#maybe the frame grows with higher levels? and she just breaks out of the frame and goes fucking wild at max level. thats cool :]

[volivolition]

don't talk to me or my son ever again

[watchmegetobsessed]

SAFE AND SOUND

a/n: this one took a little longer to write, but im so happy its finally finished! its not what i originally planned, i started a whole different plot but hated it so started again, but i might go back to the first story, so maybe more bodyguard!harry content is gonna come! anyway, hope you’ll enjoy this one!

pairing: Bodyguard!Harry X Reader

warning: use of weapon (no one dies), mentioning of cancer (no one is sick), sexual content

word count: 9.1k

masterlist

“This is not up for discussion, Y/N. What you are doing and what you are about to achieve soon might upset a lot of people that hold great power. We can’t just assume you’ll be fine, walking around like anyone else in the world.”

Your boss, Julian explains it to you, leaning onto his desk, trying his best to keep his cool about your protest to get you a guard to watch out for you and keep you safe. It’s been an ongoing struggle and fight you two have been having these past weeks and it became a burning situation since you’ve made some major progress in your project.

“I’m not some kind of royalty to have security with me all the time,” you grumble rolling your eyes.

“Not just royalties have guards, Y/N. Just accept it, that you’re valuable, your work is very important not just to our company but to the whole world. Do you not realize how big it is? You are close to having the cure to cancer, Y/N! You can easily get a Nobel-prize for that!”

“I know that it’s important, but no one knows me, no one will see me on the street and know who I am or what I do!”

“It’s not about the people on the street. The world is a dark place, darker than you could imagine. Please, just… I want to know that you’re safe.”

Staring back at him with your arms folded on your chest you contemplate his words. You can see the rationality in his words, it’s just that you don’t want to break your routine, you don’t want people around you all the time, you don’t want to end your privacy like that. But Julian is right, your work is important and there have already been a few attempts to steal your researches, but they miserably failed. However that doesn’t mean they will be stopped the next time as well.

“One guard,” you speak up. “Just one. I’m not gonna have a whole fucking team,” you tell him raising your eyebrows. He lets out a relieved sigh, a tiny smile tugging on his lips.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Reaching out to the phone he presses the buzzer that signals to his assistant, Monica outside and a few moments later she walks in, accompanied with a tall, suited man, his green eyes immediately falling to you upon entering the room.

“Y/N, I took the courage to pick him out for you myself. This is Harry Styles, the best you can find in the city if not in the country,” Julian introduces him as he pushes himself away from his giant mahogany desk, walking closer to the man as they shake hands firmly. You stand up from the armchair you’ve been sinking into these past ten minutes and unsurely hold out your hand to the man.

“Harry Styles, pleasure to meet you,” he introduces himself, a thick British accent lacing through his voice and the way his green irises stare back at you, you can feel your heart fluttering in your chest. Mr. Styles is undeniably the most charming and handsome man you’ve ever met, with his perfectly carved cheekbones and chiseled jawline, pink lips and those enchanting green eyes framed by his thick lashes. There’s something in his appearance, something feminine, but still, he holds so much masculinity at the same time, it’s hard not to be enamored by him.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you mumble your name, shaking his hand slightly before letting go of it.

“Details about your cooperation have already been discussed with the security agency and us, but of course, your word is what counts, so we’ll walk over the whole plan with you as well,” Julian explains to you and you nod shortly.

The three of you move to the conference room and the next hour goes by with working those so called details out, some of them are ridiculous, some of them you can get used to, at the end you are left with a somewhat bearable plan, but one thing is for sure. Harry Styles will be a big part of your life from now on.

THREE MONTHS LATER

The tiny pack of sugar tears open in your hands, but you put too much effort into it so the countertop is now covered with the content of the pack instead of ending up in your paper cup.

“Fuck,” you growl, dumping the empty pack into the trash before grabbing another one, hoping it won’t end up the same way.

“Let me help you,” a smooth, male voice speaks up next to you and Harry grabs the pack from your hands as he places his own coffee to the counter. You let him tear the pack open easily, pouring the sugar into your drink without problem before he puts the lid back to your cup.

“Thank you,” you mumble, closing your tired eyes for a split second. You’ve been overworking way too much these past weeks, it’s starting to shut your system down, but you don’t want to rest, not when you’re so close to finishing your project.

The past two weeks have been major, you finally made the progress you’ve been working towards for months now, letting you step into the last phase of your work finally. But it’s been a quite stressful time as you’ve been eager to finish as soon as possible, but that meant little to no time spent outside of your lab.

Harry shoots you a reassuring smile before you both grab your drinks and head out of the café in the direction of your workplace.

The past three months were one hell of a ride when it comes to Harry. You didn’t hide your dislike towards his continuous presence in your life, standing by your side wherever you went. It frustrated you, made you feel like you didn’t have your freedom any longer even though he never did anything to make you hate him. He was considerate, respectful and only wanted to do his job, yet you still gave him a hard time at the beginning, right until the need for his work was proved.

Two months ago someone broke into your apartment while you were out, they searched through the whole place, looking for something. Well, not just something, they were clearly interested in anything connected to your research, but luckily, you’re not dumb enough to just let these stuff lay around your home.

Even though you didn’t encounter the person responsible for it, the incident still shook your up. Knowing that someone could get into your personal space so easily, that they could have come at a time when you were home and vulnerable, it scared you. Harry was the person that eased the worry and fear in you, he took care of everything in an instant and upon his best advice, you moved to a new apartment with a higher security level. He even moved to the place next to yours so he could be as close to you as possible at all times. There was a much needed shift in your relationship after that and you didn’t see him as an intruder any longer in your life, but more as a hero.

“So would you like Italian or Mexican tonight for dinner?” Harry asks as the two of you enter the building, using your IDs you go through the massive security gates, the guards in post nodding in your way.

“Isn’t it your night to choose?” you smile at him sideways as you wait for the elevator.

“Okay, then Thai,” he smirks, making you laugh. “Hope you are not planning on eating it here again,” he gives you a warning look and you purse your lips.

“I have a lot to do, and—“

“Y/N, you need to rest sometimes,” he scolds you as if you were just a child.

“I do rest. Sometimes,” you answer with an innocent look as the elevator’s door slides open and you walk in with Harry following you right behind.

“Like once a week? Do you even sleep when you’re at home?”

“I do! Don’t make me look like I’m some kind of crazy workaholic!”

“I’m just worried about you, is all,” he sighs, giving you a hard look.

“Oh, Mr. Styles. If I didn’t know you better I would think you might have a soft spot for me,” you smirk at him teasingly before the elevator arrives to your floor and you walk out without a word. Harry just stares after you with a small smile tugging on his lips as he thinks about your words. It’s funny, especially because you both know something more than just a professional relationship has been going on between the two of you, only dancing around it as the situation is a little too complicated to address now.

It’s not like any rules are tying you down, but you would rather not mix up work with your private life. You might have feelings for Harry, but you refuse to act up on them until he is out of his duty as your personal guard.

Your days are usually the same. While you lock yourself up in your lab, working with no end, Harry stay either with you in there or he hovers around the door, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Just the thought of his presence never fails to bring you a sense of comfort, knowing that you don’t have to worry about your safety until he is near. It might seem nerdy, but you can easily get lost in your work. It doesn’t feel like a job, growing up with parents who were excellent doctors and pharmacists themselves, you were doomed to be a science enthusiast yourself from the beginning. Learning has never been a task for you but a gift, as you liked to look at it.

Working overtime happens often because you lose touch with time easily once you get down to work. Nothing exists outside of your lab and you hardly realize how late it is until Harry usually warns you.

“I didn’t joke when I said I didn’t want to have dinner in here,” he steps into your sanctuary while you’re in the middle of running tests for the millionth time today. Pushing your glasses up to the top of your head while the machines are buzzing and whirling, you look up at him with a tired smile.

“Let me just… finish this one last test and then I promise we’ll head out.”

“Alright, but I’m watching you. No more tests,” he warns, sitting on one of the stools while you finish what you started.

Harry never really asked you about your work, for a while you weren’t even sure if he knows what you’re doing and why it’s so important. It was never discussed at the beginning and he never brought it up later either. But judging from the time he spends near you at the lab he must have picked up a few things about it surely.

The machines stop working and the tiny beeping sound signals that the results are out. You grab the long printed paper and start scanning the data, chewing on your bottom lip as you hope to find what you’ve been looking for all day. The numbers are coming in great, but it’s been like this for a while, it’s the end that never matches up with your expectations. So when you get there and see the graphs showing the result that you’ve been dreaming of since the start of the whole project years ago, your mouth falls open in disbelief even though it’s what you’ve been working for all this time.

“Oh my God,” you whisper.

“What?” Harry’s head snaps up in alert, jumping off the stool.

“I… I did it,” you breathe out, glancing up from the paper. “It’s my first time succeeding, Harry!” you start laughing, the shock taking over your whole body that you really did it this time.

“And what does that mean?”

“Come on, let me show you,” you tell him in excitement, pulling him over to the computer where you pull up all the data you’ve been working on. A virtual version of a cell comes up on the screen as you start typing, modelling what you want to show him. “This is a completely healthy cell, it’s what you are made of too, mostly,” you ass with a chuckle before another cell comes up on the screen. “And this is what cells that are affected by cancer look like.”

The difference is a lot more complicated than what you can explain to him in such a short time, but he can see it with his own eyes. The color, the shape, everything is different from the first one. Harry examines the screen and nods shortly, letting you know that he is following.

“I’ve been working on a substance that is able to not just detect the cancerous cells but it can also kill it effectively without hurting the healthy ones.”

You bring up the virtualized version of the substance you’ve been working on, a short animation showing how it can tell the two cells apart and only attack the cancerous one.

“I haven’t been able to get the numbers above 60% when it comes to succeeding in the process of selection so my whole project was about finding a solution to that. I’ve been trying to find the right substance to mix with our already existing one to solve the problem, but I haven’t been successful in it.”

“I assume until now,” Harry hum and you nod smirking.

“Yeah. The last test results came back very good, quite promising. It’s still not the end of the process, but it’s a huge step.”

“That’s great,” he smiles at you and though you know he probably understands just a fracture of the whole process, he can still figure out how important it is. “Congrats, Y/N.” “Thanks,” you breathe out, pride filling your chest as you shut the computer off. “I guess this is my cue to end the day,” you smile at him before packing up everything, getting ready to finally leave.

It’s not the first time Harry is spending the evening at your place. You often have dinner together, or watch a movie whenever you get home early enough to do that. Through the time you’ve spent together because of his job you’ve grown to be friends above everything. Good ones, in fact, which is a big deal for you since making friends has never been an easy task for you.

You bought takeout on the way home and as Harry set the table you poured yourself a glass of wine, knowing well Harry would never drink when he is on duty and he is basically working all the time he is with you, so you’re drinking alone. You both sit to the dining table, starting dinner together in a comfortable silence. It’s another thing you appreciate about Harry. He doesn’t try to talk when it’s not necessary, you hate small talk, you’d rather sit in silence than talk about something nonsense and Harry is a partner in that.

“When do you need to leave work tomorrow to get to the party on time?” he asks breaking the silence and you freeze. His eyes fall on you, examining your features for a moment before he smirks. “You forgot about it?”

“I just… thought it’s going to be next week,” you truthfully admit.

“We talked about it last week,” he smirks at you playfully. “And I told you it would be next week which is… this week.”

“I know how the days work, Harry,” you give him a look of ‘give me a break’ before you turn back to your food. “I just…”

“You just forgot it,” Harry finishes for you, and you just roll your eyes at him.

Glancing at him over the table you wonder if he’ll wear something different than is usual attire he always wears. Black suit with a white shirt underneath, the top two buttons left undone, giving you a tiny peek at the tattoos on his chest. You know those are not the only ones, you’ve seen him with the suit jacket off before, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, his whole left arm is covered in ink and you wish you’ve had the chance to take a better look at them.

Harry is such an intriguing person in a lot of different ways. He definitely likes to keep things to himself, not one to ask for attention and it’s not just because of his work, it’s his personality. However he is good with people, interacting with them, being social. A skill you haven’t really mastered yourself yet and you probably never will. He always seems to know what to say, you’ve never seen him even the slightest bit anxious or nervous before, the confidence he holds is unmatched and it makes it hard to not think about him in ways you shouldn’t be.

After dinner he helps you clean up, just like he always does before heading out, but before he could leave he stops and turns back to face you.

“Oh, a friend of mine is visiting from the UK on Sunday. I already mentioned it to you before, but I was hoping I could get the afternoon off,” he wonders and you nod right away.

“Of course! I’ll be just fine at home,” you smile at him.

“Thank you,” he smiles back before walking out of your place at last.

Because of the party in the evening you are forced to stop working early the next day. It’s weird to leave the office in broad daylight, but you know today can’t be one of those days when you end up seeing the new day in the lab.

Harry was right yesterday, you completely forgot the whole party thing, meaning you didn’t plan anything ahead and you had nothing to wear, so through the day you called your sister, Mara to help you out. She was more than happy to lend you anything you needed. She meets you at the office, beaming to spend some time with you finally. It’s not that you don’t like her company, but you are quite different, is all. Your sister didn’t get sucked into the world of science, though she definitely has the bright mind to take up on any field she would want to explore. But she was more into the world of art, having written her first fantasy novel at the ripe age of twenty, she is now a bestseller author at only twenty-nine with a bubbly personality and basically every trait you never owned yourself.

“Harry! So nice to see you again!” Mara beams at the man as the three of you meet up at the lobby.

“Hi, Mara,” Harry smiles with a tiny nod.

“Alright, I have everything you could need so let’s head to yours!” your sister cheers before you make your way out to your cars.

Arriving to your home Harry splits from the two of you, letting you to get ready in peace and also to get ready himself. Mara didn’t joke when she said she has everything you need, the trunk of her car is basically filled with clothes and shoes, there’s no chance you won’t find something to wear tonight.

She orders you to take a quick shower as she unpacks everything she brought and when you emit from a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around your body and one on your head, Mara gets down to work.

“So do you have a date for today?” she curiously asks while she does your makeup.

“Huh, yeah, sure,” you huff ironically. “It’s just gonna be Harry and me.”

“So Harry is your date?” her ears perk up, but you’re quick to protest.

“Of course not! He comes with me everywhere,” you mumble with your eyes closed as she is doing something on your eyelids.

“But it could be a date,” she offers and you huff in disagreement.

“You know that’s not how it works, Mara.”

“You are making it more complicated than it is! No one would blame you if you just… went for it! Harry is obviously an attractive guy.”

“Then maybe you should date him,” you bite back bitterly. Growing up you weren’t the boys’ favorite, they always paid all the attention to your sister. It’s not that you blame her or them, she always had a more capturing and lively personality that attracted people naturally. But it made you wonder if there was something wrong with you, spending all your time with your nose buried in a book or doing researches for fun while Mara was out with her friends, living her best life. Even her published books were inspired by her personal life experiences.

“Y/N,” she sighs, her hands leaving your face so you open your eyes to look at her disapproving expression. “You obviously like him so I would never do that and besides that, he for sure likes you too.”

“What’s not true,” you deny right away, but then you look at her curiously. “But why would you think that?”

Mara smirks at you tilting her head to the side, seeing right through your act that you’re not interested in Harry. Of course you are, but you choose to keep it at bay for the sake of his job.

“Y/N, I see how that man watches every move you make. It’s written all over his handsome face.”

“Of course he watches my every move, that’s his job!”

“No, it’s different. You’ll see it sooner or later,” she smiles before ordering you to close your eyes again so she can finish your makeup.

Mara does wonders to your looks, the makeup look she does on you already makes a huge difference since you don’t bother to do anything on your every days. But she didn’t stop there, she made your hair look like you just stepped off of the pages of a magazine and the dress the two of you chose was the cherry on the top. The emerald green dress was tight around your curves, showing just enough of your body to be still considered modest, but also have some spice. And though there are a lot of advantages of the dress, your first and most important thought (to you at least) was how well it goes with the color of Harry’s eyes.

“I’m a genius,” Mara sighs satisfied with her work as you slip on the pair of nude heels and put your necessities into the little clutch you’re taking with you. Just when you’re gone with everything, the doorbell rings and your heart jumps in your chest, knowing that Harry is standing on the other side of the door.

“I’ll get it for you,” Mara smiles rushing to the door as you walk into the hallway, standing a few feet behind her so as she opens the front door and Harry comes into view, over Mara’s shoulder his eyes easily find your figure standing there, feeling a little awkward and self-conscious, like you are about to go to prom with your crush. Difference is that you are not a teenager anymore and you aren’t going anywhere together together. Tonight is just work for him.

But as his bright green eyes fall on your frame and you see his lips slightly part, you can’t help but allow yourself to think for a moment that it’s more than just work. That he feels the same way about it as you do. Though you don’t voice your hopes and just smile at him faintly, hoping you don’t look completely ridiculous in your outfit.

“Harry, come on in!” Mara invites him into the apartment and he walks in, wearing his usual black suit with the difference of having a tie on around his neck, his white shirt is appearing neat and crispy and his sometimes unruly curls are now gently combed back a little so his curls are not falling into his forehead.

“Hi,” you smile at him nervously fumbling with your clutch as he takes a few steps closer to you.

“Hi. You look… beautiful,” he smiles back at you a little breathlessly as he takes a respectful look down your body before his green irises meet your gaze again.

“Thank you. You look great too,” you chuckle softly. “Should we… head out?”

“Yeah, sure!” he nods, offering you his arm and you link your arm with his instantly, hoping you won’t trip in your heels. “Lock the door when you leave, Mara, alright?” you call out to your sister who is watching you smiling.

“Sure! Have fun!”

You wave at her one last time before walking out and shutting the door closed behind you.

This party is held every year at Pharma-Z, mostly this is the time when the brain meets the money. Investors and funders like to meet the people behind the million dollars researches from time to time and this is the occasion where both sides show up. Julian always asks you to be social and try to mingle, but the whole thing feels forced and painful for you. You’d rather just be left alone with your researches and projects without having to schmooze to the people who give you the money for your hard work.

It’s held at one of said investors’ luxurious penthouse, that doesn’t even look like someone’s home with the huge outdoors infinity pool, the spacious and modern interiors and the expensive looking decoration that was put up just for the occasion.

“Y/N! I’m so happy you are here!” Julian approaches you with a drink in his hands and you’re happy to see a familiar face in the crowd. You don’t really know others from work, only your little team you directly work with and of course, your boss, Julian.

“It’s not like I had a choice,” you chuckle giving him a short, friendly hug. Julian is far from a nightmare of a boss some people have to face at their job. He is an actually nice and very smart and intellectual person. The pharmaceutical industry can be harsh and dark, the competition between the businesses is way more intent than people think. This is why you need the protection. Some companies profit off of the fact that cancer has no cure yet. They make money from all the treatments that doesn’t even guarantee full recovery. A lot of big fish don’t want the cure, because that would make them lose a good chunk of their income and some of those would even go to the depth of hurting you for being so close to ruining their business with your invention. Pharma-Z is luckily a genuine company that wants to help sick people and that’s why you’re working there.

“You know how important it is for the company,” Julian sighs, but he understands how uncomfortable these events make you feel, though he can do nothing to help you. “Harry, nice to see you again,” he smiles at the man by your side.

“Julian, nice to see you too,” he nods, shaking hands with your boss.

“Mingle a little so people can see and meet you, alright?” Julian requests and you just nod silently before he moves on to the next group of people.

You get yourself a drink to ease your nerves a little as people start approaching you. Some of them you’ve met last year, but there are a lot of new faces. Your project has brought in quite a few new sponsors and investors and now they want to meet you and talk about the research their money is going into.

You try your best to keep a smile plastered across your face as you tell the people the same thing over and over again, receiving praise and compliments on your work before moving onto the next conversation just to start over again.

You can feel your social batteries running out, not sure you can put up with another conversation with a wealthy investor who wants you to know you have a job because they gave money for your project in hopes of you bringing more money to them.

Harry has stayed by your side the whole evening, and you didn’t notice but he kept examining you every few minutes to make sure you were holding up and he noticed how tired you’ve grown from socializing for so long.

“Y/N,” he softly calls out, his palm finding the small of your back. “Why don’t we get some fresh air?” he kindly offers and you immediately understand that he is trying to get you away from the guests and the overwhelming conversations you’ve been dealing with. Nodding you let him usher you outside, finding a spot where the two of you can be a little alone.

“I fucking… hate small talks and being nice to everyone,” you let out a long and heavy sigh, as you lean against the railing, paying just one short glance at the city’s bright lights under your feet. Harry chuckles shortly.

“I figured. You’ve been chewing your lips so hard I was afraid you’d start bleeding.”

Now that he has brought your attention to it, you realize you are doing it again, so you let go of your bottom lip from between your teeth and it brings out another chuckle from Harry.

“I’m just… not good with these… social stuff.”

“I disagree with that,” he hums, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Oh please, if you haven’t realized it, my number of zero friends is a tell, I think.”

“Come on, it’s not zero. You’re friends with Mara.”

“But family doesn’t count, she is kind of forced to be my friend,” you shrug, making him laugh.

“Okay, but I’m your friend too, aren’t I?” You furrow your eyebrows at him.

“You spend time with me because it’s your job.”

His eyes soften on you as he leans against the railing next to you, looking so effortlessly handsome and charming, you almost need to take a deep breath at the sight of him. And the cheeky smile on his pink lips is definitely not helping your case.

“I know you didn’t mean that. You’re a smart woman, Y/N.” Reaching out he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he inches closer a tiny bit. “I think we stepped over the line of just work.”

“So… you consider me your friend?” you ask shyly.

“If you have to ask maybe I’ve been doing something wrong,” he chuckles softly, making you smile too. Folding your arms a shiver runs down your spine from the cold evening breeze. “Are you cold?” Harry asks, but before you could even say a word, he shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders.

“Oh, thank you,” you breathe out shyly.

“Do you want another drink?”

“Yeah, I think I might need another one,” you chuckle and nodding he tells you to just stay there until he gets you a new one.

Turning towards the view, you enjoy the lonely moments for a little, not too keen on going back inside and keep up the façade of interest any longer. You’d rather just head home, maybe have another drink with Harry on your couch while you watch a rerun of whatever show is on TV and then fall asleep after a hot shower. You’ve been working way too much lately and it’s just now crashing down on you. Next week you definitely should cut back on your hours at the lab, the project is already going amazing, it won’t hurt if you actually had some rest before you lose your mind.

You hear footsteps approaching you and you think it’s Harry returning, but as you turn around you are faced with a stranger, a man who is staring down at you with bloodshot eyes and… a gun pointed at you.

Your breath hitches, your blood freezing in your veins at the sight and your legs almost give up underneath you.

“What… who are you?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, tears already flooding your eyes as you melt against the railing as if you had anywhere to go, but you have no chance against him.

One glance at the gun allows you to see that it has a silencer on, with the music coming from inside and no one around, if he shoots you, he’ll be able to get away before anyone realizes what happened.

The man doesn’t answer, just holds up the gun, aiming right at your chest and you close your eyes, thinking that this is it. This is how your life ends, in the middle of a posh party with no one around to help you. Your lips are trembling and hands are shaking as you hold onto the railing, waiting for the inevitable to come, keeping your eyes shut, not wanting to see your killer as the last thing you see before you go.

And then you hear the muffled gunshot, making you scream in fear, your knees turning into jelly, but the pain never comes. Instead, you hear grunting and growling as a body falls to the ground in front of you.

Your eyes snap open and you see Harry straddling the man, the gun lying near your attacker’s hand and he is trying to reach it, but before he could, you kick it away as Harry throws a punch at his face that stops him from trying too hard to free himself.

The next few moments are so busy and blurry at the same time. Your legs give up underneath you, making you fall to the ground, your whole body shaking in waves. In the meantime Harry gets the man into a position where he can be easily controlled and people start flooding out at the scene, helping Harry while security working at the party take the man, the police already on its way.

When Harry can finally step back from the attacker, his eyes fall on your figure and he rushes over to you, kneeling down next to your trembling body, cradling you into his arms upon seeing how shaken up you are.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s over, you’re alright,” he murmurs, holding you tight as your fists grab onto his shirt, your breathing is uneven, the oxygen barely makes its way into your lungs as you’re panting and gasping from the shock. “Come on, let’s get you inside, Y/N,” he gently tells you, helping you up from the floor even though your body feels like a pile of brick.

You can feel everyone staring at you, whispering behind your back as you try to hide in Harry’s arms while he walks you back inside, away from the man that tried to take your life. He walks you into one of the bathrooms and closing the lid he sits you down to the toilet while he grabs a towel and wetting it he kneels in front of you, tapping the cloth to your cheeks gently. You haven’t even realized that you’ve been sweating from the shock and the coldness feels amazing against your burning skin.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, but not even you are sure why.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Y/N,” he gently murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze as you shut your eyes closed. He grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and fills it with water handing it over to you.

“Thank you,” you mumble, bringing it to your trembling lips, but before you could drink it, your eyes snap up to meet his gaze. “And thank you for… what you did.” Your voice dies down at the end, the picture of the man pointing the gun at you still living so vividly in your mind.

“No need, it’s my job after all, right?” he chuckles softly, making your lips twitch the slightest bit before you start sipping on the water.

The police show up soon and they arrest the man who refuses to talk. They also request you to give your statement about what happened, but Harry manages to let you just give them the brief story and go in sometime soon to give them your full statement so you don’t have to spend any more time there. They are quite sure the man was hired by someone who doesn’t want you to finish your project, and it’s scary how far some people are willing to go just for the money, just to keep sick people in suffering for their own benefit.

Heading home you stay silent as Harry drives, staring out the window you let the nightlights of the city pass by you while you still see the same face, the face of the man that held a gun at you tonight. The gunshot is still ringing through your ears, it was so close, so real… of course it was real! All of it was real and your life was on the line. If it weren’t for Harry, you wouldn’t be here right now.

Arriving to your home Harry helps you out of the car and you cling onto his hand as you head up to the apartment. He keys the two of you into your home, flicking the lights on and looking around before you go further inside, just to be sure.

“It’s all clear, don’t worry,” he murmurs as you nod and make your way into the bedroom. Kicking your heels off your feet you sit on the edge of the bed, letting out a long breath, feeling your limbs loosening up a bit for the first time in the past hour.

Harry moves around the place doing whatever before he joins you in the room, kneeling in front of you his hands find your bare knees and your eyes meet his worry-filled green irises.

“Do you want to take a shower?” he softly asks and you nod your head. “Come on, I’ll start the water for you.”

He helps you up from the bed and walks you into the bathroom. You stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do as he starts running the water in the walk in shower before he steps back to you.

“Would you…?” you ask, turning around, needing help with the zipper of your dress. Harry clears his throat as his fingers work on it and a moment later the fabric loosens around your frame as you hold it to your chest with your arms. Turning back around you peek up at Harry and you notice the slight blush on his cheeks.

“I’ll be outside at the door, okay?” He whispers, his fingers delicately touching your cheek as you nod before you watch him walk out and close the door behind him.

The hot water feels freshening, like it could burn away the memories even though it’s still so vivid in your mind. You stand under the running water longer than you intended, but it feels nice and needed. Once you’re done, you wrap yourself into a fluffy towel and walk out of the steamy bathroom only to find Harry sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting like a loyal puppy. When he sees you, he stands from his spot and you don’t miss the way his eyes scan over your body that’s barely covered.

