#ignore the paper in the corner i’m covering up a failed sketch

[iknowwhereyousnoozeatnight]

For drawing suggestions, L doing a cartwheel

he’s having the time of his life

[blondiebarnes]

in the middle

summary: steve and bucky just got home from a tough mission, and you’re determined to make them feel good.

pairing: steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader

warnings: smut! threesome, male & female receiving oral, established relationship, cumplay, basically just porn

word count: 6.5k

For the most part, you’ve gotten used to being by yourself when Steve and Bucky are on missions.

You don’t like it - not in the slightest - it goes without saying that you’d love nothing more than to go on missions with them when they’re called in the dead of night but it hardly, if ever, works out that way. They’re nearly always sent together (Fury says they balance each other out, and you’re not exactly sure you know why or how but you’ve learned to accept whatever your director says at face value) and you’re generally excluded from their missions. They get too protective, can ignore the objectives of a mission when you’re in danger, and it’s a sweet sentiment but you know it’s an issue, even if you appreciate it.

And you are used to it. Really, you are. It’s been a year of having them called off in the middle of the night, leaving you sleeping in bed with a lingering kiss to your forehead as you dip out the door - occasionally they’ll wake you up (usually Bucky, because he tends to be a bit more sentimental, though he’d never dare to admit it) and give you a proper kiss, but for the most part you simply wake up in a too-large bed that’s void of the two super soldiers sandwiching you between their warm bodies, and it never fails to feel any more jarring.

That’s what happened Friday. You simply woke up on a day like any other and they were gone, leaving nothing but ruffled covers and a small sticky note pressed to your cell phone in Steve’s scribbled handwriting, telling you that it shouldn’t last more than the weekend and we love you so much and a small smiley face that looks to be more of Bucky’s doing, but you can’t be sure.

It had been a long weekend.

Movies and books and making dinner, and work had been so slow recently with no new missions on the come-up that you need to be called away on, so you’ve been primarily holed up in your apartment watching the time tick by and waiting for your boys to come home. You’d even called Nick at one point, in your boredom, to inquire about how their mission was going, and he told you (paraphrased, of course) that they were doing just fuckin’ great and should be home by Monday, and Monday couldn’t have fucking come any slower.

You’ve been lying awake for nearly three hours since you settled into bed on Sunday night, covers pulled tight against your chin to protect yourself from the January cold that nips at your skin, even after you’ve set the thermostat to 71 degrees. Steve likes it cold - Bucky warm - you laugh at the irony of it, much to the latter’s chagrin - and you prefer it being right in the middle.

The TV plays on mute a rerun of some old movie you’ve never heard of, black and white film running rickety slow and glitching, though you’ve long since given up paying attention to it. You’d been on Pinterest for an hour before getting bored and plugging your phone in on your nightstand, and you’d begun flipping through one of Steve’s favorite books he loves to read to you sometimes, and now - you simply gaze at the ceiling in your boredom, fingers interlocked on top of your stomach, boredom settling in every crevice of your body.

You’re not sure what, exactly, you’re waiting awake for. Not even sure if you’re waiting or simply unable to sleep - it feels like a 50/50 situation, at least at the moment - but there’s still something inherently wrong with sleeping in bed without your boys. Curling into Bucky’s chest while Steve is pressed to his back, the latter’s hand wrapped around to rest on your lip while a metal hand slides up your shirt, cupping your breast just to hear the way you squeal at the chill - or, alternatively, sandwiching yourself between them as Steve practically throws his mass on top of you and Bucky squishes your face into his hard back.

Empty. You feel empty, in more ways than one, and that’s what’s keeping you awake, you decide after a long fifteen minutes of contemplating on it. Your boys complete you. It’s not right without them -

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear the front door knob jiggling from across the apartment, and you jerk upright as though someone had doused you with freezing cold water (not that it would be much of an adjustment from the temperature your apartment feels, but the implication still stands.)

If you were smarter - or perhaps less groggy - maybe you’d dig through your nightstand for the gun you keep in case of any intruders, buried beneath notebooks and stray pieces of paper decorated with small smudged sketches that Steve puts on any smooth surface he can find. It’s loaded and ready to go - all you’d need to do is dig through and grab it, creep outside the bedroom door and take down whomever may be invading your home -

Just as you roll onto your side to dig through your drawer and find the weapon, the front door fully opens with a jingle of keys and the scuffling sounds of footsteps, and you pause, listening to the voices that roll through the apartment, hushed and breathy.

“Fuckin’ - tripped over my foot,” comes a familiar voice, louder than the one who follows right after him, murmuring for him to shut the hell up - are you trying to wake up the entire city? -

You’re out of bed faster than you can even process, covers mercilessly kicked to the very bottom of the bed in your haste. The hardwood is cold against your bare feet and the air bites at your skin, wearing nothing but one of Steve’s old t-shirts that falls to your mid thighs and a pair of lace panties that peeks out of the shirt when you bend over or reach up or do anything, really - it’s a bit of a scandalous look - but you pay no mind to it, opening the door and tearing down the hallway into the foyer.

You’ve smacked into a hard, thick body before you could stop yourself, arms thrown around Steve’s torso as you bury your face into his chest, and you can practically feel his deep laugh before you hear it but you do hear it, clear as day, and it brings a grin to your face that’s only deepened when Bucky tugs at your waist, pulling you into his back, arms wrapped around your stomach as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Fury said you guys wouldn’t be home until tomorrow,” you tell them, letting your body relax into Bucky’s embrace as Steve traces his fingers across your jawline, tilting your head up so he can press one light kiss to your puckered lips. His arms snake around your waist, sandwiched between your back and Bucky’s chest, fingertips clutching tight onto the loose fabric of the shirt you’re donning and he uses it as leverage to hold you closer to him.

“It was an easy one,” Steve replies, leaning forward just a bit until you’re fully pressed between the two soldiers, your head squished into his chest as he inhales the scent of your shampoo, nose buried into the top of your head. “Can’t believe you called Fury about it - missed us that much, hmm?”

A dry chuckle jostles the body behind you, feeling Bucky’s warm laughter against your neck, and you bite on your bottom lip as you nod. “‘Course I missed you - don’t get cocky -” for you’d just caught sight of Steve’s smug grin, toying his lips upward, and you use the top of your head to push him away from you in mock disgust, leaning further into Bucky’s grasp. He hums softly, breath ruffling your hair, messy from your failed attempts to sleep. “S’so lonely here.”

“Aww,” murmurs Bucky, lips pressing warm kisses into the exposed expanse of your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him easier access as Steve crosses his arms over his chest, watching the pair of you at work. “Poor baby.”

“Hey -” you reach behind you, running your hands through long, brunette locks just to feel the way Bucky smiles against your skin. “At least you two have each other on missions, getting each other off - I’m here all by myself. Nothin’ but the fingers.” “There’s a lot less time to get your rocks off in the middle of a mission than you’d think.”

“Is there?” you inquire playfully as Bucky’s lips trail further up your neck, landing on a spot just beneath your jawline and suckling the soft skin - the teasing lilt in your voice that you’d intended to sound confident and self-assured gets breathier and just a tad more pathetic as you continue, “Sam and I always seem to have enough time -”

Bucky grunts against your cheek, murmuring something you can’t quite make out about how he hates that fuckin’ bird boy, and a grin spreads across your face that mirrors Steve’s as he watches you. Bucky tilts your head to the side with two fingers pressed to your chin so he can ghost his lips over yours but you deepen it, pushing your face further into his as you wrap one of your arms around his neck, tugging at his hair to hear him groan into your mouth and you swallow the noise. You can practically sense Steve rolling his eyes both at your teasing and the way Bucky’s absolutely devouring you, the metal hand around your waist trailing up your torso and leaving goosebumps in its wake until he reaches your chest, cold fingers plucking at your nipple, and your chest arches into his hand with a broken gasp into his mouth.

“Better tell Sam not to touch what isn’t his,” Steve tells you, and you nod, watching the blonde take a few steps forward and for a moment you wonder if he’ll lean down, take your lips from Bucky’s and kiss you until you’re practically putty in his hands but instead he pushes past the both of you, disappearing down the hallway behind you, and you crane your neck backwards to watch his back as he vanishes around a corner.

For a moment you wonder if Bucky hadn’t seen him leave, continuing his ministrations on your nipples as his teeth bite at your bottom lip as though there’d been no interruption, his mouth turning up into a smug smirk at the way you whimper into his mouth. God, you’ve missed his touch, clever hands knowing exactly how to make you fall apart for him even without slipping into the lace of your panties, and your mouth opens in a silent gasp as his flesh palm presses to the skin of your stomach.

“Wanna go see Stevie?” the soldier questions into your mouth, voice low and sultry smooth, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Tough mission for him.”

You frown at that as Bucky pulls away from you, leaving one lingering kiss to the side of your throat as he pulls your shirt down over your lower half. “Thought he said it was easy.”

“It was,” and that makes your brows furrow as his metal hand wraps around your wrist, beginning to pull you down the hallway where your bedroom door is swung wide open. “But Fury ripped him a new one, ‘cause he disobeyed his orders - got the mission done fine - but you know how Stevie hates having his authority questioned.”

Your lips part in a silent o, and Bucky smirks ever so slightly before leading you into the bedroom where Steve sits at the edge of the bed, peeling off his suit and kicking it off of his ankles. Bucky shuts the door behind you, immediately working at tugging his vest over his head and you leave him to it, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor until you reach Steve, and you merely stand before him until he’s finished taking his clothes off, leaving him clad in only a pair of boxers.

“Do you need something?” Steve questions, glancing up at you with an amused glint in his eyes and you groan, lifting your leg up to straddle his lap, calves on either side of his, and his hands go to rest on the underside of your thigh like an instinct. For a moment you don’t say anything, grinding your hips down into his until his hands slide up your back, tugging your shirt up over your torso so he can press his cold palms to the globes of your ass, halting you in place. “Words, baby.”

“Want you to boss me around,” you tell him, dropping your lips to the side of his throat, and his dry exhale of a laugh blows at your hair as his fingers slip beneath the scrap of lace between your ass, fully digging into the plump skin, and you smile against his neck. “Missed you bein’ bossy.”

“Really?” You nod, feeling the bed dip beside you until there’s another set of hands on your body, tugging the hem of your shirt up until you’re forced to remove your lips from Steve’s neck so Bucky can pull your shirt off, littering it onto the ground beside you. Steve leans his head back as both you and Bucky lean forward, your lips to his throat and the other soldier taking his lips so that the next words he speaks are muffled into the kiss, “Sure Bucky didn’t put you up to this, baby?”

“Who’s Bucky?” 

That makes both of them laugh into each other and you smile, leaning back in his lap as you take in the sight of them - lips crashed together, metal hand burying itself in blonde locks that he hasn’t cut in a while, hair brushing the tips of his ears, and Steve’s hand that had been on your ass drops, seemingly forgotten about his job - you huff, wrap your hand around his wrist, and lift his palm up to rest against your left breast.

Instinctively he squeezes, and the two men pull apart from each other as Bucky leans forward to kiss the top of your head, flesh hand sliding down your stomach until he can push into the damp lace fabric of your panties, and you jolt against his hand as he brushes your clit. “Can’t possibly think we forgot about you,” he tells you, and you shrug, watching the way he smiles. “Come on, Stevie, you heard her - wants you to boss her around.”

And Steve is surely still doubtful of your intentions - it isn’t as though you’ve ever asked him to boss you around before - it typically just happens when he’s pissed or upset or happy -

It happens a lot. He’s a bossy guy, both in the field and out of it, and he’s more than happy to give demands and orders and he loves to see you follow them.

Bucky is - usually along for the ride. He’s the calming voice in your ear when Steve is edging you until you’re screaming, the gentle touch when you’ve been overstimulated for an hour, the smooth, sultry kiss when you’re being filled so deep from both ends you feel entirely numb - and he can be mean, too, metal hand tightening around your throat and smirking at the way you sob -

Well, it depends.

“Get on the bed,” Steve tells you, and regardless of whether he’s suspicious of you and Bucky his voice is already hardening and if the words weren’t implicitly sexual, perhaps you could fool yourself into thinking you’re on the field - you listen, though. You always do - swing your legs off of his lap and land on your back on the bed, watching as Steve stands and Bucky merely turns around, leaning back on his arms as he watches you, your leg hiked up to give a limited, tantalizing view to the lace covered pex of your thighs.

“Buck - wanna get behind our girl?”

The phrase our girl never fails to make your stomach flutter, and the feeling only intensifies as Bucky grunts in affirmation, crawling towards you, and with hands hooked under your armpits he lifts you to sit, your back pressed to his chest. Hands reach up to your chest, cupping your tits in flesh and metal palms that have a chill rolling through your spine, hips grinding back against the erection you can feel pressed into your back.

“Spread your legs,” Steve tells you, and you oblige, feet sliding across the bed to spread yourself as wide open as you can, and Bucky’s metal hand leaves your chest to grab onto one of your thighs, forcing it open wide enough that a burn spreads through your muscle. “Yeah - don’t fuckin’ move, baby - hold her down, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, moving his other hand so he’s holding both of your thighs, and you can feel wetness dripping down your cunt onto the sheets as Steve stands still, for a moment, just watching the pair of you - your chest heaves and you can feel Bucky’s fingers twitch against your thighs, surely desperate to caress your tits just the way he always likes to, but he wouldn’t dare disobey Steve when he’s like this. You know it, and he knows it, and you’re sure Steve knows it too - he looks so smug, even as he climbs onto the bed, resting on his stomach as he presses his cheek into your thigh, warm breath fanning over your cunt. His fingers hook into the soaked material of your panties, feeling the stickiness that coats your folds and the undergarment, and with not a second of hesitation he rips them in half, tugging them off your leg and tossing the ruined scrap of lace onto the ground.

Your instinct is to reach down and run your fingers through his hair as he lowers his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking once over your clit, but the second your hands jerk in their spot resting overtop of Bucky’s, Steve is reaching up - one hand manages to wrap around both of your wrists, holding your hands in place on top of your stomach with a grip so tight it’ll surely leave bruises that will darken in the morning.

You groan softly as Steve lifts his head, gaze hard and unforgiving as he stares at you, and then his gaze moves behind you where you know he must be having some sort of silent conversation with Bucky - they’re so good at that - before he’s leaning back down, teeth gnashing at your clit with enough force to make you jolt.

“Think Stevie said not to fuckin’ move, sweetie,” Bucky murmurs, lips sucking a dark hickey just beneath your ear, and a low whine escapes your throat as Steve’s tongue laps up your sticky folds before centering on your clit. “Didn’t you, honey?” And Steve hums in affirmation, pulling back to spit harshly at your clit, and you exhale skaily as you feel the glob of coldness trickle down your folds. “Move again, and I’ll punish you,” he tells you, which is more generous than he typically is when he’s in this state but you suppose the excitement of arriving home after a shitty, weekend mission must not have worn out yet. “Be a good girl for us, baby.”

You nod furiously, Bucky’s forearms hooking beneath your knees until the ache in your thighs nearly tips the balance of pain and pleasure but it’s still leaning towards the latter - more so as Steve dips his head back down, lips wrapping around the sensitive nub at your core that tears a moan from your throat, and you bite at your lips to try and silence the noises.

“Never told you to be quiet,” Steve mumbles against your cunt, vibrations from his voice sending a shiver up your spine, and Bucky smiles against one of the many hickies he’s leaving on your neck - you’re sure you’ll look a damn sight tomorrow, made of practically entirely concealer to hide the marks he’s obsessed with, but you don’t have it in you to stop. “Let us hear your noises - how good we’re making you feel.”

You drop your head back into Bucky’s shoulder with a desperate cry as Steve’s flexed tongue circles your clit before running back down your slit, parting your folds until he can slip his tongue inside of your hole, thrusting it in and out a few times, lips turning upwards at your resulting whine. Bucky’s nails leave deep, crescent-shaped indentations in the smooth skin of your inner thigh, and you can feel his erection pressed thick and swollen against your back. Surely he’s just as wound up as you are - and as much as Steve is, his hips rutting against the edge of the bed as though of their own accord - but he doesn’t do much of anything at all to alleviate the pressure, breathy exhales in your ear as your hips rub against his bulge.

“Wanna hold her open for me, Buck?” Steve questions, pulling back just a mere inch from your swollen clit before dipping his head back down, tongue licking a fat stripe through your folds before lust-blown blue orbs lift up to meet the ones behind you - you can feel Bucky’s hair, brushing against your cheek as he nods once, and your brows furrow in confusion. Surely he’s already holding you open, hands forcing your thighs so far apart that you can feel the burn in every inch of your body - and then he drops one of your thighs against the bed, metal hand trailing down to your cunt, and his fingers dip through your folds, spreading them apart and exposing your swollen clit further to the blonde between your legs. Steve adjusts himself, moving towards the side so he can press his face into your pussy without hitting Bucky’s fingers, and his tongue circles your clit once more.

You moan at the sight, nearly going cross eyed as you stare down at Steve. It’s so erotic, watching everything in your most sacred of areas, Bucky’s fingers and Steve’s face buried so intensely into your cunt you’re sure he can’t possibly breathe - he moans against your folds every so often, as though the act of giving you pleasure makes him feel just as good, and you don’t doubt it for a moment.

“Steve -” you gasp, back arching up, and Steve uses his hand around your wrist to force you back down onto the bed wordlessly - you drop pathetically back onto the duvet, a tear sliding down your cheek, and you can hear Bucky tut behind you, cold fingers slipping on the moisture coating your folds. “Steve - fuck -”

“Gonna cum, baby?” “Yes,” you breathe, hips bucking backwards into Bucky’s erection and he lets out a choked gasp into your ear, head falling back against the headboard with a loud thud that rings through the room. “Yes, need to - please -”

Steve pulls away, then - you cry out at the loss of warmth between your legs - and his nose nudges Bucky’s fingers, prompting the soldier behind you to take the cue to dip his metal digits into your cunt, the cold thickness stretching you out until you’re preening at the sensation. “Think she’s been a good girl? Think she should cum, Buck?”

You want to scream at the pause between the question and Bucky’s answer - he hums for a moment, as though in deep thought, fingers buried down to the knuckle inside of you and body practically leaning over yours so his metal arm can reach, brushing the sweet spot inside of you that makes your vision go fuzzy. He takes too fucking long, Steve’s grasp on your wrist pressed to your tummy the only thing keeping your hips from bucking up to force pressure into your cunt, before he finally says, “You’ve been good for us, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” you practically squeal as his fingers pull out hardly an inch before pumping back in, curling upwards again to hit your G-spot. “Yes, please, been so good, Bucky -”

“Cum for us, sweetie -”

You hardly wait for him to finish his sentence when Steve lowers his lips to your clit, wrapping around the bud and sucking until his cheeks hollow out, and your hips jerk desperately into his face as the waves of euphoria rack through your body, tearing a desperate sob from your throat as Bucky thrusts his fingers in and out of you, nearly hitting the side of Steve’s face in his haste to get you off, and he’s doing a damn good job at it - your hips jut into his back as you cum into their mouth and fingers, stuttering groans leaving your mouth one after another.

Steve’s mouth never leaves your clit - not even when your hips thrash against his mouth and you tear your hands free of his grasp to dig into his hair, attempting to stop his ministrations on your clit but he refuses - your folds drip wetness into his waiting mouth and he laps it up like a man dying of thirst, Bucky’s fingers lazily thrusting in and out of you as his chest rises and falls against your back, dropping your other thigh to hook an arm around your torso and hold you close to him.

Hold her down, Steve had told him, and he seems more than content to oblige with the order, whispering loving nothings in your ear that you can’t bring yourself to understand, words coming through as nothing more than incoherent babble to your brain muddled with the pressure to cum already building in your core again -

“Oh,” you whimper, heels digging into the mattress as Steve’s tongue laps over your folds and Bucky’s finger before settling on your clit again, flicking the nub over and over until you feel yourself fucking burst - “oh, fuck!”

It’s entirely more intense than the first one, Steve’s teeth nibbling at your clit as you topple over the edge like a row of dominoes - fire shoots through every limb, every crevice of your body until you’re shaking, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes and trickling down to your jawline. Your thighs tense, a high pitched cry piercing the air of the room as the aftershocks overtake your body, leaving you trembling into Bucky’s grasp as Steve pulls off your clit with a pop.

“That’s good,” Bucky whispers into your ear, pulling his metal fingers out of you once the shaking rolling through your body has come to a relative halt - through your blurred vision you can see Steve take the digits in his mouth, licking them clean eyes rolling up to meet Bucky’s, and he groans softly. “Good girl.”

Steve leaves one last kiss to your swollen clit before moving up your body, and you’re quick to lean forward, wrapping a quivering arm around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss - it’s rough and biting, teeth clashing together and his tongue swiping into your mouth without a moment for you to catch your breath, and when he pulls away his breathing is noticeably heavier than before. 

“Yeah, you’re good for us,” he tells you, bringing a hand up to stroke at the soft skin of your cheek before pulling it back and smacking it back down - it’s not hard, not by a long shot, but it’s enough to draw another whimper from your throat at the soft sting. “On your knees.”

Your legs feel shaky but you manage to push yourself to your knees, resting your arms around Steve’s shoulders to hold yourself up as Bucky shuffles behind you, slotting his hips against your ass so you can feel his bulge through his boxers - he grinds himself into your ass, sliding his arms around your waist just as Steve tugs his own boxers down, fist lazily pumping his cock as you watch him.

“You know what?” the blonde murmurs after a moment of you watching him, your cunt throbbing in need. “Think I’m gonna take your throat.”

You whine at that as Steve pulls away abruptly, leaving you nearly collapse onto your stomach but Bucky’s arm around your stomach mercifully holds you up, practically manhandling you as he turns you around, shoving you onto your back with your head nearly dangling off the bed as he crawls up your body, leaving lingering kisses on the smooth expanses of skin exposed to him. Large hands force your thighs open, pushing his hips in between your legs, and you whimper as his cock rubs against your overstimulated clit, even through the fabric of his boxers -

Steve stands beside the bed, smoothing his fingers through your matted hair as you come face to face with his cock, throbbing red and leaking precum down the sides, and your mouth practically waters at the sight - then Bucky’s pulling his own boxers down, swollen tip of his dick sliding through your sodden folds wettened from the aftermath of two orgasms. You push your thighs farther apart, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out for Steve and he grins down at you, the expression looking less joyful and more downright smug and don’t you love seeing him like this? All dominant and intense, like he could control you if he pleased, and he does please -

His cock shoves forward into your throat at the same moment Bucky sheathes himself inside of your cunt fully, and a choked cry forces its way out of your mouth, reverberating through Steve’s body until he lets out a strangled grunt. Your nose brushes against the trimmed hair at his pelvis, hollowing your throat to take him in the best you can, and his grip on your hair tightens as leverage to hold you onto him.

