk to Duck so she’d never really know.

“This probably isn’t exactly what you wanted, when you told me to talk to Mama,” she says to the empty air. It feels like he’s there anyway, the way it always does when she’s in the forest. “I’m sorry. But I have to - you probably felt like you had to at the time, didn’t you? I bet you were thinking about everyone else but you.” She sighs and leans back against the tree. “I’m gonna need you to help me, Duck. I’m not as good as you. I’m not as brave. I need your help if I’m gonna do this.”

A breeze rustles the branches, and Jane smiles.

Jane is waiting for Ned when he unlocks the Cryptonomica. He freezes in the doorway when he sees the shape of her leaning against the front desk, Beacon gripped loosely in her hand.

“Hey Ned, how’ve you been?”

He closes the door slowly. “I’ve been... fine. Reasonably well. And how have you been, Jane?”

“Could be better.” She’s worked hard, to let go of the anger and the hate. It’s working but it’s working slowly. She’ll get there - she’ll have to, if she’s going to fight monsters with these people. “Have been better. You and me need to have a conversation, Ned.”

Ned flinches, but he doesn’t make excuses or try to run off. That’s progress since the last time she’d seen him. “What about?” Ned makes an attempt to sound composed, but Jane isn’t fooled.

“What do you think? I want to talk about Duck.”

“Jane --”

“Just listen, Ned. Just shut up and listen, for once.” Ned shuts up, and Jane sighs. “You were there, right? That’s what I hear. He wasn’t alone - you and Aubrey were there.”

He hesitates before answering. “Yes. We were there.”

“But you were distracted, both of you were. You’d lied to Aubrey and she was upset, and neither of you were on your game. And when it was go time, when whatever that thing was went after my brother,” she pauses, taking a moment to breathe. Her voice had been getting loud, angry, and she needed a second to not go there. “When that thing went after my brother, neither of you saw. And it killed him.”

“Jane, I’m so sorry.” He sounds sincere. When Jane looks up, there are tears on his face, and she’s thrown. He has changed - the Ned she knew didn’t cry for people.

“Are you?” He’s about to answer, but she cuts him off. “Are you really? Because if you’re really, truly sorry, Ned Chicane, that shit will not happen again. You will have my back. Aubrey will have my back. And when we’re facing a threat, the only thing that matters will be protecting each other and the innocent. That’s what you can do for my brother.”

“You?” Jane turns enough so that Ned can see the patch on the shoulder of her jacket, and he stares.

“Me. I’m going to finish what my brother started. Now, I’m going to have this conversation with Aubrey and then we should all be on the same page. Can you do that, Ned? Can I trust you?”

Ned looks up when she asks, his expression as serious as hers - the expression of someone who’s lost someone and feels the loss keenly. Jane realizes, for the first time, that Ned and Aubrey were more than Duck’s teammates. They’d been friends. Duck was missed all over Kepler, and here too.

“You can trust me.”

Jane sheathes her sword and holds out her hand to shake his. 

[the--sad--hatter]

The Cupcake Hostage Situation: Phase Two (Bucky x Reader)

Read Part One Here 

BEWARE, READER, FOR HERE BE SMUT! ONLY THE VERY THIRSTY MAY ENTER....

The Cupcake Hostage Situation: Phase Two

“Nat, I need a favour.” You told her, walking into her room after knocking and being called in.

 “Who are they and do you want them dead or just hurt?” She asked immediately.

 “Tortured, but I’ll be the one doing the torturing. I just need you to help me acquire the weapon.” You said with a positively evil smirk.

 “I’m listening….” She said, giving you her full attention.