“Alright, I’ll go now, but if you—“ “Don’t!” you gasp, panic taking over you at the thought of being left alone. One of your hands grasps his arm to stop him from moving and he freezes in his spot, staring back at your fearful eyes. “Please, stay here,” you plead, voice barely over than just a whisper.

There’s a heartbeat of a pause in him as he is watching you intently and for a moment you think he’ll say no, but then his hand finds yours on his arm and he gives it a gentle squeeze as he nods.

“Okay.”

You let out a long, relieved breath as you ease into comfort. He’s staying, he’ll be with you all night, protecting you from everything and everyone.

“Can I take a shower too?” he asks softly and you nod, stepping to your wardrobe to get him a clean towel. “Thank you. I’ll be back shortly,” he tells you before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door closed behind him.

You hear the water running again and you find yourself standing at the same spot as you listen to the noises coming from the bathroom. Harry is in there, soaking under the water naked and you can’t take your mind off of how badly you want to be there with him.

It’s not just because of what happened tonight, though it made you realize that you don’t have much time to waste. Nothing can assure that you’ll live another day and you don’t want to deny happiness from yourself. You want to be with Harry and as far as you can make it out, he feels the same way.

Upon a sudden decision, you pad your way over to the bathroom door and open it carefully, the warmth immediately hitting your face as you step inside and close it behind you. The glass of the shower is steamed up, you can only make out the blurry frame of Harry in there and you wonder if he heard you come in, but it doesn’t seem like that. His clothes from the night are lying on the floor in a pile, his watch that he always wears is carefully placed next to the sink.

Your hands grab onto the edge of the towel around your body and you unwrap yourself, hanging it up on the wall before stepping to the shower. Hoping you won’t scare him, you open the door, the steam immediately hugging your naked body warmly and you see him standing there with his back facing you as you step into the spacious walk-in shower.

He notices your presence, you see him freeze mid-movement before he peeks over his shoulder, his eyes falling on you as he slowly turns, facing you completely. Standing in front of him completely bare, you feel more vulnerable than ever in your life. You’re scared that he is going to send you away, that he won’t let you get closer to him and if that happens, you’ll feel humiliated, but he just stands there in his naked glory and doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a chance to shoot your shot.

Reaching up your hands slide to his hard chest, up to the base of his neck as you push your front against his, skin to skin with the hot water running down your bodies. His hands find your waist and you could cry from the feeling of his touch on you. Pushing yourself up to your tiptoes your nose nudges against his as your eyes fall closed.

“Y/N,” he breathes out, stopping you right when your lips could meet. Opening your eyes you see the hesitation in his green irises that appear so much darker than they usually do.

“Do you not want it? You don’t want me?” you whisper.

“I do. It’s not that,” he sighs shaking his head slightly. “But you went through a lot today. I don’t want you to make decisions you might regret in the morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs on your lips at how considerate and protective he is over you, thinking that this might be just something that crashed over you in the heat of the moment, but it’s been in the making from the first day you met him. Despite all your protesting against him, you knew you needed him and not just as your guard. He is what’s been missing from your life all along, you just never realized it.

“There’s nothing I could regret when it comes to you, Harry. I needed tonight to open my eyes. Our days are counted, I’m done running from my own happiness.”

He lets out a long, shaky breath as his hands hold tighter onto your waist while your hands run up his neck until your fingers tangle into his wet locks.

“I need you. And not just because of tonight. I’ve always needed you.”

“I’m here, Y/N. I’m all yours,” he breathes out before his lips smash against yours all wet and hard, but it’s the most heavenly feeling you’ve ever experienced.

You become a mess, tangled in each other, lips melting together as your hands explore naked limbs and torsos, bodies pressing tightly against each other shamelessly. Harry walks you backwards until your back hits the cold tile and you let out a whimper as you arch your back at the sudden feeling, just as his head dips down, lips attacking your neck, kissing and nibbling on the soft skin. Your light leg lifts as his hands wander down your thigh, your hips pressing together and you feel how hard he is, his cock pushed against your other thigh, making you moan at the feeling. Reaching down you blindly wrap a hand around the base, giving him a few slow pumps, earning a guttural growl from him before his lips return to yours, kissing you hard and filled with passion. His hands are all over you, on your thighs, ass, back and chest, as if he was mapping your whole body wanting to remember how every inch feels under his touch.

Without tearing his lips away from yours, he blindly reaches behind him, shutting the water off before urging you to jump into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you out of the shower, placing you to the counter next to the sink as he stands between your legs, his hands once again finding your breasts as they knead them, making you whimper and shake under his touch. It’s euphoric and addictive, you already know you won’t be able to go a day without feeling him against you like this.

“Bed?” he breathes out against your mouth and you nod eagerly. Reaching to the side he grabs a towel, wrapping it around you, tapping and squeezing you to dry you off, throwing fits of giggles when you grab it and wrap it around his body as well.

The towel falls to the floor abandoned and forgotten as he lifts you off the counter and brings you to the bed, laying you down and holding himself up above you with one arm. His other hand cups your cheek and turning your head you kiss his palm gently, eyes glued to his as he settles between your legs.

“Are you sure about this?” he breathes out, his lips dancing against your cheek and the corner of your mouth.

“Yes! Harry, please!” you beg with a whimper, your whole body aching to feel him inside you.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, love,” he kisses you as his hand leaves your heated face, runs down your naked body until his fingers reach your throbbing clit.

He slides two digits through your already wet folds, but just to work you up even more he starts drawing circles on your bud, turning you into a whimpering mess underneath him. Your fingers dig into the lean muscles on his back, feeling them twitch from his movements and one hand sliding down to his ass, grabbing a handful of him while pushing him closer to you, his erection pressing against your core.

“Harry, I need you!” you moan, not able to contain yourself any longer. You need to feel him, you need him as close as possible.

Reaching over to your nightstand you grab a condom from the drawer, ripping the package open with your teeth before you carefully grab his erection and roll the condom down his length, ready to finally feel him inside you.

He flicks his fingers on your clit one last time before his hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps while his soft lips kiss down your jawline and throat, his face hiding in the crook of his neck. Your arms circle around his shoulders, your chest heaving from the sensation as he positions himself just right, the tip teasing your hole. Harry lifts his head up, his bright eyes finding your gaze just as he sinks into you, filling you up perfectly.

“H-Harry! Fuck—“ you gasp at the feeling, your walls stretching around his thick cock as he stays still for a few moments, letting you adjust to his size.

You draw your legs up, giving you more space to go deeper as he starts thrusting, sliding in and out of you oh so perfectly, inching you closer to your relief with each movement. You cup his face in your hands, staring into his eyes as if you could see his soul in them and for a split second, you feel like you actually do. His lips are parted and the cross pendant is grazing your chest while he fucks into you, never falling out of his rhythm.

You want to beg to him not to stop, to keep moving and moving, but no words can leave your mouth as your back arches, your orgasm building up in the pit of your stomach. You start grinding your hips in sync with his, allowing him to reach deeper into you, making your toes curl from pleasure.

“Harry, I’m gonna—I-I’m gonna—Ah!” You can’t make up one coherent sentence as your legs start shaking, feeling your orgasm taking over your body.

“I know, baby. Let it go. Let me make you feel good,” he pants, his lips kissing you everywhere he can reach, your lips smashing against each other in a messy kiss, your tongue meeting his in the middle just when you reach your high.

You moan and cry out his name, fingers digging into his flesh as you chase your release. Seeing you fall apart underneath him is enough to throw him over the edge, spilling himself into the condom as his mouth hangs agape, your name falling off his tongue as if it was the holiest glorification. Combing your fingers through his hair you hold him to your chest as he collapses on top of you, his head lying on your naked chest as you both try to catch your breath in the sudden silence that came over you without the sounds of your passion.

Rolling off of your body he slips out of you, an empty feeling taking over you right away, but he is quick to cradle you into his arms to keep the intimacy. You lay your head to his chest, a thin layer of sweat covering the both of you, but you couldn’t care less. You listen to his steady heartbeat as you draw one of the swallows on his chest with your finger, running it over the lines of the ink. You want to soak in the moment and stay in it for as long as possible, but you can barely keep your eyes open. As Harry’s fingers are gently running up and down your bare back you let your eyes close and the last thing you remember is hearing his soft whisper.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep you safe.”

You wake up without an alarm in the morning and it’s the first time for that in a long-long time. You stir and groan before you open your eyes, your hands reaching out next to you, looking for the man that was next to you when you fell asleep, but there’s nothing and no one beside you now.

Panic rises in your chest as your eyes pop open and you frantically look around in the room, hoping to see him somewhere near, but you’re alone.

“Harry?” you call you as you sit up, holding the sheets to your chest since you’re still naked. No answer comes and you can feel your heart rate rising instantly.

Getting out of bed you grab the nearest clothing item you find which is an old hoodie, and you put on a pair of clean panties before you carefully walk out of the bedroom, afraid of what you might find outside, but it’s completely silent and still, no one is around. Harry has left.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling the lump in your throat growing as tears are forming in your eyes.

Where did he go? Why did he leave? Is he coming back? Is he gone forever?

You can’t stop yourself from going into depth you shouldn’t, just because you don’t find him first thing in the morning, but you still haven’t entirely recovered from last night’s events and before you could stop yourself, you are thinking about the worst possibilities there could be.

And then you hear the lock turning in the front door.

Blood rushes out of your head as you freeze, afraid it’s another attacker and this time you won’t be as lucky as you were last night. But as the door opens Harry walks in with a paper bag in his arm and you can’t help, but start sobbing at the sight of him.

“Harry!” you cry out, launching at him and he barely have time to put the bag down before he catches you, locking you in his strong arms.

“Hey! No need to worry, it’s just me!” he soothes softly, his hands running up and down your back and head. “I’m sorry I scared you, just wanted to get you something to eat, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head as you try your best to hold back your sobs.

“I just woke up alone and I thought…”

“I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have left while you were sleeping. But I’m back and I’m alright.”

You just nod, hugging him a little longer before you loosen your hold around him to lean back and look him in the eyes.

“So… you’re staying? With me?”

“If you want me to, yes,” he nods with a soft smile as he cups your tear-soaked face in his hands. “I’ll keep you safe and sound and I’ll be whatever you need me to be.”

“Just be yourself and… be with me,” you shyly ask him and he nods, his smile growing into a wide grin before he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet, intoxicating kiss.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[ladycubes0t7]

Required Services

Pairing: Boss!Min Yoongi/Assistant!Fem Reader

Genre: Office/Smut/Boss/Assistant

Rating: Explicit/Mature/NSFW/No Minors

Summary: Are your services required or not? Find out what happens when being an overworked assistant gets you into trouble.

Word Count: 7.27k

Warnings: F/M, Office Sex, Oral (female receiving) , Protected Sex Hint of angst barely, mentions of alcohol.

A/N: This has been cross posted to AO3. Please feel free to comment, feedback is always welcome just try to keep it constructive.

Just one day. One day is all that you ask. One day for your boss to quit pushing all of his work on you. Sure, you get it. He has a lot on his plate. Meetings, interviews, business plans, market reviews, etc. You could go on and on about what he does or does not do.

Let's focus on the latter; that which he does not do. He does not build team morale. He does not care about how much that you do for this company. He sits in his office with that smug look upon his face everytime that you enter. Every hour on the hour, he is buzzing you into his office to assign more duties. Spread the wealth Mr. Boss Man. There are people in this office that are more than qualified to handle these tasks that he'd given you.

Yet, here you were, once again, standing in his office. He sat behind his large black desk, eyeing you with a smirk. He must get off on this. You huffed in clear annoyance while he continued on with his list of "chores". The job was really starting to get to you. Everything about that man, sitting in that high back leather chair, got to you. The way his blonde locks swept to the side and out of his eyes, the way his lips stayed drawn into that smirk, and even the way he breathed.

You furrowed your brow and gnawed at your bottom lip. Seemingly, you were lost in the way his long, slender fingers played with the band of his wristwatch. His fingers, oh how you longed for them to be pumping furiously in and out of you. Wrecking you, disciplining you for all the work that hadn't been completed.

What? Wait. Where did that come from? You flushed all over and tried to blink back your surprise. Mmmm, just look at him. All suited up. You despised the very man in front of you, so how in the hell did thoughts like those even cross your mind? Oh, right, you were overworked and had no time for dick appointments.

"Did you get all that?" Your boss spoke, breaking you out of your daze.

"What was that last part?" You quickly acted like you were taking notes and peeked at him in wait. Your eyes dragged over the entirety of his face and slowly worked their way down. His hands were working to unbutton the bottom of his suit jacket. I bet he really knows how to work a certain button. There it was again that lustful she demon voice in your head. Back away, you sinful beast, your mind pleaded with itself.

Obviously, annoyed, he reiterated, "I've got a formal business dinner to attend tonight and I need a date. You're coming with." There was no asking if you had plans and certainly no care about your opinion on the topic. That demanding tone in his voice had you aching and flustered.

"That'll be all for the moment," he waved you off dismissively. You took a second to look back down at your notes. Your facade set in a scowl as you pondered if you should attempt to decline. I really shouldn't. What if he wants a piece? I'm the perfect person to go to work on him. Those thoughts battled it out. Your inner lustfulness betrayed your sensible side.

"And do wear something….classy," he added, not even looking up.

You fought the need to roll your eyes and replied, "Yes, Mr. Min." I'll be back, the lust demon part of you sashayed to the corners of your fantastical mind and didn't return for the rest of the work day.

*******

You were standing outside the restaurant at precisely 8 o'clock. The strappy, black high heels did nothing to soothe your aching feet from having been at work all day. You held a matching clutch close to the bodice of your black evening dress. The hem of the skirt was a little shorter than you liked but it was just long enough to keep you from looking like a woman of the night. At this point, several minutes passed and you began to wonder would your boss even show up.

A sleek, gray sedan pulled up next to the sidewalk. Your boss exited. His blonde hair was slicked back to show a prominent undercut. He wore a dark gray three piece suit. It was perfectly tailored to his thin frame. That patented smirk of his adorned his lips when he took place beside you. Inwardly, you shrieked like a fangirl but remained your natural level of cantankerous for appearances sake.

"Fashionably late as always, Mr Min," you couldn't hide the disdain in your voice if you wanted to. He perked a brow at you, amused.

"Bitchy as always, Miss Moody. Are you always this standoffish to a date?" He retorted. Nothing ever appeared to get underneath his skin. Attitudes, kindness, hatefulness, everything rolled off of him.

Your boss held out his arm, "Let's not let your attitude kill the evening. Play nice," there was a hint of warning to his tone before he added, "and call me Yoongi for the night. I need you to play the part of date and not employee."

You looped your arm around his and he led you into the restaurant, his head held high. The maitre d didn't even bat an eye as the two of you strolled by. Mr. Min must come here often. You thought. It was hard to feel like you belonged here, let alone on the arm of Min Yoongi. The whole restaurant and its patrons screamed expensive. Hell, your boss probably owns it, even though you've never seen it listed in his accounts.

After having walked through the majority of the restaurant. You reached a set of double doors. Two waiters opened the doors to usher you and your boss through to a separate dining area. This area was more decadent than the last. Lush, violet and gold drapes adorned the walls. There was a rather large, round dining table set up in the center of the room. Seating and place settings for 14.

The other guests went silent. Talk about an awkward entrance. The six men looked shocked as they looked between your boss and you. Has Mr. Min never brought a plus one? The ladies, accompanying the other men, all gawked at you. All it took was a glare shot in their direction by your boss for the ladies to return to light conversation amongst themselves.

"Yoongi-ssi, this is a first. Who is your lovely date?" The man who sat next to an empty seat spoke. He was bespectacled and handsome with chestnut hued hair cut in a mid-fade. He had a dimpled smile crossing his face that could easily have you eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Ah, this is my girlfriend. You can call her Miss Moody for now, Namjoon," your boss answered, moving to take the empty seat next to him. You must have looked like a deer caught in headlights because Mr. Min tugged your hand to pull you in a seat next to him.

Girlfriend? Now I have to act like a girlfriend? He better give me a raise for this. You were trapped in your thoughts and barely even registered your boss's arm slipping around your waist. You almost flinched but caught yourself. You tried your best to act as normal as possible.It couldn't be so bad.

There were no other introductions made past the point of meeting Namjoon. The waiters began to bring out the first course. Luckily, you didn't have to fawn all over your boss, even though your desire demon was begging to take over. He was perfectly content with you sitting silent while the table enjoyed the first course. Yoongi was even overjoyed when you giggled over his cheesy business jokes while waiting for the second course to be served.

He was looking at you now, a gleam in his eyes that you couldn't quite decipher. Your stomach did a little flip when he took your hand and gave it a small squeeze. The gesture was returned with a soft smile that made him grin. To the outward eye, you two appeared to be lost in one another but, internally, you were struggling. It was like this glimpse into Yoongi's softer side was pulling off a mask that he wore to work. You began to find yourself enjoying his company and that was what scared you but thrilled you at the same time. Maybe your boss would be the one to satiate the hunger growing within you.

The rest of dinner went off without a hitch until dessert rolled around. The conversation between the men turned to business. You did your best to ignore the conversation but the numbers game was off. Everything that Namjoon brought up didn't match up with all the paperwork that you gave your boss earlier at work. Your eye even twitched at the low ball offer being discussed.

Yoongi laughed it off with a wave of his hand. "Namjoon, after all these years, you mock me with an offer like this? Come on man. You and I both know it isn't worth it."

Namjoon wiped his mouth with one of the cloth napkins and nodded, "Yeah, I know, but the boss won't let me go any higher. I knew the figure was laughable."

"Your boss sounds like a miser. My company will more than triple his profits. My fees are non-negotiable," Yoongi sat back and draped his arm around the back of your chair. His fingers absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bare shoulder. Goosebumps erupted across your visible flesh. He was obviously doing this as a distraction.

"Oh, come on. Do me a solid on this Yoongi-ssi. I really need this deal to go through. The boss plans on making me partner," Namjoon implored.

"If I do, you have to promise me something in return," Yoongi stared off in contemplation. His fingertips continued to lightly play at your shoulder. The sensation put you on edge. You needed to refocus.

You played with the rim of your wine glass. It was getting harder by the moment to stay silent. One of your legs, restless now, began to bounce. Yoongi put a hand on your thigh under the table. The touch stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes met his, which gave you a warning look. They were pleading with you to mind your own business. That was just it though. It was your business. You worked so hard to have all the paperwork in order for the negotiation that was being brought up at dinner. You expected this to happen at the conference on Monday but here you were, playing Yoongi's girlfriend and not his employee. It was killing you. You shot him a glare and opened your mouth, about to add in your two cents.

"Miss Moody, you're looking a bit flushed, perhaps you should head to the ladies room to freshen up?" Your boss offered but you could tell that it was more of a demand. Your eye twitched with how hard you tried to keep composure at the hatred you had for the nickname he'd given you. He stood to help pull out your chair and offered his hand. You took it, flashing a smile that never reached your eyes.

"Yes, I really should go powder my nose," you tried to hide the scoff but several of the men at the table heard you and let it be known as you walked off.

"You sure have a feisty one on your hands there, Yoongi-ssi," You heard from behind you. Oh, you haven't seen feisty.

Upon reaching the restroom, you debated whether you should just leave. Did Mr. Min realise how hard it would be for you to not say a word about the business end of the deal? He really did just bring you to keep the focus away from his personal life so that the business dinner could be just that, business.

There's still that chance, he could be setting me up to drop them panties. You rolled your eyes after taking in your reflection. Yeah, fat chance. I am but a means to an end.

Huffing in annoyance, you straightened your dress then washed your hands and tried to make sense of it all. Logically speaking, you knew he sent you off so that he could hide that you were an employee. Not just any employee, but the employee. You were the one who put the whole agreement together. Thoughts speeding through your mind did nothing to help quell the anger that slowly began to rise.

Get it together. You're just the date. You tried to reason with yourself, which spoke volumes to your logical side.

"Alright, let's get back to it," you checked yourself in the mirror and headed back to the dining area.

Many of the patrons took no notice as you came through once more. The double doors opened and you made your way back to the table. The business conversation carried on while you were away, but appeared to have been dealt with because Yoongi and Namjoon were standing and shaking hands.         "Pleasure doing business with you Yoongi-ssi. My boss will be pleased to hear that you settled," the younger man smiled, dimples turned up on max.

"Great, have your assistant send my assistant the new documents for me to sign, and we will get it right back to you," your boss grinned for a millisecond before realizing you were back from the ladies room.

You stood there, arms crossed and jaw clenched. That snake. First, he used you as arm candy, and then sent you away to not hear how the deal that you pieced together went down. This is it, you thought, this is where the other shoe falls.

"I most certainly will not," you said, icily. The room went silent. All eyes were on you.

"Excuse me?" Namjoon looked at you, quizzically.

Your boss, however, glared at you. The palpable tension grew between the two of you. You wouldn't back down this time. Out of all the times that you were expected to shut up and do your job, this time was not it. This time, you were not on the clock and most definitely not being paid.

Your blood pressuring was rising and your cheeks tinted red. "You see, Mr. Min, you will not be accepting the offer. Not yet, at least." You stepped closer, letting one hand rest on your hip and the other point right at him. "You will wait until I've gone over every word of the new contract before it is accepted. How dare you!?" You were getting louder now and Yoongi flinched when you began to poke at his chest. "You knew how hard I worked on that deal?! It's like you just spat on my face! The audacity!" You threw your hands up, exasperated.

Your boss's surprise turned into a smug look. "You can't have everything your way, Miss Moody. It is my business after all."

A sardonic laugh left your lips, "Oh, indeed it is Mr. Min. All decisions are your own, unless you want to run your business into the dirt. I suggest you take my advice. Leave the numbers game to your assistant." The venom you spat was from years of being overburdened at the office and from the amount of lifeblood that you poured into it.

There was something else there, nagging you in the back of your mind. I can think of some numbers that I can handle. Inches that is. Your logical brain did it's best to shove the thought back into the deepest recesses of your mind. Put that inside a box and put that box into another box. Hide it away because in the moment, you needed to remind your boss that you were one of his hardest working employees. However, the lust demon refused to not be heard. Oh dear God look at those lips, still holding that smugness! The way I'd kiss those lips until they were swollen with the memory of me. It wasn't the time for you to be fantasizing about your boss in that manner. You were mad not hot and horny. Straighten those thoughts out.

The other men at the table couldn't stop looking at the exchange. They were taken aback. Yoongi just stood there, hoping that you were finished, and the women of the group whispered words of scandal amongst each other.

Your boss eyed you in silence for much longer than it seemed. "You know, now that I think about it," Yoongi scratched at his chin as if in thought, "your services are no longer required."

Now, it was your turn to be surprised. Eyes wide with shock and hands shaking, you could only stare at your boss. You tightened your lips and inhaled sharply through your nose. "What?!" Did you hear him correctly?

"You can move your belongings on Monday," Yoongi eyed you one last time before sitting down with a bored expression. There it was, the boss that you knew. The one who let everything wash away from him like he had no cares in the world.

"Yoongi…." The gravity of the situation was becoming too real. He really was going to fire you, just like that? He never looked up. That was it. The conversation was over. No time for rebuttal. Namjoon gave you a sad smile, but the others avoided your eyes. A frown marred your lips. You took up your clutch and held it close while you searched for your phone to order an Uber.

"Goodbye, Mr. Min," you said softly. Everything culminated to this, one of the lowest points of your life. You've never lost it before on your boss. You were utterly embarrassed. Nothing you could say now could change anything.

Outside of the restaurant brought a different kind of cold treatment. The artificial light did nothing to bring up your spirit. Traffic whizzed by and life still carried on like nothing happened. You checked the Uber app to see where your driver was. They were still a good fifteen minutes out. That meant fifteen more minutes of holding it together, to think about how much of a bitch you were, and finally just how good Yoongi looked while firing you.

Wait...he fired me. I shouldn't be thinking about how hot it was with that damn smirk of his. Mmm, but yet somewhere deep in that animalistic brain of your's, you knew that you were just as much turned on as you were angry. In that moment, you hated yourself for the arousal that snuck up on you. You tried to reason with yourself that it was just because things got so heated and you had to face it. Your now former boss was so utterly attractive.

The power he held and money he had played no part in the attraction you felt. It was purely a need to fuck that arrogant smirk off his face. Well, that or punish you like the brat that you were. You long since found yourself loving to be choked up by the work that he loaded you down with and that in itself was punishment.

You were secretly in lust with the thought of him and it caused you frustration on the daily. And even though your driver arrived and began its trek to your quaint apartment, the source of your irritation still clouded your mind. Maybe once you reached home you could just masturbate it out of you and call it a night. Only then would you be able to sleep and worry about finding a new job in the days that followed.

*******

The day you dreaded finally made its arrival. The morning matched your mood. Cold, dark, and rainy. You had a short to-do list for the day: pick up belongings from the office, cash your final paycheck, and drown yourself in cheap wine to wash away the hatred for your boss and your actions.

You dragging yourself out of bed proved not such an easy feat as you had gone on a weekend binder. You washed your face and eyed yourself in your tiny bathroom mirror. You made a poor attempt at applying some makeup to cover the dark circles under your eyes.

How you wished that you could just go in your sweatshirt and yoga pants but alas, you wanted to maintain some decorum. You threw on a black pair of dress slacks with a white billowy blouse. The final touch was to pull your hair back in a loose bun. You sneered in disgust at your image before heading out.

As you stood in front of the tall, dark office building that housed Min Industries, you couldn't help but to be thankful that the lustful thoughts disappeared along with your job. You were so wrapped up in being grateful for that, that you didn't notice the building was quiet all the way up to the top floor. You only noticed once the elevator doors parted and there stood Min Yoongi.

There were no sounds of your coworkers clacking away on keyboards, no phones ringing, and absolutely no one running back and forth between the cubicles. There was only Min Yoongi. He was silent with that same smug smirk.

"I was wondering when you would finally grace me with your presence," he said when you stepped off of the elevator. "We have so much work to complete today with the new deal and whatnot."

This was a trap. You just knew it. You were not going to fall into his games this time. "I'm here for my things," you simply stated as you started to move passed him. The key word being started. With one quick movement, he stopped you. His hand wrapped around your wrist. His grip wasn't so tight that you couldn't get away but just enough to get you to look at him.

And that you did and that was the beginning of your real downfall.

"I'm really not going to let my best assistant leave that easily," his voice was calm but his eyes not so much. They held a fire in them that had you questioning yourself.

"I thought you were the one who fired me. Seems to me that means you decided to let me go that easily," the reply rolled off your tongue, coolly. "Besides, you have employees that can handle my job duties. I'm just going to grab my things and see myself out."

Yoongi let go of your hand. "I didn't quite say that."

Surprisingly, you felt a sad pang in your heart at the lack of contact. Your eyes held his and you were even more shocked to see another emotion swirling in his eyes. Was that sadness? Regret? Whatever emotion it was played upon his lips as well because suddenly they were in a frown. Was the normally emotionless boss finally slapped in the face with the reality of firing his best assistant? He walked off to his office in silence.