“Oh - oh, shit,” Bucky gasps, the noise stuttered and breathy, and the hands on your thigh move up to squeeze your waist, grasp tough and bruising against your skin. “Fuck, fuck -”

You gag around Steve as he finally pulls out of your mouth, leaving just the tip on your tongue, and you swirl it around him - he drops his head back with a groan and when he speaks, his words are shallow, controlled - “Feels good, Buck?”

“So good, Stevie -” Bucky thrusts himself out of you before pushing back in, cunt stretching around his girth and your eyes roll back at the coil of pleasure already building in your lower stomach as his pace picks up, hips working faster and faster until the sound of skin slapping skin nearly overpowers your desperate mixture of moans and cries -

Nearly. Not completely.

Steve tugs at your hair and you remember your job to suck him off and you let him push your head forward, lips wrapping around his girth and tongue flattening to lap at the thick vein on the underside - his resulting groan is immediate, is desperate, and your urge to smile is only thwarted by Bucky’s metal hand pressing to your clit as his hips slam against yours.

Your hips jerk against his, pressure on the most sensitive point of your body making your eyes roll back once more as Steve’s cock slides in and out of your throat, both hands buried tight in your hair until there’s nothing else you can do than just take both of them - you bring your hands from their spot clutching the duvet to your tits, shaking fingertips kneading at your peaked nipples, and you’re not sure if the needy whine that emits from Bucky’s throat is due to his cock slamming into your pussy or from the sight of you toying with your boobs, but either one is reasonable, you decide.

It takes hardly a moment to work the three of you into a rhythm, but when you get it, it’s perfect - Bucky thrusts into you, filling you up so deep you swear you can feel him in every crevice of your body, and once he pulls out Steve pushes himself into your mouth, tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat just to hear you gag around him. Every once in a while, though, there’s a stutter in the pattern, and both men pull out to ram into your cunt and mouth at the same time, and the three of you cry out in unison.

Bucky’s flesh hand moves to your thigh, pushing it up so far that your knee nearly touches your chest and the burn only heightens the pleasure he’s giving you as he hits the sweet spot buried deep in your cunt over and over like he’s memorized exactly where it is - and surely he has - they know your body better than you do, sometimes - know just how to make you scream. Metal fingers tweak at your clit and your hips grind up into his, pushing him deeper and deeper into you, and you moan around Steve’s dick.

“I’m gonna cum,” Bucky groans, hips slowing deliberately in pace but it’s still fast enough to make your head spin - Steve moves one hand to your face, grabbing your chin and holding you in place with his cock still halfway down your throat. “Fuck - want me to fill you up, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he insists, and your eyes squeeze shut as you exhale through your nose. “Want me to fill you up?”

Steve pulls out until only the tip of his length rests in your mouth, and you swallow thickly before saying, words a desperate sob, “Please - please cum in me, Bucky, baby, please - fill me up -”

“Good girl,” the brunette between your thigh grunts, squeezing your clit harshly and your back arches, Steve slipping his cock all the way back in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and you gag around him as he moans. “Good - fuckin’ - girl -”

With a few more harsh thrusts into your pussy Bucky’s hips halt, pressed taut to yours, filling you to the brim, and his head drops backwards, lips parting with a drawn out, silent scream before he fully cries out, and you feel his ribbons of cum in your cunt - the warmth filling you up is enough to snap the coil building in your abdomen and you sob around Steve as you cum onto Bucky, core clenching around him like a vise as he holds you to him. 

“Yes, yes -” Bucky’s voice sounds far away as your muscles go lax, collapsing like putty onto the bed with the grasps on your head and your hips the only thing grounding you to Earth - “yes, takin’ me so fuckin’ good -”

It’s then that Steve gives one last thrust, deep in your throat, and his grip on your chin forces you to look up at him, meeting his stern eyes and he’s so close you can see it reflected in his orbs - they’re dark, pupils wide, and you whimper. “Don’t swallow,” he whispers, tone sounding similar to that of a hiss, and you nod. “Don’t swallow a single drop.”

Your head bobs up and down as Steve’s hand pumps up and down the base of his cock, his cry strangled and needy when he finally releases into your mouth - he cums in spurts onto your tongue and you keep it stuck out for him, trying to resist the overwhelming desire to swallow everything he’s given you but he looks so proud of you when he’s finished and every drop still rests on your tongue and you prefer that look of admiration over the taste, really.

“Kiss her, Buck -”

And Bucky doesn’t have to be told twice, both hands moving to your neck and pulling you up so vigorously your head is spinning when he crashes his lips to yours. His tongue slips into your mouth and you part your lips for him, cum dribbling out of the sides of your mouth and he laps it up like a dying man, palms pressed to your tits. You can see the bob of his throat when he swallows everything you’ve forced into his mouth and you swallow the rest, parting your lips from him with a gasp, practically heaving for air in the bedroom that suddenly feels humid, smelling of sex and cum and desire and remarkably like your two boys themselves.

Steve collapses onto the bed first. He grabs for Bucky, tugging him into his chest and you sit on your knees for a moment, simply watching them - they fall into tandem with each other like they were made for it, and maybe they were, Steve’s face nuzzling into Bucky’s back and you’re never surprised by the sudden vulnerability of your captain immediately after sex. The first time you’d joined them you’d suspected he was embarrassed but you don’t think he is 

He’s in love.

It’s a sweet thought.

Bucky wraps his metal hand around your wrist and pulls you down to him, his chin resting on top of your head as you press your cheek to his sweaty chest, feeling his arm wrap around your back. He’s silent, using his foot to kick the comforter up from where it’s been shoved to the bottom of the bed, and when it’s far enough up Steve reaches down to pull it over the three of you, drowning you in its warmth even though you’re not feeling quite cold anymore.

“I don’t know,” you say, after a moment of silence, voice muffled against Bucky’s chest. “It feels like I’m the only one getting ganged up on, nowadays.”

They laugh at that, Bucky’s flesh palm smoothing up and down your back. “You asked for it,” Steve tells you, and you shrug.

“Still.” You move to rest your chin on Bucky’s chest, and he nearly goes cross eyed to meet your eyes as he looks down at you. “Maybe, one of these days, we could tie Stevie up. Have our way with him.”

“He’d love that,” Bucky muses, and you can practically hear Steve rolling his eyes.

“Yeah - right after a mission, when he’s all wound up -”

“Hey,” Steve warns, and you smile.

“I don’t think there are restraints strong enough for those muscles, anyway,” you murmur, and Bucky smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

You fall into silence again, and after a couple of minutes you hear Steve’s soft snoring, followed by Bucky’s, until you’re the last awake between the three of you. They’re rightfully exhausted, surely getting little to no sleep over the weekend - you like hearing how peaceful they sound when they’re resting, even after fucking you so silly you were practically crying.

You smile as you bury your face into Bucky’s chest. Shit, maybe Fury was right - maybe they do balance each other out, a bit.

[robbyrobinson]

GODS AWAKEN: CHAPTER 27

The mad emperor dashed at Camila at lightning speed faster than her eyes could perceive. Huge gashes were torn into Camila’s clothes from the razor-sharp teeth of Belos’s suckers. Camila desperately tugged at her attire to withdraw more parchment paper.

“You have gotten heinously slow throughout the years haven’t you, daughter?” Belos snickered.

Ignoring him, the middle-aged mother successfully discards a glyph from her shirt and slams it on Belos’ hideous face. He was propelled further away. Camila, with the parchment still in her hand, held it out defiantly. On the paper was a sketch of waves representing wind.

“Wind spell,” she stated in a matter-of-fact way.

Belos chuckled. “But your mind is as sharp as ever.”

Belos lifted himself off the ground with his abdominal tentacles and reclaimed his staff. He raised it skyward summoning a rumbling quake underneath the ground of the coliseum. The force underneath shifted its motion and erupted out of the ground sending dust and rocks in the air. The beast possessed a huge gaping maw fixated into a permanent scream and beady yellow eyes. It lunged towards the mother in relentless speed.

Camila grabbed another parchment from the spot between her chest and slammed it on the ground to activate it. She hadn’t foreseen any possible method of getting out of the way of the rampaging worm and even if she did, its frame was too colossal. The worm dipped down claiming the mother with its mouth and taking out a large chunk of the ground.

“How unfortunate,” Belos noted.

As he looked at the worm again, he was taken aback. Red flames flickered out of the sides of the worm’s body and burned it from the inside out. Belos flicked his finger uprooting roots from the ground to restrain his daughter. Brown, hickory roots wrapped around her waist and limbs slamming her with savage force. Belos waltzed towards her holding his hands out again. This time, the illusion of an axe was levitating above his head.

With swift motion, Belos clutched the axe and brought it down.

Camila breaks the root wrapped around her waist and rolled over. A swishing sound droned out and before Camila knew it, a small segment of her front hair was sliced away falling to the ground before her. Camila sighed in relief.

The brown-haired girl grimaced and pulled her wrists together breaking the roots between her hands. She ducked again when Belos brought the axe back down.

“Hold still, miscreant, it will only last a second.”

Camila rolled over thrashing her leg out. Her foot hit the handle of the axe and sent it sky high. The axe materialized before the two.

Another parchment paper rolled out this time Camila hit it with her foot. A wall of ice grew from the ground slicing off Belos’s tentacles.

“Gah!”

The Emperor’s weird alien blood dripped from the stumps of the tentacles and corroded the soil. “Not bad; a minor scrape nonetheless.”

New fleshy tentacles sprung from the stumps hissing and writhing towards the human woman. They opened their blood red maws showing off their razor teeth gnashing and clicking like needles. They shot at Camila again this time managing to make a hit on her.

Camila was knocked to the ground again. The papers were scattered all over. The middle-aged mother reached out her hand to grab one, but Belos’s staff stamped down on her exposed palm.

“Ugh!”

Belos laughed to himself again. Like before, his ribs scraped against each other as he laughed and wheezed. Gunk fell out of his mouth as his hold over his staff began to falter. “End of the line.”

Back at the laboratory, Luz and the gang finished up on their stockpiling of glyphs. Luz made a dash down the stairs to marvel at her work. “Do you think that should be enough?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s blow this joint,” Eda noted.

Luz looked around the laboratory again seeing all the boxes containing the enchanted armor. She grimaced still sensing the screaming emanating from the armors’ metal shells.

“Are you okay, kid?” Eda asked.

“Belos had created those suits out of the broken souls of witches; if we’re really doing this, I feel we should give some peace to the poor things.”

Eda scratched her chin. She sighed deeply. “Eh, fine.”

Eda entered her house casually throwing aside any of the unconscious bodies of the guards. There was a crashing sound and a few mini explosions, but the Owl Lady returned holding a few flasks.

“Edalyn, what are those?” Lilith asked concerned “and what is that purple substance inside of it?”

“The seeds of some poppy plant that I got from the swamp; just grind em up and light a match and voila...a magic bomb.”

She passed the flasks – about six in total – and also gave them a stick to grind the seeds into a powdery substance.

“Make sure to completely grind them otherwise the explosion fails.”

They pressed down hard on the seeds and scraped the smaller pieces counterclockwise until they were soft as feathers. “Typically takes about ten seconds to completely pulverize them.”

After the task was over, they poured the powder in a long trail leading towards the entrance. “Oh, so this is like gunpowder,” Luz said.

“Yes, Luz, it’s like ‘gunpowder’.”

Luz took one last look at the laboratory to soak in the knowledge of what she was about to do.

“You still want to do this, Luz?” King asked.

Luz nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Luz took a parchment paper containing the fire glyph placing it on top of the trail of powder. Gently pressing it, a small flame started and completely consumed the paper. As the flame grew larger it quickened its pace eating away at the powder. The trail of powder would ultimately come to an end once it connected with the crates containing the statues. Another trail led towards the portal machine and quickly ignited a large fire.

“We should leave now.”

Luz and the team met up with Amity and her siblings and dashed further down the halls. Large walls of fire licked at the powder seeking more to consume and destroy. The flames rose higher and higher now reaching the stairs.

Belos now had his hand wrapped tightly on Camila’s hair. Tugging it, he lifted his fist. Lightning flickered from his fingers. “It is a shame that you have driven me to this point.”

Camila scowled at him. “Enough with this talk. Do your worst.”

“With pleasure.”

Before he could strike Camila with the full brunt of his electricity, he was caught off guard by a sudden tremor.

“What in the-?”

A cloud of smoke spewed from his palace blasting chunks of debris skyward. The ground shook again at the further destruction. The explosion sent a wavelength leveling half of the palace and bringing the final nail in the coffin towards his laboratory.

Belos dropped to his knees. “This can’t be...how?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Camila beginning to collect herself. He made a grab for his staff, but Camila batted it away.

“This cannot be how this all ends.”

Belos stood up and growled showing his large, inhuman teeth that were sharpened and crooked. His tentacles flailed around in disbelief. “My plan has failed.”

“What plan?” Camila asked “you already failed to execute me like you wanted.”

Belos turned and grit his teeth together. “That was only a small sample of my revenge.”

Camila raised an eyebrow.

“I had served the Isles for fifty years all for one purpose: when my master escaped from his prison, I asked him to destroy your world. But I saw that if I were to have summoned the Outer Gods to the Isles...”

“What that you’d become one?” Camila interrupted.

This elicited a shrill chuckle from the Emperor. “Close, but no cigar: when the gods would arrive from the portal, I would steal their powers and become all-powerful.”

“But what of your master’s plans?”

“I don’t care one lick about Nyarlathotep’s whole goal of destroying the Isles and recreating it in his image. It should be ME and me alone who could bend and mold the Isles to my liking. Once I became a god of my own design, I would turn on my master and kill him.”

“Oh, you mean with this?”

An irregular, bizarrely angled instrument sliced into Emperor Belos’s chest and ripped through his wicked heart. Belos coughed up purple pus which dripped down his chest. Belos wheezed in agony and turned around with bulging eyes. He saw the Black Pharaoh standing behind him holding the other half of the instrument in his hands.

“L-Lord...” Belos coughed again. His lungs were filling with his own blood.

“If you really wanted to kill me, you shouldn’t have shouted your plan out loud.”

“B-But...how...?”

“Don’t act like I did not know your true allegiances. You planned this for a long time ever since I noted that you had your own agency.”

Belos wabbled to his knees. His life was painfully draining out and flooding the ground.

“After all, I switched out the Shining Trapezohedron with a decoy after all.”

Nyarlathotep crossed his arms and looked down at his servant. Belos slipped off the instrument and laid sprawled on the ground. He covered his chest with his hand to placate the internal bleeding. “Please, master, give me another chance.”

“Oh, so now you’re being a loyal servant?” Nyarlathotep said rolling his eyes.

A dark mass descended from the Crawling Chaos’ body and became two dimensional as it slithered on the ground. Belos’s shadow grew larger from the waning sun and seemingly was trying to flee from the mass of Nyarlathotep’s shadow.

The shadow produced long, spindly fingers and grabbed onto Belos’s leg. Emperor Belos’s physical body was tossed on the ground and dragged alongside his shadow’s leg. Belos was pulled closer towards Nyarlathotep’s body.

“No, master please! If you do this, I will lose my personality. The very fabric of my being will cease to be.”

Belos clutched his tentacle appendages on the opposite sides of his body and jammed them tightly in the ground. “I’m sorry...please, please have mercy!”

Nyarlathotep’s shadow was that of a fisherman’s rod. It nudged the shadow’s leg a few times and loosened its grip. About two seconds later, enough time for Belos to relax, Nyarlathotep���s shadow tugged again, tighter this time and pulled Belos further.

“Have mercy!!”

Belos disappeared underneath Nyarlathotep’s garment. And it was then that the Emperor’s rule over the Boiling Isles came to an end for whatever made Belos himself was stripped away from him making him become nothing more but a memory. Camila shivered unsure of what to do or say.

Nyarlathotep smiled wickedly. “Let the game begin.”

[jabberbeans]

Wangxian Coffeeshop AU: First encounter

I put Wangxian, coffee, urban magic, fluff and slowburn into the melting pot and crossed my fingers - read at your own risk. I’ll be updating this story in shorts before revising and posting a full length version to A03 (somewhere in the distant improbable future).

Featuring confused pining over magic tea and magic sweets, cafe shenanigans and baker/patissiere(?) WWX and LWJ. 

Tranquility turned tea from pear-green to a deep sea foam. Lan Wangji felt this was appropriate - water was the most tranquil thing he knew. His uncle disagreed - as he often did - and had attempted to shift the colour back to its original green many times. That one was a failed experiment - it reduced the efficacy of tranquility and made the tea taste like grass.

“That’s not green tea,” Lan Qiren had scowled, pointing an accusatory finger at the perfect sea foam brew. “It isn’t traditional.”

Was magic traditional? Lan Wangji had been tempted to ask, but held his tongue. Using their energy to shape the natural order of things into something else - perhaps that betrayed tradition, or at least some law of nature. But magic ran as deep as blood, and the healing teas were so much more healing when they used magic, so sea foam it was.

They still called it green tea on their menu. It was very popular. 

Gusu had been a traditional Chinese tea house, once. Lan Qiren would have been quite content to keep it that way too, but even he couldn’t shout gentrification into going away. Gusu was dying. So he turned the shop over to his nephews with the vague hope that they could reassess its business model and bring in some customers. Then he went on a long vacation.

When he returned, Gusu was transformed. Literally. Its dark wood finishings were gone, replaced with snow-bright walls. The tea was unrecognisable. There was a dessert menu. And a bar counter. 

But there were also customers. So many, in fact, that Lan Qiren was forced to don his apron and help out not five minutes after walking through the door. Lan Wangji had never seen his uncle so disturbed as he’d been that day, trapped behind the counter while teenagers pointed their phones at his hands and cooed over the quaintness, the rarity, the sheer aesthetic - of hand brewed tea.

It wasn’t that Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji had betrayed their uncle and tradition. It was more accurate to say that they took his best ideals, put them in the proverbial blender and stood by silently to receive the scrambled results. 

Floor seating and low tables remained - but there was also a large communal table and benches, and of course, the dreaded bar counter with its stools. The tea menu was largely the same, just tweaked to look and taste better. Ice blended options were now available, to their uncle’s everlasting horror. And there were traditional desserts - almond soup, sesame balls, milk pastry, cakes - all arranged artfully and minimally on little porcelain plates.

And so Gusu was preserved, albeit not quite in the shape their uncle would have preferred. But four years on, the cafe continued thrive - building a solid reputation among locals and visitors. Lan Qiren had mostly adapted to the teenagers with their phones and the cakes by now, but he still eyed the green tea with deep suspicion.

Lan Wangji was doing the very same that morning, as he regarded Lan Jingyi’s practice brews. The teen had arranged the tiny glass cups from dark amber to pale yellow. Perhaps he thought he might get points for neatness.

“Again,” Lan Wangji said with finality, eyes sweeping down the line. “When you make clarity, the oolong should lighten to parchment.”

Jingyi wilted first at again and segued quickly into bafflement at parchment. 

“Parchment?” The boy repeated, unsure if he heard right. Lan Wangji paused to think it over, then nodded.

“Like paper white, tinted with yellow or tan. Parchment.”

Jingyi looked exasperated then, eyes wide and swivelling in their sockets to catch Lan Sizhui’s, who pretended not to see. Finding himself without allies in the kitchen, Jingyi’s shoulders slumped with defeat. “Yes, Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji didn’t blame him. Clarity was difficult to make. Oolong got particularly stubborn when energy was channeled into it. If one had poor magic control, the colour could turn almost violently, from amber to walnut to black.

He left Jingyi to continue his oolong studies and approached Sizhui instead, who had finished divining the difference between parchment and white the day before, and so was allowed to move on to desserts. Lan Wangji approached from behind silently, but Sizhui’s hands remained steady as they attempted to transplant a sesame ball onto a spun sugar base. It wobbled unsteadily when he drew back.

“I’ll do it again,” Sizhui said before Lan Wangji could. “The base is too brittle. It must have been the temperature.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji approved. “Continue.”

The boys were young, only fifteen, but they were fast and eager to learn. Their progress came at no little effort however, if Jingyi’s growing army of oolong cups was any indication. But Lan Wangji was not worried. His uncle had handpicked them himself from some branch or other of their very, very extended family, and they were proving to be dedicated workers. It had been less than a month since they began training, but they would soon be ready to work the counter.

There was a loud rattling sound from Jingyi’s corner of the kitchen, a hastily bitten off curse, and then Sizhui was abandoning his station to fly over with a towel. Lan Wangji pointedly did not turn around to look. Perhaps not /too/ soon.

Jingyi’s cups were no closer to parchment by the time Lan Xichen poked his head in. “Wangji,” he called. “Would you check outside? The customers say there’s an obstruction near the entrance.”

“The deliveries?” The deliveryman occasionally left their parcels at the front, if he was busy.

“He would have called if he wasn’t coming in.” 

“I’ll check.”

It wasn’t a parcel. Lan Wangji spotted the problem the moment he stepped out - it was taking pains to make itself known, actually.

A little stickman was drawn onto the walkway in what looked like chalk. Someone had magicked it to life so that it danced about - harmless, but an annoyance regardless. It surged towards Lan Wangji’s foot, circling playfully and attempting to slide onto his shoe. If it succeeded, the chalk drawing would transfer to the leather.

Lan Wangji stepped briskly out of its path and tried to trace its spiritual source. It was strong, and he followed it easily out the gate. The little stickman raced to stay close, its arms waving about.

He was so preoccupied ensuring it didn’t touch him that he nearly tripped over the problem’s source. 

“Careful!” The man squatting on the pavement said, flinging an arm up in reflex. His hand was covered in chalk dust. Lan Wangji stepped back to look at him. Then he looked again. 