 By the time you’d finished explaining what you needed from her, she was grinning as evilly as you were.

~~~~~~~~~~That Evening~~~~~~~~~~

 You: I need you.

 You: Sorry, wrong person.

 Booty Barnes: What the hell?

 You: Don’t worry about it.

 Booty Barnes: Who do you need? Why do you need them?

 Booty Barnes: Where are you?

 You: I meant to send it to Stark.

 Booty Barnes: Stark?!?

 You: The heat was broken in my room, it’s too warm. Steve fixed it.

 Booty Barnes: Oh ok. Well I’m coming to double check it, Steve’s useless.

 “It’s fixed, the knob was just stiff.” Steve told you and you raised an eyebrow at him.

 “Yeah, I know… too easy.” He sighed.

 “Thanks Cap, I was melting in here.” You said, smiling sweetly at him and waving as he left.

 As soon as your door closed you leapt to your feet and started tearing your clothes off. You heard Bucky greet Steve just outside the door and managed to pull the oversized t-shirt over your head and fling yourself onto the bed just as the door opened and Bucky walked in.

 “Wow, It is warm in here.” He agreed, before coming to an abrupt halt in front of the bed.

 You smiled innocently at him as his eyes raked over the light blue shirt you were wearing.

 “What the fuck?” He snarled.

 “What?”

 “Is that Steve’s shirt?” He demanded.

 “Hmm, does it look like Steve’s shirt?” You asked playfully.

 He recoiled, eyes taking in your bare legs and position on the bed.

 “Are you sleeping with him?” He asked, looking pained.

 “Bucky, I wear your shirts all the time and I’m not sleeping with you, am I?” You said.

 “Are. You. Sleeping. With. Steve?” He asked again, slowly.

 He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw while he waited for you to answer. You smirked and sat up, crawling along the bed until you were knelt in front of him.

 “Look at me?” You said softly and he opened his eyes, staring at you with a mixture of anger, pain and lust.

 “It’s my shirt. Natasha bought it for me today.” You told him and he immediately exhaled forcefully, the tension melting away.

 Your shoulder shook with barely restrained laughter and he narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.

 “You did this on purpose to annoy me.” He accused.

 “Yes.” You said without a shred of shame.

 “Was the heat even broken?” He asked.

 “The heat controlled by the super intelligent AI in the futuristic compound built by Iron Man?” You scoffed.

 His eyes went impossibly dark as the depths of your ruse sunk in.

 “What the hell are you playing at?” He snapped.

 “You’re amusing when you’re jealous.” You explained.

 “Jealous? You’re damn right I’m jealous. I don’t ever want to see you in another mans shirt again doll. You wear mine and only mine.” He decreed.

 “Look at you getting all possessive. I don’t belong to you Bucky.”

 “Don’t you?” He asked.

 “Do I?” You countered.

 He looked like a deer in the headlights, frozen with fear. The flirting had been kicked up to a higher level and he was at a crossroads, it was make or break time.

 “Do you… do you want to? Be mine?” He asked nervously, his mouth suddenly dry.

 “Yes. God, yes.” You said immediately, your reaction making it clear just how much you meant it.

 He’d been unwilling to push the flirting any further in case it was as far as you were willing to go, afraid of making a fool of himself. But you’d backed him into a corner and made him admit what he wanted, because you wanted it just as badly and that realization smashed through all the walls he’d put up. He surged forward and kissed you with finally unbridled lust, his lips bruising yours in his urgency.

 You gave it back just as desperately and the second your lips touched his, the fire in your blood burned out of control. His teeth nipped harshly at your bottom lip and you gasped at the sharp sting of pain, a gasp that melted into a breathy sigh as his tongue swept across the ache, soothing it. And then he was pulling back, pulling away and shaking his head.

 “No, this isn’t right. It’s all wrong.” He said.

 You sat back on your heels, confused and hurt but before you could question him his fist grabbed the shirt, the material bunching around his metal fingers. He looked at you questioningly and you nodded, realizing it was the shirt that was wrong and not you. He ripped the material off of you, shredding it violently like it had offended him (you supposed it had) and tossing it across the room into the wastepaper basket.  You heard the hitch in his breath as he realized you hadn’t been wearing anything under the shirt. His hands ran along your arms, tenderly rubbing your skin in a show of gentleness that was the polar opposite of how he’d treated the shirt. His pupils expanded until his eyes were nearly black as he painstakingly studied every inch of you with his gaze until you were squirming uncomfortably.

 You pressed your thighs together, desperate to do something to sooth the building ache between them as he took his time memorizing and mapping your body. When his eyes finally met yours he saw the hunger in them and smirked. He reached behind his head and pulled his own shirt off with one hand, the way that only men seemed to know how to do.

 “Put it on.” He commanded, holding it out to you.

 You obliged all too happily, pulling it on quickly and shivering as his scent enveloped you. He reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you up so you were pressed against him and rested his forehead against yours.