You exhaled sharply, not realizing you had been holding it. While heading to your desk just outside of Yoongi's office door, you grabbed an empty box that once held reams of paper. The empty office felt as empty as your thoughts while you began to pack away your personal belongings.

Halfway done, you plopped into the swirly chair and ran your hands across your face to massage at your temples. The past several years of memories started to play out in your mind. There were plenty of good memories surrounding your coworkers and even those including your boss. It had only been the past year that his attitude, or lack of, that he started showing less emotion. You began to wonder why.

As if he had read your thoughts, Yoongi made himself known by clearing his throat. He leaned against the door frame, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. There was a fond look on his face.

"You know, I remember the day I hired you," he said while pushing off the frame of the door. Slowly, he made his way to stand beside your seat. "It was five years ago. I, myself, was just as new as you were at the time. My father insisted that my first move as boss was to hire my own assistant. One that could easily learn my needs and wants. One that was dedicated and eager. Someone that was trustworthy."

You perked up, tilting your head to the side. You swiveled around in your chair and looked up at him. You nodded for him to continue. He was silent for a moment.

"I found that in you. You had all of the qualities and then some. Throughout the years, I've watched you flourish in this position. You've handled things that assistants shouldn't do. You've kept your nose clean, and most certainly have kept my company exceeding everyone's expectations," Yoongi fiddled with his fingers, nervousness started to show.

"Well, if that's the case why…." He held up a hand to cut you off. A brow perked while trying to gauge what Yoongi was up to. Your she demon side was threatening to escape the box that you so neatly put her in.

"Let me explain," he dropped to his knees in front of you. "There's a reason why, in this last year, you've seen a change in me and your job responsibilities." He was careful with his words and even more careful in the way that he put his hands atop both of your knees. It was torture. The warmth of his hands caused an eruption of tingles to spread throughout your body.

"Overtime, I felt something pulling me to you. I can't explain it. I started to look at you differently. Suddenly, your every movement caught my eye. The smell of your perfume fogged my senses. Everything about you was taking over me."

You exhaled a shaky breath. Yoongi's eyes were trained on yours. You held contact though the heat began to rise and tint your cheeks. A soft smile crept on his lips. "I've had my eye on you for a while and the frustration of not being able to have what I want made me disregard you and your feelings. I should have explained it to you before dinner on Friday night. I didn't mean that you were full on fired. I meant to make you partner that evening. In fact…" he trailed off while he traced his fingers up your thighs, "I meant to make you partner in more ways than one. The things we will do will be so…." He spoke but you were not aware as his voice drifted in and out of your hearing.

Partner? More ways than one? The lustful thought went into overdrive. As his words sank in, realization did too. You didn't hate your boss. It was quite the opposite. You were wildly attracted to him. And people always said that there was a fine line between love and hate.

You couldn't hear the rest of what Yoongi was saying when he continued on. He was still lightly tracing up and down your thighs and it put you into some kind of trance. Your mind was too busy trying to make sense of everything to register the touch. It was a lot to process. Partner and partner? Some of those deep-seeded fantasies started to blossom.

".....and if you're uncomfortable we can always stop." He finished and was gazing at you quietly. The lack of his voice pulled you out of a hypnotic state.

You blinked and both of your brows were raised. You smiled a sheepish smile. "I'm not sure, Yoongi. I may need some more persuasion."

"Persuasion, you say?" The gleam in his eyes spoke a thousand words that the smirk upon his lips did not utter. He rose and pulled you with him. His arm slid to the small of your back to press you against him. The other hand clutched the back of your neck. Naturally, you tilted your head back, eager to meet his lips.

Yoongi descended on them like a man starved. His tongue swept your bottom lip, enthusiastically seeking entrance. Allowing him such access deepened it and allowed a soft moan to escape. The office melted away along with any of your worries. Yoongi's lips made sure of it.

You broke away, both of you gasping and eyes locked on one another. Nothing else mattered in that moment besides the two of you. He admired your lips, swollen and pink from his kiss. He decided that he didn't like your hair pinned back. Yoongi took hold of the pins holding your hair and removed them. Your hair fell in soft curls around your shoulders as he watched in awe.

Yoongi took your hand. He zoomed you to the confines of his office and kicked his door shut with his foot. You helped slide his suit jacket off and were working on the buttons to his shirt with shaking hands. From nerves or excitement, who knew? Flinging open his shirt, you ran your hands down his chest over the undershirt. Why did he have to wear so many layers? You thought when your fingers met the cool metal buckle of his belt. You released the belt and made quick work of the fly of his pants.

When his pants pooled around his ankles, an audible gasp left you at the sight of his hard member straining against the fabric of his boxers. Yoongi pulled off his undershirt while you dropped to your knees in front of him. Your mouth watered at the delicious view in front of you. Pale skin, clear of any blemishes or scars gave onslaught to your eyes, and you couldn't contain the moan if you wanted to. He was even better unclothed, save for the boxers. You palmed at Yoongi's thighs as you ran them from his knees up to band of his underwear.

You only looked up when his hand stopped your's. The other took you by your chin, angling you to get a better look at your face. He thought you looked glorious, like an angel looking up at him with hooded eyes. The want and hunger ever apparent with your lips parted in a pant.

"Not, now baby, this is about making you partner. I intend to vet you fully," Yoongi gave you a half smirk. He encircled your wrist and yanked you upward. In one quick motion, your back slammed against his office door. Breath knocked out of your lungs only for Yoongi to breathe his own back into you. His mouth made claim against your's once more. It was like he was drinking you up. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth while running his hands the along the length of your torso. He couldn't get enough.

Yoongi was so painfully hard but he intended to take his time. Enjoy you to the fullest as he had fantasized about this day for so long. He gave the entire company a paid day off for this moment and it already paid itself off tenfold. Much slower to your liking, he removed each article of clothing of your's while kissing down your neck. He stopped every so often, sucking, causing purple and red marks to bloom across your skin. He kissed, licked, and nibbled along the swells of your breasts that peeked from the cups of your bra.

Removal of said item was much quicker. Yoongi just had to get his hands and lips all over your breasts. You dropped your head back against the door when his tongue darted out and swiped over one of your nipples. His free hand slipped inside the top of your dress slacks, he wasn't concerned that they were still on.

Yoongi was more worried about feeling the arousal pooling in your panties. He wasn't able to get a good angle, so he settled on using the heel of his hand to press against your clothed mound. His middle finger rubbed back and forth over the cloth covering your slit. The pressure had you swimming and moaning. You ran your fingers through Yoongi's hair as he continued his movements. His lips were latched so perfect on your nipple. He suckled harder for a moment and nipped it before lavishing his attention on the other. The soft moans and sighs coming from your lips spurred him on.

He detached to return to your mouth, the kiss near animalistic. His need only grew as he rolled himself into you, seeking relief, while he tore the fly open to your dress pants. He pulled your ruined panties and pants down in one fell swoop.

Bare before him and trapped safely in his arms, he lifted you up, never once breaking the kiss. You wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He walked the two of you to his desk where he perched your ass on top of the edge. You reached on either side pushing off what you could reach.

Yoongi's fingers curled around your neck to push you down across the shorter end of his desk. As you laid back, his hand travelled the length of you and rested splayed across your lower abdomen. "Fuck, you're absolutely beautiful," he praised, taking in your features. Your chest was heaving with every breath.

You let your legs fall open and everything was on display for Yoongi's eyes. His eyes landed on your naked pussy, pink and dripping with want. "Take it, Yoongi. Whatever you want, it's yours."

That's all it took for him, he was on his knees in front of you and the desk, which happened to have your wet cunt in a perfect position. There was no embarrassment about being totally naked before him. In fact, you were a little grumpy because he was taking too long to touch you. "NOW, YOONGI!" You yelled out in frustration.

Yoongi bit down on your inner thigh, earning a surprised 'eep' from you. "Patience, or else Ms. Moody will be your name again," he chuckled in between the small kisses that trailed closer to the apex of your thighs. He continued around kissing the top of your mound, anywhere but right where you wanted. No, where you needed.

You felt him smirk against you, literally smirk when he darted his tongue out just above the hood of your clit. The annoyed whine that followed was proof of his further teasing. "I'll show you Ms. Moody." You trapped his head between your thighs and grabbed tight at the hair on the back of his head.

Yoongi revelled in the action and grabbed ahold of your ass cheeks. Long fingers dug in before slapping at the sides of your cheeks. He brought his hands around underneath where your thighs met your buttocks and pushed them up and apart. His incoming onslaught onto your clit had you keening. He attacked with fervor. An obscene, muffled moan from him shot through your core when he lapped at the arousal pooled inside your entrance. You would have thought you were his final meal at the slurping sound that echoed throughout his office.

"Fuuuuuhhhhck, Yoongi, right there," you groaned as he continued to work you over. He alternated between harsh, flat licks and fast, short pointed tongue licks against and around your clit. Yoongi's right hand joined the fray. There was no preamble to its entrance as he used the gathering saliva and arousal as lubrication and dipped one finger in. It was quickly followed by a second that scissored in and out of your wet cunt. He spent time working you open as he heard your moans increase in length and volume. Your pelvis ground into his mouth and fingers while you were being driven closer to the edge. That ledge was screaming for you to fall off. Yoongi's two fingers turned and curled beckoning your pleasure hither.

Your mind and body jumped off the edge with his name shouting from your lips. Back arching off the desk and hips pressing down, your orgasm ripped through you. Yoongi licked up every bit of your release and savored your taste.

You laid there, in the afterglow, thighs still trembling. The loss of Yoongi's fingers and mouth made you whine pathetically. His warmth returned just as quickly as it had left. He stood between your legs. The magnificent sight before you renewed the lust in your core. Yoongi had removed his boxers and was stroking his length at the sight of your already fucked out face.

You wanted to watch him for days. The way he sucked in his bottom lip and bit at it, and the way the head of his cock was engorged, red, angry, and glistening with pre-cum were both being filed away to memory.

"I'm not finished with you yet," were the promising words that he groaned out, lust heavily lace in his timbre. It was not a threat but a vow to utterly wreck your core. The crinkle of the condom wrapper was unmistakable. Yoongi hissed at the feel of rolling the rubber down his painfully hardened cock. Your eyes pleading with him as he stepped closer. One hand was at the base of his shaft and the other slid down to the back of your knee.

Yoongi's jaw clenched when the tip of his cock dipped into your entrance that clenched at the feeling of the protrusion. "Fuck, baby, I thought you were ready for me," he said, while slipping in another inch. The sound of his voice almost made you cum alone. Shit, he was going to be the death of you. You angled your hips up, allowing him to slide in further

"Please, Yoongi, just fuck me already. Need your cock!" You begged, sounding like a slut just hungry for a good dicking down. He bit his lip again and in one full thrust forward, Yoongi was buried to the hilt. Your walls clenched around him. He nearly rejoiced as if it were homecoming.

Slowly, he drew back and snapped his hips into yours. His hands gripped at either side of your hips, holding you in place. You were likely to have bruising but you'd wear them like a badge of honor.

Yoongi's pelvic bone flush against your clit. "Not only am I gaining a partner but also a cockwarmer. You'd like that, huh?" The confidence in his words had you aching for more. How you begged for him to move, or do anything as you became drunk on his cock.

Yoongi looked down at where you were joined. The sinful vision of your pussy stretched around his thick length. He moaned at such a sight. "Mmmm, baby this pussy was made for me. Heaven sent." He drawled out right as he began a steady pace of thrusting in and out of your sodden cunt. You bent your knees to pull your legs back a little further but this made Yoongi grab your ankles and push your legs together.

He angled your legs to the side and thrust deeply. The new position allowed him to directly batter your g-spot. You moaned out a broken version of his name. Each stroke hit so deep and hard.

Yoongi kept fucking into you with abandon. It was hard to tell when one moan stopped and another one began. God, how he loved to watch your breasts bounce with each thrust. The quick drag of his cock in and out of your pussy was threatening his release but he held on wanting to pull another orgasm from you. He pulled both of your legs up, putting an ankle on either side of his head and held on for dear life. With each pulse of your pussy, around his length, you tightened more and more. The urge to cum was strong in the two of you but neither wanted it to end. Your moans were intermingled in between breaths.

Yoongi dropped your legs to his hips when the need to cum became overpowering. He leaned across your torso, kissing you vigorously, while each thrust pushed you across the desk. Your hands flew to his back in this position and you scraped them in a downward motion. You wrapped your legs around him and arched your back.

"Fuhhhhhck, Yoongi!" You cried out as a powerful snap of his hips combined with him sucking at the pulse of your neck wrecked you. Your whole body wracked with your orgasm that washed over you. Delirious from hearing your pleasure and the feel of your cunt squeezing his cock in time, Yoongi blew his own load. His hips stuttered against yours but one final thrust landed directly onto your g-spot and he stilled.

You secretly wished his cum was painting your walls but the condom held his seed safely from your womb. He stayed like that a moment, resting his forehead against your's. Your panting breaths being the only sound in the office except for the quiet ticking of the clock.

Yoongi stood up, sliding out of your wrecked core. He disposed of the condom and turned back towards you to help you sit up. "Damn, Yoongi, is that how you initiate all your partners?" You quipped with a silly grin.

"Mmmm, not just any partner. Only the ones who put in the work," he answered with a wink. His demeanor was notably different. His lips had a gummy smile plastered to them. One you hadn't seen in ages. He tossed you your under garments before putting on his own. "Normally, I'd help you clean up but as you can tell, I don't normally have visitors in my office." Yoongi was a little embarrased now. His hand rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. It was cute how his cheeks had a twinge of pink across them.

"It's fine. I plan on heading home and taking a nice, relaxing shower. Work was strenuous today," you said while getting dressed. Your slacks were no longer able to be secured. You looked at Yoongi sheepishly, "Can I borrow your belt until tomorrow? I'm afraid I won't make it out of here with my pants up."

"Sure thing," he said, "Let me lend you a hand." Yoongi got his belt and slid it through each of the belt loops. The closeness was still so intoxicating. You began to wonder if you would make it home at all. After buckling the belt for you he asked, "Anything else I can do for you?"

A sly grin crossed your lips and your eyes lit up, "You know, now that I think about it…." You scratched at your chin in jest, "your services are no longer required."

Yoongi held up a hand to his heart in mock shock, "That's a low blow. I am hurt….hurt I tell you." He returned your playful banter.

"Well, I guess I will see you tomorrow, partner," you said heading to the door and opened it. Yoongi was behind you, only dressed in his boxers and undershirt.

On the other side of the door stood Namjoon and the five other men that had been at dinner on Friday evening. They all were drained of any color in shock at the state of Yoongi's undress and your messy hair and hickies on your neck.

"Fuck, I forgot the negotiation conference was today."

The End

[fanfictiondreamscape]

Fun-Sized S/O

Request: Can I ask for hc’s for sebastian from black butler with a really tiny s/o (around ciels height) but she is allready a adult? Would love some cute headcanons for him if you have time..

Title: Fun-Sized S/O

Genre: fluff, slightly romantic

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x Fem!Reader 

Notes: When I saw this, I gushed! This sounds so cute and I think it’ll be so much fun to write. That, and this just gave me a new rush of happiness that I really needed right now, so thank you for that! 

That said, I hope you enjoy it! I refrained from specifying the age, but I tried to make it very obvious with some comedy inclusion. I may have strayed a little, though, so I apologize. 

Below the cut! 

let’s cover one thing first: he finds you absolutely adorable.

seriously.

despite being the same height as ciel, as well as maintaining a job in a similar area (you both worked under the queen), he couldn’t see you as anything other than a chihuahua walking around in a world full of english mastiffs

though, he was well aware that you were very much capable of taking care of yourself. 

you work under the queen for a reason, after all.

which is also how you two met. 

at first, he saw you as someone that would be filling in for someone else, possibly even taking up a role that had been presented to you by one of your parents or other family members.

but that was not the case.

your business was booming, and this is when he found out that not only were you of legal age, but very crafty as well.

(he liked to think that you preferred to feint any kind of awareness and have a vast amount of knowledge in all areas to be able to hold a candle to anyone that would try to manipulate, but that was only a theory of his.)

as much as it annoyed him from time to time, he and sebastian could tell that you would be a powerful asset, not only to them, but to the queen.

from that point forward, whenever you two would meet (which was, again, fairly often - the queen!), you two would be able to have almost the exact same thought process. 

it was very evident that you knew your way around, and he admired that. 

but there was also a side to you which he knew how to pick out.

taunt your height, get kicked. 

treat you as an armrest, get kicked. 

make sly comments about how you can’t reach something, get kicked. 

or, at least, try to get kicked. 

(yeah, your height was still an issue on that end.)

otherwise, you started to get used to this. 

on days when ciel wanted to be nice and you were free of any work for a time, you two would meet at the phantomhive manor.

whether you were reading next to each other or discussing past events that either one of you asked, something would happen. 

and it would more often be bardroy, mey-rin, or finny. 

and here is where you and him used your height to your advantage.

from time to time, you’d help out the staff. 

ciel had consistently told you that you are a guest and that you don’t have to help those “bumbling idiots”.

you didn’t listen, though.

this is where your height would be either a blessing or a curse.

if the issue had happened in a lower area, you would be quick on the uptake despite the amount of times that someone had tried to stop you.

glass broken? you’d be 100% willing to help and make sure that mey-rin didn’t injure herself while trying to pick it up. 

and yes, this typically went over fairly quietly, though sebastian would never hesitate to throw something out there to annoy you.

“miss l/n, it seems as if your height may come in handy. do be careful when picking that up, thought, dear - don’t want you to get crushed, darling.”

“oh, please, sebastian darling - you may not realize or not care to realize this, but i can and will bite your ankles.”

“love, is that really necessary, though?”

“if you keep attempting to taunt me, then yes, it will be made top priority.”

(banter like this was highly encouraged by ciel, though he would never admit this).

on the other hand, though, if the incident had occurred at a taller height?

yeah, you would have to deal with short comments from him while you do things at your level. 

“darling, may i ask how the weather down there is?”

“oh hush, you obnoxiously tall demon.”

“oh dear, you are just extremely short.”

“don’t forget that i could, quite easily, sneak away from you right here and now and leave you lonely for the remainder of the day.”

(you both knew that wouldn’t happen, though - you would miss him too much, and he’d know where you went almost immediately.)

so, those were fun times. 

otherwise, when given the chance to, you two would try to create things together. 

rose bouquets, sweets, sometimes even a new prototype for whatever purpose. 

times like this are when the jokes would either be completely quieted or completely active.

sometimes, he’d purposely put an item that you could reach easily on a normal day about three shelves higher. 

it was, of course, all a ploy to get you to ask for his help with an attempted nonchalant expression, though you were extremely flustered.

other times, he’d let you rest upon his shoulders if you were too tired to try and jump to reach something - these moments also left you flustered, but you didn’t mind. 

there was even the rare occasion that, when you two would sit near each other and read (or do whatever you desired), he would allow you to lay beside him.

he noticed how your short frame fit perfectly in comparison to his taller one, and he’d silently gush at the image. 

(fun fact: one time, when you had tried to reach a book you had left behind when leaving the room, he had helped you out in the most cliche way possible - he stood behind you and grabbed the book for you, his hand resting on your shoulder. it was an adorable image to the both of you.)

he found these moments to be the most important between you two, the teasing romantic ones were always the ones that got him to become just as flustered as you are. 

and, though kisses didn’t happen very often, they were very much sweet and slightly comedic.

since the height difference was so obvious, things went one of two ways: either one of you would adjust your height to reach the other, or you would find a way to even it out and make it romantic. 

if it were to go along a more humorous route, the common things were either he would lean down, or you would jump up.

considering both of you were fairly serious, these moments were highly treasured. 

sometimes, he would watch you pout and fight back the urge to laugh at the image.

these times, though, he’d fall victim to the cute and childish expression that rested upon your face, and he’d lean down just the slightest.

he’d gaze at you lovingly, and it wasn’t until you would turn to look at him that he’d say something. 

“you are quite adorable, lady y/n.”

cue your blush, cue his smirking visage. 

“may i kiss you, my dear?”

small silence...

“...yes, you may.”

he laughs at your attempt to fight back the rush of blood to your face as he decides to tease you.

he stopped leaning down and watched as you puffed your cheeks and sighed.

“aren’t you going to kiss me, mr. michaelis?”

“hmm...maybe i might. it would be very much appreciated if you could, possibly, meet me halfway, though, darling.”

cue another huff. 

you tried to jump up at him, but you were still unable to reach his height. he met you halfway.

the other times, though - those were when things got really romantic. 

these were the moments when you two would get a break from a growing crowd of people at a formal event. 

these were the moments when you two would be resting in the garden under the moonlight, surrounded by flourishing roses and carnations. 

these were the moments when you two would be sitting next to each other on a bench, around even height as your skirt had lifted you just the slightest. 

these were the moments where things would remain quiet yet loving, and though there was still a height difference, things were on much more level ground.

kisses in this moment were also very sweet. 

neither one of you had to do much to meet the other. 

afterwards, the rest of the night is spent in the midst of the festivities. 

so, as a whole? 

short jokes, tall jokes, and a surprisingly wholesome relationship for a demon as renowned in the realm as him.

(he may also have taken a slight liking to your soul, but he was very loyal in return to ciel - cuz souls are tasty, yUM-)

[mysticdragon3md3]

I find it endlessly amusing how after 10 years, my OTPs have circled back onto the same type. lol

I realize the Blue Lions have Dedue, and Ashe used to be a commoner. But Ashe got adopted into a higher class. Meanwhile, the Golden Deer has 3 commoners who stay commoners.

And Yukimura probably had commoners serving under him, but Sengoku Basara (2009) takes a lot of time to emphasize that Masamune's commoner associates are named, get screentime, voice his effect on them, and spent time closely serving under him. Meanwhile, Yukimura's only named subordinates seem to also be lords or ninja, more than basic commoners.

When referring to "self-doubt & a phase of failing as a commander", I'm specifally referring to Sengoku Basara (2009) season 2 for Yukimura. That's pretty much most of what he does that season. And he made a critical decision error as a commander that got one of his major subordinates killed and probably also unnecessarily killed some of his other soldiers. Though I am vaguely aware that in one of the videogames, Yukimura similary spent most of the story in self-doubt, after thinking Takeda was dying, and I think he ran his army around doing actions without enough thought.

And of course, with Dimitri, I'm referring to his post-time-skip phase wherein he went full "boar" and refused to properly lead his army. Though after regaining more mental stability and becoming a proper general, he still gets haunted by self-doubts for the rest of his life.

When I spell "Strength" with a capital "S", I'm usually shortening my term "True Strength" and referring to both a mental and emotional fortitude, resilience, and frequently an iron resolve in Compassion. That's just my personal philosophy in defining "True Strength". Personally, I see 2 definitions of "strength" that both converge at Compassion, to define "True Strength". 1) In an amoral sense, strength is resilience in maintaining one's own "soul pattern"/emotions/resolve, without being swayed or influenced by outside forces to change. 2) In terms of defining strength as the ability to do what is most difficult, in my opinion, Compassion is the most difficult. Not only do acts of Compassion often cost a range of efforts from some to exorbitant, but it can also require the enacter to put themselves into a vulnerable position. So it is often something only the strong can afford, or survive, or disregard fears of being vulnerable or taken advantage of. Therefore, in my personal opinion, converging the 2 definitions into an unwavering resolve in Compassion, is my personal definition of "True Strength".

So when I categorize Date Masamune as having Strength, I mean he is unwavering in his resolve towards Compassion. Sengoku Basara 2009 takes a lot of instances to reiterate that Masamune cannot be swayed, his Resolve is unquestioning, no one can stop him, slow him, or change his mind. His catch phase is "pressing onward" (translated as "full speed ahead"). One of his first scenes is charging ahead, disregarding Katakura's warnings for caution. (Notice that in Judge End, this is framed as foolish brashness, but in Sengoku Basara 2009, Katakura smiles and continues following without worry, because he completely trusts Masamune's instincts and decision-making. Because everyone trusts Masamune 2009 to always make decisions based in the best ideals/Compassion.) This is reiterated throughout season 2, when Masamune makes allies and each of them ask him to change directions, but the most they can do is temporarily slow him down, because he doesn't stop moving forward. This Strength directed in outward Compassion towards others is almost unexpected after considering Masamune's historical backstory. One would think that someone betrayed by his mother would become disillusioned and spiteful towards the world. It's a basic supervillain backstory to be betrayed by a trusted figure, especially during fundamental development. But instead, Masamune seems to want only to protect others and bring the whole country under his command, so that the whole country of people can be under his umbrella of protection. The 2009 series only mentions his regret from one of his early battles where lots of his soldiers died, being his major motivation in protecting others, specifically his soldiers. But I've headcanon'ed a lot that can be extrapolated from his historical backstory, that when in conjunction to his actions in Sengoku Basara 2009, portrays a Masamune who has dedicated himself towards Compassion, despite his tragic backstory.

Similarly, Claude's backstory is tragic, yet he emerges with True Strength. I've heard criticisms within the fandom that Claude growing up experiencing so much bullying and discrimination against his being biracial, could not believably yield a person dedicated towards Compassion. But I think that's just brainwashing from too many supervillain tropes telling us that traumatized and mentally ill people invariably become villains. I've heard it's more realistic that people who have experienced trauma, tragedy, or some kind of pain, actually are more likely to increase their ability to empathize/sympathize with others, consequently becoming more compassionate. (Mentioned in https://youtu.be/bHe2seINnE0 at 2:03/9:09; https://youtu.be/zaZYDK1RcEU) Claude experienced descrimination and bullying; he explicitly explains in FE3H canon that he wants to create a world where no one else has to experience that same pain. I really don't see why this can be an unbelievable characterization to some people, when most of the world admires Batman for literally that same reason. And I think that characters, like Claude, who react to trauma and hardship with altruism, demonstrate a True Strength in their characters. They haven't been broken by their trauma. They not only survive, but survive as people who still want to care for others. (Also why I love Natsume Takashi.)

I was tempted to include Dimitri in the category of "Emerged from tragic backstory with Strength and vowing to make world where no one will experience same pain". But he didn't emerge with the same level of flawless Strength that Masamune and Claude did. Dimitri certainly did resolve to protect others from ever experiencing the pain that he felt, after the Tragedy of Duscur. But he was also not as mentally stable. He was so repressed and internally conflicted (concerning his feelings of vengence, or sadness that didn't know how to be expressed as anything but anger, lest he break), that he didn't integrate his "boar" impulses/emotions until much later in his post-time-skip. I didn't feel that Dimitri was a fully reconcilled version of himself, until after he had accepted his "boar" emotions, stopped repressing his unresolved anger, and learned to express them more appropriately or at more appropriate times. After he became more mentally/emotionally stable, I have no doubt that he still can have episodes of rage, anti-social moods, or crippling survivor's guilt, but I think he no longer allows those feelings/episodes to push away the people he cares about or disregard his true personal desires to be kind/protective towards others. He knows how to deal with those feelings now. But he spent a long time not yet at that stable level, until much later. Until then, he was frankly wavering, conflicting with his personal resolve, denying his own ideals, and allowing his survivor's guilt manifesting as ghosts to sway him away from his true desires/motivations/values of Compassion. Dimitri was Weak for a time. So I can't say that he was in the same category of Strength as Masamune and Claude.

Dimitri's backstory of his father's death and idolizing Rodrigue, after he took him in, is information he canonically tells the player.