“You…” He had no words for what he was witnessing. The man was surrounded by chalk drawings that stretched all the way up the pavement, past the neighbouring lot. They were wriggling with life - little stick figures dancing, animals prowling, scribbled phrases vibrating - and food - so much of it, all moving.

It was a simple matter to implant spiritual energy in the drawings - small children could do it with enough practice. But that was precisely the problem, it was a trick for children, not adults.

“You’re blocking my sun, do you mind…?” The man said, not unkindly. He still hadn’t turned around, eyes focused on his next drawing. Lan Wangji did not move.

“This is vandalism,” he told him.

“It’s only chalk. It’ll wash away with the rain. Or a good sweep.” 

The man looked up then, and…Lan Wangji did not know what he was expecting - he had no preconceived notions. But he felt a flicker of surprise. The man’s mouth was curved like he was laughing, though no sound passed his lips. His smile was sun-bright. For a brief moment Lan Wangji allowed himself to notice the rest of him - his impish features, his haphazard ponytail, and the red ribbon that tamed it, just barely. 

He looked away.

“You’re obstructing our business,” he told the air in the middle distance. He sensed the man was staring at him but he kept his gaze averted. There was a small gasp, like the man realised something.

“Oh! You run the cafe?” Lan Wangji let the weighted silence speak for him, and the man continued to speak as if he’d received a proper reply. “I didn’t notice I was in front of your shop. I started drawing and I had so much inspiration that I forgot -“

“Please remove yourself and the drawings. You are inconveniencing the customers.”

The man pouted. “I want to save the drawings first…but I don’t have paper. That’s why I’m drawing out here. You see, I had this amazing idea for a triple tier reverse lava cupcake and I needed to sketch it out before the idea got away from me but all I had was this chalk in my pocket so -“

Lan Wangji was quite finished listening to him somewhere around paper. He said sternly, “If I give you paper will you stop?”

“And a pencil too, please!” The man said shamelessly, as if it was perfectly normal to make demands of strangers that he was inconveniencing.

Lan Wangji unfolded his wallet, and ran his fingers through it briefly. He kept some useful things inside - stationery, a first-aid kit, a spare apron - and his notebook. It was twice the size of his wallet and the man hummed with interest when he extricated it.

“Handy trick,” he commented, eyes twinkling. 

Ignoring him, Lan Wangji carefully tore three pieces of paper from the spine. Then he glanced at the chalk drawings and tore another piece. The man was gleeful as he accepted them.

“I drew a lot, didn’t I,” He sounded pleased with himself. “Thank you.”

“Hm.”

He stood aside while the man lay the paper sheets on the ground, spreading them neatly. Then he wriggled his fingers and whistled once, sharp. The doodles froze where they were, some in the midst of sneaking onto the street. When the man tapped the paper with his finger they began to slide along the pavement very quickly, shrinking as they went, until they were paper drawings. Lan Wangji was surprised by the sheer number of doodles of cake, sweets and desserts - each one elaborately drawn and unusual. 

Unbelievably, there was a reverse three-tiered cupcake - just like the man had described. A long string of untidy handwriting accompanied it, jostling the cupcake as they both slid onto the last empty spot. Then it was over, and the pavement was clean once more.

Almost.

“You forgot one.” The little chalk man was still trying to climb his foot despite the slight energy field Lan Wangji had put up to rebuff it. It hopped around the toe of his shoe, waving indignantly.

“Hm...” the man crooked a finger at it, and when that didn’t work, he whistled sharply. The little chalk man appeared to toss its head rebelliously at his efforts, marching away until it was behind Lan Wangji’s shoe. 

The man only laughed, “You should keep him, I think he likes you.” Then he winked and turned away, his ribbons flying as he did. Like they were taunting him.

“You...!”

“Take good care of him,” the man called back, already walking away. 

[fuwafuwamedb]

Summoning An Ancient Jackass Pt 2 (Gilgamesh, Hakuno)

Previously: One 

___

“How is the drawing coming?”

How was…

Gilgamesh paused from his work, staring up at the woman that had brought him into her home. Quaint though it was, the place was stuffed. Dark shelves lined the walls around a fireplace. Stacks of papers and books covered the tables and the floors before those shelves.

There were jars, some with specimen, others with objects and rocks with labels that were written in a handful of etchings that he could not interpret. The floors had rolls of plastic stacked in one corner, one having been spread out and showing a selection of bottles, paper towels, and cotton swabs and pads. The woman herself sat next to that set up, her hair tied up and her focus wholly on the tablet she held in her hands.

Her goggles had been pushed up to speak to him, but that did little to please him.

“I have the garden details-“

“Take your time!”

Take his time.

He would take all the time that he pleased! She had no right to be telling him how slow or how quickly to finish this project.

The fool had stared up at him in awe after her interrogation in her sitting room, pouring him more beer that was, surprisingly, decent. He had partaken in beer that tasted as fine as many of his people’s own, listening to her questions and answering deep into the night. When he had found himself tired, she had shown him to a room…

A room that he had found was her own.

The woman herself had, instead of sleeping, begun working on her computer. He’d awakened to the front door opening, the woman returning from gods only knew where. A collection of tablets were hidden in the bags at her sides. She ignored his demands for explanation, telling him that she was too tired and grabbing coffee from a fridge in her sitting room.

Since then, she’d demanded he draw his palace and had set to work on cleaning the tablets she had acquired.

Her goggles were back in place, her gloved hands cleaning at the writing on the tablets as a floodlight, as she’d called it, poured endless blinding light upon her and her work.

“Is that tablet even worth that attention?” he asked, finding that unerring attention obnoxious.

“Hmm?” The woman looked at him, looking positively alienlike with those magnifying goggles of hers. “This is a tablet from the later Sumerian kingdom, after you. The king at this time had declared himself your brother and Ninsun and Lugalbanda his divine parents.”

“What kind of shit are you spewing?”

He set his work down, coming over to her side.

“I have a tablet that describes you ordering jewels for a crown for ah… your old friend, too.”

“I ordered no crowns.”

The woman smiled, still keeping those creepy goggles on. “I know. It’s a fake.”

The room was still stuffed with knowledge of the ancients. The woman before him, her bags stuffed with tablets, seemed determined to clean these blasphemous tablets.

A truth seeker?

“Tell me,” Gilgamesh purred. “Why do you want to know so much about Uruk?”

“Uruk was the ultimate kingdom,” Hakuno told him. “During your time, it reached its peak. While some parts were questionable like the market for brides, you had knowledge of pink eye, calling it evil eye. You knew medicinal qualities to certain herbs that wouldn’t be rediscovered for centuries. Even your structures failed to be surpassed in that region for remaining well after your people.”

He raised a brow.

“I find you interesting.”

She set the tablet down, pulling the goggles off.

Her brown eyes stared deep into his own.

“You are probably one of the most interesting and greatest kings that would ever grace the earth. All I want is to know the truth. All of it from the start to the end… without lies.”

“Why?” he asked again.

“Because I’m a fool who couldn’t stop thinking about you after reading your story.”

He watched her for a moment, closing his eyes at that look. He knew that look far too well. He had seen it on the faces of his people going off to war. He had seen it on the faces of the youth, determined to claim someone as their own. He’d seen it on competitive children.

Determination burned, ever present in those eyes.

This room, this building itself, she had built a palace of her own, seeking out the truths of lands far before her own had ever established families and tribes.

“…I will be finished in a few minutes with that sketch of my palace,” he told her.

“Excellent!”

He would have her sleep after he was done.

The tremor in her hands said that her strangely canned drinks were not going to fortify that energy much longer.

[lilysilver2722]

Jungkook High School AU - Part 4

Master List

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |

Anonymous Said:   Can I request a fluffy highschool au! with Jungkook where he has a giant crush on the noona reader (a grade or two ahead of him) and is always blushing and stuttering around her? Thank you!! Love your blog btw, you’re and amazing writer!!~

Part 4

Genre:  Fluff, Angst

Pairing:  Jungkook x Noona Reader

Word Count:  2,849

Summary:   You were Jungkook’s noona classmate and while you were extremely close with his friends Jimin and Taehyung, Jungkook always seemed to keep more to himself.

I couldn’t sleep that night, my mind kept turning over and over as I replayed the kiss on my front porch for the thousandth time.  I knew what I wanted, but I had no way of knowing how to get what I wanted, or even if it was possible.  The problem wasn’t really whether or not it would end well, but rather what would happen to my friendships in the process of gaining what I truly wanted.  I was concerned with how much my happiness meant to my friends and whether or not I would lose one or even both of them in the process.

By the time the sun rose and my alarm clock went off to signal time for school my eyes were dry, red, and drooping with tiredness as I shuffled around my room and bathroom getting ready for school.  I walked alone that day having left too early for Jimin and Taehyung to even consider arriving at school and busied myself in the library working on my sketch of Jungkook that I’d failed to complete the day before.  My charcoal pencil traced the rough outline covering my previous markings, my eraser making the unnecessary lines disappear, the outline turning into Jungkook’s face on paper.

I was stumped when I finally arrived at his eyes, having skipped them several times already, unsure of exactly what expression to portray; his lips were equally as inexpressive, for some reason those two features that I could picture with ease were suddenly so difficult.  Thankfully, the second warning bell for the beginning of the first period had rung and I quickly stuffed my sketchbook back into my backpack making my way carefully down the hall towards my History class.  The next two hours of the day would be hopefully uneventful as I shared both of them with Jungkook and Biology with Jimin – both classes I was assigned to sit next to Jungkook.

I hesitated my hand hovering on the handle of the classroom door, beyond that door was the one person I was looking forward to seeing more than anything and yet, I still hesitated. What about the kiss?  

Taking a steadying breath I opened the classroom door and kept my head down as I made my way over to my desk, my desk mate already seated his book open and notes scattered.  Today was our first test and many of my classmates were murmuring to each other about what the content could be over.  Jungkook glanced up at my arrival a wide grin on his face, but my lack of acknowledgement of his greeting soon caused the happy expression to turn quizzical.

My heart was racing for the entire class, my fingers tapping on the edge of my desk as I had finished my test early and was now watching the clock tick slowly counting down to when this period would end only for the second to begin.  Jungkook’s brow was furrowed – and even though I never looked directly at him I caught enough of his profile out of the corner of my eye as I watched him warily.  I was worried about what he might say when the bell rang, but I was even more worried about what he wouldn’t say.  The next class was going to be troublesome, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for Math class or not – because after Math came lunch, then more classes where I would see Jimin and then Jungkook.

When the bell finally rang I snatched my books and quickly made my way towards the exit, I could feel a piercing gaze following my every step.  I was ignoring him – too scared to speak to him – and now Jungkook knew for certain that I was avoiding him.  The question remained – what was he going to do about it?

-

I somehow managed to make it through the remainder of my classes with little trouble – Biology was no less awkward than History had been, the only difference was it wasn’t just one pair of eyes looking at me, but two.  Jimin thankfully respected my space and when I went to our usual spot for lunch he didn’t say much only made noncommittal grunts from time to time to appease Tae.

Taehyung knew something had happened, but being the good friend that he was he kept his mouth shut, filling the silence between Jimin and me with his own tales.  English class was much the same as lunch, Tae continued to fill the silence when we were free to work on our writing assignments, most of the class spent the extra time chatting about plans for the upcoming weekend.

I had pulled out my sketchbook opening up to the last page which just so happened to be my sketch of Jungkook.  Jimin’s eyes had drifted over to take a peek at my book; his brow furrowed, but said nothing.  My cheeks heated and I coughed lightly as I casually turned to a blank page trying not to draw further attention from Jimin’s curious gaze.

Quietly I began sketching a moon scene over the ocean.  I loved reflections on water and in my free time I liked to take pictures of reflective moments to sketch later on.  The great thing about light was that it was a beautiful thing to recreate on paper, but if you weren’t fast enough it was gone in the blink of an eye.

My heart was racing as I walked slowly to Art, my eyes drifting to the hall clock that told me I had thirty seconds before the bell rang.

It’s now or never.

I stepped into the room with seconds to spare and made my way quickly to my desk and Jungkook as Ms. Park took a stand at the front of the room.

“Afternoon class, I want you all to continue working on your sketches from yesterday.  If it helps you to move around the room or even the school grounds I’m giving you all a free pass today.”  Most of the class started to murmur in excitement at the prospect of going outside.

“That being said, I want you all to be back in this room with thirty minutes to spare so I can take a look at your progress so far.”

My eyes wandered over the room as the class began to divide up.  A couple of the pairs went over to the windows while most of the class headed for the exit door that led outside.

“In or out?”

My eyes shot over to Jungkook who was looking at me with concern etched on his face.  His lips turned down slightly as he waited for your response.

“Personally, I prefer In ‘n Out’s animal fries.”  The joke slipped out from between my lips without even a second thought.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed in confusion then he burst into belly laughing.  His hands clutching his sides as he pushed back against the chair with mirth written all over his face.

My cheeks flamed bright red as the remaining class looked over at us in curiosity to see what had Jungkook in such a laughing fit.  Wiping tears from the corner of his eyes, Jungkook chuckled before gathering his sketchbook and pencil case.  “Outside it is.”

-

We sat in somewhat uncomfortable silence for the first fifteen minutes.  Jungkook appeared to be concentrating on shading his piece, but I was still struggling to get his eye shape right.  Groaning in frustration, I flung my sketchpad down on the grass, reaching for my sharpener I began to furiously grate my pencil to get it as sharp as possible.  I needed the finest detailing out of it I could get, but I was still struggling with the fine lines.

“I like it,” Jungkook spoke softly – so softly that I almost didn’t hear him.

I glanced up from my furious sharpening to see Jungkook clutching my sketchbook lightly between his slender fingers.  My cheeks flushed pink as I watched him observing my work.

“I-it’s not done, or anything.”

“I know.”  He stated, eyes glancing up at me with a piercing look before turning his attention back to the sketch of himself.

“I-I haven’t even managed to get y-your eyes right.”  My cheeks grew hotter as I stumbled over my words a little more this time.

“I know.”

The tone of his voice was still pointed, his eyes not lifting from the page this time as he cocked his head to the left to look at it from a different angle.

“My nose isn’t that crooked though.”

My eyes widened as I shot to my knees to lean over the sketchbook in his outstretched hands. “What do you mean crooked?  I used a ruler and everything.”

Jungkook started to chuckle lightly, my eyes shot up to his fact which was only about a foot away from mine.  “I hoped that would take care of your stutter.”

I smiled slightly, my eyes drifting back down to the sketch as I tilted my head to make sure his nose wasn’t crooked.

“It’s not crooked.” My voice held a slight tone of indignation.

Jungkook laughed again as he handed my sketchpad back over to me.  I plopped back down on the ground in a huff as I turned the book upside down and around to check it from other angles.  “It’s not.”

“I know,” Jungkook’s voice was playful as he picked up his own pad again this time he was writing something in the lower corner.

“Are you done already?” My voice raised in awe at the flourish with which he wrote his signature on the paper.

“Yeah, I finished it yesterday for the most part; I was just smoothing out some of the lines and adding shading.”  Jungkook shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

“Can I see it?”  I asked my voice full of awe.

Jungkook’s doe eyes looked back up at me in shock, his own cheeks turning pink under my gaze.  With slight hesitation he handed the sketchpad over to me, mumbling something about not touching it to mess up the shading.

My eyes scanned over the whole page taking in my own face on paper and not in a mirror.  I’d never seen myself from someone else’s point of view before, but I was seeing it now. I was seeing what Jungkook saw when he looked at me.

The pose was of me sitting in what appeared to be the library based on the large window in the background of the portrait, the shadow of a desk and books scattered in front of me.  My hair was swept to the side, hiding my face from those to my back, but not to the person across from me.  I knew this spot.  I even knew this pose.  It was the seat I always sat in at the back of the library by the large window surrounded by stacks of books, my back always to the rest of the room.  Jungkook always sat across from me and now I knew why.

Even through black and white on paper I could see the way he captured the light reflecting on my face, parts of it were in shadow, others were the color of the paper underneath, white and highlighted.  My brows were creased a little bit and I was biting my lower lip in concentration. Every detail was laid out on paper before me and I was in complete shock.

Jungkook not only managed to do this over the course of the previous class period, but he had to have worked on it after school as well.  The amount of detail he’d put into this showed way too much work and made my half completed portrait look like amateur hour.

“Wow,” My eyes lifted from the pad in front of me to Jungkook who sat patiently his eyes trained on my face as he waited for my feedback.

“I-I don’t,”

“Noona, I thought we got past the stuttering,” Jungkook chided his tone playful as his lips parted in his signature bunny smile.

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, my eyes drifting down his piece in front of me.  “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Ouch, noona, you wound me.”  Jungkook’s hands immediately went up to grasp at his heart his brow furrowed in mock pain.

“All of this,” I paused.  “All of this, from memory?  You didn’t even use a picture or anything?”

Jungkook didn’t take his eyes off mine as he shook his head.  My heart dropped again, my stomach doing flips as the reality came crashing down around me.

“Hey you two, it’s time to go back in,” My head shot up to see one of the girls from our class motioning for us to go back inside the classroom.

Silently, Jungkook and I gathered up our things as we made our way back to the school in silence.  I was still too stunned to speak, but Jungkook’s spirits seem to have lifted a bit more.

They continued to lift as Ms. Park gushed over Jungkook’s technique and his clear talent with art.  He smiled widely as she handed the pad back to him her smile wide as she took mine to go over what I have done.

“Very nice, Y/N, especially for someone who had a fear of drawing people when entering this class.  I can tell you really know your subject from what you have done already.”  My cheeks flushed with the praise, I was used to her admiring my landscapes, but when it came to our previous people assignments, I mostly got a kind smile and nothing more.

“I see the eyes still need a little work though; maybe try an expression that is more natural, less posed.”

I nodded in thanks and took my sketchbook back glancing down at the half done eyes.  She was right, and my mind drifted back to a little while ago when I had asked Jungkook to see his sketch.  He’d given me such a soft expression of genuine shock, his eyes were wide with surprise, but soft, I had grown accustomed to it.  His lips had been parted just slightly in surprise as well, but they’d quickly lifted at the corners into a soft smile.

Flipping the sketchpad closed I carefully placed it in my bag with my pencil case as I headed out of the classroom with Jungkook in tow.  We bid farewell, I explained that I had the perfect expression in mind for his eyes, but I wanted it to be a surprise for the final reveal.  I received a small pout in return, Jungkook’s pouty bottom lip jutting out in sadness as he tried to plead with me to let him see it before that, but I only waved him off going up the stairs to my locker to switch some of my books around.

I didn’t see Taehyung or Jimin around the lockers when I arrived or even as I was finishing up.  Sighing heavily, I was thankful to avoid Jimin this time, but I was sad not to see Taehyung as he was almost always at his locker after school.

I was halfway down the front stairs by the cafeteria when I heard my name coming from the gym area.  Jimin was waving me over enthusiastically.

“Y/N!” Jimin shouted again as he continued waving frantically.  He was alone, it looked like he was just coming from the showers as his hair was still dripping a bit, but he seemed to not notice or care.

Cautiously, I walked over to him.  This whole day we’d equally been awkward around each other in an attempt to not bring up the kiss from last night, but here was, now, waving me over.

“Hi,” I said breathlessly, my lips forming a crooked and cautious smile, my hands gripped onto my bag strap a little tighter.  Jimin’s eyes took in my clenched hands and smiled warmly.

“Hi, yourself,” His eyes glowed with mischief.  “Look, Y/N, I just wanted to talk to you about last night.”

“Jimin, I-”

Jimin held up a hand silencing my protest.  “Please, let me finish.  I shouldn’t have sprung that on you.”

My cheeks flushed pink as I recalled the kiss, his tender touch; even if it hadn’t been the one I wanted.

“I, I screwed up.”

My eyes widened in shock, mouth opened to speak, but Jimin hurried on.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.  It was wrong, I get that now, but” Jimin stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans sheepishly.  “I’m glad I did.  Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have realized that my feelings for you weren’t as deep as I always thought.

“Can we start over?”

My eyes widened at Jimin’s words, his warm brown eyes were filled with hope, a small smile tugging on his lips.

The sound of a loud thump broke the both of us out of the moment.  Jimin turned, which allowed me to see past him at the sound – or rather who made the sound.

Jungkook.

[angelicthor]

billion dollar man - part 9

pairing: tony stark x reader

summary:  after mounting bills and debt cause you to look at alternative means of making money, you’re thrown into a whole different kind of life when one of the most famous billionaires on the block offers to be your sugar daddy, of course in exchange for a different from of payment. non-superhero au.

warnings/genre: +18 only, sugarbaby/daddy relationship, nat-centric chapter, mentions of ptsd, slight daddy kink

masterlist | billion dollar man masterlist

a/n: i am a slut for validation, pls + thnks

Blowing on the cup of coffee Nat had handed you, you brought the steaming liquid to your lips, humming at the taste that flooded your mouth and looked over the numerous fabric samples Nat had spread out over her desk.

Your eyes wandered over the various silks, velvets, leathers, and lace that all sat piled up in various shades as Nat tried to perfect her latest designs for her next line, pencil scribbling on the multitude of sheets she had in front of her. Plucking up a patch of baby blue silk, you let your thumb stroke over the unbelievably soft material in your hand.

“Wow, that’s soft,” You muttered placing your cup and the fabric down as you moved to examine one of the designs Nat had sketched out, “So how does this work? You draw them, pick the right fabrics and then what?”

“Sort off, I have to figure out what how to creature the perfect shape with the fabric and the design. See the overall design won’t change regardless of what fabric we use but how we structure the cup is what provides the support, so it’s about getting that right before we go to production. It may take a few failed prototypes, but I’ll get it in the end.”

Nat placed a patch of cream lace over the baby blue silk you had been admiring before clipping them both to the paper she was writing on and heading over to the sewing machine in the corner of her office, pinning her design to the board on the wall before tracing out the desired shapes on the bolt of silk she had, quickly eyeing you as she made her templates.

You watched in fascination as her design came to life before your eyes, Natasha expertly sewing the pieces together with skilful precision until the feeble scraps of silk became boutique lingerie.

“How’s the wedding planning going?”