 “That’s better.” He sighed.

 You hummed in agreement and wrapped your arms around his neck so you could kiss him again. This time it was softer, slower and sweeter. The roaring flames of passion were less like a wildfire and more like a smouldering, slowly consuming blaze as he nudged your lips apart with his own and his tongue pushed past them. The way he kissed you was nothing short of filthy, his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands sliding under the shirt to grab your ass.

 “I wanna be real clear doll, unless you ask me to stop, I’m gonna fuck you. That ok with you?” He asked.

 “Yes, please fuck me James.” You pleaded and he growled.

 “Say that again.” He demanded.

 “Fuck me James.”

 He grinned wolfishly and smacked your ass, kneeling down slightly to sling you over his shoulder.

 “What are you doing?” You yelped as he carted you out of the room.

 “When I fuck you I’m going to do it on my bed, I’m going to fuck you into my mattress. When you come, you’re going to be grasping at my sheets, screaming my name into my pillow.” He informed you.

 His words were so spine-tinglingly sexy that you didn’t even think about what would happen if anyone saw a shirtless Bucky carrying you over his shoulder, in his shirt, through the halls. He more or less kicked his door open and slammed it closed, only putting you down when you were at the bed. He leant over to deposit you gently on the mattress, his lips diving straight for yours. His body hovered above yours as he held himself up, so as not to crush you but it wasn’t enough for you. You needed to feel him.

 Without breaking from his kiss you ran your hands down his back, fingers tracing his spine and his skin was hot to the touch. Your hands found their way to the waistband of his jeans and you blindly found the button, popping it open. A low rumbling sound vibrated from his chest when your hand slid under the denim, brushing against his hardness. Even without seeing him, you could tell he was well endowed, far to big for your hand to wrap around him but you gave it your best shot, palming him through his boxers. He lost his rhythm, breaking from the kiss to look at you and pant heavily when you pushed your hand down further, cupping his balls and his resolve broke.

 “Babydoll, I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never even look at another man again.” He vowed, standing up and pushing his jeans down.

 You sat up and smiled sinfully at him, your lips swollen and red from his kisses.

 “Bucky, I haven’t looked at another man since I first laid eyes on you.” You told him truthfully.

 He held his hand out and you took it, letting him pull you to the edge of the bed. He swept your hair to the side and exposed your neck, holding you in place with his hand tangled in your hair he licked a stripe across your skin, from the hollow of your throat to the tender spot beneath your ear. His teeth nipped at your earlobe before his lips whispered the word that nearly had you coming apart in his arms.

 “Mine.”

 Your scrabbled to push his boxers down his thighs while he softly bit into your neck, sucking at the skin harshly. You knew he was leaving his mark on you and you weren’t at all offended. He held you there, in place and marked you as his for all to see, his ministrations become more frenzied when you wrapped your hand around his cock and stroked it, using your thumb to smear his precum over the swollen head. He made a strained growling noise when you squeezed your fingers around his shaft and started slowly pumping your fist.

 “I wanna taste you.” You intonated.

 His mouth moved away from your neck but his hand stayed tangled in your hair as he took a step back and pushed your head down. You looked up to see him watching you with an ironically predatory look and keeping your eyes locked with his you swirled your tongue around his tip, savouring the taste of him.

 “Fuck.” He groaned, throwing his head back and you took advantage of the momentary distraction to wrap your lips around his head, and took as much of him into your mouth as you could.

 His fist contracted, his fingers pulling at your hair until your scalp stung and he moaned loudly, swearing when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked. You relished in it all, the salty taste of his precum, the hardness of him filling your mouth, the sounds he made. It was all divine. You bobbed your head, pushing down on him until he hit the back of your throat and wrapping your hand around what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. You could have happily done this for hours, uncaring about the ache in your jaw but when he felt his balls begin to tighten he pulled you off of him with a lewd, satisfying pop.

 You whined softly, petulantly, but he ignored it and pushed you backwards, sending you sprawling onto the bed. His hands gripped your thighs and forced them apart and you were exposed to him. The cool air hit you for no more than a second before he enthusiastically buried his face between your legs, forgoing all teasing. He was too impatient to taste you as touchingly as you’d tasted him.