But I realize that Sengoku Basara 2009 never actually mentions a backstory like this for Yukimura. I'm actually referencing the takarazuka version of Sengoku Basara. In that play, they include a childhood backstory scene, where Yukimura's father was a subordinate of Takeda and died while protecting him. Young Yukimura blamed Takeda for his father's death and went to punch him out. Because Takeda understood that Yukimura needed catharsis and was trying to reconcile with his grief, Takeda allowed himself to be punched. But he also punched back. I think maybe to encourage Yukimura to keep going? I can't remember. But eventually, Yukimura punched out all his anger and only had energy left to finally cry, and Takeda said something that comforted him. From then on, he called Takeda "Oyakata-sama" and became completely devoted to him. This explained the origin of the running gag from the 2009 anime, wherein Takeda and Yukimura engage in fist fights as a form a bonding. (It's a shame that the video of these scenes was taken off YouTube. ;_; ) I don't know if "Sengoku Basara Sanada Yukimura-den" mentions how Yukimura's father dies, since he finally appeared in that game. So I'm referencing the takarazuka version.

There isn't really mention of Masamune's mother in the 2009 Sengoku Basara anime. The closest, was Masamune's maternal uncle appearing in the movie "The Last Party" that ended that anime series. But historically, after the real life Date Masamune survived smallpox at a young age, and lost sight in his right eye, there was a lot of dissent among the other high ranking people within his clan, concerning his continued position as the Date clan's head. A lot of this dissent was lead by his mother, who insisted that Masamune's younger brother should become the new clan leader instead. Some accounts say that to shut up accusations that Masamune was weak and that his faulty eye was just an advertised weakness that enemies would take advantage of on the battlefield, Masamune either pulled out his own right eye or ordered Katakura to do it. Apparently, that shut up everyone except his mother, who still continued to try undermining his position. I don't know if there was one instance of several, but she also tried to kill him through poisoning, to replace him with his brother. Because of this, Masamune's only choice was to kill his own little brother, which forced his mother to run back to her original clan. (I can only assume that Masamune didn't just kill his mother, because it's possible she indoctrinated his brother to ursurp him. So Masamune might have ended up eventually needing to kill his brother anyway.) Lots of us in the Sengoku Basara fandom like to headcanon that all of this happened for the Basara version of Masamune too.

It's my understanding that Cornelia implicated Dimitri's stepmother in the murder of his father and friends at the Tragedy of Duscur, but that things were still left canonically vague. Personally, the fact that Patricia was always kind to Dimitri, combined with the fact that Cornelia is proven duplicitous, I find it difficult to believe that Patricia intentionally betrayed Dimitri. The way Cornelia described it, she offered Patricia a chance to be reunited with her daughter Edelgard, Patricia confirmed that desire, then the Tragedy of Duscur happened. Given that Cornelia was already doing terrible things behind Patricia's back, like experimenting on Hapi, and Patricia being angry at Cornelia when she discovered Hapi, I doubt that Cornelia would have been fully truthful with Patricia. I imagine Cornelia tricked Patricia into opening a path or lowering some defenses to "allow a clandestine meeting with Edelgard", but then Cornelia would probably use it to sneak in enemies to kill Dimitri's father and friends. That's my headcanon theory on the Tragedy of Duscur anyway. So Dimitri was only *possibly* betrayed by his mother figure.

And that's my comparison between DateSana and DimiClaude/DMCL/ClauDimi. It continuously amazes me how similar these ships are and how my shipping has come full circle. lol

[janekfan]

Too Much

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972698

When Jon stalked back into the archives the fierce conviction in his face belied his ragged appearance. Tim wasn’t stupid. He’d known there was something shady happening in this place probably before Jon did, considering. It didn’t stop him from purposefully hardening his heart against his pallid skin and bloody throat, his poorly bandaged hand, his filthy, mud-covered clothes.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice was soft and it set off a trembling in him that Tim could see from across the room. “Hey--” Without warning, Jon bent double over the nearest wastebasket, going down hard on his knees as he emptied his stomach painfully, shaking so hard the bin rattled. “Oh, oh, Jon.” Hands fluttering over his back, Martin hovered close, unsure of what to do, before settling next to him on the floor to hold his hair back, plaiting it loosely to keep it out of the way.

“Nngh...s’sorry.” Jon collapsed the rest of the way, resting his weight over the bin, his forehead on the arm slung across the top. “I, I...clean. Clean it up.” Shuddering, voice thick and wavering on a heavy breath. “God, I. I’m so, so sorry.” Another bout of dry heaving cleaved through him, Martin’s hushed reassurances making the ire in Tim rise to vitriolic levels and if he stayed any longer in this room he knew he’d do something to upset Martin. Physical violence had never been the way he preferred to resolve disputes but the confirmation of being trapped here. Trapped by Jon made him desperately want to lash out. Scream. Kick. Throw a tantrum and that wouldn’t do, even if the anger and dissolution flooding into every empty space left behind by the deaths of Danny and Sasha and his freedom begged him to take it out on the one thing left that represented it all.

“Tim, where are you going?” Martin’s attention was still focused primarily on the man panting under his palms, but he spared him a glance.

“Can’t be here for a while.” He flashed a bitter smile. “Guess I’ll be back, won’t I?” He was suffocating and if he stayed here one second longer he’d explode and Martin didn’t deserve that.

Martin had his hands full of a sick and shivering Jon so had no choice but to let Tim go. It was probably best at the moment. He’d been sniping at Jon even before he’d disappeared and the fury flashing behind his eyes wouldn’t help anyone right now. And besides, Jon was going to pass out any minute by the look of it.

“Jon?” His head jerked up and he swayed where he kneeled.

“Sorry, s’sorry…” the slurred apologies certainly weren’t a good sign. “‘L’get this cleaned up.” When he moved clumsily to do so, Martin stopped him with a hand on his cheek, ignoring his temperature for now in favor of attempting to catch his unfocused gaze.

“Let me worry about that later.” And Jon looked stricken, but when Martin pulled him to his unsteady feet he was more concerned with staying upright, embarrassment shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind. “Can you stand?” Whole, long seconds passed and Martin almost asked again, but Jon took a wobbly step only to topple into the taller man who caught him up and held him close.

“S’sorry.” Martin hitched him a little higher. “Dizzy. Jus’...ah.”

“It’s alright, Jon.” Who knew having a cot in the archives would prove to be so useful and Martin was grateful for it now, lowering him as gently as he could. “Nothing to be sorry for.” The hiss of pain sucked through his clenched teeth didn’t bode well. “I’ll be back.” With the first aid kit, warm water, maybe a change of clothes--he was pretty sure he had a few things. They’d be big on him but certainly cleaner than what he was in now. When he returned with his supplies, Jon had tipped onto his side, apparently asleep, and Martin was careful to wake him slow, worried when he didn’t seem to remember where he was or what was happening. With him so sluggish and lethargic, Martin wasn’t sure where to start (maybe a 999 call), deciding top to bottom was as good a plan as anything. Forcing cheer into his tone, he talked about what had been happening while he'd been away, dipping a cloth, wringing it out, and wiping the muck off his skin, noting the pallor in his face underneath all of the dirt. He had the start of a pretty intense fever and looking at him it wasn’t hard to puzzle out why but the only thing for it right now was water and rest.

Jon pushed him away when he began on his neck and it took Martin several minutes to talk him back down, convince him that he was safe before he was allowed to hold a warm compress over the gash across his throat to loosen the blood. It was deeper than it looked and longer than he’d have liked; another brutal scar to add to his growing collection and how was any of it fair? Butterfly stitches applied and covered over with clean bandages, Martin gave Jon a break and kept urging him to drink. He was so silent, focused on pulling in short and shallow breaths, and Martin kept his questions to himself, trying to ease the ruined jumper over his shoulders when it became clear that he was too sore to do it on his own. Each centimeter bared developing bruises just beginning to black and Jon’s breath hitched the higher he was forced to raise his arms, exposing more over his stomach, his ribs and Martin couldn’t help himself.

“What happened?”

“Mm?”

“These bruises?” He ran a delicate thumb over the edge of one, watched him shiver in response.

“Oh…” Martin got the impression Jon was answering from somewhere far away and didn’t blame him. “Asked questions.” He didn’t elaborate and Martin moved on to his hands, draping the blanket over him while he unwrapped old dressings and examined the burn spanning his entire palm and fingers. He didn’t want to think about the shape of it, like he’d shaken hands with the wrong sort, and instead examined the broken blisters lining the long, ruined fingers of both hands, cleaning them gently and applying salves and more bandages before slipping a worn jumper over his head and joggers onto narrow hips, tying the cords to keep them secure. Jon was too pliant, too submissive, more than spent after whatever he’d been through and he sighed in heavy relief when he was finally allowed to lay down.

“Better?” Martin brushed some stray curls out of his face after tucking him in and he nodded.

“Tired.”

“You can sleep, it’s alright.” Jon forced heavy lashes apart, closed them again when Martin swept light fingertips over them. “I’ll keep watch. You’re safe.”

Late into the next day, Martin saw Jon back to Georgie’s flat where he immediately curled up in bed with the Admiral, clutching his borrowed clothes, so baggy they dwarfed his small frame and made the vulnerability in him that much more. He shared a cup of tea, spoke with Georgie in a hushed voice and urged her to keep an eye on him if he’d let her. She nodded resolutely and wished him luck when he left to return to the institute.

“Well?” Basira accosted him immediately as soon as he stepped through the door.

“Christ, Basira!” Hand over his heart, Martin calmed his racing heart, suddenly surrounded by the lot of them.

“Well?”

“He’s exhausted.”

“Aren’t we all?” Martin ignored Tim’s comment. It wasn’t a competition, just a bad situation all around, and after treating and cataloging all of Jon’s myriad injuries, he didn’t feel like continuing along that track. It wouldn’t help anybody. It wouldn’t convince them that Jon was as much a victim in all this as they were. That he didn’t want this. Instead.

“He’ll be back in a few days. Or probably tomorrow, knowing him.”

“Wonderful.”

“Tim!” Martin pinched the bridge of his nose, already exasperated. “Tim, just. Go easy, alright?”

“Oh, I’ll go easy.” Full of grief and anger and heartbreak with nowhere for all of it to go, it had sharpened into a blade Tim wielded with deadly precision. Jon had been at the other end of it for a long time and despite his own frustrations with him, Martin wanted to shield him from the worst of it even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to. If Tim wanted to hurt Jon, he would, and it made him want to weep.

Sure enough and right on time, Jon dragged himself into the archives, mumbling a breathy ‘thank you’ to Martin as he passed by him to his office on new fawn’s legs. It didn’t escape his notice that he was still wearing the jumper, bundled up in it with his bandaged fingers tangled in the sleeves.

And work began again as though they’d never stopped.

Jon could have spent the next eternity wrapped up in bed, bundled in the comfort of Martin’s clothes and hiding from his very new and very real responsibilities. He ached, deeply, profoundly, in a million different ways, crushed by the weight of it all and barely able to breathe. Georgie was disappointed by his decision to go back to the institute but he had to do whatever he could to protect the rest of them, even if that meant playing into Elias’ hands until they came up with a solution together.

If they would have him back.

Reading the statements was going slow, too slow, the pounding in his head increasing whenever he tried to focus. Jon kept the lights low, avoiding the hallways with their cold fluorescent bulbs beaming down at him from above, bowing his back, trying to push him into the floor, keep him there like an insect pressed between pages and he would gladly succumb if it meant he could rest.

“Oi!” He jumped at the sharp voice, groaning when the stabbing hurt all over his body intensified.

“T’Tim?”

“‘Y’yeah.’” He mocked, tossing a stack of folders onto the already overflowing surface of the desk.

“What, what’re these?” Though his hands were shaking and sore, Jon picked up the pile, paging through distractedly.

“How the hell should I know. Martin said you asked for them.” He had?

“I don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

“Tch. Of course. Busy work to keep us preoccupied so we don’t have time to plot?”

“Wha--no, no!” It seemed his paranoia continued to have lasting consequences and he supposed it was only fair. “No, I wouldn’t. I. I’m sure I asked for them.” Reasonably sure, though for the life of him he couldn’t remember when. He couldn’t remember asking Martin but there was no reason for Tim to lie. Fingers snapping in front of his face jerked him back to the present.

“What’s wrong with you?” His eyes were narrowed and he was standing so close, too close, and suddenly Jon was on his feet, swaying into the wall and pushing past Tim in a desperate bid for the loo, head pounding enough to make him ill and only just making it in time to rid himself of the tea he didn’t remember drinking. Shaky, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back against the wall and willing the spinning to stop or slow or do anything that might make it less overwhelming. He washed his hands, his face, letting the cool water drip from his chin and closed his eyes against his reflection in the mirror. When he returned Tim was gone and Jon was thankful, tears prickling, threatening, as he sat back in his chair and rested his forehead on his folded arms for only a moment.

It was better in the stacks, dark and still, silent save for the rustling of statements and that didn’t make any sense at all even though something in the back of his mind insisted it did, encouraged him to pick one up and devour it. But the letters swam on the pages and his legs refused to hold him up any longer and he slid to the floor, hugging the folder to his chest and breathing in the stale scent of old, yellowing paper and ink. He felt so poorly, so tired, and he didn’t remember curling up on the floor but he must have, because he was, the statement still crushed in his arms like a safety blanket. How long had he been asleep? Getting up seemed too monumental a task and he let his eyes slip shut with a sigh, breathing through all the pain of his injuries.

Too much. This was all too much.

But it was quiet here among the boxes and envelopes, tucked with his back against the shelf grounding him, taking away some of that awful wooziness, the feeling of vertigo he hadn’t quite gotten rid of after his encounter with Mike Crew. He was safe here underground; underground was the opposite of up, the opposite of falling endlessly and he breathed in, out, slow, measured. Until his physical self seemed to drop away with everything else.

Plucked like a weed, Jon was lifted into the air, hauled up by his collar and set clumsily on his feet, pressed forcefully into the shelving. If it wasn’t for the hand at his throat (his throat, she was going to slice him open, bleed him like a game animal) he would have fallen and he was so scared of falling, no air in his lungs, just the deafening rush of it in his ears, so he scrabbled desperately, the statement fluttering away somewhere in favor of holding onto wrists attached to arms attached to shoulders attached to Tim. The world tilted on its axis, rolling like a ship at sea and he was desperately afraid of being released into that endless void.

“--Hiding down here?” How long had he been speaking? His face, features so twisted in revulsion of him he almost didn’t look like Tim, was close enough that he could feel his breath on his face. “Martin’s been worried sick looking for you!” Why was he yelling at him? He’d, he’d been here, not hiding, not doing anything. Just trying to, to, stay on the ground. Everything blacked out when Tim shook him roughly, shouting something else, and Jon didn’t know what he wanted, what would make him leave him alone, stop being so angry with him. He was going to be ill, too dizzy even when mercifully held still again and he was torn between letting go and taking his chances with Crew and sticking to Tim like a burr. But Tim made the decision for him, shaking him off, dropping him to his feet and shoving him forward and Jon knew he shrieked, shameful, loud, but he was falling, falling, falling and he hurt where he’d been pushed, like his bones were trying to make room by doing their level best to yank themselves free.

But he was plunging down, straight down, unmoored, unanchored, too much space, infinite space and nothing to grab to slow himself and he was going to fall forever and ever and ever and--

“Jon!”

No. He’d. How.

“Martin…” Whimpering, voice choked with tears, more of them streaming, pouring down his face, and he clung to Martin, solid, strong, holding him.

“Tim, what did you do?”

“M’falling...m’falling, Martin.” Clutching, clawing, he was going to hurt him if he wasn’t careful but he was too frightened, he had to be hurting him. Sobbing, selfish, stupid, and he couldn’t stop.

“You’re not, I’ve got you, Jon, I won’t let you fall.” Murmuring gently, embracing him tightly and it hurt, but he’d rather hurt than fall forever. “You’ve got to take a breath, Jon.” But all the air was rushing past him, too quickly to drink up even a sip, let alone breathe any into his seizing chest. “I’ve got you, try for me.” And he did, he would swear it, he’d try anything for Martin but he’d always failed in the most important tasks. He’d always failed the most important people.

At least he wasn’t falling anymore.

“Tim, what did you do?” Martin shifted Jon, passed out over his shoulder with bandaged fingers still tangled in his jumper and he was surprised he hadn’t torn it in his panic. Gently he pulled him into his lap, boiling with heat beneath his hands and heaving hard-won, gasping breaths.

“I--” He swallowed, shock naked in his expression. “I found him here, on the floor. Uh, pulled him up?” Tim raked his hair back. “I was rough, but. I didn’t mean.” Martin could only hope he looked as angry as he felt and Tim stopped speaking, following him to document storage like a lost puppy.

“Mm…” he held Jon tight, secure, relieved that he’d come around as quickly as he did even if he was groggy, setting him firmly on the cot, exerting pressure on his shoulders, an unspoken ‘I’m here, you’re here, no one is falling.’ He ducked his head, hiding from the light and groaning low.

“Jon, look at me.” He hadn’t noticed before, the black of his dilated pupils swallowed up by deep brown irises, but with the light, and his sensitivity to it, Martin suspected a head injury. “Jon?” Gently he tilted his face up with the tips of his fingers under his chin, trying to catch his dazed stare as it slipped over him like water over a stone.

“Hey! Stop ignoring him!” Jon flinched, hands clapping over his ears and curling even farther into himself while Martin glared. “Sorry.” Tim mumbled, arms crossed, leaning against the wall to give them some space.

“S’okay, Jon.” He inched closer. “Did you hit your head? Does your head hurt? Can I check?”

“Check?” Before Tim could do much more than scoff, Martin shushed him. If he wasn’t going to help, then it would be better for him to leave.

“Yep.” He didn’t wait for much more confirmation, just carefully reached forward under Jon’s wary gaze and buried his fingers in thick, unkempt curls, smiling softly when he leaned into the touch. Bolder, he cupped his face with his other hand, stroking along his cheek and watching his eyes drift closed with a hum. “Ah, oh, Jon.” Right at the back of his skull there was a large swelling, painful to the touch if Jon’s reaction was anything to go on. “Were you hit?”

“Hit?” Jon’s wrapped, burned fingers brushed against his own when he went to check for himself. “Daisy hit me.” Just a stated fact that chilled Martin to the bone and he watched his other hand come up to touch the column of his bandaged neck. “Daisy cut me.” He glanced back at Tim, trying to gauge his reaction, relieved to see horror blossoming in his expression and when he turned to Jon again, it was as if he was seeing Martin for the first time. “Martin?” He let his weight fall into his palm, and when his dark, damp eyes slipped shut, tears ran down his face. “Don’, don’think m’well.”

“Okay, it’s okay. I’ve--” his eyes flicked towards Tim. “We’ve got you.” Jon swallowed and Martin could feel it against his palm, literally holding his cut throat in his hands. "Can you tell us what's wrong?"

“Hur’s. Spin...falling, m’falling.” He paled, clutched at the linens, his breath shallow and fast and even Tim came forward in concern.

“I’ve got you, won’t let you go anywhere, Jon.” To Tim, “Don’t think he can tell which way is up. Vertigo? Concussion? We’ve got ice packs in the freezer yeah?”

“Anything else?”

“Ginger tea? If we have it.”

“M’tin…” He brushed stray curls back away from his forehead. “Stay? Please?”

“Of course I will.” Gentle and soft and Tim returned with tea and cold compresses quickly, passing off the mug to Martin, going so far as to sit beside Jon. “I’ve got to let go of you now.” And the look of panic and sorrow and resignation told him more about his state of mind than anything else.

Martin promised he would stay.

Martin was letting him go.

Jon was not surprised.

Just sad, so, so sad.

Prepared to be tossed aside.

“‘Course...s’sorry.” Another swallow, another and another, swallowing it down, how frightened he was, how lonely. Tears slipped over Jon’s skin, over Martin’s. “M’sorry, sorry.”

Too many.

Too much.

He watched Jon pull away, swaying, woozy, grip tightening on the sheets such that his knuckles were bone white. Alone again. Alone always. How dare he think or hope or dream otherwise.

“Got’chu, boss.” Martin waited until Tim had him ‘round the shoulders, pressing him into his sturdy side, before removing his hand and holding the mug to his lips.

“Drink this down and then some sleep, I think.” Together, they tipped him carefully sideways, grabbing his hands when they flew out to the side in an attempt to break a nonexistent fall, and Tim pressed a cold pack to the back of his neck, a shadow of a smile crossing his face when Jon relaxed into the pillow.

“You’re alright, boss. Won’t let you fall.”

[halfway-happyyy]

The Autumn Cottage

Happy Saturday friends! Autumn has arrived in full force where I live and I couldn’t be happier about it. To celebrate, I have written a sappy, smutty piece inspired by the current weather and this ask that I received: Can u give us a oneshot about a snuggle fuck w alex in a cozy cottage in the fall?

One of the greater joys in her life had to have been waking up to autumn's fickle fingers trying to desperately to reach her from the comfort of her woolen blanket. She watched, sleepy and bleary-eyed as leaves in shades of crimson and burnt umber drifted past her window in no particular direction. Her fingers roamed over the left side of the bed in search of him. Alexander's silhouette was barely visible through the indigo morning light, though she could make out the prominent line of his nose, and the slight curve of his bottom lip. Unmistakable in the minimal glow of dawn was the familiar glitter in his eyes, the glint that said so much about him and then nothing at all in equal measure.

“Good morning.” She whispered, and even that felt like too mighty of a disturbance in the stillness of their bedroom in the cottage. Though if he minded, he never let it show.

“Good morning yourself, kid.”

She reached the tip of a finger towards him wordlessly and brushed a feather-light touch down the bridge of his nose. Moving lower, she outlined his lips and grinned into the air before her as she felt him smile against her touch. She moved around his face with care, tried to memorize each delicate crease and wrinkle in her wake, tried to commit to memory the aspects that he resented about himself, even if she loved them beyond measure.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured as he brought the back her wrist to his lips, kissing the soft flesh there passionately. He brushed the pad of a calloused thumb over the rounded curve of her warmed cheek. “Like watching a flower bloom right before my very eyes.” They stayed like that for longer than either of them cared to admit; she could count on one hand in the past year that she had spent a weekend with him like this- alone and entirely undisturbed from anything and everything. He had broached the subject of a rented cottage in passing one morning a few weeks ago. It was one of those mornings where something had gone awry at every turn, and everything had been a blur. He had been late for something important, that much she could remember. He had rushed around the kitchen in a fury, muted Swedish curse words coloured every second sentence. He was out of breath when he reached the front door, weighed down by his leather laptop bag, but before he left, he turned to her and smiled. “Let’s get away together, kid.” She had taken it with a grain of salt until he returned home that evening, tired from a rather long shooting schedule, but in a fantastic mood all the same. “I mean it. It’s about to be a beautiful autumn. Let’s get away, just the two of us.”

“Shall I make you a coffee, or are we just going to lay in bed and stare at each other all day?” She offered him a cheeky smile and an exaggerated eye-wiggle which he simply laughed at.

“I have half a mind to choose the latter option, but I really do need some caffeine this morning.”

She nodded finitely and leaned in for a kiss, the innate push and pull of it caused a fire to ignite deep within her for him. She could easily spend the rest of her life doing this very thing; loving him fiercely and being loved back just as hard in return. “Alright,” She gasped as she pulled away from the allure of his hot, wet mouth. “Meet me in the kitchen.” She rose from the bed silently and padded over to her suitcase that was propped up on a wicker chair in the corner of the room. She noticed Alexander’s cream Sherpa sweater hanging over the arm of it and she ran a fingertip over the unbelievably soft material.

Alexander must have been watching her because when he spoke, his voice still gravelly from recent sleep, he startled her. “I’d be happy if you wore that, today.”

“You would?” She had been eyeing it ever since he’d brought it home from a shoot a month ago. She longed to wrap it around her frame, the sheer feeling of it luxe and utterly comforting on her bare skin. Especially as the months would inevitably grow colder.

“Watching you wear my clothing does something for me, kid. I love seeing how happy it makes you.”

With a small smile, she lifted the sweater over her head and let it fall into place on her body, the hem of it falling just above her knee. She pulled her hair from the confines of it and let it fall in waves down her back. “How do I look?” She asked.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured.

Satisfied with his answer, she made her way down the hardwood-floored hallway to the kitchen. She had thought at first that the silence of the cottage would be too loud; that city life had turned her into a creature who thought she craved noise on a near-constant level. But to her pleasant surprise, it had taken less than twenty-four hours to grow accustomed to it, and she knew now that she would miss it dearly when it was their time to go home. Eliciting a yawn, she stood on tiptoes and tried to remember which cupboard Alexander had hidden the coffee beans. Without warning, a large hand reached up above her head with ease and produced the bag for her with a sly smile. “I’d have found them eventually…” She muttered.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. But- would you have been able to reach them?”

She shook her head and let out a small laugh. “Cheeky, vertically-adept bastard.”

They made their coffee together in silence. It had been one of the many things that drew him to her in the beginning. Where conversation seemed forced with every prospective partner and lover in the past- everything flowed the way it was supposed to with Alexander. There had never been a need to fill the quiet with empty words and small talk. It was a wonderful change of pace. “You hungry yet, kid?”

She remembered the basket of farm-fresh eggs in the fridge, thought of the loaf of homemade bread next to the coffee machine and her mouth watered tantalizingly. “I could definitely eat.” She watched him move around the kitchen with ease; watched the way his worn sweatpants hung low from the edges of his hips. She watched the way his muscles flexed in the light pouring in through the stained-glass window above the sink. She had always been struck silly by the beauty that this man possessed; but the notion that his soul bested his looks would never cease to leave her in utter awe. “What have you got on the go today?” She asked, a fork full of fluffy scrambled eggs rested in her hand.

Alexander passed a napkin over his lips, swallowed the bite of food in his mouth and shrugged. “Thought I might chop some wood for a fire tonight.”

She could hardly contemplate it now; the thought of watching her man hulk through multiple logs of wood caused her to physically clench her thighs together. “You plan on doing that soon?”

“After breakfast.” He confirmed.

True to his word, after the last dish had been washed and dried and properly put away, he stalked over to the coat hook in the front foyer and threw a sweater over his naked chest. Turning to her, he eyed her up and down and cocked his head to the side; a small smirk pulled at the edges of his lips. “Care to keep me company?”

Reaching for a blanket and the book that she had started yesterday morning, she nodded her head. “Lead the way.”

It was warmer outside than she had originally anticipated, though the autumn wind had picked up a little more voraciously, and she marveled at the falling leaves the same way she had earlier that morning. The sky above her was cloudless and a bright azure blue and she found herself thanking a higher being for the blessings in which she had been given. Opening the book to the page she had last left off on, the sound of an axe ripping through the middle of a log rang out through the clearing and she knew then that she would not be getting any further reading done this morning. Instead, she watched in awe as Alexander lifted the axe high above his head and brought it down with a force she had rarely seen before, the log splitting into two pieces and falling away from the stump. It was poetry in motion, really. Alexander’s hair was the longest she had ever seen it; the sandy blonde tresses were grown out and regularly fell over his eyes but she reveled in it. Of the many years that they had known each other, he had always kept a mostly clean-shaven face but quarantine, and the filming of a particularly brutal Viking revenge drama had rendered him more manlier and distinguished than she had ever thought possible. “You are fulfilling lumberjack fantasies for me that I never knew I had!” She called out to him.