“Ugh don’t ask, Sam’s insisting we have a fucking falcon fly down the aisle to deliver our wedding rings. It doesn’t exactly tie in with our plan for a low-key wedding,” Natasha groaned, banging on the sewing machine when the lace details she was attaching to the cup stuck around the needle, muttering angry curses in Russian under her breath. “It’s Sam, he has this thing for falcons - I swear he’s obsessed. He says he’s already found the perfect one, ‘redwing’. Not gonna happen.”

You couldn’t help but snort at her, “I hate to break it to you Nat but a wedding in the Hamptons isn’t exactly low-key.”

And it was true, you had seen all of her plans up to now and they were anything but simple, the dress being hand-designed in London by one of the most exclusive designers you had ever heard of, the venue was stunning, and the grand total was more than you had ever seen anyone spend on a wedding before in your life.

If this was Nat’s idea of subtle, you would love to see what her being extravagant looked like.

“Yeah, well I’m still not having a damn bird fly down the aisle,” Nat muttered as she threaded the wire through the bottom of the bra, “Besides, I’m taking a break from planning the wedding.”

You quirked a brow at that, Natasha Romanoff wasn’t one to take breaks.

“Oh really, and why would that be? Don’t tell me the infamous Natasha Romanoff is tired of a little wedding planning?” You couldn’t help but tease, a playful smirk on your face as the redhead stuck her tongue out at you.

“Ha-ha, very funny. But no, more like I have to start planning my birthday party if I want to beat your sugar daddy – he’s won every fucking year and I refuse to lose this time.”

Leave it to Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff to turn something as simple as a birthday party into a competition.

“Ok, what? How is that a competition?” You asked incredulously, reclining back in your chair as you pondered over their strange rivalry.

Nat only shrugged as she moved onto a matching pair of panties; “We just see who can throw the greatest, most talked about birthday party each year. It started when we first met I guess, our birthdays are only a month apart so when he found out what I was doing, he just had to out-do me. Ever since then, it’s been like an on-going competition to throw the better party.”

“Huh,” You bit your lips as you contemplated your next words, debating whether or not you should go down that particular road, “So, how long have you known Tony?”

You heard the sewing machine stop, refusing to look up from the other designs you were flicking through for fear that Nat see through your casual façade. That, however, did not stop Nat from scrutinising you, knowing that the forced nonchalance held a far deeper meaning than you were letting on.

“Five, six years maybe? Why?”

“I just, I wanted to know something I guess, I figured I could maybe ask you?”

“Ok…” Nat trailed off unsure, invitation for you to ask what was on your mind.

“Has Tony always been, I mean was he ever not – why is he so closed off? Did something happen or has he always been so withdrawn?” You sighed out, struggling to find the right question as your brain stumbled over all the words you knew.

Nat silently put down her work, rising from her seat and moving to the chair across from yours, taking your fidgeting hands in her own and squeezing them reassuringly as you worried at your bottom lip.

“What’s going on Y/N? Has Tony done something to you because I swear to god I will-”

“No! No, it’s not like that. It’s just, he struggles being open with his emotions and it’s beginning to take a toll on him. I’m worried about him Nat, but I can’t understand why he want to just ignore it. I figured maybe something had happened which caused him to be so closed off, maybe if I knew what it was I could help him? I don’t know, I guess it was a bit of a long shot huh?”

“No, that makes sense. But I don’t know what to tell you Y/N, he’s kept emotional distance with everyone as long as I’ve known him. It’s one of the things we have in common actually. I do know that he had a strained relationship with his father – maybe that has something to do with it?”

His father? Tony had never spoke of the man, not in detail anyway. In fact, you didn’t know anything about Tony’s parents that wasn’t already public information; everyone knew when and how they died, it had covered newspapers for weeks and was ingrained into the Stark legacy, but you didn’t know any personal stories of his parents, you didn’t know what birthdays or Christmases were like, you didn’t know what special family traditions there were. You knew absolutely nothing of Tony’s childhood.

“I don’t know Nat, I just hope the therapy helps with whatever he’s going through.”

Nat’s eyes widened at that news. “Tony’s going to therapy?” she asked in complete disbelief.

“Yeah, he’s there right now; he was having really bad nightmares, he couldn’t sleep, he was having panic attacks – I think it’s because of what happened in Afghanistan, he told me about it and I can completely understand how traumatic that would be, but I can’t get my head around why he acted like showing any sort of emotion was a weakness.” Tears started to form in your eyes as you recalled how distraught Tony was after a nightmare, how his voice had broken when he finally opened up to you.

“You can’t tell anyone Tony’s in therapy Nat, it’ll just cause him to be more closed off, please don’t-”

“Hey! Hey!” Nat cut through you hysterics, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and bringing your head to rest on her chest, “I’m not going to tell anyone I swear, not even Sam. But don’t think you can’t tell me anything ok – you bottling everything up isn’t good, if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here ok?”

Nat pressed a kiss to your forehead as you wiped away your tears, pulling away from her embrace to offer her a watery smile.

“Thanks Nat.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said as she tucked a lose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re good for him you know,” she muttered out, eyes appraising you as a small smile played on her lips, “Come on, your gonna be my model.”

You could only furrow your brows in confusion as she pulled you from your seat and lead you over to the area of her office that was cordoned off by an intricately designed divider, pushing you into the corner and handing you the bra and panties she had just made.

Reluctantly, you began to strip out of your clothes and into the brand-new lingerie set that Nat had made, the soft baby-blue silk cupping your breasts perfectly, the cream lace decorating the trim and centre piece, the matching thong consisting of the same silk, the lace lining the waistband in perfect symmetry to the bra – they were honestly stunning, the colours and design giving you a sinfully sweet look that you knew would make a certain billionaire’s head spin.

“Well? Let me see my work woman!”

You hesitantly waked out, clutching your arms in front of yourself to try and block Nat’s view of your barely clothed form. Awkwardly standing before her as she stood from her seat and slowly circled you, assessing her work as she did.

“Sweetie, you kind of have to move your hands,” Nat hummed out amused, pulling your arms apart and leading you over to the full-length mirror so you could properly appreciate what you were wearing.

“It’s beautiful Nat, you did amazing,” You said in awe, looking over the design, no longer caring in the slightest about your lack of clothing.

“I couldn’t agree more, how does it fit?”

“Perfect. Which is slightly strange considering you never actually took my measurements.”

“I can tell just by looking, years of practise I guess,” Nat answered, trailing her hands around the bra, testing to see how well it fit against your chest.

Your breath hitched as Nat continued to trace her hands over her work as she moved to stand behind you, her deep chuckle making you shiver, “Aw, Am I making you nervous Y/N?”

Before you could answer the door to her office swung open, your head snapping towards the familiar form walking into the room. “Hey Nat, your secretary said that… Y/N was… here? Am I missing something?” Tony stood completely befuddled in the middle of the room, eyes darting between you and Nat as you watched the gears in his head turn, trying to explain the view in front of him.

You stood still in shock, mouth opening and closing like a fish as Nat squeezed your waist and walked in front of you, “Your girl was just doing some modelling for me Tony, don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can get dressed now Y/N, and keep them, they suite you.”

You scurried back to the screen to throw your clothes on, hearing Tony mutter under his breath as you changed: “First Barnes and now you Romanoff. Christ, is everyone out to try and seduce her?”

“Oh, relax Stark, nothing happened. Although you can’t blame anyone for trying, have you seen her?”

You dashed back outside, sensing that Tony was about to overshare and not for the first time so you stopped the words from leaving his mouth by attaching your lips to his, wrapping your arms around his neck as you practically launched yourself at him.

Pulling away, Tony had a dazed look on his face before his brows furrowed in confusion, “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Good.”

Tony gave you a lazy smirk, his hands that were resting on your waist moving down to pinch your ass as he peppered kisses across your face and down your neck.

“Ugh, get a room,” Nat mumbled teasingly.

“You know Romanoff,” Tony’s gaze didn’t leave yours as he spoke to Nat, a cheeky sparkle in his eyes, “That’s not a bad idea.”

Without giving you a chance to respond Tony began to pull you towards the door, you stumbling after him as you bid goodbye to Nat over your shoulder.

“Goodbye Y/N,” Nat sang out, a smug smirk pulling at her lips as she waved goodbye to you.

Tony pushed you against the elevator wall the moment the doors closed behind you both, his lips automatically assaulting your neck as your head lolled back to give him more room as he nipped and kissed at the exposed skin there.

“Please tell me you’re still wearing that set?” Tony groaned out, voice husky with desire.

You hummed in answer, nodding your head as you bit down on your bottom lip, grinning when Tony let out a guttural moan. “You’re fucking killing me babygirl,” He choked out, burying his face in your neck as he held you flush against him.

Rolling your hips against the growing bulge in his trousers, you bit gently on Tony’s earlobe before whispering sultrily, “You love it Daddy.”

a/n: i don’t have a tag list but if you want alerts please follow @angelicthorwrites and turn on notifications

[moeruhoshi]

getting ready for school so here we go again

I’ve been working on this idea for a while, this is just a rough sketch of an AU I lowkey wanna turn into a multi-chap

Lucy sighed for the umpteenth time as she stared out the window, her mind in another place as the teacher drawled on with the lesson. She found herself zoning out like this often, not because she was under a lot of stress or anything, even though it was her senior year. 

Besides, Macao-sensei really knew how to talk about one particular fact for twenty long minutes; most of the class was either avoiding his gaze or finding themselves daydreaming at this point.

It had been about four or so months since the school year started and the foolish, idiotic men of Magnolia High still had an annoying pact set in stone, preventing anyone from asking Lucy Heartfilia out.

Who the hell were they to decide who she would date or not?! And what the hell were they planning to do when Lucy actually started dating someone? 

The whole bullshit system practically began as soon as she took her first steps onto campus by a group of third years, and the baton had been passed on ever since. Lucy had yet to find out who was at the center of this weird fan group, but they’d face a world of hurt for ruining her high school life like this.

Not that Lucy had especially wanted a boyfriend, wasn’t it just one of those things a girl wanted to experience at least once with someone before college? Lucy had grown up reading a lot of romantic stories that had her wishing to meet someone who wanted to hold and cherish her for something more than her looks. 

Lucy blushed at the thought, but she was a grown woman! Some things couldn’t be solved by reading one of Erza’s novels, no matter how many the blonde was given. Although Lucy was pretty sure she was just shoving them onto her so Jellal wouldn’t find out that Erza had such an extensive collection.

She thought she would be quick to accept her first confession, as long as whoever gave it to her had good intentions. If he was smart enough to ignore this shitty pact then, wouldn’t he be a good person to date? It felt like asking too much for him to be a good looking guy that was slightly muscular and had sharp eyes like a warrior…maybe a bit possessive...Lucy blamed Erza for creating such weird standards held in her heart. But any girl would be excited if a pretty boy were to confess his love for her;

“E-E-Eh…?! Y-You’d really want someone like me���?” She flushes as he takes her hand, eyes earnest and unwavering.

“I’ve loved you for a long time...please...You’re the only one for me,” He pulls her close to his chest as he wraps his arms around her and declares that he’ll never let her go.

Something like that seemed a bit dramatic but so what? It was hard for a guy to even befriend her since the rumor being spread that she was supposedly some perfect angel with an incredibly high standard for friends and men.

Lucy wasn’t anything special, she felt that she was your average teenage girl that had a knack for cooking, studying, and was weak for the occasional visit to a cute café. Lucy and her friends had known each other since primary school, but it wasn’t like we weren’t looking for new additions to their group. As long as you were friendly, could get along properly with Erza, and learned to handle Juvia’s obsessive behavior, then they had no issues befriending anyone. 

She’d go over the school's intercom and shout those exact words if she didn’t think it’d make her look somewhat desperate and kind of a pervert.

Lucy wanted a boyfriend. She really wanted a boyfriend! And she had wished intensely for someone kind-hearted to enter her life before leaving this school. A little part of her wanted to make a statement to those jerks that started this, but Lucy honestly just wanted to learn how to fall in love. Didn’t she deserve that much?

“Lucy!” Levy shouted and shocked her out of her thoughts, almost startling her out of her desk.

“A-Ah! Gomen, I was spacing out,” Lucy laughed awkwardly as she finally noticed her friends crowding around her desk.

“That’s the third time Levy called you,” Erza pointed out, hand resting on her hip. “You’re not sick are you?”

“Not at all, I was just daydreaming.” Lucy sweatdropped, glad to stop Erza’s train of thought before she was covering her with an unnecessary amount of bandages and shoved into an infirmary bed.

“Class ended a couple minutes ago, didn’t Lucy-san notice?” Juvia asked, her hands clutching her bag straps nervously as she anticipated their leave.

“Yeah, let’s hurry up Lucy-chan, can’t you see Juvia wants to go stare down her crush before he leaves?” Cana hummed, the rest giggling as the blue-haired girl flinched and began to sweat slightly.

“I-Is Juvia that obvious…?”

“Painfully,” Lucy laughed as she stood from her seat and grabbed ahold of her own bag. “Let’s hurry before you miss him.”

“Heartfillia, McGarden! Don’t forget that you two have classroom duties!” Macao-sensei shouted in their direction, halting the group as they were almost out the door.

“Aww man, Lucy I have a job interview to get to! At that charming bookstore too…” Levy sobbed, eyes dramatic as she looked back over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, Levy-chan. I can cover for both of us,” Lucy rolled her eyes but grabbed her hands with a broad grin. “You really need to get that job so I can get a discount on a crap ton of books.”

“Ah! You’re the best, Lu-chan! I’m taking you out for lunch once I do get it!” The shorter brunette clapped as she ran out the door, rushing away to quickly get to the said establishment.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help? I’d be glad to stay behind with you.” Erza offered with a small smile.

“I can handle it, besides I think the two of you need to make sure Juvia doesn’t jump that poor kohai,” Lucy insisted as the antsy girl whisked herself down the hall just as soon as Levy did, muttering consistently about her precious ‘Gray-sama’.

An hour or so later, Lucy was soon walking downstairs with a sigh of relief. Cleaning the classroom wasn’t terribly hard work, but it always took twice as long with half the staff. She deserved a nice long bubble bath tonight.

As soon as she flipped open her shoe locker open, Lucy could have sworn that her heart had stopped beating for a moment. It was as if time stood still, her eyes frosting over at the sight of a very pink piece of paper.

Her hands trembled as she removed the folded slip of paper from atop her shoes, her breath shaky as she opened and read what had been written. It wasn’t possible…had she finally received a love letter…? 

Well, not as much a love letter but someone asking to meet her behind the school near the old willowed sakura tree. Who would ask a girl to meet them there if not to confess their love?!

“O-Oh Mavis…I’m a bit too excited, a-aren’t I?” Lucy gulped as she gripped the straps of her bag, clenching the paper that requested her appearance as she began walking through the courtyard. The blonde nervously skimmed back over the note, sighing happily even with the short amount of words left for.

‘Lucy, I’ll be waiting by the sakura tree for you after school lets out. I hope to see you there. Signed Anonymous’

“W-Wait, after school?!” Lucy gasped, noticing the sun setting slightly and the orange tint to the sky, depicting just how late it had gotten. “It’s already so late! What if he left…?!” She hurried her steps as she rounded the school building, thankful that no one seemed to be around to see her rushing towards the tree with such a red face. As she approached the area, her heart began to sink as she looked around, failing to see another person. The one day she decided to take her sweet time…

Her lip quivered as she stood in front of the sakura tree, sad to find no one sitting or standing against it on either side, the surrounding benches empty, and the courtyard deserted. Lucy felt tears prick the corner of her eyes as she sat reluctantly on the wooden seat, feeling a heavy disappointment in her heart. It wasn’t like she could expect him to wait...after all, she was an hour late.

“E-Eh?! L-L-Lucy-senpai?!” A voice sounded from before her, Lucy quickly raising her head to see who it was. His eyes were wide and his face was red, matching his odd pink hair, sharp onyx eyes cast over her as she rushed to wipe her tears away.

“Y-You are…?” She presumed him to be the boy she was to meet and quickly stood up, her bag falling over as the contents spilled around their feet. Frantic, she dropped to her knees to haphazardly shove her back into her bag, the unnamed boy crouching to help her as well. Their fingers brushed lightly against each other as they both reached for her pencil case, their eyes meeting and their embarrassment growing with heat present in their cheeks. “T-T-Thank you.”

“You...Lucy-senpai, you were crying...are you okay?” He asked, holding out his hand to help her up.

“O-Oh! Yes, I’m fine…!” She tried to convince him, hoping her mascara hadn’t run or instead didn’t want to admit how she was crying because she thought he had left her behind. That was if he was the one who wanted to meet her.

“I’m glad you came, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you, I went to get a drink.” He chuckled lightly as he held the bottle of dragon fruit tea up for her to see.

“N-No, I’m sorry I was late, I was doing classroom duties.” She explained, his features lighting up as she said so.

“I’m glad,” He sighed. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“What did you need to ask me?” Lucy mumbled quietly as she stared down at her feet, attempting to hide her blush.

“I’m Natsu Dragneel, I’m a first-year...but I still wanted to tell you how much I like you...would you do the honor of becoming my girlfriend?” He bowed, voice thick in the air as his question rang in her ears, her cheeks aflame and her heart hammering in her chest. 

The wind rushed past the two of them, scattering the petals of the tree and surrounded them as Lucy lifted her head and met the sight of his still bowed form.

“Yes...I will,”

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 11

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Masterlist : here

AN : It is wednesday, my dudes! This part and the next ones are like 90% fluff, 10% angst... like bittersweet. You’re still heartbroken but try to keep your friendship with Jake, while doing all of your homework... A lot to handle. Actually I had to cut the chapter in half because it was too long (9-10 pages). I really hope you’ll like this chapter because I liked writing it! Feel free to tell me what you thought of it, send me dms or questions, and thanks for reading me x

Chapitre 11 : Would you cook for me ?

Ignoring Jake's texts or avoiding him was useless. But hanging out with him was a challenge I wasn't ready to handle, never asked for, and yet was pushed into. Pretending I didn't see him when we crossed paths in the hallways, or that I didn't receive any of his texts was petty, there was no point in doing so. I couldn't avoid him without giving him any reason, and I couldn't tell him why I needed some time far away from him either because it meant revealing the truth and 1) I wasn't ready, 2) he'd be the one avoiding me like the black plague if I did. It brought me to the conclusion that I would simply pretend nothing happened at all. Jake hadn't noticed the whole situation anyway, so to him it'd already be like everything was normal, just like it always had been between us. It was the best I could think of. For him, for Josh, for anyone. For me ? Not so much. Of course I was still heartbroken, of course it'd take me some time to get over him, and staying by his side would be like rubbing salt on a wound while demanding for it to heal. But I wouldn't risk to break our group's dynamic for selfish reasons. So I sucked that in, everything. The sadness, and painful pang of my chest every time I saw his face, while repeating myself it was for the best.

That aside, I had some other things coming. For the worst. My useless self got so into self-pity and deprecation that I had totally forgotten about homework... And my drawing teacher would be less than pleased as we were all supposed to hand her five new portraits on Monday. Realization hit me during breakfast with Josh who had slept here, when I saw Mandy pack her things and idly noticing out loud that I wasn't carrying a lot of stuff for once. This. This was the cue. But it was too late now, I thought as I walked down the halls by their side. On our way to the amphitheater we saw Jake, waiting in front of the door for the teacher to come. Other students were here too, chatting and yawning with their backs against the walls or sitting on the floor. Josh looked at me like he wasn't sure if he should greet him but the brunette was the one spotting us, gesturing us to come join him. My eyes were probably still a bit puffy but with the makeup it could pass for lack of sleep. Of course he knew Josh stayed at our place last time, I had made sure the boy texted him, and the jerk had taken this opportunity to ask his brother to bring him all his school supplies, backpack included. Unbelievable.

- Your stuff, said Jake handing Josh his bag.

- Who's the big brother again ?, I jokingly asked with a raised eyebrow.

- He's 5 minutes older, replied Jake.

- You'll never live it down !

We all chatted quietly, and I never felt more conflicted in my entire life. My heart didn't know if it should beat faster or hurt like hell, so it seemed to do both, making me feel weird just by being next to Jake. My body was in total contradiction with itself. I couldn't hold back the smile that crept across my face, but at the same time wouldn't meet Jake in the eye, disguising it by cracking joke after joke while my stress level kept rising the more time passed. My thoughts were running wild. In a few hours the drawing teacher was going to yell at me in front of the whole workshop and I couldn't handle it. I'd surely burst into tears and feel even more ashamed. I'd probably-

- Hey, you alright ?

A soft touch caressed my back and I involuntarily jerked forward, out of its grasp, before realizing and suddenly feeling bashful at my reaction. I could tell Jake was surprised by it but it lasted only a second before his face showed concern.

- Yeah, I just didn't finish my work on time... That witch is gonna murder me and ask the others students to draw a perspective of my corpse I'm sure.

I heard his chuckles before the tutor cut him off, passing by us with the keys in hand to unlock the door, separating the sea of students in half like an artsy Moses. Jake was at the other side when the crowd engulfed through the small door, letting us no choice but to keep our bodies to the walls.

- Do you wanna sit together today ?, asked Jake above the loud stomping noises.

Because of the students between us I couldn't really see his face, but was glad because it meant he couldn't see mine whitening. Josh and Mandy on the other hand were just next to me and clearly witnessed my expression change. To think that a week before I would've been on cloud nine being able to sit next to him for two whole hours... Oh how things could change fast.

We were now the three last people left outside and Jake held the door for us, continuing speaking.

- You guys are always exchanging notes, we should just, ya know ? Sit next to each other and... quietly chat.

As backup to his words, he murmured the last part in a very exaggerated fashion, in a failed attempt to make me smile. I couldn't just say no to him without looking weird because I had no reason to. Even if I knew he wouldn't push the matter, there was no way he wouldn't question it, right ? Josh came to the rescue, playfully elbowing him.

- But then where's the fun in that ? Right girls ?

Both agreeing, we rushed to our usual seats, letting a dumbfounded Jake close the door behind him. In their habitual fashion, Mandy and Josh threw paper balls at each other, while I was for once too focused on the lecture to participate in their shenanigans. I needed to get my mind to focus on something and right now Gilgamesh sounded like a good deal, so I took as many notes as possible. A task proven even more difficult because in the corner of my eye, I could see Jake staring at me.