 Your throaty moan echoed in the room as his tongue dived between your folds, licking a long slow stripe along your pussy. You leaned on your elbows, desperate to see him and his eyes flicked up to look at you. He smirked and let go of one of your thighs with his bionic arm, watching your face carefully as he carefully pushed his metal index finger inside you. It slid in easily, your ample wetness making it a smooth penetration.

 “Fuck, Bucky!” you keened loudly, you head hitting the mattress with a thump as he slowly added another finger.

 He cautiously moved them in and out of you, ensuring you were ready for it before he flicked his tongue across your clit, sending you into a vocal state of bliss while he fucked you with his metal fingers. They rapidly moved inside you, and his lips wrapped around your swollen clit, sucking it. It took less than a minute of his unrelenting actions before you were trembling, almost ready to come. With one last thrust of his fingers, the dam broke and you came with a long, drawn out moan of his name and just like he’d promised, you grasped at his sheets.

 His mouth never left your cunt as he licked every last drop of wetness from you, until you were too sensitive to be touched any more. Only then did he pull his fingers from you and sit up, kneeling between your legs.

 “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen doll, you coming undone like that for me.” He whispered reverently, his hands gliding over your hips and pushing his shirt up your stomach.

 He leaned to the side, opening his bedside drawer and extracting a box of condoms. You snatched the box out of his hands, making him chuckle as you practically ripped it open and pulled a foil packet from it, tossing the box back in the drawer. You tore the foil open with your teeth.

 “Eager are we?” he said in a strained voice that betrayed just how eager he was as well.

 You didn’t answer vocally, you pinched the end of the condom between your fingers so there was no trapped air in it and positioned it over the head of his cock and he sighed softly as you unrolled the condom down his shaft.

 “You sure you want this babydoll?” He asked, eyes searching yours for even a trace of doubt.

 “Fuck me James, make me yours.” You begged.

 He didn’t need to be told twice and without hesitating he lay on top of you, holding his weight on his metal arm as he used his flesh one to guide his cock inside you. As soon as his tip pushed inside you, your spine arched and your hands grabbed his shoulders. You were no virgin and even with the orgasm you’d already had, there was still a sting as he pushed inside you but it was a beautiful kind of pain and rather than take anything away from the pleasure, it fed it.

 With every inch that he slowly worked into your dripping core, his eyes frantically watched you. When he bottomed out, your moan of sheer pleasure assured him you were happy to have hic cock buried inside you and he let out his own grunt of satisfaction. He stayed there for a long moment, for his own sake as much as yours. You were so tight and warm around him that he needed a second to adjust or this would be over far quicker than he wanted.

 He rolled his hip gently in an experimental thrust and you whimpered softly, happily. Your own hips responded encouragingly, rolling with him and he continued to move against you slowly until you couldn’t take it anymore.

 “God, fuck me, please!” You demanded.

 “With pleasure sweetheart.” He said and pulled almost all the way out before he slammed back into you.

 You screamed loudly, your legs wrapping around his waist and he did what he’d been dreaming of doing since the very first moment he’d met you.

 His hips drove into you relentlessly, fucking you into the mattress as promised. You couldn’t match his super human pace, as hard as your tried. His hands pinned your hips down, holding you in place while he thrust into you, his cock dragging in and out of your cunt at an unrelenting speed. Your nails pierced his skin hard enough to draw blood but it only seemed to spur him on. He shifted his angle, just ever so slightly so that every time he slammed into you, his groin would meet yours, brushing against your clit. He shoved his face into the swell between your neck and shoulder and muttered obscenities into your skin as he fucked you into oblivion.

 “James, James… I’m gonna…” You whimpered.

 “I’ve got you doll, come on.” He groaned.

 His name tore itself from your lips in a frantic scream as your orgasm bulldozed through you, ripping away any last shred of coherent thought from your mind and you came while he continued to impale you on his cock, his thrust growing sloppier until he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. The muffled roar of pleasure he let out into your neck had you instinctively digging your nails into his skin again as he collapsed on top of you, only just managing to hold himself up enough to not crush you.

 It was a long, long time before either of you could speak. You panted as you tried to relearn how to breath and he eventually managed to move enough to pull out of you, wrapping his arms around you and rolling to the side so you ended up sprawled across his heaving chest while he lay on his back.

 “You never wear another mans shirt again, promise me.”

 “I promise.” You laughed breathlessly.

 His hands tugged at the damp, sweat drenched shirt you were still clad in and he grinned.

 “Mine.” He growled.

 “Yours.” You agreed.