Alexander tossed his head back, a hearty laughter bubbled up from the back of his throat and exited his mouth like music from a box. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself, kid. I see the way you look at me when I put on my old and holey plaid jacket.” He took a break from chopping wood to wipe the sweat from his brow. “To add to this- you also purchased me a very expensive axe a few years ago for my birthday.”

“Guilty,” She muttered under her breath.

“But rest assured I am elated that this-” He gestured to himself. “Does it for you.” 

The morning continued on in much the same fashion until maybe an hour or two later when Alexander joined her from her perch on the wrap-around porch. Falling into a bench opposite her, he took a few moments to try and regain his breath again. Beads of sweat gathered at the base of his forehead and his broad chest heaved under the weight of recent physical duress. They each viewed each other with a hunger usually only attained after seeing one another for the first time in months. “Come here.” He ordered, softly. She rose from her spot without hesitation and sauntered over to where he sat. He pat the front of his thigh twice, a silent instruction for her to have a seat. She straddled his lap with ease and wrapped her arms around his neck; the heady scent of his perspiration and body wash made her lightheaded with want. It took every ounce of self-control not to grind shamelessly down on his steadily growing erection. As he held her tightly to him, his warm, broad hands rubbed reassuring circles into her back. She shivered into the touch as Alexander kissed his way up the side of her neck, his mouth leaving trails of fire in its wake. “You cold, kid?”

“No.”

He kissed his way up the base of her throat, past the jutting outline of her jaw, and finally to her lips. His mouth still tasted faintly of the maple syrup he had poured over his pancakes hours earlier and the urge to devour everything he had to give her was overwhelming. “You like me like this, don’t you?” He smirked. “All sweaty and dirty from working hard and chopping wood for us?”

“Yes.” Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back as he continued kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. All the while his hands roamed greedily over her sweater-clad body, squeezing, and rubbing as they traversed.

“You want me to take you right here, baby girl?” His voice grew gravelly again, though it had nothing to do with sleep this time. “I don’t even have to touch you to know that you’re already soaked for me.” The wind had picked up again and had begun to blow her hair around her face, the cool breeze a welcome reprieve to her heated body. Alexander was fully erect now, his hard cock throbbed tantalizingly at her thigh. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and lifted the hem of the sweater to reveal her panties, and the wet patch that had grown steadily in the crotch of them. Alexander reached for her and slid two fingers past the flimsy material to her soaking folds. Immediately she leaned towards him to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, but he stopped her with a soft click of his tongue. “I want to see your face when you come for me, baby.” He brought a free hand up to caress her cheek, and as he held her, he brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. She parted for him without thought and began to suckle softly at it as his other hand started to delve deeper inside of her. He had perfected a rhythm with her now; one that no matter how many times he had pleasured her, would always be the fastest way to get her unravelling for him.

“More,” She gasped when two fingers just wasn’t enough anymore. Alexander nodded wordlessly, his gaze searching her own. He added a third finger inside of her, the stretch of it almost too much to bear.

“So fucking wet for me, baby.” He groaned, as he began to pump harder into her. He could feel her clench around him, could feel the soft, wet button of pleasure at the tips of his fingers. She sucked harder at his thumb the closer she neared to her orgasm. “You’re going to come for me soon, I can tell…” He murmured as she started to ride his fingers. “And don’t you dare be quiet about it.” He warned.

These words had helped to spur the wave of pleasure building in her belly and she arched her back against his fingers, her nails digging miniscule crescent shapes into the soft skin of his shoulder blades. “Fucking hell, Alex…”

He nodded up at her. “You look so fucking beautiful like this, my queen. That’s a good girl. Come for me,” He then angled his fingers in such a way that he had her screaming his name into the wind before them, her voice raw with unbridled pleasure. She continued to ride his fingers until she came down from her high, dropping her head to rest in the warm comfort of his neck. She couldn’t be sure how long she had taken solace there, but he eventually patted her bottom. “You came so good for me.” He pressed warm, wet kisses against her temple.

Taking his chin firmly in her grasp, she gazed at him. Unending vast oceans of blue peered back at her and took her breath away. “It’s your turn.” She crashed her lips against his again, the need to have him inside of her entirely all-consuming. He lifted her up in one fell swoop, standing tall from the bench as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling. He carried her into the warmth of the cottage, stumbling down the length of the hallway to their bedroom where he laid her as gently as he could manage, on the bed. He made impressively quick time of ridding himself of his clothing, and as he stood before her, naked and unbearably erect, she realized that she genuinely loved the man before her. It had occurred to her before that she felt this way, but she could honestly say that no matter what they would go through together, no matter the pain he would put her through in future, she loved him deeper than she had ever loved anyone before. “Come here,” She insisted.

Alexander crawled up the length of the bed, holding her head in his hands as he did so. He entered her all-consuming heat with a loud groan, the feeling of him stretching her to maximum fullness was incomparable to any pleasure she had experienced before. Having him inside of her was a comfort that she never knew she needed until it had happened. As he moved inside of her, his head dropped to her shoulder where he scattered dozens of open-mouthed kisses to the skin there. She held him tightly to her as he bucked his hips against her, his cock managing to hit all of the essential nerves each time he bottomed out. He was muttering nonsensical things now, random pieces of Swedish and English found her ears and she smiled into their embrace. She clenched around him after every other thrust, and soon his movements had grown sloppy. “Fuck,” He growled as her fingernails raked through the soft, firm skin of his broad back.

“You feel so fucking good, Alex.” She gasped against his bearded cheek.

He cried out as his hips stilled against her own and she could feel the familiar throb of his cock as he spilled everything he had to give, inside of her. He allowed himself a few more powerless thrusts, and another low whimper before he pulled out of her completely. She found his sudden absence almost painful. They remained like that for an unknowable amount of time, each just trying to catch the breath that they had lost a while ago. Eventually Alexander turned on his side to view her, bringing the back of her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “I love you, kid.”

A crimson leaf lay next to his head on the down pillow, and she smiled softly to herself. “I love you too, Alex.”

[turtle-steverogers]

Team Bonding

fr when was the last time i posted like,,, a fic on here. like a tumblr fic. damn. anyway. ummmmmmmm this is just your.... typical steve freaks out and the avengers are awesome um yah ok ok 

warnings: panic attack, vomiting (basically steve watches the titanic and doesnt have a very fun time)

word count: 2575

-

If Steve was being brutally honest with himself, he was fucking tired of hearing about “the classics”. Irrelevant people butting their noses into his business, tipping him off to what movies were, “the best of the best!” and “absolute must sees!” He appreciated what they were trying to do, but after a while, it felt like people were more or less just trying to garner a slice of his 21st century experience, and quite frankly, he liked doing things better by himself. It was much more appealing to park himself in front of his laptop, nothing but his own quietude to keep him company as he combed through different wikipedia rabbit holes and caught up on movies and TV shows that were apparently crucial to his very existence.

Most were subpar and honestly, he preferred the copious amounts of popcorn he treated himself to on these solo date nights, but some things surprised him. Like Indiana Jones. He liked Indiana Jones. He was neat, and Marion reminded him vaguely of Peggy. 

Still, he supposed he should have seen it coming when Clint came to collect him from his floor one evening, that sort of eager-puppy energy he carried around with him vaguely prickling the back of Steve’s neck.

“C’mon, man,” he was saying. Steve leaned against the door jamb, tired. He was going to concede, but Clint was rambling and Steve knew better than to interrupt him. “It’s, like, certifiably the best love story ever. You need to watch it--”

And there it was again. That fucking claim. You need to watch this! You haven’t seen that? 

No. He hadn’t. He’d been a little busy, you know, being dead.

“--And the acting is all so raw and it’s just-- Leo DiCaprio-- you know who that--”

“--Yes. I saw Blood Diamond--”

“--Oh, you did? Well, anyway, he rocks in this and--”

“Clint,” Steve cut him off smoothly. “I’ll come, don’t sweat it too hard.”

Clint looked positively elated. “You will?” he exclaimed. “Awesome, yeah, it’s gonna be the whole team. I mean, that’s good right? You’re cool with that? You gotta be, you’re the one who mentioned team bonding that one time--”

“Yes,” Steve cut in again. “I’m alright with that. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be right down?” He was still in his gym clothes from two hours ago. He meant to take a shower, but he’d sort of… ran out of energy. The sweat had cooled by now anyway. He smelled fine.

“Oh! Yeah, no problem.”

Which was how Steve found himself in a pair of sweatpants and an old SHIELD t-shirt, squashed in between Natasha and Bruce on the communal couch. Someone had handed him a huge bowl of popcorn and Steve was pleasantly surprised to find that it was flavored with some sort of cheese powder.

“White cheddar,” Bruce said, holding up a little blue shaker bottle when he heard Steve’s appreciative hum. “They’re, uh, sort of like seasoning, but for popcorn specifically. They come in all different kinds of flavors.”

“Oh, neat,” Steve said, around another handful of popcorn. He liked Bruce. He seemed to get Steve in that quiet, brutally raw sort of way. A quiet kinship. They didn’t talk about it, but he never made him feel condescended, so Steve decided that was okay.

“I think I fixed it!” Tony said, stepping out from behind the ginormous movie screen where, presumably, he’d been fixing a volume problem. The screen had been frozen on the first frame of the movie for nearly ten minutes. “Okay, okay, let’s see…” he pressed play. Music poured through the speakers on either side of the TV, loud enough so that everyone cringed and Steve nearly dropped the popcorn bowl in his haste to cover his ears. He always managed to forget how damn loud the world could be when he let himself get comfortable.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tony hissed, turning the volume down to a much more tolerable level. “Okay, there. Okay, shh everyone. Gotta let Capsicle--”

“--Just Steve, Tony--”

“--Gotta let Just Steve get the full experience.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but settled in to watch.

The film was honestly better than Steve had been expecting, if not a little… itchy in that way period films tended to be for him. The themes of poverty and love were pretty well-rounded, but they hit just close enough that he almost cringed at the far-fetch’d beauty of it. 

Still, his fingers itched for a pencil as Jack guided a pencil over the worn sheaf of paper. The dim light, the faint scratch of the pencil, the forbidden love. It was familiar. Steve could almost smell the salty City air, afternoons spent under the dim lights of candles so they could see even with the curtains drawn-- a semblance of privacy amongst the compact vulnerability of his and Bucky’s shitty little tenement. 

Draw me like one of your french girls, Rose had said, and Steve’s eyes drifted towards the wall, Bucky’s voice echoing through his head.

“‘Course I want you to draw me. I ain’t denying my vanity, Stevie,” he teased, but his eyes were soft. “Pal, you could draw a stick of butter and I’d still wanna watch. It ain’t about me here.”

There was a soft touch to his arm and Steve blinked out of his reverie. Natasha was watching him, a neutral look on her face that Steve had finally learned to recognize as concern. He shook his head minutely, offering her a smile. She nodded and looked back at the TV.

The rest of the movie passed without much excitement. The acting was pretty good and Steve had even gotten to a point where he could recognize the filmmaking as something like revolutionary for the time it came out. He was quicker on the cultural uptake than people gave him credit for, but that was neither here nor there. He laughed with everyone else, let himself grow somber when the atmosphere lent that mood, and generally, it was a nice time. He hadn’t gone to any movie nights before this, but he thought maybe he’d start going to more.

And then the ship hit the iceberg.

Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. Obviously, he knew of the Titanic-- he knew, historically, what happened to it. But for some reason, it hadn’t quite hit him while watching the movie that he was going to have to see the catastrophe go down.

There was a loud creaking of ice on metal as the collision occurred on screen and Steve felt himself go still-- body rigid and tense as the deafening noise played through the speakers. His heart slammed in his chest and he felt his palms start to sweat. He knew that sound-- he knew that--

--He blinked, shaking his head. Movie. Watch the movie. There was a panicked scramble on screen. Characters rushing to amend the situation, more metal creaking and groaning and breaking as dark, foamy water broke through the sides of the ship and Steve could taste it, he could taste the water flooding into the cabin, hitting him from the left as it took the plane down in a harsh--

--He twitched, shaking his head. He was being silly. There were moments of reconciliation as the scenes rapidly flashed between water flooding the ships cabins and peaceful moments of civility. A calm before the storm. A final dance before death.

I’m gonna need a raincheck on that dance…

There was a sudden crash as water blasted through into the work quarters and Steve jumped, watching transfixed as unforgiving torrents pushed workers over, flooding them, drowning them, and they were falling, slipping, sliding, panicking as certain death met them at the halfway point, and Steve knew it must be cold. So cold. Suffocating and unforgiving as it flooded their lungs, saltier than they probably imagined, heavy and awful and--

“Stark, turn the movie off.”

The room went abruptly silent. Steve realized his eyes were closed, chest heaving as he sat, hunched over his lap, hands fisted in his hair.

The popcorn wasn’t on his lap anymore. When had he moved? He couldn’t breathe and he was so cold and someone needed to save those guys, someone needed to--

“Steve,” a gentle voice cut into the roaring waves crashing in his head. Bruce. That was Bruce speaking. “Can you hear me, Steve?” 

Steve nodded, pulling his hair harder. He couldn’t breathe. Was he drowning again? Surely that was impossible. If Bruce was talking to him, he couldn’t be drowning again, but-- but the water-- and-- and the cold--

“Good, that’s good, Steve,” Bruce. Bruce again. It was Bruce. “Can I touch you?”

Touch. Touch. No touch. He was so cold. He wanted to stop being cold, but he was certain if someone touched him right now, he would lose his goddamn mind. More so than he already had.

“That’s alright,” Bruce sounded steady. Calm. So calm. Why couldn’t Steve calm down? “That’s okay. You think you can do something for me?”

Something… for Bruce? Could he? Could he do anything right then? If he couldn’t breathe, how could he do anything-- and he-- he felt sick--

He opened his mouth to answer and vomited between his feet, straight onto the carpet. Someone in the room hissed sympathetically. Steve wanted to crawl somewhere and die.

“Oh, Steve,” Bruce seemed to be talking mostly to himself, but Steve felt his shoulders climb higher towards his ears. “Okay, Steve, I need you to listen to my voice. Just listen. I’m going to count and you’re going to breathe in time with my instruction, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Steve shook his head, choking on a sob. His chest hurt. Like someone had taken all of his ribs and replaced them with weights, flooding his lungs with-- with water-- and fuck, now he was thinking about the plane again. He felt his breathing tick up higher.

“I want you to try,” Bruce said. “With me. In,” he sucked in a breath. “One… two… three… four…”

Steve tried to suck in a breath, but all he managed to do was send himself into a coughing fit. Bruce kept counting. Steve wanted to tell him to wait-- slow down-- shut up--

He braced a hand over his chest. 

Bruce was still counting.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually he found himself matching Bruce’s counts, eyes closed and the heels of his palms braced on his temples as he sucked in greedy, measured breaths. His heart was still slamming hard enough to make him tremble and he could smell his own sick wafting up from the ground, but at least he was breathing on his own.

Bruce trailed off. Silence hung thick in the air, the only noise Steve’s slow, shaking breaths. Shame burned around his ears. He didn’t dare look up.

Tony, predictably, was the one to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he said, and Steve was surprised to hear honest regret in his voice. “I was the one who suggested we watch Titanic. I should have thought for more than two seconds about that…”

Steve shrugged. Embarrassment climbed from his stomach to his throat, threatening to choke him. 

Natasha spoke next. “Why don’t you go wash up?” It was an escape-- a way out-- and Steve took it graciously, keeping his head ducked down as he stood on shaking legs and rushed to the communal bathroom.

Inside, he locked the door and braced himself over the sink, splashing warm water on his face. He drank greedily from the tap. His reflection looked like shit-- he’d burst some blood vessels in his eyes, probably while vomiting, and his skin looked sallow and pale. He was trembling, sweat matting his hair to his forehead. He looked how he looked after a nightmare. This, he supposed, had kind of been like a nightmare. Though, he hadn’t been asleep.

Nightmares, he was finding, weren’t strictly exclusive to the nighttime. 

He supposed he’d always known that, though. 

He closed his eyes, bowing his head again. 

His emotions had been fucked to high hell since waking up from the ice. This hadn’t been the first of those awful… fits, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last, but to have something like that happen in front of the team was a whole new level of mortifying. Fuck. He’d gotten sick. And he’d left it.

He felt the ceramic counter straining under his grip. Scowling, he let go.

He could slip off to his room, lock himself away until he could find some way to sneak out of the Tower and never talk to any of the others ever again. Even in this state, Steve knew that wasn’t viable in any sense. He sighed. Besides, he couldn’t just damn the others to clean up his mess. 

Stowing his pride, he dug some spare mouthwash out from behind the mirror and chugged some straight down, keeping a mouthful and swishing it around before spitting it in the sink. He still felt and looked like shit, but at least his breath would smell like wintergreen. 

The others were still gathered in the communal living room, watching what looked like a kid’s cartoon on TV. There was a distinct smell of cleaner in the air and Steve’s eyes landed on the ground where he’d gotten sick. It was clean. He let his eyes drop to the ground, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The cartoon paused. He didn’t look at any of them. “I was going to clean up.”

“Nah, man, the only thing worse than freaking out is having to clean up after yourself while you still feel shitty,” Clint said, and Steve looked up. There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding. 

“Yeah, we’ve all been there,” Tony said. “Sucks, but hey, least we know now that Titanic is a no-no for you.”

Steve flushed, swallowing a few times. “Um, I guess,” he looked at Bruce. “Thank you.”

Bruce smiled. “No problem,” he said gently. “We’re watching Phineas and Ferb if you’d like to join us, but we understand if you’d like to go rest.”

“Phineas and Ferb?” Steve asked, guilt replaced with genuine confusion.

“Yeah,” Clint said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “It’s my go-to when I have a bad day. Nothing like some good old platypus drama to cure life’s woes.”

Steve blinked. “I genuinely don’t know what to say to that.”

Clint barked out a laugh. “Join us, man! Don’t gotta talk if you’re not feeling it, but being alone after shit like that sucks.”

And Steve hadn’t had someone there for him after a breakdown-- not since the war. Not since Bucky. Every ounce of him wanted to run. Hide. Smooth out his face and slip on that mask of stoicism. But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to. Maybe he could let himself have this, if only this once.

“Sure,” he said, voice a little hoarse. He awkwardly sat back in between Natasha and Bruce.

Tony pressed play again and Steve smoothed his hands over his thighs, feeling out of place and a little cramped and--

Natasha settled, casually letting her feet rest on his lap. On his other side, Bruce leaned into his shoulder, a subtle, grounding pressure. Clint caught his eye and offered him some more popcorn.

Steve relaxed.

Yeah. He could let himself have this.

-

thanks for reading, chiefs

yeah this was chatted about in one of the awesome discord groups im in so thanks guyysss lol

[enkelimagnus]

Hardwood

Bucky Barnes Gen, 2393 words, rated T

Jewish Bucky Barnes, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Episode 5 Truth

Bucky decides to make his Brooklyn house a little more of a home for him, to his taste. A worried neighbor comes a-knocking.

TW: mention of murder of children (brief)

Read on AO3

Part 35 of Making a Home - the Jewish Bucky series

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

Three days after he comes home from Delacroix, Bucky grabs a frayed edge of carpet from his bedroom floor and pulls. It comes off with a loud tearing sound, but he just keeps pulling, effortlessly baring the hardwood underneath.

He doesn’t really know why he does it. He just sees the edge and pulls and he’s halfway down the room when he realizes the furniture is definitely on the way, and if he wants to do this, he’s going to have to plan it out. You don’t just redecorate this easily.

At least as far as he knows.

He’s never done this before. His parents’ home had stayed the same through his entire life, as far as he knew. Furniture was moved once a year before Passover, when they cleaned the place from top to bottom. And after that, he’d been through many safehouses, but his handlers had never had sudden desires to redecorate.

He doesn’t really know where to start. He knows he can’t remove the entire carpeting without taking out the furniture of the bedroom. He knows the color of the walls is horrible and he wants to change that. He knows that, by himself, it’s going to be an ordeal. But he doesn’t really know who to ask for help.

Miriam is way too old, he doesn’t have that good of a relationship with Charlie, and there is no way in hell he’s letting any of his coworkers remotely close to his personal life. So he’s going to do it by himself. One room by one room, probably.

Still, he uses his left arm to pull the bed off of the ground and the other one to pull the carpeting off from under it.

He guesses being a supersoldier has some advantages in this sort of situation.

It doesn’t take long for the entire hardwood floor of the bedroom to be bare, for the loud ripping noises that came with his hard, powerful pulls. The carpet won’t be usable anymore but he doesn’t care. He’ll throw it in the trash anyway.

Nothing Hydra touched should be given to someone else. It all deserves to burn.

He’s tired of this house feeling so much like a safehouse. He wants to change things, he wants it to be his house, not Hydra’s, on more levels than just legal. He wants to truly live here. It’s his, and he can do whatever he wants with it. He could have it bulldozed if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. He wants a home.

He’s halfway through ripping off the first guest room’s carpet when the doorbell rings.

It startles him. No one ever rings his doorbell. No one comes to see him. He’s lived there for a couple months now, and not once has that bell rang. He forgets for a brief instant that he’s holding the entire bed up with one hand.

Somehow, he manages to catch the heavy bed frame before it crashes into the floor and damages it.

Despite the surprise someone is ringing, Bucky takes the time to pull on his gloves. He’s already wearing a long-sleeved tshirt, and with the gloves on, no one can see the arm. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be fully comfortable in the open, in the daylight, with the arm out, even if it isn’t Hydra’s anymore.

He should probably get used to people knowing who he is. Anonymity isn’t something he’s allowed. Not after Berlin, not after the war with Thanos, not after Riga. Before all of that, no one would have recognized him. Bucky Barnes, Captain America’s right hand, was supposed to be long dead. The only Howling Commando to lose his life in the service of his country.

Now, if no one sees the arm, he can still pass for just another white man with a vague resemblance to someone that was one tv a couple of times. That’s all he can really have.

There’s no use in raging against it. The past couple of decades of the rise of social media has made it impossible for him to be erased. Zemo knew what he was doing in Vienna.

The person behind the door is breathing steadily. They don’t seem to be filled with adrenaline, not with that relatively calm heartbeat. There is no telltale sign of aggression or preparation for violence. Bucky swallows, takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Behind the wooden panel is his neighbor. They’re tall, relatively thin, with hair so short it’s more like a five o’clock shadow spreading over their skull. They smile at him. Bucky stares. He doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen his neighbor in the daylight.

“Hi there, I’m your neighbor,” they say, pointing towards their door, as if Bucky hasn’t recognized the one person that knows when he goes running from his nightmares. “I heard some strange noise, everything’s okay?”

Bucky keeps staring for a moment. He didn’t think the ripping of the carpeting would be loud enough to attract attention. But he was wrong. He didn’t imagine it would sound stranger than his occasional nightly shouts of terror or pain.

He quickly gets back to reality as the neighbor in front of him stares back with a smile.

“Hi,” he ends up saying. “Hm, I was… I was pulling the carpeting off of my bedroom floor. Nothing to worry about.”

It’s strange, having neighbors that seem to care whether you’re dying a strange horribly, ripping death. Or maybe they’re worried he’s killing someone, or doing some other horrible thing he would have done as the Winter Soldier.

Either way, this person’s presence in front of him right now is peculiar. It makes him think of Mrs Naumescu, his parents’ left neighbor, who would come knocking whenever she heard something that worried her.

There had been a couple of nights where Bucky had snuck back in, sometimes with Steve, sometimes after dropping Steve off at his own place, where she had heard him come in and come knocking to warn his parents of an intruder, or scare away said intruder. She’d had a baseball bat in her hand - her son’s.

Hopefully this neighbor won’t be as worried for his safety.

“Do you need help?” they ask, and Bucky stares at them again, bewildered. He wasn’t expecting to be asked such a thing. He wasn’t expecting anyone to want to help.

“I’m pretty strong…” He starts, and then stops.

He can do it alone. But he could also take the offered help, for once. There’s an outstretched hand. What horrible thing can they do to him that hasn’t already been done? He knows better than to dismiss them as just a neighbor - after all, he knows plenty of very common and innocent-looking spies. But what harm can actually be done to him?

“You know anything about hardwood floors?”

For the rest of the morning, Bucky keeps the gloves on. There are only a couple of instances of him displaying strength that is just on the edge of unusual, but they don’t comment on it. They do exchange names and - to Bucky’s surprise - pronouns.

The neighbor’s name is Olly and they use they/them pronouns. To his own shame, he has to be given an explanation on what that means. He’s so deeply out of touch with that part of the world. A part of the world that he supposedly belongs in, according to today’s definitions. Because Steve was a man, and even if he’s the only man Bucky ever willingly wanted, it still counts.

It should have been a fluke, a one-off. It shouldn’t have counted if it was only Steve. But it does, supposedly. Bucky doesn’t know much about that.

They work fast, get the carpeting out of the two other guest rooms as well as the corridor. Turns out, Olly knows how to take care of hardwood floors. They know a lot of stuff about remodeling and house work. They end up establishing together a list of items needed to properly finish the job, and do what Bucky actually wants for his home.

Bucky makes them sandwiches for lunch, with pastrami, mustard and pickles. It’s a cliché perhaps, but it’s delicious. There are a couple of beers in his fridge.

“You’re good at all of this,” Bucky says, swallowing a mouthful of pastrami. It’s a little too dry. He misses the butcher he went to as a kid. His pastrami was amazing. He hasn’t been able to find one that compares with his memories yet. “Is it what you do for a living? House renovation?"

They chuckle, shaking their head. "Oh wow, no, not at all. I’m a social worker,” they explain. Social worker. Bucky remembers those people growing up. They were trying to fix problems, especially with the crash. “When my partner, our friends and I renovated the house,” they continue, pointing towards the wall between their two houses. “We learned a few things. What do you do?"

It takes a moment for Bucky to figure out actually how to phrase it. "Military contractor."

That’s the closest he can think. He’s contracted by the military, somewhat. They did make him sign a contract, to regulate what had already been outlined by his pardon agreement.

"Like an engineer?"

Of course they’re polite and curious. Bucky would be as well. He could just come out and say it. I’m the Winter Soldier and one of the reasons I walk free is that I work to clean up Hydra’s messes. He doesn’t know how public the conditions of his pardon are.

Once again, he struggles to explain what it is he does without saying it out right.

“I guess I provide intelligence? And experience."

Phrased that way, it sounds nice. That’s what he does though, it’s not a lie. It feels… almost pleasant to be able to say it that way. He provides information on how Hydra works, experience on how the safehouses are set up… A fist too. When they break into a safehouse, he’s always first. He’s hard to kill, after all.

And maybe… just maybe, some of his higher-ups wouldn’t mind if he died on a mission. They’d tell the place he went out trying to fix what he’d done.

Sometimes, that phrasing ‘fixing what he’d done’ chokes him up. It’s the way Lieutenant General Henricksen talks about the work he makes him do. Henricksen believes it was his fault. Of course he does.

It makes sense. People have no idea what it is like to be brainwashed. They have seen movies and video games and read books about it. They have no idea what it is actually like. They have no idea how it feels.