Saying my drawing teacher killed me was a little bit of an understatement. She scared the shit out of me with her scolding. To be fair, even in a normal mood she was a scary woman. The already quiet   class went completely still and silent when she barked at me, admonishing me with charming names such as « useless », « disappointing » and the timeless « lamentable ». A classic. Truth to be told it hurt much less than I previously anticipated, mainly because I was already half dead inside, with the emotional range of a cactus, and my self-esteem nearly reaching zero. Nothing much to attack, really. Nevertheless, she demanded that I hand her all five portraits plus the five others we had to do this week by the next monday. Meaning I had ten to do in a week. It physically hurt just thinking about it, and I could hear a quiet « oof » escaping some of my classmates' mouths. It's with a huge relieved sigh that I found my bed this afternoon once school was over. This day had been a catastrophe so far, so there was no other thing I wanted to do more than put on my Pjs, put some music on, and slowly work at my desk, thinking Tuesay will be a better day.

Tuesday was not a better day. Wednesday either. All my homework slowly started piling up on my desk to the point where it was starting to be difficult to keep track of it. And sleeping four hours a night wasn't doing my mental health any good. I knew I had two possibilities now ; sleep less but do my work, or skip some classes to work. It was beginning to get ridiculous, skipping classes so I could do my homework. I knew art schools were difficult, awfully so, but like most people I hadn't realized until then, in this very moment, standing in front of my desk completely covered in paint, canvas, my computer, sketches, inks... some brushes had fallen on the floor, staining it in their passage. My laptop was so dirty it wasn't in its original color anymore. There were blotches of paint, ink, and charcoal here and there that I couldn't remove the harder I had tried to, forcing me to give up. At some point I got so tired I put my paintbrush into my cup of tea/coffee, mistaking it with the goblet of water.

- ...Are you alright ?, enquired Mandy on Thursday night.

One look at my face and she had her answer. Bless her soul, she didn't need any more to bring me an energy drink from the fridge.

- I still have five portraits to do. Four pencil ones, and one painting. They all have to be from different angles, and I can't find any models, I complained while throwing my hand in the air in an act of pure desperation.

Mandy knew better than to sit at the edge of my risky desk with her designer clothes, so she leaned on the doorframe, slowly nodding her head in a pensive manner while I kept explaining the situation.

- All week I couldn't find anyone because they all had homework to do, and now most of them are skipping tomorrow's lecture to go home early so nobody's available !

My rommate crossed her arms, thinking hard. I already did almost all my paintings, asking for both her and Josh's help. Both of them were glad to help and even more so to figure on a monochrome painting on a canvas.

- Can you draw the same person multiple times ?, she finally asked.

- Actually... I don't know. I don't think that would be a problem as long as the work is done ?

Hopping on her feet, Mandy lifted an eyebrow before dragging a chair to sit on.

- Let's get into it then, we only have one lecture tomorrow, you can skip it I'll take notes for you.

Having a good night of sleep never felt this good. No. Waking up at 8, slowly realizing everybody was sitting on a lecture except me, and then getting back to sleep was way better. I sketched poor Mandy two times last night but the results were good, and she looked pleased herself. I didn't have time to redo any of these anyway, I still had other work to do. Waking me from my well deserved nap, my phone vibrated under the pillow, the screen blinding me despite the sun peaking through the curtains.

« The boys asked where you were. Told them about the portraits situation. Jake wants to help. Couldn't stop him. »

If the beginning of the text made me smile, the end completely shook me awake, making me sit hurriedly on the bed, rereading the words multiple times. Scratching my face, I quickly glanced at the hour. They were out in a few minutes. My fingers tapped the next message as soon as they could, asking her how and when, while I ran to the showers with my towel, soap and toothbrush in hand. At this hour, and a Friday, they were all available. The other residents were all either drunk as hell and passed out in their room, or in their hometown with their family and friends. The buzzing of my phone vibrating reverberated against the shower walls and it almost got drowned in the sink when I caught it to look at the screen. It was Mandy.

« They kinda invited themselves over to eat. Josh's idea.»

What the hell Joshua we're not your moms ! Throwing my phone to the nearest flat surface, I jumped on some discarded overalls and put on a sweater, wet hair dripping everywhere on the floor, table, but mostly on my clothes, making me sneeze in the process. The whole week I was so overwhelmingly busy with work that not only did my fingers hurt but I didn't have any time to see the Kiszkas let alone think about them since our shared lecture on Monday. I even skipped the Lunch Club in order to get back to the dorms and work on my assignments. Which thankfully saved me a lot of time, but I still had 2 pencil drawings to do and one painting. Once I had put on some makeup, I took a moment to look around me. Our place looked like a dump, no less. Clothes and art furniture were everywhere, the trash was overflowing with empty cup noodles and fast food leftovers, it smelled like perfume and soap mixing with rotten food, paint and cold tobacco. It was terrible, and made me shocked that I even got used to that. A life achievement of some sort. Everything on the floor I put it on a trash bag, running in the stairs to throw everything outside with the others'. My phone vibrated in my pocket, a new notification popping on the screen.

« They bought some stuff at the store, they wanna cook us something. Jake's idea. »

Okay, time to clean the kitchen.

By the time they got here, I looked even more tired than before, owing my guests looks of concern. If was funny, how they put on the exact same face while seeing me. It was like I just mirrored a picture. Their similar features would never cease to amaze me.

- Mama you're very pale.

- Did you not sleep well ?

- I did, don't worry, I dismissed their concern. Had to clean up a bit.

Mandy bit his lip, knowing damn well the place had been a war field when she left. Unaware of anything, the boys put the bags of groceries on the table before apologizing for intruding. We all sat around the table to have a pleasant talk, my friends always making sure I wasn't next to Jake to avoid any brutal peak of awkwardness / sadness. But some habits died hard, I realized when Jake asked if he could have a tour of our dorm. Ignoring glances, I stood up and gestured for him to go first, into the biggest room, were Mandy and I's workshop and beds were. The boy let out a low whistle that flattered me. He looked impressed by everything around him, touching odd looking brushes and browsing illustration books. I knew better this time, and had put his painted portrait under my bed, wrapped in an old sheet. Just as his brother did, he liked to take in his hands everything that came by, caressing it with his fingertips or idly lifting the weight of it in his palms like he was discovering an unknown world. Unmoving, I let Jake do his little tour, watching the street view by the window, sitting on my disheleved bed, jumping slightly to make the mattress bounce like he was testing it before buying.

- So this is where you're gonna paint me, he said, pointing at a chair between my desk and me.

My pale face grew some colors at the thought of it before I nodded quickly, in a childlike way, caressing the wooden chair's back.

- I'll try to be fast so you won't get bored, I assured without looking him in the eye.

It was this moment Josh chose to appear at the corner of the doorframe.

- Jakey we should start cooking or the potatoes will never be ready on time. Come on, doll.

He took me by one of my overalls' straps, pulling me inside the kitchen, making me laugh and pushing my shoulders so I stayed on my seat. Mandy and I gazed at them with awe as they poured us drinks while Jake asked where the spatula was, and Josh was washing the vegetables, already familiar with his surroundings.

In silence, I looked at Jake removing every one of his rings to put it on top of the fridge where no one could kick them, before tying his hair in a tight ponytail. Maybe it was because I only ever saw him with long brown locks framing his face, but he looked even better than usual. If he caught me staring, he didn't adress it, only smiled at me, turning his back to us to help his brother.

- Do you need any help ?, I asked while showing them where the frypans were. You guys are our guests it doesn't seem fair...

Of course the kitchen wasn't a real one, there was only a microwave and some hotplates fixed to a cabinet by the sink. Putting more than one person behind the counter was impossible without bumping into each other, and I could smell the accident from afar when Josh maneuvered the hot water filled pan at the same time Jake opened up a cupboard right above his curly head. Curiously so, probably because they had way more cooking experience than I thought, the boys handled the situation neatly, and Jake was the one preventing me from bumping into his brother.

- Go sit and relax, we've got this, he said while turning me around by the shoulders.

Watching boys make lunch had got to be some sort of ASMR because just watching the muscles of their back move while they were chopping onions and peeling potatoes had some real therapeutic effects on me. We continued chatting together, all the while answering their questions on « Where are the knives ? » and « Where do you keep the salt ? ». Kind of surprised that Josh had the permission of holding a kitchen knife, by the way, this part made me feel the absolute opposite of ASMR but he did a pretty good job, from what I could see. Mandy put on some music on the speakers, argued with Jake over the sound of it as to what was acceptable or not music-wise, and Josh made a show of crying because of the onions, yelling about becoming blind until Jake gently slapped the back of his head. It was all laughs and good conversation, like we've been friends for years, and at the same time I couldn't shake these feelings I had towards Jake. There was something extremely erotic about seeing a dude wearing a dishcloth on his shoulder. Or was it just Jake wearing it really well ?

They refused to tell us what we were eating, muttering to themselves and sometimes asking if we were allergic to this or that, only announcing it while putting the plate on the table, with Josh making grand gestures as usual, using his best waiter voice.

- Crêpes au zucchini accompanied by a fresh salad decorated with feta and its apple slices, ladies.

- Bon appétit, added Jake.

The table was already set because it was the only thing we were allowed to do, so at least the boys could now rest. It looked really good. Way less fancy than what Josh had announced of course but it smelled wonderful, the sweet scent settling in all of our dorm. And the taste, oh Lord. Everything melted in my mouth, the onions they fried were just crispy enough to add something to it, and I learned this day that cheese and apple were really good and refreshing together. A new snack idea I'd keep for my sleepless work nights at the desk. And as dessert, the boys brought beers. Of course.

[evilcharming18]

Ruby Red Tattoo Shop

I’m late as always but it’s still the 14th in the west coast so...🤷🏾‍♀️

Here’s my entry for day one of Azula Week 2019, Tattoo Shop AU

“You know I don’t think any of us ever imagined you turning out like this,” Zuko says softly as he takes in his sister’s office. The artwork covered the room from the floor to the ceiling, none of the original wallpaper could be seen. Instead, you saw all of Azula’s artwork, the rough sketches and the paintings that she worked on for weeks, the doodles that were done while waiting for her next client and the messes of paint and fire that were thrown together in some of her fits of rage. Everything Azula was and wasn’t covered that room completely, a full expression of what Azula was actually like. What she liked, disliked, felt was surrounding them both. Those walls showed him a completely different person from the Azula he had known in the palace, the Azula he had grown up with, was jealous of, had feared and had overcome. The Azula that was perfect and exact, the Azula who always had a plan and never failed, the Princess Azula.

“Yeah, well neither did I Zuzu,” She scoffs back, keeping her eyes glued to her paper as she continued to draw her latest piece of work. She had a client coming tomorrow and she wanted every line of this tattoo to be perfect. She never gave her clients anything less than perfect. She couldn’t let herself.

“I didn’t even know you could draw like this,” The Fire Lord continues to look around her office, at the intricate pieces of artwork that surrounded him. Never in a million years could he see his sister being an artist, she had never shown an interest in art and for her to grow into not only an artist but a tattoo artist was a shock to everyone. The sounds of her brush moving over the paper were the only sounds that filled the room and Zuko couldn’t help but feel awkward. As if he was with a stranger and not his sister.

“There is a lot that you don’t know about me. It’s not like you ever tried anyways,” While the response sounds nonchalant leaving Azula’s mouth, it hit Zuko like a ton of bricks.

“Azula, that isn’t-”

“Nope, stop right there,” Azula finally looks up at him, a glare fixed on her face and heat surrounding them suddenly. This was the face he was used to, the glare, the anger, the preciseness of every feature of her. And this was the Azula that she was trying to let go. A sigh leaves her mouth and she shakes her head for a moment. “Do not come in here, into my home and business and try to act like we were something we weren’t. That you were some sort of caring brother or that Ursa cared or that anyone in the godforsaken palace gives a damn about me. If you want to come here and check in on me, make sure this isn't just a cover for my plot to take back the throne, go ahead. Want to watch me do what I do best because you’re interested, fine. But don’t try to make some petty excuses when I say nothing but the truth Zuko,” She tells him, the heat leaving the room as quickly as it had appeared and the fallen princess picks up her paintbrush again, resuming the stroke she had left off on. She wanted to get as much done as she could before her client for today arrived. And she didn’t want the stress or discomfort of Zuko hanging over her. She didn’t need to make any mistakes today. She would not let Zuko and his nonsense throw her off.

Zuko stared at his sister for a while after her harsh glare had left her face and her focus had returned to her artwork. Azula was right, back then he hadn’t cared much, his jealousy got in the way of him caring. Caring the way he should have. And after learning about how Ozai truly treated Azula behind closed doors, he only feels guiltier that he hadn’t cared more.

He was distracted by his own thoughts that he barely heard Azula speak up until she repeated herself, “How long are you staying in town this time Zuzu?” She asks him and he clears his throat before answering her. “Not long just until tomorrow. I just wanted to check in before I continued my journey to Ba Sing Se.”

“All alone this time?” She asked, her tone almost curious.

“The Gaang decided to look around the shops around the city.” He answers and she nods.

“No one wanted to accompany you on your visit to your crazy sister huh?” She says with her usual smirk but he shook his head.

“Azula you know that’s-“

“Zuzu I’m kidding, I wouldn’t want them here anyways. Why are you so defensive?” She says and Zuko frowns.

“Because I want you to feel welcome at home and with us,“ Zuko tells her genuinely and Azula rolls her eyes.

“You’ve never tried before so why try now. I am fine where I am-“ Before Azula could finish her sentence the bell above the front door rang and she sighed. She knew exactly who walked through that door. It was her client for the day and she had hoped that Zuko would be gone before she had gotten here. The woman was a dear friend and Azula didn’t need Zuko ruining things for her.

“Who is that?” The Fire Lord asked and Azula puts down her paint brush, closing her jar of ink as she ignores Zuko’s question. She stands from her seat and goes to the shelf on the other side of the room, finding her box of tattoo supplies and the drawing she was looking for. She turns around and looks at him, irritation forming on her face.

“That is my client for the day so you’re either going to leave or sit out there silently and watch me do what I do.” She explains quickly, her voice reminding him of how she used to sound and he nods, moving towards the door of the office so he didn’t irritated her further. Azula leaves her office and is almost knocked to the ground when her client hugs her.

“Azula!! I haven’t seen you in months! How are you?” Imi asks excitedly, still holding her in a tight hug.

“I have been good Imi, I’d be better if you weren’t crushing my lungs.” Azula breathes out and her fellow firebender lets go of her.

“Oh sorry, I just missed you is all.” She laughs and then looks up to see Zuko standing in the corner. She gasps and instantly bows for the Fire Lord.

“Oh you don’t have to do that.” Azula groans as she moved to her chair and table, setting her things down. Azula watched as Zuko turned red and Imi continue to bow. She shook her head and began set up for Imi’s tattoo, ignoring the foolishness that was taking place. Her friend only wanted a small fire lily on her back, nothing too difficult but she still took it very seriously.

“What do you mean, it’s the Fire Lord, of course I have to bow.” Imi tells her and Azula rolls her eyes.

“It’s just Zuko, he’s nothing special,” Azula says indifferently. Zuko makes a face before sitting in a chair on the side.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Fire Lord Zuko,” Imi tell Zuko and he smiles at her.

“The honor is all mine. It is not often I get to meet one of Azula’s friends.” Zuko starts. “Actually, how did you become friends with Azula?” He asks and she smiles brightly.

“I met her in the Asylum, at first she was a little reserved but one day she helped me with a particularly rude guard and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” Azula freezes at Imi’s answer. She could feel Zuko’s eyes on her as she takes a breath and recomposes herself before finishing up her set up process. She hadn’t expected Imi to say that, sure they were close but Azula didn’t think she was her best friend. She thought Imi would have friends all over, friends kinder and better suited for Imi than her.

“Your best friend huh?” He comments and Imi nods, a bright smile taking over her face.

“Of course. She’s the best person ever, don’t you think?” Imi says as she starts to walk over to the chair and got in position for the tattoo. She removed her top shirt, leaving her in her wrappings that covered her chest, just enough room for the Fire Lily to go on her shoulder blade. She lays down on the chair on her stomach and turns her head to look at Azula who had a frown on her face. “What’s wrong Zula?” Imi asks and Azula looks her, her features softening as she looked at her friend.

“It’s nothing, you ready for this?” She answers and in turn asks, and Imi nods.

“Of course, I’m so excited!” Imi answers and Azula smiles.

“Well then let’s get started,” Azula says. She wipes Imi’s back with the alcohol to sterilize it before placing the ink stamp on her back. The ink takes and there’s a nice outline of the flower on her back. The former princess used her firebending to sterilize the needle she planned on using before taking the first dip into the permanent ink.

Zuko watches as Azula begins to pierce Imi’s skin with the ink covered needle. The girl didn’t seem to be in too much pain though this was clearly not Imi’s first tattoo. The girl’s arms had a ton of them which seemed out of character for a girl as bubbly and happy as her. He paid attention to Azula’s every move as she traced every line perfectly, nothing out of place. It took over two hours for her to complete the piece of art, layer after layer until the ink was dark on Imi’s tan fair fire nation skin. Azula hadn’t even broken a sweat and quickly cleaned off the tattoo before rubbing some cream over the area. She allowed Imi look at the tattoo in the mirror and as soon as Imi saw it, she wrapped Azula in a tight hug again.

“Oh I love it so much Zula, it’s gorgeous! You never let me down, ” Azula stiffens for a second before relaxing into her hug. She could feel Zuko’s eyes on them which made her uncomfortable but she wasn’t going to let him ruin the moment.

“I’m glad you like it. You deserve nothing but the best.” Azula tells her. Azula begins cleaning up around her area before looking back at Zuko.

“Done enough snooping for today. Finally sure I’m not on a rampage,” Azula asks him and he sighs.

“Azula you know that’s not why I’m here, it’s never why I’m here, not anymore. I’m just making sure you’re okay.” Zuko tells her and Azula shakes her head.

“Sure zuzu, and I’m a flying Bison.” She responds sarcastically.

“You know I actually came to invite you back to the palace, we’re having a dinner in honor of the 10 year since the end of the war and I want you to be there.” He tells her and her guard instantly rises back up at the mention of the war.

“Why would I come to that. To be surrounded by people who hate me. I’ll pass,” She dismisses it quickly to keep her emotions in check. She really didn’t want to be having this conversation in front of Imi. Not that she was embarrassed but her past was not something she was proud of and didn’t need to be mentioned in front of the only friend she had.

“Fine Azula, i just thought I’d ask anyway. I actually think it’s time I’d head back to the inn before they send Aang looking for me.” He tells her and she scoffs.

“We wouldn’t want them getting the idea that I killed you now would we.” She mutters and Zuko sighs.

“It was a pleasure meeting you Imi,” He says with a small smile before moving towards the door. “I’ll be back in two months Azula and the offer still stands, you can come home to the palace any time you’d like.” He tells her firmly before leaving out of the door.

A ragged breath leaves Azula’s mouth as she turns to look at Imi. The girl has a sympathetic look on her face and it makes Azula uncomfortable. She could tell that Imi wants to say something but doesn’t know if she should.

“Go ahead, say it.” Azul tells her and Imi nods.

“I think you should go.” Imi rushes out and Azula’s eyes widened. Out of all of the things she could have said, she didn’t expect that.

“I can give you a thousand reasons why I shouldn’t go.” Azula tells her and Imi nods.

“I know but I can tell he really misses you. Sure it had been bad but it’ll never get better if you don’t try.” Imi tells her and she pauses. The girl had a point but why try, she knew that they’d always view her as a monster.

“Maybe so but I’d rather keep what I have than risk losing it for people who will never truly accept me.” Azula tells Imi, who sighs.

“I just think you shouldn't give up yet.” Imi tells her and moves to carefully put her top shirt back on. Once it’s on she looks at Azula again with a small smile. “Just think about it, okay,” She tells her and Azula nods.

“Okay.” Azula agrees, “Will you still come to help me with the shop tomorrow?” She asks and Imi nods.

“Of course! I’ll be here bright and early!” Imi smiles and Azula smiles back.

“Thank you Imi, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” Azula tell her, her voice lighter than it had been. She never expected to have a friend like Imi but she was so glad she did.

“See you tomorrow Zula!” Imi tells her before leaving out of the shop.

Azula begins to clean up the shop so she could close for the day, she couldn’t help but to think about what Imi said. Maybe she should take him up on his offer to visit the palace, maybe Imi was right and he truly missed her and wanted to get to know her. But she was fine where she was, she had Imi, she had her shop. What else did she need, she never had a true family so why did she need one now.

[angstymarshmallow]

Contrast (Beckett x MC)

[A little note: That Beckett scene still has me thinking and kind of inspired. While inspiration is here, here’s something light and fluffy that I wrote quickly with some early flirtation and light development].

[Words Counted: 1950]

The library is exceedingly quiet as Octavia pushes past its double doors. There’s a few floating books that require her attention and with a swift spell, she tickles their spine and tucks them under her arm. She settles in a spot near the back, although for the most part – it seems deserted, except for the short few she noticed on her way in.

She thinks its because it’s fall and most people are preparing to visit their relatives back home. It’s only a seldom few still finishing projects for the end of the semester and Octavia lets out a frustrated sigh as she stares meekly at hers’.

This is what she gets for starting her assignment last minute – truthfully, she can’t blame anyone but herself. 

Still, anything is better than staring at the list of spells she has to understand perfectly for her project to work. And after awhile, her mind wanders – past the notes spread hazardly in front of her, and even past the walls of the very library.

And before she knows it, her thoughts drift as they often do when she’s by herself. She uses her pen to trace idle sketches – small circles at first before they take shape. Before she realizes it, she can make out his familiar hair, framed around his face and studious bright eyes that gaze back at her. 

Beckett. 

Her hand freezes and she blinks down at the half drawing of him.

Ugh. Get him out of your head Brimstone, he doesn’t belong there - she tells herself sharply. But she can’t help it, she’s always been weak for people with pretty eyes. She traces idle hearts around his face until she hears a distinct clear of a throat.

The voice is so oddly familiar, so strangely close that she immediately glances up – not bothering to cover up her sketches before she meets the face of Beckett, in the flesh staring at her with half-curiosity reflecting inside his eyes.

“….Octavia?”

“Tavi,” she corrects automatically and then remembers the incriminating paper beneath her fingers. As his eyes drop to her hands, she hastily crushes the paper between her fingers – praying to the universe he hasn’t noticed. 

“Uh, h-hey Beckett.” Geez Tavi, be cool be cool. She’s going to have to scold herself later when she has the chance but right now, she refuses to make eye contact with him until he sits in front of her.

“What are you doing in the library?” He inclines his head at her, “to be honest out of everyone, I hadn’t expected seeing you here.”

She tries and fails to ignore the flicker of irritation at his words. She isn’t a bad student. She just has trouble following the rules sometimes. She tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. “…I may have decided to finish an assignment last minute…” she trails off, noticing the quirk of his eyebrows and the eyeful of disapproval that comes along with it. “But in my defense,” she rambles on quickly, “our professor did say we have until the end of the semester.”

He sighs, “and naturally you decided to wait until the last possible moment.”

She grins at him. “Naturally.”

“I can’t even say I’m surprised,” he shakes his head; his bright eyes reflecting his disappointment. 

“Hey,” Octavia points a finger at him. “We can’t all be like you,” she rolls her eyes. “Mr. Studious, mr. can-do-it-all.”

His mouth twitches into a smile despite her teasing tone. “And yet, I keep hoping I’ll rub off on you.” He teases back then freezes at the same time she does. “Uh-I mean,” his cheeks grow red and Octavia smirks as she glances up at him. “That is to say…you know, I thought I could influence you to be better.”

“I am doing better.” Her smirk softens into a smile, “I mean – I’m here aren’t I?” She throws out her hands to gesture behind her. “At my old school, I don’t think I was ever this invested in finishing something on time.”

He regains his composure, smiling a little at the wonder in her own tone. “Maybe all you needed was a change.”

She holds his eye when she answers. “Maybe,” she doesn’t realize at first that she’s leaning forward, “or maybe it’s just the people.” She adds softly.

She thinks there’s a moment that his eyes widen in surprise, and he opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. Then he suddenly stands straighter and clears his throat without looking directly at her.

Octavia bites her lower lip to stop herself from grinning. She likes flustering him, she thinks a lot of people don’t get that chance and she relishes it every time he glances away and blushes. Her mouth opens, intent on teasing him again – until his eyes drop to her notes and the balled up paper in front of them.

“Do you need help with your project or –” His hands drift to the paper and before she can stop him, he picks it up curiously. ���How many ideas have you tossed out already?”

“Lots,” she carefully answers, stretching her hand out for the piece of paper. “Give that back.” 

“No way,” he says shaking his head, unaware of her sudden change in mood. “Perhaps all you need is another pair of eyes, and it wouldn’t do any good if you asked anyone other than me –”

“Beckett,” she doesn’t stop her voice from going sharp. “Give that back.”

Beckett stops and suddenly he’s the one smirking at her as though he’s realized he’s onto something. “If this isn’t your project then what is it -?”

“Harrigton, I’m warning you.” Her voice has surrendered all pretense. She reaches over – nearly falling over the table in her desperate attempt to retrieve the piece of paper.

“Now you’ve gone and gotten me curious.” He playfully twists out of her outreached palms again before getting to his feet.

Her chest seizes in panic. Please don’t – “Beckett, wait –” Usually, nothing gets her embarrassed but the thought of him seeing it makes her think her heart will spring from her chest. She nearly trips over her own two feet and his eyes flash with concern until he swiftly realizes she’s okay.

He sidesteps her again. His hands quickly unfurl the sheet of paper and Octavia suddenly wants nothing better than the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at it in his hand as though not quite believing what he sees himself. Then his cheeks grow red, and Beckett can’t meet her gaze as he hands the paper back to her. “You’re quite good at drawing.” He comments off-handily.

She snatches it out of his hand, a little mortified at his words. Oh god. “Uh, thanks.” She holds her breath for a moment, tucking the paper into her sleeve. This is it. This is where he’ll finally have the upper hand. He’ll tease her endlessly about it, and she’ll never leave it down. And she’ll die alone - with only her familiar to keep her company.

Then he turns to her and her pulse jumps when she meets his eyes, feeling the weight of his stare. “I quite like it.” 

“You do?” Her throat goes suddenly dry and all the witty and snappy comebacks she can think of dissolves from the intensity in his eyes. He isn’t just Beckett, the boy that sometimes intimidates her with his strong opinions and knowledge. He isn’t quite the boy who irritates her either, instead he’s simply just a guy and they’re just two people suddenly very close to each other. 

“I do.” He repeats, his voice sounding huskier – not quite the Beckett she recognizes by the change of his tone. Maybe she’s had him pegged wrong this entire time.

Octavia grins, her familiar confidence taking root as she tilts her chin up to hold his stare. “You know, since you do like it. Maybe I could sketch you sometime.” She doesn’t need to say the word alone, but the word bursts forward into her mind, like a sudden rush of water that floods the rest of her thoughts empty.  And she can’t help but think by the sudden flash in his eyes that he’s thought of it too. 

Beckett seems to snap out of it at first, mumbling something so low that she doesn’t catch it before stepping aside. Instantly she feels a stab of disappointment. She shrugs it off though, she doesn’t know what came over her anyway. As fun as it is to tease Beckett, she doesn’t think anything will come of it. He’s too buttoned up and well – she’s anything but that.

“I – you - Octavia - your project,” he scrambles to get back to his seat, not quite meeting her gaze until she follows his lead.

She sits in front of him just as he regains his composure. 

He gestures to her books, picks up one at random and all too quickly, he’s the Beckett she remembers. His shoulders straighten, his brow creases and his eyes are all but rooted to the sight in front of him. He quirks an eyebrow at the long list of things she still needs to get done.  “I think you should be far more concerned about passing this semester,” he says brusquely, “than meeting up with other students.”

“Alright, fine Harrington. You win.” Octavia heaves a prolonged sigh. “I guess I should be thanking you for the help anyway.” Most people are already gone for the holidays and she’s begrudgingly grateful for his help.

She flickers her wrist to draw one of her books to her hand, and out of the corner of her eyes, she swears she spots a tiny hint of a smile poking from his lips. 

“Then let’s get started.”

-

[exactly13percent]

[MINI FIC] The Salted Earth

He first meets Riko on a Wednesday.

Ichirou pulls up to the front of the school in his expensive black car, and then out piles Neil, unconcerned. He is wearing Andrew’s jacket.

The weather is shitty and cold, rain drenching everything and making puddles that are too deep and frustrating. It is just as disagreeable as the short teen, with his smudged black eyeliner and the hunch of his shoulders against the rain. His black hair brushes his eyes, as spiked as the studs on his boots. He has metal everywhere; three piercings on his right ear, two at the bottom and a ring at the top. His left has two normal studs.

Seth was waiting for Neil—his friend, his lab partner, the annoying redhead that Seth somehow ended up adopting alongside Matt. Of course, Neil is essentially a foster kid, and his pseudo-family consists of the two most disagreeable brothers in town.

Neil has mentioned that Ichirou isn’t as bad as he looks. He has also said that Riko is just as bad as he looks, but worth the effort.

“Fucker,” Riko hisses, sharp and annoyed, flicking rain from his hoodie. Seth watches with vague interest. Maybe Riko feels the eyes on him, because he looks up, mouth set in a scowl and eyebrows drawn together. His gaze is stormy when he finds Seth looking at him.

Seth is curious. He is curious about this small, angry person and why Neil says Riko is worth the effort.

Riko just stares up at Seth and gives him the middle finger.

“We’re gonna be late,” Neil says.

Seth unsticks his feet from the ground and starts to walk down the covered sidewalk. He does not look back at Riko.

He might want to, though.

Second half of the year. It’s time for freshman to switch one of their classes out, and for Seth, that means he goes from having Art I to having Art II.

He didn’t want to take art, but a teacher saw him sketching out plans for his truck and suggested the class. It’s been a throwaway for him.

Riko comes in the first day of class, stomping, his chin in the air, and Seth almost laughs. Riko shoves a hand through his hair, fingernails black and chipped, and catches Seth’s eye.

He flips him off again. Seth is beginning to think it’s Riko’s way of saying hello.

They are supposed to practice shading. Seth ignores the assignment as usual, because he has a picture of a very nice engine in his notebook and he would rather explore the intricacies of how it fits together.

He is not paying attention; he has his chin in his hand, a distant tune in his head as his pencil scratches on the paper.

Seth is not prepared when Riko leans onto his desk, mirroring Seth’s pose, obsidian eyes roving the paper on the table. “Not bad. Cliché, though.”

“Your belt is from Hot Topic.”

Riko’s lip curls. “You know it’s from Hot Topic.”

This is how Riko and Seth become friends. Sort of.

“You fucker.”

Seth smirks. “That’s one of your favorite words, isn’t it?”

A kneaded eraser flies at Seth’s head. Riko beckons, demanding, and Seth rolls onto his side to reach for the gray lump. There’s grass stuck to it. He dusts it off before dropping it in Riko’s waiting hand.

Riko kicks Seth’s shin as he withdraws, a scowl on his lips. He absently rubs his left eye with his free hand; the eyeliner smudges even more. Seth ignores the kick; he has long since become resigned to being permanently bruised, there.

“How are you not done? It’s just a cup. All you have to do is shade it.”

Riko glares over the top of his sketchbook. “I didn’t study art, dickwad.”

“Right. Your expensive education focused on singing, instead. Gay.”

“And your poor ass didn’t have friends, so you scrawled on food stamps with a stubby pencil.”

This should be a fight. It is, in a way.

Except they’re safe.

That is the point, Seth thinks. It has always been the point. Riko can kick and hit as much as he wants, but Seth is six foot two and Riko is barely five-five. Seth has nine inches on Riko. It’s a gap that never fails to make him laugh, but always silently, because if Riko notices, his kick is sharper than it should be.

Anyway, their fighting is safe. They hit where it should hurt, but it doesn’t, because Seth passes Riko the eraser and Riko rubs Seth’s shin with his free hand, right in the spot where it bruises.

And this is safe.

Something has happened. Seth does not know what. All he knows is that Neil calls him, says Riko is on his way, and then Seth is unlocking his front door and turning his porch light on.

He lives in a trailer that will never move. It sits heavy on the ground, and there is a makeshift garage that he put together right next to it. His truck sits covered outside, because the garage is for his parts and his workstation and the chair that Riko sits in when they are there together.

Seth has seen Riko on bad days. Days when he comes to school with eyes redder than normal, and no one questions the smeared eyeliner because it’s always messy. When Riko is dead on his feet and hasn’t slept but refuses to sleep.

So, Seth turns the light on. He flicks the switch and then pulls on a sweatshirt that Riko said he found, but it was new and exactly Seth’s size and it had the school’s basketball team on the front.

He waits.

Riko comes like a storm. He always does—sometimes a tornado, whirling and whipping things around him in a frenzy. Other times he is a hurricane, roaring dully before a crescendo, then simmering into silence before bursting again and finally dissipating.

He is always something. They are always something, Seth thinks, because they were born on stormy nights and have led even stormier lives, and they don’t know how to function without the howl of the wind or the lash of rain.

Seth watches Riko come up the dirt path. He is wet, as if he fell into the shower fully clothed, expensive black shirt and tight jeans clinging to his frame. The black pools around his eyes, down his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth. He is an approaching tsunami, and Seth does not bother to lash himself to anything. He is a cyclone that spins against Riko’s winds, and he can handle whatever will come.

The path leads to the porch. Riko stands there, chest heaving, his hands curled and his body full of potential. Brimming with unused torment.

Seth looks down at him. Examines the water or tears on Riko’s face. The fragmented anger. Sharp-glass eyes. “You running?”

Riko doesn’t even speak. What leaves his mouth is a snarl, and he comes flying, whatever demons are at his back biting him into a frenzy.

Riko is the skies beating down on the earth, so many fists, flying blindly and always hitting something. Seth takes the torrent, the fury, the screams. He takes every bit of it and doesn’t move, because he rotates counter-clockwise to this, and like gears, they grind against one another until they manage to burn out.

The storm ends. It ends with the same growl that began it, only this time, Riko sags and Seth finally holds him, arms around an empty body.

“You should let me go,” Riko says, tired and dry, scorched from his own fire.

Seth just ignores him; pulls him back into the trailer, shoulder nudging the porch light off as he goes. It’s dark inside. Only the light of the moon comes through the windows, cold, nearly as distant as Riko.

“I never do what I should.”

There is an unimpressed arch to Riko’s eyebrow. There usually is.

“How long has it been?”

Seth presses his pencil into the paper of the sketchbook. Makes a deep mark at the curve of the hand he is drawing. It is Riko’s, hung over the edge of the bed, fingers curved as if holding something delicate.

Riko presses. He always does. “You were never really together. But it was longer than the breakup, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

His reply misses most of the usual venom. Seth should be angry, but—

—but. This is the one time he can’t. He can’t find it in him to be angry, because he saw it, and Allison did, and so did everyone else. Every fucking person.

“You are predictable,” Riko says, and it is more than Seth can deal with. More than usual, since he feels the sting of the you know as well as I do, and I don’t deserve this.

Seth is not sure whether he deserves it. He probably does, he thinks.

The sketchbook is tossed aside. Seth stares at the door. “Not now.”

Their code. Their escape. A way to pull back, because neither of them have had that luxury before, and it is important to have it now.

Riko slides off the bed. His socks thump quietly as he pads around Seth’s legs, and then he is standing over Seth, and then he is lowering himself to kneel there, like there is nothing unusual about straddling Seth’s legs and staring down at him.

“What are you doing?” Irritation. Seth itches to push him off. To yell, to explode, to do anything. To feel anything.

To feel anything about this. About being left. About leaving. About the entire goddamn world and the one lie he had to make himself normal. Fine.

Riko’s finger curves—curves, Seth thinks, and his fingers itch for his pencil—and then Riko tucks his hand under Seth’s chin. Patient. Like a cat, his eyes flickering sharply and finding something uncomfortable that Seth does not think he wants to know, much less say.

This is when Riko says, “Tell me to get off.”

“You’re being fucking stupid,” Seth says instead. He can’t lift his limbs. He is heavy. “I put up with your gay shit. Doesn’t mean you can climb all fucking over me.”

There’s that little pleased curve. That self-important smirk that Riko wears all the time, when he thinks he’s won an argument or when he makes Seth carry his lunch tray. When Riko gives Seth a gift of a leather jacket and says I won’t be seen with someone in such an abominable coat as the one you wear.

Riko digs his fingernails in. Biting; always biting, Seth knows, like a sharp wind or a cold rain. Stormy. This is just one more thing about Riko, and Seth accepted it before he knew how to name it. “Tell me no.”

“I’m not gay. Whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

I’m not wrong, Riko doesn’t say, but he tells Seth as much when he leans in. When his hands curl instead around the sides of Seth’s head, at the bars of the bed behind them. When Riko’s arm flexes a little, muscles taught and dragon tattoo shivering as he leans in. There are cherry blossom petals on his collarbone and Seth’s eyes are drawn to them, as always, counting like he counts the distance between them until—

—until Riko kisses him, paper-dry origami mouth that folds perfectly into every corner, and Seth’s fingers dig into the carpet because he does not want to throw Riko across the room. Because Seth is a ball of kinetic energy with nowhere to go, and Riko is taking it all from him like their lips are opposing charges. Like there is nothing particularly unique or groundbreaking about this, the meeting of two bodies that have always been in opposition and should never have met this way.

Riko leans back after a second, a little divot between his eyebrows, a defiant and angry glint to his black eyes. There is a hint of a sneer on his lips when he says, “I could be wrong, but I think that was weak.”

“I could bite you in half,” Seth says, because it is true, and he means it and Riko has a habit of imagining his is four times his size. Of raging like he is.

Riko just leans in, his smile curved and sharp, and says, “Please do.”

[builder051]

If it rains I’ll wear my coat

Bad scribble sketch, but this fic demanded a doodle.  Whoa Bessie (AU featuring Trans Steve and Veteran/Amputee Bucky).  

Contains PTSD and panic attacks.

Steve’s in the middle of talking to a client when somebody knocks on his office door.  He’s set to ignore it and hope whoever it is reads and heeds the in session sign, but after two raps, the knob rattles.  Fury stands in the doorway, his phone to his ear.

The client whips around in her seat.

“It’s ok,” Steve reassures her.  “He’s my boss.”  He gives Fury a pointed look.

“Uh-huh.  Yeah.  One sec.”  Fury holds the phone against his chest as he addresses Steve.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re busy, but I need to speak to you.  It’s urgent.”

“I apologize,” Steve tells the client as he gets to his feet.  “We’ll reschedule, and I’ll make sure you’re not billed for today.”

“Rogers.”  Fury beckons for him to follow, then resumes his call.  “Yeah, I’ll put you on speaker here in a second.”  He heads for an empty conference room across the hall and kicks away the door stop.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, his heart thrumming as his head works out a thousand different possible situations, most involving James, and none of them good.

“Ok, you’re strong in a crisis, but try not to freak out on me,” Fury starts.  He’s a good manager, and a good man, but it’s times like these when Steve’s forcibly reminded that his supervisor’s experience lies firmly in the realm of physical health.  He respects psychiatry and counseling, but well-intended slip-ups are unfortunately common.

Steve takes a breath, acutely aware of his heart rate continuing to rise.  “Ok.”

“Local PD gives me a courtesy call when they think they’re picking up one of ours,” Fury says, sitting on the edge of the conference table.  “And, uh, today they picked up yours.”

“What?”

“Barnes was wandering around, having a breakdown, and someone called the cops.  They have protocols, but any additional insight helps.  And usually they try to follow our guidance.”

“Oh god.”  Steve’s hand instinctively comes over his mouth.  “Oh shit.”

James is on some street corner falling apart, and it’s entirely Steve’s fault.  He’s gotten lazy and lax, and now there’s a price to be paid.  Guilt hits him like a wallop to the stomach.

They stayed up too late last night.  Steve should’ve put his foot down at midnight, but something about The Rocky Horror Picture Show jogged James’s memory and he started reminiscing about college.  After a year of watching him try and fail to access the details of anything before Afghanistan, Steve couldn’t bring himself to stop him.

Then chatting turned to love-making, which turned to drowsing, which turned to nightmarish thrashing, and the spell had broken at 4:30.  They’d gone to watch TV again, this time in silence.

When Steve had set coffee and a paper cup of pills on the side table and given him a kiss on the forehead, James had looked at him and smiled before glazing over again and returning his attention to Nova.  Steve could claim sleep deprivation or excessive hope and trust, but they’re just excuses.  He should’ve stayed five extra minutes and made sure James took his meds and started the morning right.  But he hadn’t.  He’d left.

“Rogers?”  Fury raises his brows at Steve while he presses buttons on his phone.  “I got Officer Coulson on the line.  He’s a good dude.  We used to work together.”

“Hello?” A voice says from the other end of the line.

They’re on speaker.  Steve needs to pull himself together.  “Yes, hello.  This is Steve Rogers.”

“Ok, Mr. Rogers,” Coulson says.  “We’re responding to call about an individual in distress.  He’s conscious and responsive, but not able to communicate.  Behaving violently toward officers, but scared, and maybe in pain.”

“Yeah, that’s,” Steve starts.  “He does that.  He has PTSD.  He dissociates.”

“We called for an ambulance,” Coulson continues.  “It’s obvious he’s having a medical episode, but I don’t think he’ll respond any better to that—”

“Yeah, he definitely won’t.”  Steve jams his hands into his pockets, closing his fist around his keys.  “I can come get him.”

“Ok, sure.”  Coulson gives him the cross streets.

It’s around the corner from the VA, near the block of apartments where James had lived for a few months when he first returned to civilian life.  “Give me ten minutes,” Steve says.

“Sure,” Coulson replies.  “Just, do you have any form of ID for him?  Nick’s pretty sure it’s James Barnes from the description, but, like I said, he’s not talking to us.”

“Yeah, um…”  If James is that far gone, who knows if he has his phone or his wallet.  Steve wonders if James’s entry at the top of his list of contacts will count.

Fury sets his phone down on the table and quickly wakes the laptop on the podium in the corner.  He holds up one finger as he taps a few keys.  “Copy of his VA ID card is on the printer now.”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says.  He mouths thank you to Fury.

“And you’re a family member?”  Coulson presses.  “I’m sorry, I have to ask.  Just for everybody’s safety.”

They’re close to two decades into the 21st century.  Steve shouldn’t be embarrassed to call their relationship what it is.  But even then, finding the right word is difficult.  He’s thought about it before, how challenging it is to sum up what James is to him, and he still hasn’t come to a good conclusion.  There’s no time to think now, though, so he says the simplest thing.  “He’s my partner.”  Then he adds, “I’m his emergency contact,” so there’s no space for argument.

Steve sees Fury pulling up James’s patient profile on the screen, too, the one that shows his relatives.  Steve tops the list, even though nothing binds them together but emotion.  One of the cases where water collects enough sediment and dissolved minerals to be thicker than blood.

“On the printer too.”  Fury points to the screen.  Steve nods.

“Good deal,” Coulson says.  “See you soon.”

“Ok.  Yes.  Thank you.”  Steve’s already halfway to the door before Fury returns to the table to end the call.  He can hear Coulson murmuring through the static as he fumbles with his own phone.  Steve’s coming, ok, Jimmy?  Steve Rogers.  It’s the wrong nickname.  But the right sentiment.

“Take the rest of the day,” Fury says, keeping pace as Steve jogs down the corridor to grab the documents from the office hub.  “I’ll clear your schedule.”

“Thank you.”  Steve realizes he’s not breathing, and sucks in a quick lungful.  “I’m sorry about this.”  The words tumble out, his body desperate to shed some of the stress so he can deal with the more pressing issues at hand.  “I probably could’ve prevented it.”

“Nobody sees emergencies coming.”  Fury claps him on the shoulder and holds the side door open for Steve.  “And this is well within the definition of what your sick time will cover.”

Steve’s timecard is the last thing on his mind.  “Thanks,” he says again.

“Hey.”  Fury gives him a meaningful look with his real eye while the glass one seems to stare through Steve.  “Call me if you’re gonna be out tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees as he walks backward toward his car.  “I will.”