He remembers all of it, and he remembers pulling the trigger. Sometimes because he was directly ordered to by a handler - something that was impossible for him to resist doing. Sometimes because it was what was required to complete the mission - like with the son and daughter of the Algerian FLN commander that were sleeping in their beds.

He could have disobeyed all the orders in the second category. He never did. Not until Steve.

He must have zoned out thinking about the horrible things he’s done, because Olly clears their throat.

“And if you don’t mind me asking, how did you get this house? It’s been empty for years, we always wondered what was going on with it.”

That’s, again, a really hard question to answer without saying the truth. Bucky’s not even supposed to tell the truth about his work. That’s not his job. He doesn’t work on communication.

“Inheritance?” It comes out more like a question than anything else.

So much about his life is… unexplainable. It’s like all he has to share with the world is a heavily redacted file.

Most of it is of his own doing, he realizes. He’s the one who doesn’t want people to know exactly who he is, what he’s done. The only things he is actually forbidden to talk about are the specifics of his high-profile, governmental kills, as well as his ongoing missions with the army. The rest…

He could just say that this is an ex-Hydra safehouse and he got it through work. He could just say he’s working with the army to break into Hydra properties and recover what they took from the government while they were hiding behind the SHIELD insignia.

There would be questions, of course. What of the non-governmental resources they took? That goes to various archive buildings all over the U.S., to be tagged, processed and gather dust until their rightful owners pipe up. There are a lot of items waiting for people who don’t know they’re missing something.

Olly seems to accept Bucky’s cryptic and hesitant answer. Thank G-d. Bucky doesn’t know what he would have said if they kept prying. He guesses it’s selfish. He knows he can’t finish the job by himself, and telling Olly the truth would surely make them run out of the house.

They finish lunch and Bucky makes a pot of coffee. It’s when he turns back to face Olly that his eyes catch the picture he framed on the wall when he got there.

The picture of Steve and him on the front lines, in Europe. The postcard from the Smithsonian. Both of their faces, smiling wide. As far as Bucky knows, there aren’t any images of Steve smiling that way, wide and open and carefree even in the middle of the war, from after he was unfrozen in 2012.

Perhaps because he just didn’t have time to smile like this anymore. Perhaps because this was his Bucky smile. The smile Bucky knew he only smiled for him, and because of him. The best, most beautiful smile in the world.

In any case, there is no way Olly didn’t see the picture. There is no way they don’t know who he is now, even without seeing the arm. They haven’t said anything.

Bucky reaches over and pulls his right glove off, revealing skin. It takes all the strength in his mind and body to take off the other one, revealing vibranium.

He usually never takes the gloves off in front of someone when he isn’t playing soldier. But he is in his home. He shouldn’t have to hide himself here.

[drsilverfish]

The Triffid of Hope and the Stop-Watch of Despair - 15x09 The Trap

Hey everone,

I’m just catching up British time, as usual, and getting down my initial thoughts before I jump in and see what you’ve all been up to.

The much-anticipated Purgatory prayer episode - here we go!

First off - Chuck is a lying liar who lies, and also, how bad was his vamp Winchester bros script?! We know it’s a script, because he asks Sam - “So, what d’ya think?” writer-style, after AU!Bobby executes Vamp!Sam. I thought Bobo did great work here, distinguishing (for us) between his own writing and Chuck’s sucky (ha ha) vamp-Chesters ending. And oh boy, does Bobo torch the “Butch and Sundance going out together in blaze of glory” SPN scenario, because it’s one of Chuck’s shitty versions. I think we can rest assured we’re not gonna get that! 

“All good things must come to an end,” Chuck says, holding up a scalpel in the Lucky (pink) Elephant (in the room, ahem Destiel) Casino. Bobo’s meta way of telling us that yes, of course, there is pain to be endured (by us) along the way, before our heroes get their freedom. Pain, because Supernatural, our favourite show, is ending.

I loved the double-structure of the episode, which balanced Sam and Eileen’s story with Dean and Cas’ story - past, present and future folded into one another; see-sawing between the twin axes of hope and despair. 

The Triffid of Hope:

Isn’t this shot (and its symbolism) great? Dean is framed between the Purgatory-Triffid and the awesome three-eyed skull of a dead Leviathan (the “third eye”, in Indian spiritual traditions, symbolising higher self-knowledge).

Leviathan dude: “There’s a blossom, that grows out of the soil when we die.”

Ah-ha - I knew all the death symbolism in Michael’s God-locking spell had to mean something. It just didn’t happen the way I thought it would (Cas dying in Purgatory).

Instead, the Leviathan blossom is a monster-corpse feeding flower - it grows from death. And so it is a perfect metaphor for hope, linked to all the old vegetation Gods (like Osiris, like the myth of Persephone) as well as to those heroic underworld journeys, of Gilgamesh and Orpheus and Inanna which @prairiedust and I were talking about previously in relation to Purgatory 2.0. Because, from death, springs new life (just as Spring follows Winter) and from an underworld journey comes deeper self-knowledge and psychic growth (a la Jung). 

On a meta level, this is Bobo’s message to us too - yes the show has to “die”, but who knows what new and wondrous things will be born from its “corpse”. 

Dean was previously the one, of the two Winchester brothers, who’d lost hope as result of the “Welcome to the End” revelations about Chuck’s active machinations in their lives. Dean was the one who couldn’t figure out what was real especially his relationship with Cas:

Dean: “I can’t figure out what’s God and what’s real, and it’s driving me crazy” (15x06 Golden Time). 

He was the one who’d said (as emphasised in this week’s re-cap): “It’s God, Sam... How the Hell are we supposed to fight God?” (15x05 Proverbs 17:3). 

But, in Purgatory 2.0, Dean got his hope back. 

Why? 

We already know why, from watching Dean pivot from suicidal in 13x05 Advanced Thanatology, to happy cowboy cosplay in 13x06 Tombstone, as soon as he got Cas back from death. Cas is intimately tied to Dean’s sense of faith and hope.

And in Purgatory 2.0, Dean finally finds (some of) his words and gets his relationship with Cas back on track, and in so doing, he recovers that faith and hope. 

Hence that shot of him lying between death (the Leviathan skull) and the Triffid of Hope. Because Dean’s underworld journey to Purgatory 2.0 brings clarity to hs heart, just as it did last time. In Purgatory 1.0, “It felt pure”; in Purgatory 1.0, Dean’s mission was, “Where’s the angel?” In Purgatory 1.0, Dean let himself love Cas again (as I’ve said before) without guilt, despite the things Godstiel/ Levi!Cas had done, to Sam, and to the world.

In Purgatory 2.0, Dean (just like Sam, in the parallel story) is on the clock. Time is ticking - the rift Michael opened is finite:

 And so, in losing Cas for several frantic hours as the clock runs out, Dean finds clarity, just as he did before, and he prays (on his knees no less):

Dean: “Cas, whereever you are, it’s not too late. I should have stopped you. You’re my best friend, but I just let you go...”

And Dean cries as he prays, and there is absolutely no doubt, in those tears, and in that apology, that he loves Cas (although the text continues to embrace ambiguity as to the nature of that love). 

Imagine - Dean must also be reliving the last time they were in Purgatory together, when Cas actively chose to stay behind, which broke Dean’s heart so much he re-wrote his own memory. In the land of monsters once more, Dean is, finally, terrified it’s all going to happen again (because he pushed Cas away this time). 

As a romantic love-story, of course, it’s still subtext. The glass-closet still structures the narrative. We still get the plausible deniability “bromance” of; “Cas, you’re my best friend.”

And you know, it’s totally OK to feel disappointed, heart-sore, stricken or enraged about that. Nothing throws the heteronormativity of our world more into relief than watching Sam have a beautiful and tender kiss with Eileen (and I totally buy and love their relationship) when their love-story has had a tenth of the back-story and build-up that exists between Dean and Cas, whilst Dean and Cas get a hug (albeit a clearly very emotional one):

I think “queerbaiting” is, partly, a receiver-effect. Meaning, it’s partly subjective. So, some people may feel “queer-baited” by the show and others may not. It’s certainly perfectly legitimate to feel the pain of the closet, of almost-but-not-quite representation (and many queer fans have left the show over the years for that reason). The definition of “queerbaiting” however, is complex (and needs its own post). 

For myself, I absolutely do feel the pain of the closet, but I don’t feel a sense of “bad faith” from the writers’ room (and I used to). I certainly trust in Bobo, whose first episode was that paean to break-up angst, 9x06 Heaven Can’t Wait, to be telling Dean and Cas’ love-story as truly, madly and deeply as he can, within the constraints imposed by TPTB (the fact that also happens to suit TPTB is another level we won’t get into here). 

Because isn’t this the face of a man who had something else to say, when Cas cut him off with, “You don’t have to say it - I heard your prayer” ????

The Stop-Watch of Despair:

Chucks’ mission in 15x09 is to crush Sam’s hope, even as Dean is re-gaining his own hope in Purgatory. 

Chuck does that in two ways. First, he makes Sam and Eileen doubt how much of their love story is real, as he tells them he nudged Eileen’s resurrection along and then used her (unwittingly) to spy on the Bunker.

When Eileen leaves Sam, at the end of the episode, she says: “After what happened, I don’t know what’s real anymore..” 

Obviously, that is paralleled to Dean’s previous doubt about his relationship with Cas, which Cas answered expllicity in 15x02 Raising Hell (although Dean couldn’t take it in at the time):

Dean: “Nothing about our lives is real. Everything that we've lost, everything that we are is because of Chuck. So maybe you can stick your head back in the sand, maybe you can pretend that we actually had a choice. I can't.”

Castiel: “Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are.”

Sam plays Cas’ part (but it’s his own part too - I don’t want to reduce Sam and Eileen to mere parallels for Dean and Cas - their story is their own) when he kisses Eileen and says, “I know that was real,” (so, he’s able to hold onto a little hope, after all - go Sam!):

Second, Chuck makes Sam doubt the possibility of a happy ending, for the Winchesters, for the people they love, and, importantly, for the world. If they succeed in locking Chuck away, Chuck claims, Sam and Dean will die as vampires, and monsters will overrun the earth:

We can see here, that Metatron  was right, in 11x20 Don’t Call Me Shurley, when he said to Chuck, of humanity: “They are your greatest creation because they're better than you are.”

Because Chuck manages to get to Sam, psychologically, only because Sam cares, with all his heart, about the fate of the world and all the people in it. 

This is where the time-construction of the episode gets clever. Because, the future-Dean, who Sam sees, has lost hope again. And why? This is the face of a man who has locked Mark-of-Cain crazed Castiel in a Ma’lak box (and don’t forget S14 established the Ma’lak box as a closet metaphor):

And oh damn, we see Cas take on the Mark as part of the God-trapping spell in the “Trifffid of Hope” portion of the story. Does he still have it now, even though Chuck destroyed the spell?

Chuck shows Sam an (apparent) future in which the brother who raised him, has abandoned all hope, which is the true definition of Hell (”Abandon all hope, ye who enter here” - Dante’s Inferno) and that is the other psychological lever Chuck uses to get Sam to despair. His faith in Eileen is shaken, and his faith in Dean is shaken.  

Chuck clearly admires Sam. He almost treats him as a worthy antagonist. He refers to him as “Promethean” and “heroic”, and, in a sense, perhaps he genuinely means it. But, of course, it’s also part of his ploy to destroy Sam’s hope. Prometheus, after all, got his liver eaten out by eagles on the regular, sent by the chief God of Olympus himself, Zeus (aka Chuck) for his pains.

Chuck (to Sam): “You still think you’re the hero of this story. You still think you can win.”

And Chuck succeeds (temporarily) in destroying Sam’s hope, by making him doubt the reality of his love with Eileen, and by making him doubt that his big brother will have the hope necessary to “Carry on my wayward sons,” in the future (all the more believable because Sam has, in fact, seen Dean lose hope before when he’s lost Cas).

But what changes, monumentally, at the end of the episode, is that Dean doesn’t blame Sam. He just says, “That’s good enough for me,” about Sam’s assertion he believed in the Chuck-in-the-Cage future Chuck showed him, and, “We’ll find another way.”

Dean brought the Leviathan blossom of hope back from Purgatory, and with it, deeper self-knowledge about how he has taken his feelings of helplessness out, as anger, against the people he loves best (Sam and Cas). This time, he doesn’t do that. For Team Free Will, once all together again, The Triffid of Hope wins out over The Stopwatch of Doom. 

Just as it’s right, on a psychological level, that locking Chuck in a cage isn’t a viable solution - because external cages are metaphors for the prisons of the mind. Team Free Will’s heroic and metaphysical journey through the realms of the God-machine is also a journey towards emotional wholeness, and freedom from the psychological prisons of their past.  

And so, to conclude, this episode (my favourite of Bobo’s since his first) is filled with love.... and love. 

The Winchester brothers’ love for one another, we see, undoubtedly, in Sam’s narrative. But that’s also interesting, because again, Chuck misses Cas out of the story - and so ends up with a bros-only Butch and Sundance ending. And Bobo emphasises Chuck’s version is stuck in “toxic co-dependency” - because it’s the two of them, as Vampchesters, as monsters, going out together against the world - specifically against even their own friends, Bobby and Jodie. Now there’s a potent metaphor. By contrast, a healthy Sam and Dean relationship allows the loving presence of others.   

And there we have it -  the.. and love (precisely, the loving presence of others) in the love between Sam and Eileen (whose faith in that love, Chuck has deliberately shaken, for now) paralleled to the love between Dean and Cas (whose faith has been restored in Purgatory, for now).

Bobo clearly shows us that hope is the key to defeating Chuck, because it is only when Sam loses hope that Chuck is free of the God-wound. 

And love is hope, because to love is to be hopeful - to be hopeful that you will be loved back, that love will endure, that a future with your loved ones is possible and so, worth fighting for. 

Supernatural has always, always (as we all well know) been about the “power of love” (despite Dean’s doubt in 5x18 Point of No Return). 

In the end both the Triffid of Hope and the Stop-Watch of God-Time will converge, ending God-Time and granting true freedom for Chuck’s “characters”. 

[amazingmsme]

Cabin Fever

AN: I had 2 different prompts for a Sam & Bucky fic where Sam cheers him up, & my sad yearning ass stuck in quarantine ran with it! Hope y’all enjoy!

The world has endured many struggles, many challenges, but she will always heal. But in the time it takes to get there, it can be bad and ugly. Bucky had seen more bad than good to be honest. Born near the end of the First World War, he grew up in a post war state. Many people who he should've known had died, and those around him shared that hole. Which is why the 20's were such a breath of fresh air. Everyone wanted to party and live high, but they soared too close to the sun, and the economy crashed.

He spent his adolescent years struggling to live through the depression. It wasn't easy, nor was it pretty, and he went to bed hungry every night. But through all the shit that had been thrown his way, he had Steve. Then, more war. He was afraid and angry with what was happening, and knew something had to be done. He made some amazing friends during that time, and lost a good few. That was when he and Steve became frozen in time, the latter quite literally so.

He doesn't remember too much from his time spent as Hydra's murdering puppet. It's all flashes of pain, fear, and screams. A hand on a throat, feeling as the windpipe gave way. A finger on a trigger from a distance. A knife plunged deep into a chest. It was all him, and yet, it wasn't. It was as though he was in an empty theater strapped to a chair, being forced to watch this horrific movie play out before his own eyes. For the longest time, he had no control. He wasn't an active part of his life. And then he broke free. He managed to escape, and was wanted for his crimes. He even managed to split up the avengers, the guilt overwhelming him. If he had just stayed low, none of that would've happened. 

And then those weird fucking monster things came down from space, yearning for blood and ready to destroy anything in their path. They fought good and hard, and he honestly thought they would win. The next thing he knows, he missed out on another four years of life that he won't be able to get back. His best friend in the world was now an old man, getting to live the life he had missed out on. He wasn't going to lie, that hurt. A lot.

But scattered amongst the wreckage of his life, glimpses of light shone through. His mother's warm embrace and gentle hum. Steve's bright smile and even brighter laugh. He and Natasha connected on another level that you couldn't even dream. T'Challa was understanding and a good friend to him while he was staying in Wakanda. Shuri was an actual saint, giving him a new arm and offering friendship in a dark and lonely time. He and Sam became reluctant friends, then took a shine to each other. Their sense of humor is one in the same, and they share the same taste on a lot of things. He was kind, funny, witty, compassionate, strong, the list could go on forever. And he was falling hook line and sinker. Utterly and completely head over heels.

Then just when he believed things might be looking up, the whole world shuts down. He remembers from what his mom said, there had been a pandemic in 1920. The Spanish Flu, if he remembered correctly. And now, exactly 100 years later, another pandemic rose from the ashes like the most hideous phoenix. Just when he was finally able to go out and try to live a normal life, another obstacle drops in his path. He had a whole list of things he wanted to do and places to see, and now he doesn't get to do any of that. Trapped within four walls and slowly going crazy.

He had every right to be mad. Nothing, it seems, would ever work out in his favor. And to top it all off, he was stuck with the man he wanted to kiss so badly but couldn't for fear of ruining what they had. He wanted to rip his fucking hair out.

Sam, god bless him, tried his best to keep him in good spirits. When news of covid-19 first spread, he had said, "There's still plenty of things we can do inside! I have Steve's old list of things he needed to catch up on, and I know you haven't heard of any of this stuff either, so we get to start from the top!" He excitedly pulled out the notepad, a few items down the list having been crossed off. "And the best part is, I keep remembering things I forgot to add, so we won't run out."

"Yippy," Bucky said in a flat tone. Sam nudged him with his elbow.

"Hey, there's some good stuff on here! There's tv shows, movies, and some of the greatest songs and bands of all time. You ever heard of Queen?"

"Who?"

"Oh my god you need my help," Sam said playfully, running a hand down his face. Bucky's lips quirked up ever so slightly.

At first he was okay. The constant influx of content kept him busy and his mind occupied. But he soon fell into a rut. Pacing the floor, he'd listen to his favorite songs Sam had shown him along with some new ones. Stare out the windows feeling empty, longing for society to pick up again. After watching a movie or two, he'd get fidgety and need to move about. He really enjoyed binging shows though. They sucked him into their world and wouldn't let go. Maybe because it was so different than what he had growing up. Thankfully they both knew to stay away from anything war themed or that might trigger his PTSD. But he'll be damned if he hadn't been completely obsessed with Breaking Bad.

But there were so many options, so many shows to watch that it was overwhelming. With so many things to pick, how could he choose? And out of the movies and shows, and the genres within those categories, it was simply impossible. And so he would cycle through in search of something to watch, only to come up empty handed. Things got better when he stopped trying to decide and let Sam pick for him. Sam really knew what's best.

God if he wasn't here, Bucky would actually go insane. He catches himself staring at the man even more now. Glancing out of the corner of his eye or full on staring, he just can't stop looking at him. He liked to keep his hair cut short, shaved down close to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, the lines always smooth and precise and framed his mouth perfectly. His smile was so fucking bright it was almost blinding. That smile made his days better, and he tried to be less of an ass, just to see it more often. And his lips were full and soft, and he wanted so badly to be able to kiss them. His eyes were a gorgeous shade of dark chocolate, and you could get lost in them if you weren't careful. You could find yourself falling into them, deeper and deeper with no way out. Back when they were first shut in together, he remembers Sam playing the song Brown Eyed Girl. They had smiled as they listened to it, then slowly, began to dance along. That was when he knew he preferred himself a brown eyed man instead.

They were supposed to be watching some old scary movie that Sam claimed to be a classic. Had even said it was one of the most popular ones of all time, but he thought it was just plain boring and ended up watching the man beside him more than the screen. I mean, what was thrilling about a man in a hockey mask hiding in the bushes trying to kill teens? To him it was just lame, and no amount of fake blood could change that. Sam, as always, picked up on his mood.

"What, you don't like it?" Sam asked. Bucky jumped at his words and tore his eyes away from him, looking back at the movie.

"I never said that."

Sam shrugged, "Well you seem to be watching me more than the show." Bucky's face lit up a slight pink and his eyes widened slightly, not realizing he'd been caught so easily. Sam chuckled and bumped their shoulders together. "It's okay, I don't mind," he said to help ease his conscience. "But we can watch something else if you don't like it. Or we can do something else, I don't mind."

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah I'm not really into this," he admitted.

"Alright, no problem," Sam said. "You want me to pick, or do you want to choose something?" Bucky snorted, crossing his arms.

"Seeing as you picked this shitter, maybe I should be the one to pick the next one," he teased, snatching the remote. "What was that one Disney movie you told me about? The one where dogs eat spaghetti?"

"Oh so suddenly my choices in movies are good again."

"Just shut up and tell me what it's called."

"Well I can't do both," Sam joked. Bucky's mouth hung open in a shocked smile that he tried to mask as offense.

"Just tell me the name smart ass," he demanded. Sam was fighting back his snickers as he answered, "Dogs eat spaghetti."

"Dude I know that's not it!" he cried out.

"Yeah but you don't know what it's actually called!" he laughed, having fun withholding the information.

Bucky didn't mention that he just remembered the name of the movie. Instead he steadied him with a look. "Tell me, or else," he said with a playful growl.

Sam wasn't deterred in the slightest. He puffed out his chest as he said, "Make me."

Bucky grinned, wide with a hint of evil. "Oh I plan to." And then he pounced, pinning Sam down on the couch. He immediately started squirming as soon as fingers collided with his sides. His laughter soon followed. Bucky was completely entranced.

Sam threw his head back, allowing the laughter to flow freely from his mouth. He brought his knees up to his chest in a ball as he rocked from side to side, occasionally batting Bucky's hands away. "Dahahahamnit Bahaharns!"

"You know what you have to do to make it stop," he taunted. His hands journeyed up to dig into his armpits, making his laughter jump higher.

"SHIT NO NOT THERE!" he shouted, feeling his fingers scratch at the hollows. He squeezed his eyes shut as he cackled, completely unable to make the sensations stop. Bucky had a devious idea and bent down, blowing a wet raspberry against his neck. Sam squealed before dissolving into hysterical giggles.

"Nohohoho okay! Ohohokahay, I give! Ihi'll tehehell you!" Bucky continued the tickling for a second longer before backing off to let him breathe. Sam gasped in some much needed air. "Lady and the Tramp," he admitted. "It's Lady and the Tramp."

Bucky's smirk got even wider. "I know." Sam's eyes flew open and he glared at the other man. "What?"

Bucky shrugged his shoulders, "I remembered."

"Oh you little shit!" Sam cried, smacking his arm, making him laugh. "Now it's your turn!" Bucky stopped laughing, feeling butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach.

"Huh?" As soon as the question left his lips he felt Sam's body collide with his own as he was tackled. He held his arms in front of him to shield himself, giddy giggles already bubbling up in his throat.

"You didn't think I'd let you just get away with that," Sam teased, leaning closer. Bucky subconsciously scrunched his neck.

"Actually I kinda did."

Sam smiled, hovering his hands over his stomach with wiggling fingers. "Then you deserve everything you're gonna get."  

"Nohohohooo," he whined, knowing exactly what was to come. Sam made sure to keep his fingers a few inches above his stomach to keep him on edge. When he finally descended, he clawed into the muscle and vibrated his hands into the flesh. Bucky tried to hold his laughter back, he really did. But as soon as he saw the twinkle in his eyes and the goofy smile, he couldn't help the giggles that slipped out.

"Wow, you're more ticklish than you look," Sam commented. Bucky's face scrunched in confusion and embarrassment.

"Thahahank you?" It came out more as a question than a statement, and Sam had to fight the physical urge to aawww.

He moved on to his sides, squeezing up and down. His laugh became a deeper, more full sound. He grabbed onto Sam's wrists, but didn't bother pushing away. Instead it felt as though he was pulling him closer... He decided to make a mental note of that for later use.

He decided to drill his thumbs into his hips, making him buck and thrash wildly. Sam chuckled, "Is this how you got your nickname? 'Cause you buck like a wild bronco when tickled?" Bucky's cheeks grew darker at the question.

"Fuhuhuck you!" Sam gasped, never pausing in his work.

"How rude! And here I was just trying to strike up a friendly conversation!" He scratched along his waistline, drawing out mad cackles that left Bucky breathless. Sam was having the time of his life. "Who knew you could make so many sounds," he teased.

Bucky shook his head back and forth. "Juhuhust shuhut up!" Sam cocked his head to the side in a quizzical manner.

"Why? Does it make it worse?" When he didn't answer and only whined in response, Sam grinned wider. "I'll take that as a yes."

"You're sohoho mehehean!" he called out, unable to fight back, not that he really wanted to.

"Yeah? And you're cute when you blush," Sam barely realized he had even said it. It just slipped out and couldn't be taken back. Luckily the only affect his words had was darkening the already red blush. Bucky threw a hand up to hide his face as he giggled through his fingers.

"Nu uh, no hiding," Sam said, tickling under his arm and bringing it crashing down. His other hand trailed farther down, squeezing his thighs. Bucky actually screamed, his laughter hitting a whole new range. Encouraged by the new reactions, Sam brought his other hand lower. Bucky snorted when he squeezed the side of his leg, close to his knees. Sam raised his brows, an evil grin plastered on his face.

"Oh, is this a bad spot?" He skittered his fingers over his thighs, the thin sweatpants doing nothing to protect him. His eyes were squinted shut and his mouth hung open as loud laughter poured free. Sam moves to scratch the backs of Bucky's knees, making him snort once more.

"Nononono plehehehease!" Bucky pleaded.

"I'll take that as a yes," Sam chuckled. He raked his nails down the back of his knees, and Bucky practically screamed. He slammed his knees to his chest, which subsequently pushed Sam forward as well. He lost his balance and lurched towards him, catching himself by bracing his fall with his hands on each side of Bucky's head. They both froze, staring into each other's eyes. Bucky's laughter started to die down, his eyes glistening with unshed mirthful tears.

"You okay?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure he didn't go too far. Bucky nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam hadn't seen him smile like this in months, and it warmed his heart. "I, I needed that," he admitted. Sam smiled softly, the expression on his face could only be described as pure adoration.

"I'm glad to hear that." There was a beat where it was silent. And again, without thinking, Sam acted. He found himself leaning down and couldn't stop. It was as though time itself had slowed. And then in a rush, Bucky sat up and locked their lips together. They kissed for a moment before Bucky pulled away, still catching his breath.

"Still wanna watch that movie?"

Sam nodded and they cuddled next to each other on the couch. Bucky had an arm around his shoulders as Sam rested his head on his chest. The movie started. And if Sam was drawing lazy, tickly shapes into his side, Bucky didn't complain. Only would huff out a laugh every once in a while, squirming into the touch.

The earth may not be in a good place right now, but she will heal. Bucky was sure of it.

[we-are-only-halfway-home93]

Come and Lay the Roses 21- Sweet Lips On My Lips- [Ivar x OC]

Summary: Aaline and Ivar attend their second social function as a couple. Aaline stakes her claim.

Characters: Ivar x OC, Bjorn x Torvi, Ubbe x Margrethe, Hvitserk x Thora, Sigurd x OC, Ragnar, Lagertha

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, sex, torture, language, mentions of rape/sexual assualt

Ch. 20

Word Count: 3761

AN: First, I want to apologize for taking so long to update. This quarantine has done a number on my mental health and I've been trying to teach 120+ high school kids from home for the last two months. I also really struggled with the beginning of this chapter. I've had the Freydis scene written pretty much since I started this story but I was having trouble with everything leading up to it. I hope you like it. Thanks for sticking with me.