Fury nods and gives him a smile.

***

The lights of the police cars are visible halfway down the block, but at least there aren’t any sirens to add to what has to already be an overwhelming amount of sensory input.  Steve pulls up to the curb and jumps out, papers shaking in his hands.

James is on his knees with his head resting on the bench at the bus stop.  His hand is fisted in his hair, and what’s visible of his face is ghostly pale.

“Are you Steve?”  An officer rushes up to meet him, interrupting his beeline.

“Yeah.”  Steve pushes the documents at him, trying to swallow his guilt and borderline panic and drudge up a calm frame of mind.

“Phil Coulson,” the officer says.  “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yeah.”  Steve can’t concentrate on him, though.  James makes an uncomfortable sound, and Steve’s stomach twists in response.  He notices the ambulance parked behind the cop cars, EMTs standing nearby.  “I think if I can just get him home…”  Plans are good, for everyone involved.  “He has a TBI.  Post-traumatic stress, a seizure disorder,” Steve explains.  “I’m pretty sure he forgot his meds this morning.”

It’s not James’s fault that he forgot.  It’s Steve’s fault. 

James groans again and mumbles something.  He blinks hard, but doesn’t look up from the bench’s chipped paint.

“Sure, we’ll stand by,” Coulson says.

Steve runs the last few steps to James’s side, but slows as he lowers himself into a squat.  “Hey, Buck.  Hey.  It’s me, ok?  It’s Steve.”

“Hm.”  James moves his jaw around, but no other sounds come out.

“Can you look at me?”  Steve hovers his hand over James’s arm.  He wants to jump straight to hugging him, but it’s better to go slow.  “I’m gonna touch your shoulder, just letting you know I’m here.”

James is too far gone to process the warning, and he lashes out as soon as Steve’s palm makes contact with his sleeve.  He catches a snag in his hair, and Steve can see strands of it clinging in the webbing between his fingers.  There’s no power behind the blow.  It glances off Steve’s chest, and he uses the opportunity to sandwich James’s hand between his own.

Coulson moves in Steve’s peripheral vision.  “We’re good.  It’s ok,” he tells the officer.  Then he gently squeezes James’s hand.  “You’re home.  Let’s bring you back, ok?”

James blinks again.  He turns his head a fraction of an inch so he can squint sideways at Steve.  There’s a second of recognition, then glassy dizziness again.  He swallows.  “I…  I don’t…” he mumbles.

“It’s ok, Buck.  You’re in DC.  It’s 2018.  It’s getting cold out.”  Steve thinks frantically of other sensory absolutes to point out, ones that won’t be further triggering.

“What’re you…?”  James shakes his head.  It starts slow, then the movement becomes a tremor, shaking his cheeks and his lips.  “You gotta…stop the fucking car…you’re gonna…hit another one…”  His voice dies with a wet sound.

“Ok, ok, Buck?  Look at me.”  But it’s no use.  He’s either going to throw up or start seizing.  James lunges away from the bench, but Steve still has his hand, and he snaps back like a stretched rubber band.  He face-plants into Steve’s chest just as he starts to gag.

Steve couldn’t care less about the mess or the dull ache from the impact of James’s forehead against his sternum.  All that matters is the twitch of tension in James’s hand as his fingers slowly interlace with Steve’s.

“Alright.  There you go.  It’s ok,” Steve murmurs.  He rubs James’s back until he’s done coughing.  “You’re safe.  I got you.”

James leans into him, pressing his face and the front of his neck and his shoulders against Steve’s body.  Steve returns the embrace, dipping his head till his nose brushes James’s back.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually adrenaline wears off, and Steve’s knees ache from being jammed against the cold pavement.  He strokes James’s hair and whispers, “How about we go home?”

James takes a breath.  He’s not up to talking.  Steve still gets the meaning.  He’s heavy and limp like an overcooked noodle, but at least now he’s pliant.

“Ok.  Good.”  Steve plants his feet and slowly straightens his legs, heaving James up with him.  Coulson appears at his elbow, ready to help, but Steve warns him off.  “Don’t.  I got him.”  He pulls James’s arm over his shoulders.  “Sorry.  He just—”

“Isn’t good with strangers,” the officer finishes.  “I get it.”  He looks down at the splatter of sick on Steve’s jeans.  “You need medical, or anything?”

“No, it’s ok, really.”  Steve struggles to free his keys from his pocket.  “But can you help me unlock the car?”

Coulson holds the passenger side open while Steve settles James in the seat.  “Thank you,” he sighs.  “I’m really sorry about all this.”  Steve gently shuts the door and rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand.  “We’ve usually got things better under control.”

“Hey, no worries.  Everybody’s safe, and that’s what really matters.”  The officer gives Steve the keys back, then raises his hand in farewell and heads for his cruiser.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes.  “I guess so.”

***

He drives below the speed limit, then shuffles James across the parking lot and into the apartment.  The coffee and pills from this morning are still on the table beside the couch, but they don’t get that far before James is done with being vertical.

“Whoa.  Ok.”  Steve catches him around the waist before he hits the floor and slowly lowers him the rest of the way.  James gets a fistful of Steve’s collar, yanking his neckline down a few inches and begging Steve to hold him with everything but actual words.

Steve whispers to him and rubs his shoulders and matches his breathing to James’s, imagining the puffs of warmth on his chest feeding him with a little strength that he can foster and pass back to James on the next exhale.

It works for a while, but James starts to shake again.  He makes a humming noise, and Steve feels dampness on his shirt.  At first he thinks James is sick again, but when he pulls his head back to look down, he realizes James is crying.

Tears aren’t bad.  Steve tells that to his clients all the time.  Sometimes they’re necessary.  Emotional purging works very much in the same way as its physical counterpart: sometimes things just need to come up.

“It’s ok,” Steve soothes.  “It’s ok.  You’re ok.”

James pauses sniveling to listen to Steve’s voice, but then he sobs again, air gusting from his lips and making the wetness cold against Steve’s skin.  The vomit on his leg is cold too.  But the tears that run from the corners of his own eyes are hot.  He’d hug James all day and into the night, but he also can’t take this anymore.  The physical weight of him is too much on top of the weight of the responsibility Steve feels for him.

“Let’s get you to bed, alright?”  Steve manhandles James into the bedroom as gently as he can, then unlaces his shoes and tucks him in.  He catches a teardrop with his thumb and kisses James’s stubbly cheek, promising he’ll only be gone a minute.

It takes him longer, though.  Steve stops in the hallway and fights to keep his face from crumpling.  One deviation from routine, one skipped dose, and this is already where they’re at.

It might just be a bad day.  James had had a rough night.  Maybe if he’d slept, he’d be fine.  Or if it was warmer outside.  If Steve had just stayed and watched him swallow his pills, this wouldn’t have happened.

Or maybe if Steve wasn’t always coming up behind him, he’d pick up some more self-sufficiency.  No matter how he slices it, it’s his fault.  The pressure of tears yet unshed makes Steve’s head ache, but he’ll take the pain if it saves him from falling apart.

He strips out of his jeans in the guest bathroom and leaves them in the tub, then pads down the hall in his underwear.  He grabs James’s meds and fills a glass with water.  He digs crackers out of the cupboard, then looks over the spread.  Steve’s about to take it all back to the bedroom when he changes his mind and opens the drawer of pill bottles.

The benzos don’t do much for James’s sleep patterns, so he doesn’t take them.  Occasional insomnia is a joke of a diagnosis anyway; the sleeplessness is hardly a problem compared to the nightmares that cause it.  

He doesn’t like pills that make a fuzz his head, he’d told Steve.  But James is already in a fuzz.  What he needs now is rest.  Steve does too, and he knows he won’t get any if he spends the next couple hours with his heart breaking into smaller and smaller pieces as he listens to James cry.  

There are already four medications in the paper cup, a motley collection of capsules and tablets.  Steve can add one more.  James probably won’t even notice.

***

“Here, let’s take your meds,” Steve says, helping him sit up.  It’s not a lie.  They’re all James’s meds.

James complies without question, even shoving against the mattress with his shaking arm so Steve doesn’t have to do all the work.  He knocks back the pills and swallows a few times, squinting as if it hurts.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve whispers.

James slumps back toward the pillow, reaching for Steve’s hand.  “Steve,” he whispers, drawing out the name until it’s just a breath.

“Yeah.  I’m here.”  Steve forces a smile.  He perches on the edge of the mattress and watches James’s eyes drift shut.

Once he’s breathing evenly, Steve changes clothes and retreats to the kitchen.  He downs a dose of ibuprofen and shovels cold leftovers into his mouth until his throat’s too tight to swallow.  He drops his fork and folds his arms on the table.  He pushes his chair out, then buries his face in his sleeves, wondering if he’s any more put-together than James was when he was breaking down at the bus stop.  Tears aren’t bad, Steve thinks to himself.  He repeats it over a few times, just to be sure he doesn’t forget.

It’s a miracle that logic kicks back in once the weeping tapers off.  Or maybe it’s just his protective instinct playing up again.  Steve peeks in on James, and once he’s sure he’s alright for the time being, he starts a load of wash and does the dishes.

He wanted a few hours of quiet, needed it, in fact, but now it’s too quiet.  Steve opens his laptop and fires up Pandora, but after five minutes he’s out of skips. and still restless.  He calls Sam and puts him on speaker.

“Hey,” Sam greets him.  “I heard what happened.  How’s he doing?”

“He’s ok,” Steve says.  “He just dissociated.  Panicked.  Got sick.”  The need to act, to keep cleaning up, gnaws at him.  He opens a new browser and clicks through the process to order James a medic alert necklace.  “He’s asleep now.”

“Well, that’s good,” Sam says.  “I mean, that he’s getting through it.  And no seizure this time.”

“Yeah, no seizure.”  Steve stares at the computer screen, wondering how on earth this is going to help.  He’s treating James like a stray dog he’s deciding to keep for his own.  Or throwing him back to the Army, with his name on a tag around his neck.  Just with Steve’s phone number instead of a serial.

“But…it’s all my fault, Sam,” Steve whispers.  Not just today.  Everything.  James had joined the Army for Steve.  To support him.  Then, after they’d fought about it, to get away from him.  

And now Steve’s doing the same thing.  Escaping. Slipping drugs to his medically fragile significant other when he needs a break to cry.  At least James had only risked his own life when he’d signed on.  It was gallant.  Steve feels disgusting by comparison.

“Steve.  Hey.  I’m not your kind of therapist, but I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”  Sam pauses.  “Mistaken beliefs?  Is that what they’re called?  You know I don’t always pay attention in seminars.”

Steve chuckles.  “That’s right, actually.  You’d probably make a better counselor than I would right now.”

“I’ll drop off my resumé,” Sam laughs.  “But I’m serious.  We spend so much time on our patients, our clients.  It’s hard when it’s a loved one.  And it makes it even harder when you realize your limits.”

“I just ordered him a dog tag,” Steve blurts out.  It’s suddenly hilarious instead of sad, and it makes him question his sanity a little.

“That’s a good thing.  What does it say?  ‘If lost, return to Steve Rogers’?”

“Just about.”  Steve sighs and wipes his eyes.  “I just…  I really love him, Sam.  I don’t want to hurt him.  I don’t want him to hurt.  At all.  Ever.”

“You’re doing good,” Sam says firmly.  “Not everything turns out perfect, but overall, you’re doing good.”

“Hm.”  Steve’s still not entirely convinced, but Sam’s words are reassuring.

“Do you want to order a pizza?”

“What?”  Steve wonders if he heard right.

“Since I’m applying for everybody’s job, I thought I’d add pizza delivery boy to the list.  And I didn’t want to straight-up ask if you wanted company.  Since I’m not that kind of therapist.”  Steve can practically see his friend’s grin.

“Yeah,” Steve says.  “I could use some pizza.  And company.  We could use company.”

“Alright.  See you in 20?”

“Sure.”  Steve closes his laptop.  “Sounds good.”

[waltzshouldbewriting]

Nemesis (Ghostmind Story 4)

By JD Jackson

First thing first, yes we are all fine.

That being said, you are all probably wondering the reason behind my recent online activities. Well, it all started about two AM when Dan was out helping investigate some weird gas thing.

It started for me when he barged into my room at 2:45 looking like a truck ran him over, minus the injury part.

“What’s wrong?” Was the first thing out of my mouth before my instincts finally kicked in. “Don’t answer that.” I ran from my computer (yes I was still up, sue me) to my bed, where I brushed off the papers I had all over it. I grabbed my weighted blanket, ordered Dan to lie down, and told him to relax.

“You need music - no you don’t,” I said, running through what Dan usually needs while in shutdown mode. I turned off my writing playlist, dimmed the lights, and fetched him a bottle of water.

Aaliyah called me just as I was about to call her.

“Is Dan at your place?” Aaliyah asked. She sounded half-asleep.

“Yes,” I replied, balancing the phone with my computer as I walked out to the living room. “He’s completely zoned. Do you know what happened?”

“Someone attacked him.”

“What?”

My parents were already in the living room, both on the phone. I plopped on the floor and opened up a window on my laptop.

“Let me find a picture,” I said. “See what I can find out.”

I put the phone down, already switching to research mode.

I found a video of the attack in half a minute. My mom handed me a notebook as I wrote and sketched what I saw.

Young. Our age? Design on shirt. One-way fight. Obvious training. Wasn’t seeking to kill, only hurt.

Questions began to form, and that’s when I started with the weird posting on social media.

Does anyone recognize his style of fighting?

Any idea on his symbol?

Anyone recognize him?

Another video came up, this one with a clear picture of the other person’s face. I snapped a screenshot and did a reverse image search just as a few responses came back in.

His fighting is very mixed. Can’t identify any one style.

If I had to guess, he had some jujutsu training mixed in with it.

I found his Facebook page, but it only listed what was definitely a false age and location, and a friends list. So I started searching for his friends.

That logo reminds me of Divinity White’s logo when she was Savage Serpent.

More googling, and I started connecting the dots. A photo on a friend’s timeline here, a jujutsu studio website from his hometown here.

After about thirty minutes, two police officers came to check on Dan. After some convincing from my parents, Dan came out to meet them.

“Any idea who attacked me?” Dan asked. His voice sounded flat, uninterested, but to me that just meant he was still in shutdown.

Police officers don’t know how to deal with him. And they haven’t had to yet, I realized. Not with his device. Which was still on his arm, shattered.

“Not yet,” one of the police officers responded.

“I know,” I offered. “His name is Jason White. He is sixteen years old, trained at an old rundown jujutsu studio in his hometown. He’s the son of Divinity White AKA Savage Serpent. Ms White was a member of the FOCOPI, back twenty years ago. She quit after a bad injury, and eventually married and became a lawyer. Her old secret identity was found at two years ago, shortly after which she and her husband were murdered by someone orphaned by the FOCOPI, which then left Jason orphaned. He moved in with his aunt, who still lives near the FOCOPI headquarters. And there’s an ongoing investigation to see if his aunt is the person behind the new FOCOPI member Avidizer.”

“FOCOPI may be evil, but they don’t involve kids,” one of the police officers said.

“Unless,” I replied. “The kid takes it upon himself to be involved. Jason has had two amber alerts since moving in with his aunt, but resolved quickly. One of the kids in his school with a less secure account seems to think he ran away.”

The other police officer raised an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is the kid has a role model whose in FOCOPI, which is motive. And he likely tried more dangerous initiation tactics by himself.”

“Until FOCOPI gave in and gave him a safer mission,” I concluded. “Taking on Ghostmind, a superhero with no physical skill.”

“I’ll admit, it makes sense,” the first police officer said. She looked at my parents. “Your child is a good researcher.”

My dad chuckled. “It’s probably all that time they spend researching for that novel.”

“We’ll look deeper into what you’ve found, but we’ll still stay open to other explanations- though this one sounds solid.” The police officer looked at me. “Ever think of getting a job in criminal investigations?”

I made a face and shook my head. “Not creative enough for me.”

The next hour or so, police came and went from my house. I showed them how I did my research and the photos I’d found. Those who had time to react were impressed.

Dan’s parents came over, and the whole Davis Family stayed the night. Then, just a little after sunrise, it was time to start the next day.

Dan was already excused from school, and his mom called in with a family emergency, but the rest of us had to trot on to work and school. Not that I didn’t try to stay with him, but I was close to failing in two classes (like that mattered in the moment) and neither Dan nor my dad wanted me to stay.

So I went to school, despite having no sleep. And slept through most of my classes. When I got home, Dan and his mother were passed out in my room, so I took a nap on the couch.

The rest of the day was spent recovering from that morning. My mom forced us all to eat, even with no appetite. I spent the evening scrolling Tumblr while Dan played video games on his phone and his mother conversed with my parents.

She wanted to head home, but Dan was feeling sick from anxiety and was wary of riding in a car. Neither of them like the house (we are a messy family), and Dan complained once or twice that he should’ve walked the extra ten minutes back to his place initially. I did the best to keep the area clean, but it felt hopeless. Claudia and Aaliyah both showed up after dinner, and Aaliyah brought a tool kit to work on Dan’s device.

That night I didn’t stay up until 2 AM, but I still found myself woken up with a crash around the same time. I was sleeping on the couch, Claudia in one of the recliners, and Aaliyah had moved downstairs to work.

“What was that?” Claudia asked, sitting up.

“I don’t know,” I replied.

My parents creeped out of their room, my mom with a flashlight and my dad with a bat.

“Did you hear that?” My mom asked.

Claudia and I both nodded.

“Get Dan and go downstairs,” my dad barked.

“Why?” Claudia asked. “There’s police officers-“

“Do it.”

Dan was already awake, and he barely complained about the woody smell as we descended the stairs. I led them to a corner, and Aaliyah and Claudia moved a table to cover us.

Dan sighed and leaned his head against the cold wall, his breath speeding up. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest.

“It’s just a precaution,” Claudia whispered. “There’s no reason to panic.”

“I know,” I answered. “Doesn’t mean I can stop.”

“Shhh,” Dan hissed. “Stop talking so loud.”

Something thumped, startling me and Claudia.

“Aaliyah, how long is the repair going to take?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“Too long,” Aaliyah said.

“That’s not an answer!”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s not a good idea.”

I sighed. “It would make me feel better if we had a plan.”

“It’s four to one,” Claudia stated. “We could take him.”

“This is a horrible idea!” Aaliyah said.

Dan shook his head. “He’s too good of a fighter.”

“It’s four to one,” I repeated.

“I’m sure he’s trained for that,” Dan replied. “And none of us has.”

“I know a thing or two about strategy.” I looked around the room. “Now if I could only think clearly...” Closing my eyes, I did my best to concentrate. Just pretend it’s a scene in a novel.

“We have only one entrance,” I reasoned. “Umm, let’s see - we could take him by surprise - maybe, uh, nevermind, that wouldn’t work.” I continued to ramble, but slowly an idea began forming. “I think I have a plan. We need a net.”

It wasn’t hard. Claudia and I were able to sew a few stronger pieces of cloth together, and then I found small bolts in my dad’s work box that we tied to the end. Claudia took the net as we moved into position.

Claudia and I pressed our bodies against the wall next to the stairs just as the door creaked open. My heart was pounding even harder, but I forced myself to breathe slowly and softly. I listened as an unfamiliar gate walked down the stairs, ignoring the shaky feeling through my limbs.

Then Jason White stepped into the room, and me and Claudia tackled him with the net.

The good news is that we caught him by surprise. But, as Aaliyah expected, it didn’t take long for him to react. He landed an elbow into my stomach, and I stumbled backwards as pain flared. I hit the wall and collapsed, muttering a few of my favorite curse words under my breath.

Claudia recovered. Apparently, cheerleaders have high pain tolerance (which I do not, hence me lying on the floor in pain at this moment in time). She threw herself onto White and managed to wrap the net around his face in a smooth motion. It wasn’t enough to bring him down, but Claudia grabbed the edges and yanked, bringing White’s head down and making him stumble. Claudia elbowed him in the side of the head, knocking him into the wall, while he still struggled to get the net off. She kneed him in the stomach, and he punched her in the face in defense, making her stumble backwards.

White managed to toss the net off. Aaliyah had yet to finish her repairs.

I took a deep breath in, going through a quick grounding exercise. It made the pain worse, but I found I could focus. Now, all I needed was a stroke of genius.

And, impossibly, I had one.

I pushed myself up and forced myself to move to the other side of the room. White, who was still focusing on Claudia, turned my way just as I reached my target - a basket of spray paint. I grabbed a bottle, popped the lid, and sprayed it right into White’s eyes. It didn’t blind him as I’d hoped, but he did stumble backwards with a nasty wince.

Sometime during that sequence of events, Aaliyah managed to fix Dan’s device. Which was good, because a second later White punched me in the face and I went down.

“He has some type of device on his waist!” Dan called.

“What?” White asked, spinning around. He nervously patted his belt. “No I don’t!”

“A little protective of your doodad?” I asked, forcing myself up onto my knees despite the massive face ache (is that a thing?) spreading from my jaw.

Claudia, who, despite a bloody nose and a black eye, was sneaking around the side of White, took the hint. She launched forward, grabbing the device with amazing reflexes, and tossed it at Aaliyah. Aaliyah caught it, and held her wrench up to it like a knife to a throat.

White halted.

“You like this, don’t you?” Aaliyah asked. “It would be a shame if something... happened to it. But I figure if I’m smart enough to invent, I’m probably smart enough to destroy. After all, it’s supposed to be easier, right?”

White scowled. “What do you want?”

“For one, stop punching my friends. In fact, if you leave now, in the morning I’ll leave this somewhere for you to find.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“You don’t have much choice, do you?”

White huffed. “If you don’t return it, you’ll pay.” Then he turned on his heels and left.

Later that day, someone informed us that White used that device frequently to sneak pass police officers and guards. None of us know what happened to the device, since Aaliyah turned it over to the SGU.

And honestly, none of us care.

All I know is that two days later and Dan is still in panic mode and my cheek still hurts.