“The higher you build walls around your heart, the harder you fall when someone tears them down.” ~Unknown 

Ivar adjusted his cuff links, snapping the smooth metal together satisfied when they clicked into place. 

He was dressed in a black ensemble from his bow tie to his shoes. His dark hair was slicked back against his skull, shining under the light. He smoothed his hand over his jaw, nerves making his hands shake.

Ragnar was putting on a charity event tonight. Every year, since the death of Aslaug, Ragnar held an event to raise money combating gun violence. It was ironic considering Ragnar ran a business that thrived on violence perpetrated through the use of guns but it all boiled down to the fact that he was a businessman and he needed to maintain a certain image. Running a charity against gun violence maintained his respectable persona to the public and provided him with a certain level of protection from the police. 

The charity events, because they held multiple every year, served as a cover of sorts. It allowed Ragnar to operate his illegal dealings through his charity holdings. They still had to keep up appearances however and hosted several charity galas, auctions, balls, what have you, throughout the year. The Aslaug Lothbrok Foundation Against Gun Violence event took place every April around her birthday.

For the last seven years, Ivar hated this event. For him, it only served as a reminder of her absence. Today was different.

Today he was attending with his wife. 

He and Aaline had only made one social appearance since their wedding and it didn’t end how Ivar had hoped. Today would be different, however. He and Aaline had made significant progress in their marriage. Ivar had admitted, only to himself and to his brothers, that he was starting to fall in love with her. He was not going to tell her. Not anytime soon at least. He needed some assurances before he did. Maybe her declaration of love first. He was prepared to wait. He’d been showing her how much he cared recently so hopefully, that would work in his favor, make her admit her love sooner.

Today Ivar was looking forward to showing off his breathtaking wife to everyone around. 

Ragnar had invited all the Earl’s of the Northmen as well as the King’s of the Saxons. Journalists were there from at least five magazines and newspapers and every family of high society was represented by at least one family member.

Ragnar’s events were widely publicized and heavily attended. Anybody who was anybody showed up and you weren’t an A-lister if you didn’t. 

He glanced down when his phone buzzed. It was Björn. It was time to go.

The women were riding separate from the men and Björn was waiting at the top of the stairs. Ivar adjusted his sleeves again and headed out.

He nodded at his brother when they met at the top of the stairs. Ivar could tell that something was on Björn’s mind. He was fidgeting and he wouldn’t look at Ivar. 

“Is there something on your mind brother?” Ivar asked. They pushed through the heavy front doors and moved towards the limousine. Björn sighed and gestured for Ivar to enter first. He slid across the leather seats and eyed his oldest brother. Hvitserk, Ubbe, and Sigurd were already seated in the limo, talking quietly amongst themselves. Björn slid in beside Ivar and eyed him with unease. 

Ivar stared right back until he saw his brother break. 

Björn grunted and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on. “Ivar, I’ve only just found out and there’s nothing I can do to change it, unfortunately. If I could, I would but it’s inevitable at this point.”

“Björn, just spit it out.” Ubbe snapped. Ivar glanced at his brothers, the tension in his frame increasing ten-fold. This was supposed to be a good night and he had a feeling that it was about to be ruined. 

“Freydis is coming.” 

.

Aaline stood at a tall round table in the corner of the room, a rapidly warming flute of champagne clasped loosely between her hands. 

She felt a little out of place. The other women had long since found friends and acquaintances to talk to, leaving Aaline alone to wait for Ivar to arrive. She didn’t know anyone there besides the brothers and their wives and the brothers weren’t even there yet. 

She watched as people mingled throughout the large ballroom, talking quietly and helping themselves to the open bar. Ragnar had arrived before his children but was waiting to speak until they appeared. There were trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres being passed around by waiters. Two open bars were available for anyone who didn’t care for champagne. 

There were several familiar faces in the crowd. People who had attended Aaline’s wedding. She didn’t know they’re names or who they were associated with so she just kept to herself. She startled when someone came up beside her and gave Sibylle a small smile. Sibylle smiled back and took a long pull from her own champagne. 

“The boys should be here soon. I just got a text from Sigurd. They’re stuck in traffic but they’re only a couple of blocks away from the hotel.” Aaline nodded her thanks and went back to examining the room. 

“It doesn’t matter how many of these I go to, I’ll never get used to them,” Sibylle said. She shared a look with Aaline and both women giggled.

“Ragnar is very good at throwing parties. It doesn’t matter what the reason is, he loves entertaining. It gives him a good excuse to show off.” Aaline chuckled and watched as Ragnar walked around the room, chatting with everyone he came across and gesticulating wildly at every story. 

“Uh-oh,” Sibylle whispered. Aaline jerked around and followed her gaze. She tensed at the sight of her father slowly making his way towards them.

“Do you want me to stay?” Sibylle asked. Aaline hesitated before shaking her head. She could handle her father. 

Sibylle nodded once and left her alone to deal with her father. Ives Jensen stopped at the table and cleared his throat, staring at his hands. 

“Is there something that you wanted?” She asked. There was a hard edge to her voice. She was only open to his presence for a short period of time. She was not willing to deal with his hesitancy. She took a drink from her champagne. 

Ives swallowed audibly and finally looked up at her. He did not look well. There were dark bags under his eyes and the wrinkles around his face had deepened considerably since she’d last seen him. His clothes were baggy like he’d lost weight and he reeked of cheap vodka. Aaline held her breath and scrunched up her nose. 

“I don’t have time to stand around and wait for you to grow a spine. What do you want?” She hissed. Ives flinched and looked down again. 

“I didn’t get a chance to talk with you at the wedding. You were very busy and I didn’t want to bother you.” He said. His voice was soft and could barely be heard between the two of them. She sighed and rubbed at her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. 

“Yes, the wedding that you arranged without my consent. I remember.” He flinched back and she thought she saw tears in his eyes. She tried to sum up some swell of sympathy for him but she just couldn’t.

The man before her was so alien that she couldn’t even see her father anymore. He no longer resembled even the distant man who would visit her boarding schools. He was a shell of who he used to be and she was surprised he was even still alive. 

“I have people I need to talk to. If you have something to say I need you to say it. Otherwise, move on.” She said. Sibylle nodded once towards security but Aaline shook her head. 

“Would you dance with me?” Ives asked. 

Aaline rounded on her father, surprise coloring her features. That was what he came over to ask? She almost snorted but held it back at the last minute. 

“That’s what you came over to ask me? To dance?”

“Well, you didn’t do me the honor at your wedding. I thought I’d get the chance then but it seemed you had someone else in mind.” She had no idea where his sudden courage came from but she was not about to let him make her feel guilty.

“You lost that honor the second you arranged this marriage. Don’t you dare stand there and act like I should be grateful.” She seethed. She glanced around, hoping that Ivar had arrived but there was still no sign of her husband.

“Aaline, I never wanted this for you.” He began to plead. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him. He followed her though. 

“Please, I only ever wanted you to be happy.” She glared at him.

“Happy? You only ever wanted me to be happy? Did it ever occur to you that maybe I would’ve been happy at home? With you? You were all I had after mom died but instead of caring for me, loving me, you shipped me off to another country instead of having to deal with me. 

“Did you even notice when I got in trouble? Did you even care? Or were you just concerned with keeping your good name unblemished? You’d rather sign a check and transfer me than bother to ask me what was wrong. And you claim you wanted to make me happy?” She shook her head, refusing to let her tears fall.

She had promised herself that she would stop being angry with her father. It took too much energy and she had more important things to focus on. Like getting to know her husband and taking over her father’s company. She didn’t need to worry about her father anymore. In all honesty, he hadn’t even been a blip on her radar since the wedding. The fact that he was bringing forth all these emotions now only made her angry.

“I think you should leave.” She said. She locked eyes with Sibylle who raised her eyebrows in a silent question and Aaline nodded. Sibylle moved to get security when Ives grabbed Aaline’s arm above the elbow. 

She sucked in a sharp breath and glared at him. “Get your hands off of me.” She hissed.

“Aaline, please, I’ve been speaking to some people and I’ve been trying to think of a way to get you out of this.” 

She arched an eyebrow, stunned. “Do you mean a way that won’t get you killed?” She asked. Ives clenched his jaw and tugged her towards him. He had no intention of hurting her but the act itself was still threatening. 

“I’m trying to fix this.” He whispered. 

Aaline could see security coming towards them followed closely by Ivar. She hadn’t seen him arrive. 

She looked back at Ives and jerked away from him, breaking his loose hold and twisting his arm around behind him. He yelped and arched away from her. She could feel several pairs of eyes on them but she didn’t care. 

“I don’t want to fix it.” She snarled. She pushed him away from her and towards the two security guards a few feet away. They each took an arm and began escorting Ives out of the ballroom. 

Ivar watched them pass and spoke softly to the guard at the door, requesting that Ives be escorted home and not allowed to return. The man nodded and followed after the group of three.

He turned to his wife and had to steady himself.

She looked like a goddess. Her floor-length black dress had a thigh-high slit up the right side that showed him an intoxicating view of her creamy skin. The neckline plunged nearly to her navel and the lights gleamed off her simple gold chain. The sleeves were long but sheer, accentuated by the gold beads that covered her wrists and shoulders. The beading collected around her waist as well, showing off her figure. Gold stilettos finished the look and made her look regal.

The fire in her eyes made him hard and he had to take several deep breaths before approaching her. He did so with delight and swept an arm around her waist, bringing her easily towards the dance floor.

“You look stunning, my dear. I hope he didn’t ruin your night.” His lips brushed softly against her ear and he felt her shudder.

She settled her arms around his shoulders and rested her cheek against his. “It’s better now that you’re here.” She could feel his grin against her neck and he pulled back.

“I’d say the same about you, elskede.” She smiled up at him and let him twirl her around the dance floor. He smelled absolutely divine and she closed her eyes, letting him consume her. 

“What did your father want?” She opened her eyes and pulled back to look at him. His eyes were earnest. She sighed and settled back against his neck. 

“Nothing important. He wanted to dance with me.” She said, her voice dripped with contempt. Ivar pulled back, his face contorted in confusion and scorn. 

“Why?” He asked. She shook her head. “He said something about not having the honor at my wedding. I told him he lost that honor as soon as he arranged our marriage without my consent.”

Ivar turned her around the dance floor, sweeping her in wide circles, making her dizzy. “And how did he feel about that?” He asked. She chuckled darkly.

“He told me that he only ever wanted me to be happy?” Ivar arched an eyebrow and hummed.

“And he thinks he accomplished that?” He scoffed and shook his head. She smiled and looked at him, his eyes sparkling with joy. She didn’t think she’d ever seen joy in his eyes before. 

“Well, it’s not all bad. I did get you.” She said. Ivar’s smirk was wicked. His eyes dropped down to her lips and she closed her eyes just before he kissed her. 

His lips were warm pressed to hers. He didn’t do more than press his lips firmly to hers but it sent shivers down her spine nonetheless. She moaned against his lips, the sound lost in the music. Ivar pulled her closer and dragged his hands down her back, settling them low. She pulled back and blinked up at him. He smiled down at her and nudged her slightly away.

“Go, Sibylle looks ready to burst with questions.” Aaline turned around and smiled at Sibylle. She looked like she was bouncing on her toes, her fingers tapping against the champagne flute in her hands. She eyed the two of them with an eager gaze. 

Aaline laughed and looked up at him. “I better go ease her mind then shouldn’t I.” Ivar nodded once and let her go, releasing her hand only when she was too far away. He watched her approach Sibylle and the two began whispering.

He felt someone come up behind him and he turned his head. Björn settled his hands on his shoulders. “Come, Ivar, the snake approaches.” Ivar tensed and grunted allowing Björn to lead him away.

Aaline watched as Björn and Ivar walked away, tension in their steps. She watched as they found Ubbe and Hvitserk and the four of them started whispering. Their gestures to each other were harsh and she could see the anger in Ivar’s face. She turned her head when Ubbe gestured across the room.  

She narrowed her eyes as she caught where Ubbe was gesturing. There was a blonde woman across the way making eyes at her husband. Her eyes were intense and she looked like she was close to salivating.

She turned her head to face Sibylle and lifted a brow in question. Sibylle followed her gaze and hummed. Aaline tensed. “What?” She hadn’t meant to snap but her sister-in-law clearly knew something she didn’t. 

She glanced at her and Sibylle’s face looked like she just sucked on something sour. “What’s that face for?” Sibylle looked at Aaline and sighed. “I can’t believe she still has the audacity to show up at these events after what she did.” Aaline’s mouth nearly dropped open at the venom that followed those words. She turned fully to face her friend. “Who is she?”

Sibylle sighed and took a long drink of her champagne. “Her name is Freydis Eiriksdottir and she’s Ivar’s ex-girlfriend.” Aaline sucked in a sharp breath and turned back to look at the other woman. She was watching Ivar with a gleam in her eye that set Aaline’s teeth on edge. It was a possessive look that screamed ownership and Aaline did not like that it was directed at her husband. 

“What did she do?” She said, taking a deep gulp of her champagne.

Sibylle waved over a passing waiter and took two more flutes of champagne, handing one to Aaline. Aaline pushed her half-empty flute aside and clasped the new one with shaking fingers. 

“First off, the only reason she comes to these events is that she works for one of Ragnar’s firms.” Aaline shot Sibylle a look and the other woman rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look. She was working here before she started sleeping with Ivar and it would look bad if she was fired after they broke up. She was transferred as far away from Ivar as Ragnar could put her but there are the occasional events where they’ll both be in attendance.

“Her presence had lessened somewhat but I think your recent nuptials got her interested again and now she’s back in full force.” Sibylle slammed her champagne down in one swig before she pushed the empty flute aside. Aaline’s head was spinning with this new information.

In some part of her mind, she knew that Ivar had dated other women before he married her. They just never talked about those women just as they never talked about her previous men. It went unsaid that they had been with other people but now they were really growing as a couple and Aaline didn’t want anything to ruin that. Especially clingy little blonde girls who didn’t know how to take a hint. 

“You still haven’t told me what she did,” Aaline asked. Her voice was soft. Sibylle shook her head and glanced over to where Ivar was still talking to his brother’s.

“They were pretty hot and heavy for a while. Almost a year when Ivar found out she was cheating on him.” Sibylle snipped. Aaline sucked in a sharp breath and whipped her head around to look at Freydis. She was still watching Ivar like a hawk but hadn’t moved from her position across the room. 

“Ivar was pissed.” Sibylle continued. “He threw all her stuff out of his room, changed the locks to his office. Literally, anything you can think of to give someone he gave her and then took it back. To make matters worse, she came back a few months later and told him she was pregnant.” Sibylle shook her head at Aaline’s horrified expression. 

“Ivar didn’t believe her so he made her get a DNA test before the baby was born. He was right. It wasn’t his. I think she ended up giving the baby up for adoption but…” Sibylle pulled Aaline’s unfinished champagne towards her and downed it.

“Anytime there’s an event where they’ll both be there, Ragnar sets up special security to keep Freydis away from Ivar. She can’t get within five feet of him before someone whisks her away.” Aaline snorted and watched as the woman in question began to move across the room but was quickly cut off by a hulking security guard. 

Aaline grabbed a champagne glass from a passing tray and downed it quickly, her eyes watering at the bubbles that stung the back of her throat. She cleared her throat and nodded once at Sibylle before making her way to Ivar. 

She kept Freydis in her line of sight the entire time. She wanted to make sure that the woman saw her with Ivar. She wanted Freydis to know that Ivar was her’s now and there was nothing she could do about it. 

Ivar smiled when he saw her approach. Ubbe and Hvitserk stepped back to let her through and she draped her arms over Ivar’s shoulders. Ivar’s eyebrows rose in surprise but he wrapped his arms tight around her waist. “Hello, wife. How was your conversation with Sibylle?”

Aaline smiled and pressed her cheek against his, nuzzling against him. Ivar grinned at his brothers and their faces shared his amusement. “Better now that I’m with you, husband.” She whispered. Her breath sent shivers down his spine and he tightened his hold on her. He hummed and started to sway with her, his hands stroking up and down her back.

“Not that I don’t enjoy your affections but this wouldn’t have anything to do with a particular blonde, now, would it?” Aaline tensed against him but held her composure. She stroked her fingers through his hair and across the nape of his neck. She pressed her lips to his ear. 

“Now why would you think that?” Her voice held a husky tone that had Ivar grinding his back teeth and clenching his fingers in the fabric of her dress.

He cleared his throat and pressed a gentle kiss to the hinge of her jaw, his tongue poking out to taste her flesh. Aaline shivered and a soft whimper escaped against Ivar’s ear. 

“Well, she’s been staring at me all night and I was just about to have her escorted out when you suddenly appear in my arms.” He pulled back slightly and gazed into her eyes. She kept her face blank but Ivar could see it in her eyes. He clicked his tongue and stroked her hair back away from her face.

“You do not need to worry about her, elskling. She means nothing to me.” Aaline could feel the contentment rising up in her chest and a blush painting her cheeks red. Ivar chuckled and pressed his lips to her forehead. He brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek and nudged her back to Sibylle. 

“Go, mingle. I’ll find you later.” She nodded once and turned, smiling at Hvitserk and Ubbe.

Tags: @dreamlesswonder @youbloodymadgenius @inforapound @bcarolinablr @funmadnessandbadassvikings @jay-bel @feyrearcheron44 @londongal12810 @khiraeth @didiintheblog @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 

[fandomrecycling]

Pax and her Potions: Prt 2/3

Part 1 here I guess

@anxiousworm @vlanderzine I blame worm for infecting me with angst but also this kinda worked p-well ngl.

Grabbing a bundle of sticks, Pax shifted through her cloak to make room for the new stack of ladders beside her pickaxe, food and notebook. After clicking that both her parents were indeed asleep and that there was no one in the streets below, she pried open the wood planks to her bedroom and looked down.

The drop was easily at least a dozen meters off the ground, maybe more. There was a tree she could jump to, but Pax didn’t trust her athletic skill. Replacing the removed planks and ladders once she hit the ground, the amature alchemist frowned up at the redstone lamps.

Technically speaking, there were no dark spots in the city. The mayor had spent dozens of diamonds ensuring that there was no risk of monsters beyond the walls entering or appearing in the middle of the night. Even the rooftops were lit up with torches. It made sleeping difficult.

On the plus side, that meant most citizens were conditions to avoid darkened patches at all costs. So the dimmer alley with only a single light source was the perfect place to creep through.

Keeping a tight grip on her tool, Pax leaned out from the alley to the small procession of sleepy guards who were standing guard at the portal. One was leaning against the obsidian structure, the other fiddling with his sword. Looking into her inventory for a moment, she found a spare stick and threw it in the opposite direction.

That worked better than she expected, cliche as it was. Both guards jumped at the sound, raising their swords in alarm. With their heads turned, Pax dashed into the open square and ducked behind a set of tall bushes.

She was forced to wait several more seconds before they wouldn’t see her in their peripheral vision. Running up towards the portal, Pax suddenly stopped.

Staring into the swirls of violet energy, there was a palpable heat radiating from the frame. She would have compared it to a summer breeze, but that was too gentle of a metaphor. Hovering a hand just over the portal, a flash of heat made her flinch back.

A moment of realism crashed into her. This was dangerous, more dangerous than just stealing ingredients for faulty potions. This was another dimension, this was fire and monsters and possibly death.

“What are you doing?” Pax asked herself.

The guards were returning. She threw herself into the portal.

The heat she’d felt radiating from the portal was nothing compared to this. Pax coughed from the humid air and ashes stinging her throat. She wasn’t even in the Nether proper, having landed in the small hub that the miners used.

Stone brick and slabs decorated the small room, with little tables that the workers could use for their breaks. A corner of the hub was locked by an iron door, with the inside filled with chests. There were tunnels cut through in all four cardinal directions, with minecart chests and rails running down as far as she could see.

Pax almost considered breaking into the locked room for more supplies, but she knew that it was likely trapped against any real thieves. Instead, she chose one of the tunnels, squeezed her pickaxe, and began to dig upward.

In all her stories, they described caves as dark, damp and scary places. Where you could be faced with the growling maw of a zombie or a spider dropping onto your face at any moment. Digging in the Nether was some other kind of dread. Pax could hear the bubbling drip of lava through the netherrack, making her flinch every time the sounds grew louder.

When she finally broke through the surface, it didn’t seem like it was the surface. The sky - at least as far as ‘sky’ meant - was a distant roof made of deep red stone. Fires speckled the ground, with long streams of lava dripping down from the layers and layers of floating islands and cliffs.

The mines below her suddenly felt pitifully small in comparison. There was just so much to explore, she almost forgot what she was here for.

Nibbling on a small bundle of golden carrots, Pax made her way across the scorched landscape. As she walked, she heard an odd sound between a snort and a growl behind her. She heard something creak, then an arrow cut a gash across her cheek.

Screaming, the girl wheeled around and found a humanoid pig creature reloading a crossbow. It was the first, non-zombified creature she’d seen and Pax had a moment to marvel at another sentient creature from this realm. Until she found another arrow pointed at her face.

The girl dashed away in an instant, remembering to dodge the magma blocks haphazardly placed across the ground and the lava pouring down. Arrows whizzed by her and another lucky shot cut another hole through her cloak. It wasn’t until she was faced with a sheer cliff that Pax turned again.

Her hands were shaking so bad, she dropped the half-eaten golden carrot and clutched her pick like a sword. The crossbow was level with her face, growing closer after each tick. It was a meter away from her but her legs refused to move.

The piglin blinked, beady eyes glancing down to the dropped food. It lowered it’s crossbow. Pax relaxed her grip.

“Uh, hello?” She asked, feeling slightly stupid.

It bent down and grabbed the carrot, stuffing it into its mouth and chewing the carrot to paste. Pax grinned, “You’re hungry?”

She fished out another carrot, threw it to the ground, then pressed her back against the wall. The piglin’s face formed something that might’ve been a grin as it bent down to munch on the carrot.

To her surprise, it also dropped it’s crossbow and began fishing through what looked like an inventory. After it finished the second carrot, it dropped a pile of greenish-orange slime, picked up it’s crossbow and walked away.

Pax watched the mob disappear back into the misty red before she felt confident enough to poke at the strange substance. Her first thought was that it was some kind of weird piglin poop, but it lacked any poop-like smell so she dismissed that theory.

Whatever it was, the mob had offered it to her out of some kind of trade. It looked interesting at the very least, so Pax stuffed handfuls into her cloak and began to tower up the side of the mountain.

The height gave her a good vantage point to look across the landscape. And to her luck, there was a fortress a few feet away. Smiling, Pax climbed down, dashed towards the closest pillar and threw down the first ladders. Sticky ash clung to her skin, excitement and fear blending together into a heady concoction.

Once she made it up to face one of the barred windows, she tore down the fence that blocked her and climbed inside the fortress.

It was quieter than she expected, the red bricks insulating her against the ambient sounds of the nether. Pax could hear footsteps, though; a shambling, rattling sound that echoed down from some unknown place deep in the structure.

Flipping through her notes, Pax found the copied out section of her book on myths that detailed some of the old mages ingredients. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the weird slime the piglin gave her looked like one of them. The specific item she was looking for, though, was a deep red, fungi-like plant named ‘netherwarts’.

There wasn’t a detailed map that showed her where she’d find this plant, so Pax found herself wandering aimlessly. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, hidden monsters and any manner of unknown danger, she was absolutely thrilled to have made it this far.

Coming down from a staircase, Pax was about to start down the new corridor until she saw the plants. She started a scream of delight, then slapped a hand over her mouth and refused to breathe. The clacking sounds grew louder, closer.

She needed to get out, but she needed that netherwart. Jumping down and onto the plot of soul sand, she tore up the plants, grabbed a chunk of the cursed dirt to grow them on and ran back up the stairs and towards her exit.

Pax screamed this time when she came face to face with a blackened skull. A stone sword nearly cut a gash down her chest, then Pax felt herself fall. Rolling down the stairs, she forced herself to her feet and blasted down the new corridor.

Wither skeletons; even she didn’t think they were real. She swerved around corners, her momentum throwing her into the walls. From what few windows she could see, the fortress extended over the bowles of a lava lake. Digging out would just be suidice then.

The next corner she turned made her heart drop. The corridor broke away, the rest presumably resting under the magma below. Pax whimpered and turned, hearing the skeleton growing closer and pinning her between two options for a painful death.

She didn’t have any combat training and she certainly wasn’t fireproof. Shuffling through her inventory, Pax pulled out the rest of her ladders and looked up to the broken remains of the hallway.

Climbing up and onto the roof, she had even less protection from whatever might drop down, but she made sure to break the makeshift stairs so mobs couldn’t follow her at least. Backtracking from where she came and making use of her ladders, Pax soon found her original entrance and began to build her way down.

A new sound made her turn her head. Hovering in the sky, a ghostly white creature with tendrils and red eyes spat out a ball of fire.

Pax let go of the ladder, dropping her onto the ground from higher than she could tolerate. Shock buzzed up her heel and through her spine, nearly knocking her off her feet. The ghost-creature had closed its eyes, but hovered closer to her position.

Running with fresh bruises, she cried out and blocked her face as hot flecks of exploding netherrack pelted her thin cloak. Scrambling up the mountainside, Pax heard the shriek of another fireball and managed to throw one arm up onto the edge.

The impact threw her into the air, flipping her over before crashing into the pit the explosion left. Pain filled her senses; lingering along with the smell of burning hair. Agony flared all across her back, refusing to dull and growing worse as all her adrenalin was sapped from her body.

She had just enough sense left to try and bury herself with whatever materials she had left and prayed that the ghast would leave her alone. Biting her sleeve to muffle her crying, Pax waited in the dark with dying ember ticking her nose.

[the-lightest-shadow]

Tell me about your ocs!

I got two people actually say they want it and a few more liking the post so here we go, in no particular order:

Takashi Shimizu

Male

His quirk allows him to change the pressure of water, allowing flow to increase or decrease in speed. Can be deadly if worked on.

Hero outfit is currently just a wet suit and cap. It has a logo that says “logo” in kanji.

Cheery

Made for an attempt at a collab classroom

Has artwork made

Ayame Togata

Female

Made as one of the two Big Three twins I made

Has an upgraded version of her father’s quirk that allows her clothes to stay on and even clip through dust particles, making her appear to float in the air.

Actually a villain

Is a villain because she, quote “wants people to fear her instead of respect her”

Has artwork made

Tomomi Amajiki

Male

Other twin

Also has an upgraded version of his father’s quirk. It can last longer and have more unique effects when he eats meals or combined foods.

A currently unknown to him combination allows him to see the future.

Is currently hiding the fact of being able to see the future because he doesn’t know what causes it.

Haruto Ueda

Male

Quirk allows him to manipulate clouds, including if they have lightning in them or not.

Hair is cloudlike, but not in the same way as our canon cloud boi who I’m forgetting the name of.

For the collab classroom

Has artwork made

Kaori Yamasaki

Female

Quirk is spider. She’s spider-like and can do things spiders can do. {climb up walls, produce silk from her mouth, venomous bite etc.}

For the collab classroom

Has artwork made

Mao Maki

Female

Quirk allows her to grow flowers on any living or once-living surface. If it’s an animal, it’s one that works with their personality or species. If it’s a plant, it’s the type they normally grow. They sting badly and fall off after a few minutes.

Very serious about becoming a hero.

For the collab classroom

Has artwork made

Sherley Zima

Female

One of my examples of “this started out as a planned self-insert but now she’s her own thing” OCs

Quirk allows her to manipulate the temperature around her. The closer to the center of her radius {her} you get, the stronger it’s effects. Unless you’re on top of her. Then there’s no effect at all.

She’ll pass out if she uses it for long. The effect will slowly dissipate in those instances.

Exchange student.

Is now part of the collab classroom

Has artwork made

Kumiko Hisakawa

Female

Don’t remember her quirk

Was made for the collab classroom

I really should try and remember her quirk

Has artwork made

Yuuma Aizawa

Male

EraserMic child

Quirk allows him to erase the quirk of others with vocal commands. Vocal commands are also needed to deactivate it. Can only erase one quirk at a time.

The vocal commands are along the lines of “stop”, “cancel”, and their reverses.

Mostly reclusive personality.

Didn’t discover his quirk until he was about 13.

Might change him to nonbinary but still using he/him pronouns

Kageko Yukimura

Demifemale

Self-insert villain made to ship with Dabi because shut up

Quirk manipulates liquids at the molecular level, allowing her to boil or freeze any liquid {that can boil/freeze} as long as she has physical contact on it.

Ultimately her goal is to kill 99% of all people who kill innocent people and any “heroes” that don’t kill killers or at least advocate for “this person should be killed ngl”

????????

He/Him

Villain that I haven’t given a name to yet

Has a horrifying quirk that’s a type of brainwashing that makes the affected person believe they were acting of their own free-will as they’re under it.

Activates with wrong answers to questions.

Yuu Ikeda

Genderfluid

Any pronouns but he/him are allowed.

Quirk allows them to quick heal and regenerate any lost body part, from skin to full limbs to even organs.

When regenerating, their frame can change, along with other things. The only thing they can’t change is their eye and hair colors.

Ran away from home because their parents weren’t accepting

Is a black market villain at the age of 11.

Keeps selling their own organs to stay alive

Is actually very kind and probably would’ve tried to be a hero if they had an accepting household.

Is one of my favorites

Hoshiko Kaminari

She/Her

One of three Denki Kaminari x Ibara Shiozaki kids I made because It’s my rare pair and I choose if they have kids!

Oldest

Her quirk is that she has electric fence wiring as hair. As a result, she needs an insanely high amount of iron in her diet.

Side effect to her quirk is that she’s immune to all electricity-based attacks.

Doesn’t know how to swim, and even if she did her hair would weigh her down.

Hair needs to be cut with wire cutters or similar, as it doesn’t stop growing unless she stops getting her needed iron.

Hair-wires stay live for about 10 seconds after being cut

Another one of my faves

Rai Kaminari

Male

Middle child, younger brother of Hoshiko.

Has the same quirk as his father, but can withstand higher amounts of voltage before frying.

Hinata Kaminari

Nonbinary

Youngest of the family, Hoshiko’s younger sibling.

Quirkless

Yuki Tetsutetsu

Female

Name is not written as “雪” {snow}, but as “勇気” {courage}

Don’t have another parent, probably just someone I’ll make later {unless someone else wants to}

Quirk allows her to make any metal she holds stronger and can be unbreakable with focus. It can still get knocked out of her hands, though.

If I have to explain who her dad is....

David Jerome

Male

Made for my AU story “Reborn”

One of the reborn individuals {you’ll understand what that means soon}

Quirkless

Was an American tourist at death. As a result, is Japanese isn’t perfect

Died in a car crash, along with his mother and father. Only his younger sister survived on their end.

Kind but quiet. Very supportive

Default emotions are fear and regret

Yuuki Hayashi

Female

Made for my AU story “Reborn”

One of the reborn individuals

Don’t remember the quirk I had given her, but it wasn’t an impressive or powerful one.

Died from anaphylactic shock

Default emotion is disappointment in self

Kohaku Mizushima

Agender

Made for my AU story “Reborn”

One of the reborn individuals.

Quirk allowed them to make a ball around them as a defense. It was hard to break and could hold in whatever was already around him as well. Couldn’t be seen through and wasn’t recommended for long use.

Died from... drowning... that may have been self caused...

Harsh, but very much protective

Default emotions are sadness and anger

Ryou

Male

Made for my AU story “Reborn”

Quirk allows him to resurrect anyone who has died within the last 24 hours. Upon resurrection, the revived {which he calls “reborn”} will have different colored sclera than before that relate to how they died in one way or another. They cannot die from the same thing again, and he cannot revive someone more than once.

Has a friend that works for the hospital, allowing him to revive random people easier than otherwise

Tries to keep is quirk hidden from the public because can you imagine what would happen if word came out about a quirk like that?

Whenever he picks a child, which is actually rare, he’ll take care of them. The previous three are under his care.

Is rich

Chaotic Neutral

And I believe that’s all of them besides Ryou’s friend, but he’s literally only named and given his job.

Any more questions? Maybe about individual ones? Send em here or here!

[jamkookies]

Okay

Description : A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 3.3k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Please, sir! I'm begging you! Open up, please!"

It was surprising how the both of you hadn't even moved an inch despite the cries that had begun to turn downright hopeless but as Jungkook's arm shields your body defensively, you decide that you just can't take it anymore.

"Jungkook, we should take a look." you say hesitantly, turning your head in his direction.

"No way. It's a trap." he claims. "I'm sure of it."

Your eyes keep boring holes into the door as if your vision could penetrate it.

It's quiet for a while.

Maybe he left.

Maybe he-

A thunderous boom to the door.

"We have to at least take a look, dammit!" you exclaim and push his arm away, now decisively heading towards it.

"Wait!" Jungkook yells after you but instead of stopping you, he joins your side. Before you can make any further attempts, he mushes his face onto the platform and looks into the tiny peephole. Curiosity can hardly keep you still.

At last, Jungkook retreats and motions for you to take a look as well but you don't know whether to expect a garnison of soldiers or a horde of wild bisons behind the door because the expression on his face is unreadable.

The cold surface of the platform touching your forehead only makes you grow even more uncomfortable. Then, your eyes are able to discern an obscure figure behind the magnifying glass. "You've got to be kidding me, " you whisper as your eyes naturally widen.

This could not be.

Him, out of all people....

Both you and Jungkook exchange a look of silent agreement and he pushes the open button with no words needed. The door swings open to reveal a slightly dishevelled-looking man with multiple cuts and bruises marking his face. Those eyes you'd seen gleaming with vigilance are now tired, drowsy yet still scarred with horrors you could only imagine. You'd never forget those eyes because they had been the ones that had given you a chance to escape, a chance to save yourselves.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook wonders, not bluntly but rather in a puzzled demeanor.

"Let me in, please. I'll explain everything, " the old bodyguard says and throws a look behind his back and down the stairs.

You and Jungkook exchange another look and then the latter opens the door wider, giving him space to enter. The bodyguard's face almost melts in relief upon the gesture. He crosses the doorstep in two huge strides, putting the farthest distance from it.

From the moment the lock clicks back in place, a deafening silence hangs into the air, adding even more to the suspense.

You decide to break the ice first. "What do you mean they're gonna kill your family?"

The bodyguard takes notice of where your eyes are fixed and he unconsciously touches a bruise on his chin. "Actually, I lied about that. I had to convince you to open the door."

Your anger flares like wild fire but before the flames can grow higher he quickly compensates for his mistake. "I'm really sorry. I had to.They...they did some things to me...I'll explain everything but I don't have much time."

"Why?" you demand. "Are they following yo-"

"What are you doing here in the first place?" Jungkook interrupts.

The man appears to be going through an internal conflict as his eyes shut tight, hands clench and unclench and the line of his eyebrows angles into a wide V. His distressed condition explained so much and yet so little. His eyes that up till now had been staring at the ground, lift to level up with yours and then flick to Jungkook's. "I went through hell itself to get here unnoticed. I'll have to go soon. But before I do, there's something you should know."

* * *

As much as Jungkook refused to drop the disgruntled attitude, he still made the man sit on the couch and then proceeded to offer him a much needed glass of water. The man drank and drank and drank like he'd forgotten its taste and freshness and after his thirst was sedated, he started chirping like a bird.

"First of all, I want to apologize about trying to take you by force back in Malta, even though in reality it was not my choice."

"We'd figured that out, " you confirm. "But why did you help us escape?"

You'd been racking your brains out for a long time now, trying to come up with a logical explanation but no answer fit in the frame. You just couldn't understand why he would put himself in danger so you could run away.

It didn't make any sense.

"I couldn't just let them take you like prisoners, " he says. "I had to at least give you a chance because I myself wasn't given one."

Jungkook's brows wrinkle in confusion. "What do you mean?"

A look of something like shame casts upon the man's face and he stares at his clasped hands. "When I first got this job, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Being a bodyguard, I had taken everything into account, including the fact that I would probably have to give up my life at some point but I never thought I'd be involved in criminal affairs."

Criminal affairs? What was he talking about?

"I thought it was normal at first. I thought this was how things normally went but when you decided to go to that trip in Malta I realized that I couldn't get out of this sucking hole no matter how much I tried. And the worst thing about it is that you've had to suffer along all this time without even knowing it."

Jungkook raises a hand to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there a second. Are you talking about Sejin making Y/N leave? And the the thing at the plane? I know he went a little too far but-"

"You think that's a coincidence?" the man shoots back. "He set everything up. From the tickets to the hotel to everything. Every single piece of it was planned out."

Your teeth grind against each other with a mixed state of anger and shock putting them into action. When you throw a glance at Jungkook's traumatised form, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. The man's statement seemed to had jarred him to the bone and rendered him speechless, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

"I apologize for that, " the man continues. "I didn't want to say it straight away because I knew it would come as a shock to you but Mr.Sejin is not who you think he is. I've had to live with this knowledge for years now."

For a moment, Jungkook's eyes clear up and he blinks a number of times till his attention is completely aimed at the man's face. "Is this a joke or something? Did he send you here to play with us?"

The man's expression remains stoic, forever expressionless but even through his mask you could make out the scars of horrendous truths.

He wasn't lying.

You both knew that but you just couldn't accept it, even though deep down you had always sensed that the origin of your ordeals had been somehow designated.

The said bodyguard points a finger at his face. "You see these bruises, sir? They gave them to me as a punishment for not being able to bring you back. Beat me up till I fainted. When I woke up they made it clear that this time the job had to be done properly. That's why I'm here. To bring you back. But I won't be doing that. I'm here to make sure that you know who you're dealing with. I don't have the authority to talk with his superiors. Trust me, I've even tried to but he's always one step ahead of me." He smiles sadly. "I've gotten countless warnings because of that."

Jungkook puts his head in his hands and agressively ruffles his hair. "How long has this been going?"

The man doesn't hesitate. "6 years. Since the moment Ms.Y/N set foot on that company. He was obsessed with the idea of a boy-group only and didn't want any other intruders. I can witness the number of times he complained to his superiors about not letting her join. He kept pestering them, kept telling them all sorts of things but PD-nim was the one who insisted on taking her. After that he was absolutely furious. You should've seen the way he flung things around in his office. It made me scared for a moment."

He releases a long-kept sigh and shakes his head dreadfully.

"This went on for as much as I can remember. He never changed, always kept making attempts into kicking her out and covered it with a fake smile. But this time he had it all planned out to the smallest detail and couldn't afford to just brush it off as usual. That's probably his biggest mistake so far. He just couldn't stand hiding in a bush anymore so he went 'go hard or go home' I guess."

All this new information was making your head spin. Your mind wasn't helping either, continuously attaching images to the words, helping build up the portrayal of the man who had detested you for so many years, piece by piece. To say that you'd been dismayed was an understatement. You just couldn't believe your ears, couldn't wrap your head around the idea.

"What exactly had he planned?" asks Jungkook with a tint of hesitation in his voice. Understandable enough, taking into consideration the fact that he was fed up with the truths he'd heard. The bodyguard takes a sip from his glass and gulps audibly. He keeps throwing nervous looks at the door, as if waiting for someone to burst in.

"If you can remember....the accident with the saesang girl...."

No

Not that

Anything but that

"It was not an accident, " he confirms. "Your manager planned it."

No

No no no no no no-

"He hired that girl knowing she was a saesang and told her what she had to do. He promised her Jungkook would be hers if she managed to get the job done. That night, when you sneaked out into the forest, it's like you offered yourselves to her in a silver platter. And that's how it went. She took care of everything; the car, the tools, even her assistant."

He shakes his head and you see a melancholic smile cast upon his lips as he looks directly at you. "Stupid girl. She hated you so much to the point where she even ignored Sejin's orders for a moment. He'd never intended to kill you. Obviously, he wasn't that stupid. But she didn't care at all. Thought about getting rid if you since she had the chance and went all-psycho. Unfortunately for her, you managed to escape and that's when Mr.Sejin got angry. Really, really angry. His face got all red and puffy and when Namjoon-ssi tried to talk to him, worried about you gone missing, he yelled in his face."

Joon.

You can almost feel the nostalgic taste of the word in your tongue. It was like smelling that familiar aroma of fresh flowers that grew in your back yard and being swept into a wave of old memories. Sick of you, to not think enough about him all this time, when all he'd ever did was worry about you.

You missed them. All of them. So much to the point where it hurt.

Were they okay?

Now that you were certain about your manager's intentions, you couldn't help feeling concerned about the rest of the boys.

Unaware of your thoughts, the man continues with his story. "And things got even worse when she shot you and you jumped into the stream. I guess she panicked. Her voice was literally shaking from the other side of the phone during the call with manager-nim. I don't know what she said exactly but it still didn't make him give up. After all, he had to prepare for the grand finale."

Jungkook's sharp intake of breath switches your attention to him. You examine his face carefully, looking for any signs of panic but nothing makes it to the surface.

At least not yet.

"-called the ambulance to make sure you wouldn't die."

The momentary distraction had made you zone out and you're only able to catch the last part of the phrase.

"Then what?" Jungkook asks softly.

It's like the man's physiognomy is put into action; eyelids blinking furiously, lips opening and closing, hands fumbling with each-other. He seems nervous to keep talking and that only puts Jungkook on edge even more.

"Then what? " the latter insists. Bolder this time.

The man chokes the words out. "Th-then you wrestled with that girl's assistant. And-"

"And I killed him." Jungkook finishes for him. You notice the way his eyes turn glassy and distant, as if they'd travelled back in time, recalling the events.

"No, sir. He's alive."

Both yours and Jungkook's head snap in his direction with lightning speed.

Had you just imagined him saying that?

"What?" you voice.

"He didn't kill him, " the man confirms and this time you can clearly see his lips matching the words. "It was all a trick."

Clash

"No!"

Tiny little glass shards scatter across the floor, but you don't even have time to react as another loud noise joins it.

"No!" Jungkook yells again after taking out the anger on the second vase. " I don't believe you! You're lying!" He's fully risen to his feet, his chest puffed from breathing too hard. You've never seen him like this, so angry and panicked and scared.

"He's alive, sir. I'm not lying. They enacted the death-"

"Shut up!" Jungkook screams.

"-to make Y/N-ssi feel guilty and leave. Please, sir. You have to listen to me. You did not kill anyone."

A storm of emotions drowns you whole and it's impossible to pinpoint a particular feeling in the midst of all the chaos. Pain, sadness, relief, anger. They all come as a flooding mess, an absolute wreck.

But none of that matters now.

Not as you notice Jungkook from the corner of your eye, slowly sink to the floor and curl into a ball. It's just like that night at the hotel. He rocks back and forth with no awareness of his surroundings, completely lost in his despair.

The storyteller gives him a perplexed look. He must be wondering why Jungkook was reacting this way, why he didn't sigh in relief upon the news of his innocence.

That's because the man didn't know what the idea of killing someone had done to him and how hard it was to just rip that thought out of his mind. He'd convinced himself over and over that he was guilty, that he was a murderer. You'd witnessed it yourself during all those restless nights filled with nightmares driven by his own conscience. You'd both tried to speak as little as you could about it by trying to avoid that fact but now that he's given up and let himself fall apart, you're able to see how it had ruined him beyond repair.

You glare at the bodyguard to stop him from going further and rush to Jungkook's side on the floor.

And your heart shatters into a million pieces.

He's sobbing like a little child.

A grown-up man turned into a little kid just like that, with his arms wrapped around his knees, head buried low within.

You carefully approach him and crouch on the floor, putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Kook..."

He doesn't even acknowledge your presence and his sobs only seem to increase but that doesn't discourage you from throwing your arms around him in a wide hug.

"It's okay, Kook. You're okay."

Suddenly, his hands wrap around your waist and he hugs you so tightly, you almost fall back. You thread your fingers through his dark silky hair and pat his head.

Another choked sob escapes his throat.

Oh how you wished you were the one suffering, not him. If only you could take all his pain from him, you'd gladly do it. You'd do anything for him.

His fists scrunch the fabric on the back of your shirt as hit tears spill on your collarbones.

"You're okay, you're okay, shhhhhhh." you whisper in his ear.

All is forgotten by now. The only thing you can focus on is to let him know that you were here, that you understood, and that it was okay to feel like this.

It was okay not to be okay.

* * *

You'd lost all sense of time with Jungkook in your arms that you'd failed to even throw a look at the man in the corner, silently waiting for the situation to cool down.

"I'm sorry." you hear Jungkook's worn voice at the side of your neck.

"Don't be." you answer. "It's not your fault."

He finally unties his hands from your waist and takes a deep breath. A dark veil still hangs in his eyes but he tries to cover it up with a weak smile. However, the smile turns a tad bit more genuine when you cup his cheek with one hand and gently caress it.

"I'll get you some water," you say and make to get up but he grips your hand and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

"Don't go."

If you could choose to have an image branded at the back of your mind, this particular one would be it. Those big round eyes and the messy curls that fell over them carelessly, that scar on his cheekbone, the one you'd always loved, and the pouty lips under the frame of which a tiny mole showed.

You feel like crying and laughing at the same time.

Yet you still understand.

He needed the physical support as much as the he needed the emotional one in order to have something to hang onto. A safe harbor to keep him from straying off into the dark corners of his traumas.

"Okay." You sit back down and Jungkook clings onto your arm almost immediately.

"Sir, " the man finally decides to speak. "I'm really sorry about everything."

Jungkook nods in affirmation.

You're just about to add something when the man's inner pocket of his coat starts to vibrate.

He gulps.

Looks at the door.

With shaking hands, he reaches inside his coat and retrieves his phone.

"It's him." he says upon taking a look at the screen.

Your senses tingle with a mind of their own. What you'd been talking about all this time takes the form of a man. The source of all your fears and sufferings.

The floor suddenly grows uncomfortable.

Bzzzzzzzz

It's like the vibrations are digging into your brain, each buzz more unbearable than the other.

The man can't seem to take it anymore. He taps on the phone and pushes it to his ear.

A gruff voice joins the line.

You're not able to catch any of the words but the man's face says it all.

Something happened.

"Don't hurt them, " he croaks.

More yelling on the other side of the phone call.

Then, silence.

At this point you don't know what to expect. You tightly squeeze Jungkook's leg in reassurance.

The man's begging eyes turn to plead with yours, desperate, hopeless. "I'm sorry, " he says and runs off to the door.

But instead of leaving, he pushes the open button.

And waits.

Your heart leaps in your throat when a dozen other bodyguards rush inside.

[hellyeahomeland]

Threnody(s) | Directed by Michael Klick, Cinematography by David Klein

Sara: The solitude of Haqqani’s final day continues to remind me of what they did with Brody in season three. No resistance, total acceptance. I still don’t know why the writers went in this direction, as it seems very intentional. Is Haqqani Saul’s Brody?

Gail: Haqqani’s acceptance of his fate is framed so beautifully in this shot of him quietly reading. The colors of this scene are very serene and spa-like as well. All of it together is very calming, which is a little odd given the metal bars that remind us he is in jail.

Gail: The shots into the cells of the other prisoners look much less serene than Haqqani’s adding a layer of unease to Haqqani’s dead man walking.

Sara: I mentioned this moment in my recap. The prisoners banging their cups on the cell walls is a real thing that happens in American prisons on death row. I loved this (horrifying) detail and act of protest.

Sara: These two men, both framed in shadow, but with completely opposite fates. These are such incredible shots.

Gail: The cape is to G’ulom like the separated beard is to John Zabel.

Sara: I would have loved the details of these framed photos on Zabel’s wall but the payoff with Wellington’s line– “for someone who was never in the military, you sure do have a pictures of tanks”–makes me doubly love it!

Gail: Ugh, THAT BEARD.

Sara: This on the other hand… If you read closely (and the show allows for it, as they do several close-ups of the text), this speech actually looks startlingly like what Hayes says at the end of the episode. Right down to the details about Jalal Haqqani being the one responsible for the presidents’ murders. This threw me for such a loop when I watched the episode that I was going full-on conspiracy thinking Zabel was in on it. Then I realized it was probably just a gaffe, albeit a massive one. What say you, Gail?

Gail: Oh weird! Has to be a gaffe since Zabel did not know about Jalal at that point. I do love the details on the speech though!

Sara: Haqqani refuses a hood, just like Brody…

Gail: If I had hair like that, I’d refuse that hood too.

Gail: Saul bearing witness to Haqqani’s death is very similar to when he watched Jalal’s brush with death earlier in the season. I also think it’s important to note that Saul stays to watch it. There is honor in that gesture.

Sara: Saul physically jumping when Haqqani was shot is something I won’t forget.

Sara: The scope of this shot is quite masterful. Saul and G’ulom standing opposite each other, both dressed in black. Haqqani’s dress almost blending in seamlessly with the ground and wall behind him, save for the bright red blood stains on his shirt.

Gail: It feels religious as well.

Sara: This is an incredible (and incredibly sad) sequence. The device of Carrie watching Max die from afar and then running a great distance to close that gap was dramatically stunning. Then the contrast when she arrives and gets as close to him as possible.

Gail: Like Saul, Carrie bears witness to a death. And like Saul, there is nothing Carrie can do to stop it. Like Sara, I thought Carrie’s run to Max was beautifully done. The last shot of Carrie holding him in this tight shot put us right there with her.

Sara: I’ll just say it, Linus looks cute in glasses.

Gail: He’s really grown on me!

Gail: I loved how the light filtered through the windows onto Haqqani. The light feels peaceful, even hopeful. Carrie’s call to Saul breaks through the quiet ritual he is observing. Carrie’s heartbreak over Max is palpable. I love how she was sitting down on the ground next to him. She was on his level and protective.

Sara: The way they shot the scene of Saul observing the preparation of Haqqani’s body is so visually similar to Brody observing Issa in “Crossfire” it must be intentional. That said, this phone call between Carrie and Saul reminds me of a brilliant line from Jacob Clifton’s recap of “The Choice”:

“The first time she says his name, he ignores it. The girl whose heart he tried to break, before she died. The girl who tried to tell him love and loss of self were worth it, before he left for a monster’s funeral. He ignores her voice because he would come apart if he could hear it. But the second time she names him, he turns around. It breaks him open.”

Gail: I blame Tasneem for this one.

Sara: Well, my prediction last week that we don’t need to worry about Jalal because they showed him to be quite stupid didn’t pan out too well! That said, I loved they way they shot this scene.

Sara: This episode has so many standout scenes. The climax here, of Carrie kneeling down beside Max to apologize for taking him for granted, is haunting. I just… fuck, I don’t know. This was so good. This moment feels religious in nature (maybe it’s the kneeling?), some sort of grand shift in Carrie’s personhood.

Gail: This scene illustrates so much growth for Carrie. I love everything about it.

Sara: What’s great about this scene is it serves more than one purpose. Obviously we learn just how much Carrie regrets the way she treated Max all these years. There is also a sizable shift in Carrie and Yevgeny’s relationship, beyond the obvious meaning of Carrie being this emotional and vulnerable in front of another person. Yevgeny’s hesitation to comfort her in such an intimate way, before finally giving into it, suggests a similar openness and vulnerability.

Gail: Ugh, I agree.

Gail: Wellington has the higher ground, but it’s short lived.

Sara: *chef’s kiss*

Gail: Saul’s life’s work came crashing down along with those helicopters. The fallout from it is coming in waves like aftershocks that follow an earthquake. Saul’s choreography gets more and more dejected with each one.

Sara: I am finally buying into this storyline of Saul’s great professional downfall, Gail. Maybe it’s shots like this? Seeing all his work this season crumble in an instant.

Sara: IJLTP.

Gail: Does she have dry shampoo with her there? IJLTP(s).

Sara: I truly stan these shots and YES it’s because she looks mean and angry!!!

Sara: What I love about the beginning of the scene is the camera stays close in on Carrie. We can’t see that she’s trapped by the special ops team. This, along with the shaky cam filmmaking, leads to a sense of uneasiness and anxiety among the audience that matches her own. I’d also like to note that after a season-long motif of showing Carrie being trapped inside rooms, cars, etc. – she finally becomes literally encircled by this team of men holding automatic weapons. 

Gail: As the soldiers begin to fold in around her it felt like she was being ensnared in a spider's web. I agree, Carrie’s uneasiness is accentuated with the shaky cam and the uptick of the musical score woven throughout.

Gail: I find it so interesting that Yevgeny stayed to see what happened. Here he is shot center frame, giving the audience a clue as to his importance in this scene.

Sara: This expression of fear and concern (for Carrie’s well-being, obviously) is everything.

Gail: I love how Carrie couldn’t really bring herself to fully point the gun at Saul. It was very half-hearted and he knows it, given his open arms approach to her.

Sara: This season is giving us a lot to live for on the Carrie/Saul front. I’ve already spoken at length about how this confrontation feels monumental to me. Claire and Mandy were so stellar. The dialogue, the way Claire spat “in fucking handcuffs” at him. It’s all so perfect.

Gail: We’ve seen Carrie turn her back on Saul before, but never like this.

Sara: Iconic.

Sara: These twin shots of Carrie and Saul staring back at each other (again, from a great distance) are so evocative. We have an entire scene of shaky cam and then everything gets incredibly still here, the strings in the score build… We have to wonder whether this is the last time they’ll ever see each other (obviously it’s not but we still have to wonder).

Gail: There is no turning back now and they both know it. The reflection of Saul in the helicopter windows is stunning.

Sara: I love when this show surprises me. The way Claire plays Carrie’s reaction surprised me. It’s less hurt and betrayed and more “what the fuck did I just do?” It’s all over her face. 

Gail: Her reaction struck me as child-like. She knows she shouldn’t have just done that, but she did and now what?

Sara: I can’t properly explain how much I love the way this was edited. The close-up of Saul looking out the window, not unlike his expression last season when he left Carrie in Moscow, Yevgeny and Carrie speeding away to God knows where. Again, it feels like something so extremely final has just happened.

Gail: Me too. We are watching the distance between Carrie and Saul grow in real time. It’s powerful.

Sara: … A season’s worth of shots of Carrie looking out a closed car window, and now the windows are down, open-air. Is she finally free?

Gail: Great insight. They’ve been playing all season at Carrie feeling trapped by her circumstances. Now she is creating them.