[murkrees]

art style; huang renjun ft. dream

summary: “i’m not stalking you, exactly, it’s just that you accidentally put my sketchbook in your bag and i’m waiting for a good moment to steal it back before you see the drawings of you i did in it.” based on this post.

pairing: renjun x reader

genre: high school! au

Renjun thumbed through the pages of his sketchbook, flipping through various sketches of you until he arrived at a blank page. Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, he gnawed at his lip in concentration as dark streaks started to appear on the pages. His hand flowed across the page, the rough outline of you starting to take shape. He continued on, looking up from his hunched position once in a while for reference even though he had drew you so many times by this point. The morning light streaming through the classroom window was hitting you perfectly, your hair framing your face in a way that made Renjun’s heart beat just a little bit faster. His cheeks pinked slightly, wondering what it would be like to run his hands through them -

“Renjun!” He startled, breaking out of his thoughts. Renjun’s wide eyes met his teacher’s by the board, raising an eyebrow at him in a questioning manner, “Would you bother explaining the differences between an oligotrophic, mesotrophic and eutrophic lake, please?”

“U-Uh…” he straightened in his chair, shifting the notebook closer to his body as he squinted at the whiteboard, “An oligotrophic lake has low nutrient concentration and organism growth, a eutrophic lake has high nutrient concentration and organism growth while mesotrophic lakes fall in the middle?”

“Correct,” his teacher narrowed her eyes, “Even though you may understand the material, Renjun, it would be beneficial if you kept your focus during classtime. Now sit with your partners, everyone – we’ll spend the rest of the time discussing our project.”

Renjun sighed in relief. His back slumped once more before he locked eyes with you from the other side of the classroom. You had stood up, grabbing your books and bags before making your way to him. He blushed in embarrassment, remembering that he had just zoned out in front of you, his partner and longtime crush.

“Morning!” You slid into the seat next to him, a bright smile on your face despite the early hours of the day. He slammed his sketchbook shut, hiding it behind the messy pile of papers and books strewn about on his desk before giving you a shy smile back.

“You’re cheery today,” he commented, toying with the corners of his biology notebook. You shrugged.

“Woke up on the right side of bed, I guess. I have a feeling something good’s going to happen today,” you turned to face him, “So, how are we going to make this self-sustaining terrarium?”

The class whizzed by, the both of you caught up in talking about the project. Papers were scribbled on and discarded, ideas crossed out and jotted down. The supposedly boring class of biology became more exciting as the both of you joked around and debated, planning on times to work on the project and who was going to keep and look after it. He couldn’t stop staring at you at times, a faint pink blush on his cheeks and a stupid smile on his face. Sure, he had drawn you a few times and more than his fair share of decent conversations, but the thought of being this close with you for the rest of the semester sent his heart fluttering a tad bit faster.

Before you knew it, the bell rung. Students were already packing their bags, ignoring the teacher up front reminding them of the project’s due date. Renjun himself was in no rush to stand up, wrapping up the conversation he had with you.

“What class do you have next, (Y/N)?” He asked.

“Oh, algebra,” you shrugged, before freezing, eyes wide in shock, “Oh, algebra! The test!”

You sprang out of your seat, hurriedly shoving all your papers inside and grabbing all your books. Renjun watched with an amused eye as you waved goodbye at him, rushing out of class in order to spare a few minutes of studying. He looked down to his lap, biting his lip as he remembered the easy flow of conversation you two shared and how there were going to be more to come. One thing was for sure – biology was quickly turning to be his favorite subject.

Renjun sighed, head resting against his propped elbow. His hand cupped his cheek, right hand absentmindedly doodling a sleeping moomin on the pages of his book. His chemistry teacher ranted on about acids and bases, but it seemed like his brain had just upped and left, taking his interest in the subject with it. Jaemin sat next to him, looking at the teacher simply because he didn’t have anything else to stare at while twirling his pen absentmindedly in his hand. Struck with a sudden urge to draw you, he reached down to his bag and rifled around for the familiar leather cover of his sketchbook, failing to find it for the first time.

He straightened in his seat. Leaning fully to the side, he started searching for it with both hands. He took out all of his notebooks and large objects, staring at the now empty bag with shocked eyes and a panic-frenzied heart. No, no – this sort of thing only happens in movies, right? He groaned out loud (earning a few startled looks from his classmates) and let his body flop, banging his head against the table as he buried in in his arms. The one thing you weren’t supposed to see (ever) was now in your possession, tucked snugly in your backpack.

Something poked his arm. Renjun let out another small moan, wordlessly letting his arms drop uselessly to his sides as he turned his head to face a worried-looking Jaemin. He stopped poking the older with his pen, pulling it away from his arm and tapping it against the table unconsciously.

“You okay, bro?” Renjun closed his eyes and whined, burying his face in his arms once more before abruptly straightening and throwing his head back. He mussed his hair up in frustration.

“She has my sketchbook,” Jaemin’s brows only furrowed deeper, “The black one. She has it.”

“And?”

“You don’t understand, Jaemin,” he put both hands on the boy’s shoulders, shaking him, “She has my sketchbook. I’m going to die.”

Jaemin’s lip formed an ‘o’ of understanding. Renjun bemoaned his fate, glancing at the wall clock. Seven more minutes until class ends – it was too late to ask for a bathroom slip now. He would just have to wait until the bell rung before he had any chances of getting his precious sketchbook back. That was all Renjun had to do; wait.

Renjun couldn’t wait. He had zero patience at all, if any, which explained why it was his third time in the hallway right now when they were barely half an hour into class. His bathroom pass was slung over his neck like the picture of a model student, and he walked extremely slowly to the bathroom on the other side of the building, making sure to slow down even more when he passed by the physics classroom.

He spotted your figure, heart feeling a little lighter when he saw you diligent in your own work instead of rifling through his sketchbook. Of course, that was what you had been doing this whole time. His eyes zeroed in on your backpack, unzipped and filled to the brim with books and papers. He sighed in relief. At least with the amount of stuff piled in there, the chances of you actually noticing his sketchbook were slimmer than ever.

Instead, he focused on the way you looked up and down from the board to your work, biting your lip in concentration as you pondered over calculations. He was entranced with the way your hand scribbled across the page, listening to the teacher explain the workings of a rollercoaster intently. He was confused over how you sent his heart skipping a beat over doing normal, mundane things; tasks you probably didn’t even think twice about doing. He stopped questioning it a long time ago, instead letting his feelings flow through lead to paper.

You looked up from your book, eyes catching his in a heartbeat. You lit up, sending him a small, discreet wave. He stiffened, cheeks flushing like a deer caught in headlights. Shyly, he brought his own hand up in greeting, his awkwardness earning him a small laugh from you.

He saw you stop abruptly, looking up before bowing your head in shame and readjusting yourself in your seat. Confused, he looked up himself to see the angry face of the physics teacher, glaring daggers at him through the glass window of the door. Renjun gulped, taking a step back before spinning on his heel and turning tail out of there before the teacher could storm out and give him the scolding of his life.

His cheeks were still tinted a deep red by the time he reached his language arts class, both from the embarrassment of being caught by the teacher and the giddiness of being noticed by you. He bowed to the teacher mindlessly as he entered, putting his bathroom pass on the door handle. She eyed him with a concerned look on her face.

“You took long, Renjun – If you have diarrhea, don’t hesitate to go to the nurse’s office, okay?”

From the back of the class, he swore he heard Donghyuck cackle.

“Woah! You have a Snorlax!” Jisung snatched Chenle’s 3DS from his hands, the older whining in protest. The maknae tinkered around with it, hunching to the side and ignoring the arms of the 2001 liner around his body in an attempt to grab it back, “That’s so cool!”

“Yah, Jisung Park, give that back,” Chenle complained. Jisung ignored him, far too invested in the pokemon.

Renjun ignored their antics, pushing his food around with his fork. His knee hopped up and down restlessly, appetite gone as he pictured you flipping through the pages of his sketchbook and the drawings of you that decorated them. The rest of the Dreamies were fooling around; Mark was ignoring the small pellets of food Donghyuck sent flying from his tray, Jeno and Jaemin were conversing about their biology project while Chenle and Jisung were shoving each other playfully in their fight to obtain the 3DS. He craned his neck slightly and looked around the cafeteria, hoping to spot you eating or in line for food instead of looking through his precious sketchbook. You were nowhere to be found, though. He huffed out an irritated sigh.

“You okay, Renjun?” Mark glanced at him, brows furrowing with worry, “You’ve been acting kind of… weird. Jittery. Nervous. You get my point.”

Donghyuck snorted, “He has diarrhea.”

“Is that true?” The eldest’s eyes widened, “You should head back to the dorms, dude. Taeyong hyung just stocked up on our medicine-“

“I don’t have diarrhea,” Renjun cut in, sending a dirty glance at the troublemaker, “And I’m not heading back. I have some important stuff to do.”

“Like stalking (Y/N)?”

Mark’s head whipped around to face the younger, bewildered, “You’ve been stalking (Y/N)? Renjun-”

“I haven’t been stalking anybody! Mark, why are you believing everything Donghyuck says?” He let his body flop onto Jeno’s side, “She took my sketchbook and I need to get it back! This is a tragedy - I’m never going to live this down.”

“The one with all your drawings of her in it?” Chenle questioned, managing to wrangle his 3DS from the bluenette’s hands. Renjun rubbed a hand over his face, wanting nothing more than to melt into a puddle.

“That one.”

The eldest winced, “That’s harsh, dude. What are you going to do about it?”

“Just ask for it back, Junnie,” Jaemin commented, swiping a french fry from Jeno’s tray and popping it in his mouth, “Easy peasy.”

“Because everyone’s good at confrontation like you, Jaemin,” he stated, “I can barely hold a decent conversation without wanting the earth to swallow me up whole.”

“The solution’s pretty simple, then,” Jisung cut in, “Snag it the moment she leaves her bag alone.”

“That could work,” Jeno supplied, frowning all the while, “But I’m not sure-“

“That could work! Jisung, you’re an angel!” With that, Renjun stood up and grabbed his tray, “I’m going to be home late. Go back to the dorms first without me.”

He was about to turn around and leave, but the sound of Mark calling out his name stopped him.

“Yes?”

“You don’t really have diarrhea, right?”

Donghyuck let out another loud cackle.

Renjun hid in the staircase beside the art room, waiting until the moment you would pass by. He knew you spent your time after school in that room, so he specifically chose to camp outside it and wait until you would go outside before taking his sketchbook. He’d been tailing you the entire day, walking behind you in the small, five-minute margins between classes to make sure you didn’t see any of his drawings. He also made sure to pass by your classes, only to see you diligent in your work most of the time.

Granted, there were a couple of close calls, but he made sure to hide between lockers or behind some pillars. It was a miracle you hadn’t even caught on yet – and he thought he was slow. Nervously, he pressed his phone’s home button, the digital analog showing the numbers 16:21. You would be here soon, probably. Unseemly thoughts swirled in his head; what if you needed to go home early? What if you didn’t go to the bathroom at all today? What if you had already rifled through his sketchbook and decided to head home to ponder how to reject him as harshly as possible or wonder about how much of a creep he was?

All of the thoughts in his head dispersed once he spotted you walking down the stairs, talking animatedly to one of your friends. He ducked down to avoid being seen by you, but kept it raised just enough to watch your moves. You waved goodbye to your friend, parting ways with a cheery goodbye. Renjun ducked his head down further. You were in high spirits; mouth upturned in a pleasant smile, steps light as you entered the art room. Carefully, Renjun made his way down the staircase and situated himself beside the lockers. His fingers gripped the small ledge of the wall, pulling himself up to peer through the windows.

You had put your backpack down on the table, stretching with your arms high above your head. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, spending a good minute standing beside the table staring at your screen. Just as he felt like you weren’t going to leave the room at all, you turned around and made your way to the door, all the while typing something.

Renjun turned around and pressed his body flat against the wall, trying to stay hidden. You passed by him without a cinch. He waited until you turned the hallway and an extra 5 seconds after that before slipping inside the art room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. After another check out of the window to make sure you weren’t returning soon, he made his way to the table you set your backpack atop of.

With a quick glance left and right, Renjun gingerly opened your bag and snuck his hand in. His hand bumped around your papers and books, wincing every time he heard the crinkling of your papers. He tried to feel the leather cover of his sketchbook, growing more frustrated with each passing second. After a few heartbeats, he pulled the flap up and peered inside. His hand grazed over a familiar texture, and with an internal leap of joy, he grasped the top of his sketchbook.

“Renjun? What are you doing?”

He froze. He dreaded turning around; you had caught him red-handed, hand still in your bag. You didn’t sound accusatory or hurt, though. Instead, your voice was laced with confusion.  Face turned up in a wince, he imagined your expression right now.

“(Y/N)! F-Fancy seeing you here, haha,” he whirled around, laughing awkwardly as he pulled his sketchbook out of your bag and held it up beside his head, “I was – I was just, uh, this?”

You nodded slowly by the doorway, eyes locked on the sketchbook, “Will that also explain why you’ve been stalking me for the whole day?”

His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment, “I-I wasn’t stalking you, exactly, it’s just that you accidentally put my sketchbook in your bag and I was waiting for a good moment to steal it back?”

“O-Oh,” you cleared your throat, blushing, “Sorry about that. Just tell me about it next time, okay?”

“Noted,” he looked down before looking back up at you, “Now that I’ve got this, I’ll just, um, go now?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” you stepped to your side as he exited, watching as he turned around and waved at you.

“Thanks for this,” he gestured to his sketchbook, smiling bashfully at you, “See you tomorrow, (Y/N).”

“Get home safely,” you added. He nodded, whirling on his heel to walk down the hallway. Before he could get too far, however, you called out his name once more, “Renjun!”

He looked back at you. You smiled at him, eyes glinting with mirth, “I love your art style, by the way!”

Renjun really wanted the Earth to swallow him up whole now.

cr. gif not mine unless stated!

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 7: about to billow

SUMMARY: Howard's research is stolen by an unknown group, and Maria reaches out to someone for help. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 [7] 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

December 22, 1959 – Manhattan, New York City, Stark Manor

The house is littered with S.H.I.E.LD. agents when we arrive, dusting for fingerprints, hunting for footprints, desperately searching for any indication of who might have raided us. Howard goes straight to the office to try to write down a list of what might be missing and what S.H.I.E.LD. will need to look out for. The list is endless, and it’s a fruitless endeavor to try to recall everything he might have created in that mind of his. The agents won’t let me make tea in the kitchen, as there was an “active investigation” and I couldn’t “contaminate” so I sit idly by, helpless.

I wander over to the study where Howard and Peggy have been at it for hours, and when I arrive, the air is tense.

“Why would you even invent this? You’d think you’d have learned something after Leviathan.”

“Peg, I obviously didn’t know someone would steal something that isn’t even finished!” Howard returns Peggy’s stressed tone. “And in my own home.”

“The potential your reactor has, Howard, is irresponsible. The way you described it, if it’s unregulated… Maria.”

Howard relaxes at the sight of me and continues, his voice instantly calmer. “That’s why I haven’t released it. It’s gonna take years to perfect, decades even. A lifetime. If I create the arc reactor, it would be my highest achievement as a man. I want it perfect; I don’t want it tarnished by some dimwits trying to replicate it and ruining its potential.”

“It was your arc reactor plans that were stolen?” I ask Howard.

“Yeah. I’m starting something… Tentatively called the Unity Project.” Howard explains. “The Tesseract is this cube that creates insane amounts of energy, and we’re trying to figure out how to replicate that energy. The arc reactor is the key to our future – sustainable, unlimited energy – not relying on fossil fuels anymore.” He collapses in a nearby armchair. “But it’s not ready yet, and it could hurt people if it’s made before it is.”

I move over to his side. “I wish I could tell you some magical thing to make it all go away. What would we look for if these prototypes get made?”

“Neighborhoods would get leveled. Hundreds, even thousands, of people hurt as soon as it’s turned on.”

Peggy asks, “Do you remember what elements were in the plans? We could search for those, who’s buying them. tracking the isotopes. I can ask my people on the black market”

“I’ll add them to the list.” Howard slumps in his chair further. “I’ve been doing everything I can to stop the death toll in my wake, Peg, honest. I don’t want the Stark name to become a dirty one.”

“We’ll find the plans before anyone gets hurt. That’s what S.H.I.E.L.D. does,” Peggy assures us before leaving, taking Howard’s updated list with her.

Howard stands and pulls me into him, his nose buried in the side of my neck, his apologies blurring into sobs.

“It’s alright, dear,” I whisper, over and over, brushing his hair out of his face.

After a short while, once the shaking stops, he says, “I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never felt so hopeless.”

-

By the next day, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had gotten everything they needed and were out of the house. It was just Howard and I again, picking up the pieces. I haven’t even been a wife for a month yet, and I feel like I’m failing. I make dinner, clean house, everything my mother did for my father, everything I was taught to, but it feels like I’m not doing enough. He sat in his study all day, no appetite, lifeless until I open the door, then he’d smile for me, but it’s not the same smile he had in Monaco, in Rome, in Vegas.

“Howard,” I say softly as I open the door.

“Hey, doll,” he responds, blueprints and sketches in front of him.

“Here’s the paper and some coffee. Please let me know if I can help at all.”

I set the tray down and walk into his open arms. Howard says, “Your pretty face helps more than you know. I’m sorry I’m distant, it’s just if anything happens, it’ll be because of me.”

The newspaper falls open as I pour him a cup of coffee, and the deadline reads, “Stane Int. Declares Bankruptcy, Bachelor Genius Down on His Luck.” I skim the article, the following lines catching my eye.

 “Mr. Obadiah Stane recently cut ties with Roxxon Oil Company after an internal scandal, kept hush-hush, regarding their unregulated weapons division. Last week, the New York Times reported on how half of Roxxon’s inventory went missing, and no theft was reported to the police department after the incident. The misplaced weapons were traced to shipping crates sent back and forth to Russia, and our sources say they were supplying Communists with weapons directly. The bad press must be why our dashing young Mr. Stane abandoned his contract with Roxxon, but without their funds, his pockets are empty and declaring Chapter 11. We reached out to the office of CEO and owner Giulietta Nefaria for Roxxon’s response, but we have not heard back from either party. Is this the end of the road for one of the greatest minds of the 50s?”

“Howard, dear, you said you’re not able to make this reactor on your own, right? What if you got help?”

He takes a deep drink of the coffee. “Who did you have in mind?” I hand him the paper and watch his dark eyes take in the article. “Obadiah Stane, your ex-fiancé. You think I should work with him?”

“He’s brilliant. And he’s down on his luck. You might need a mind like his in your corner.”

Howard continues reading. “Good morals, I suppose. I’ll meet with him, and if you vouch for him, why not give him a shot?” He stands, planting a kiss on the side of my face. “I have to go in to the office today, but I’ll have Jarvis give him a call and set something up.”

“Mr. Stane said no,” Edwin Jarvis, Howard’s nervous butler, says, hanging up the phone, looking somewhat disgruntled. “Quite rudely, too.”

“You called his office? And he answered from there?” I ask, and Edwin nods. “Take me there.”

“Take you to the Stane International offices?”

“Yes, please.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Obadiah sits alone in his office on the second floor, swallowed up by the darkness, no lights on in the whole building. He, for the first time, looks small, behind his giant desk, empty now except for a fountain pen and a bottle of whiskey. It’s half-gone, which surprises me; Obie was never much of a drinker, and when he imbibed it was the fruitier cocktails.

“I have an offer for you from Stark Industries.”

“Yeah, I know. Howard’s goddamn butler called me earlier. Probably saw the article and wants to rub my face in it, couldn’t do it himself.”

“That’s not true, Obadiah. Howard and I-”

He looks up at me, shooting daggers with his eyes. “Howard and you?” The light from the window illuminates the diamond on my hand, and I’m not quick enough to hide it. He laughs, a joyless laugh, to himself, shaking his head.

“You married him? You married this son of a bitch after leaving me? Do you remember how you left me? It was without a single word, Maria. You left my ring on my pillow and went off, and you married Howard fucking Stark? What did I do to deserve to always be second to him? He steals my inventions, he steals my investors, my spotlight, and now he steals the love of my life?”

“It’s not like that, Obie-”

“Don’t Obie me, Maria. Did he knock you up, like he’s done countless models and bimbos?”

“That’s not why I’m here.” I swallow hard, clinging to my pride. He ignores me and keeps going. I grip the envelope in my hand tighter.

“Are you happy? I hope you’re happy, and I hope the two of you drive each other off the road. I hope you produce his bastards, and I hope you drown with him. That man destroys everything he touches. And that’s what he’s doing to you, Maria. He’s destroying you, and because of his ring on your finger, the two of you will go down together.” He sits heavily back into his armchair.

“Are you finished with your tantrum?” I ask, refusing to cry. I will not let him see how he hurts me, I won’t.

“Just leave me alone, Maria. Just go.”

“Believe it or not,” I say, “I am here purely for business. I have a proposal for you.” I realize my poor choice of words before he makes a face at me at the word proposal.

“Of course he’d send you to do his business. Come to rub my defeat in my face, Mrs. Stark?” Obadiah spits his words out. “Laugh at my misery?”

“Not at all. Howard respects you as an inventor and a businessman. We both do. You took a risk, and it didn’t work out this time, but he wants to work with you,” I say.

He laughs half-heartedly. “I’m bankrupt. I’m worth no one’s respect.”

“I’m here with an offer from Stark Industries to purchase Stane International,” I say again. Obadiah looks at me skeptically as I continue. “The potential acquisition is outlined in great detail, I wrote it myself, including how the $220 million Stark Industries is offering would be dispensed to cover your debts and resume your research. Presently, Mr. Stark would like your attention on the Unity Project, his current focus on arc reactor technology and clean, sustainable energy, work directly with the Tesseract.” I hand him the packet of papers and step back. “I’ll leave the proposal with you, and we’ll await your response.”

“How much of this was your doing?” he asks, holding the papers in his hands but looking at me instead of them, still in disbelief.

“I always knew you would do great things, Obadiah. I think you deserve the chance to do them. If you think this is an offer out of pity or arrogance, you’re greatly mistaken. It took a fair bit of work to get Howard to realize he needs help, and the two of you will do great things together.” I lean towards the door again, anxious to leave his office.

“Maria,” Obadiah stands, the chair screeching below him, but he doesn’t approach me. He searches for words and can’t seem to find them. His breaks eye contact, looking down.

I leave the room, silent on the ride home with Edwin.