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strangernstranger · 2 years

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Take You Home | Part Two

Eddie X Fem Reader Summary: After an argument, you’re determined to prove Eddie is wrong about you. You decided you’re going to Jason Carver’s party alone. Eddie is set on finding you, worried what kind of situation you might find yourself in. He quickly realizes how right he was to worry and convinces you to leave with him. (Mentions of drinking and potentially violent situations.)

Shit! Shit! Shit! Eddie forcefully smacked his hand against the steering wheel. How the fuck am I supposed to find her? Roll down the windows and call her name like goddamn Lassy? Eddie’s van tore down the pavement, Dio at top volume as he wracked his brain on where you might be. She wouldn’t really be at Jason’s would she?

The two of you made fun of Jason all the time. In fact, Eddie loved to climb onto tables, giving his best impression and interpretations of Jason’s speeches. Your favorite being his ‘where is the clitoris?’ speech. He’d mimic the hand gestures and all, his shaggy hair shaking wildly. ‘WE CAN FIND IT! If it exists. EITHER WAY WE’RE NOT GIVING UP!’ He literally had you laughing so hard you were in tears. That was a proud moment for Eddie. No way she’d go….but if she wanted to get back at me she would.

Given all the popular hangout spots were closed for the night, Jason’s house was the best lead. Problem was, Eddie had no idea where Jason lived. He was perfectly happy with that guy taking up as little space in his brain as possible. He wasn’t sure if it was his disdain for him and his basketball buddies or Holy Diver rattling the interior of the van, but he was now a man on a mission. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and laid on the gas. He’d drive all over Hawkins if he had to. Has she even drank before? Ugh, she’s probably a light weight too. He was certain if he didn’t find you soon enough, you’d be throwing your guts up in a bush somewhere. Which to Eddie, seemed like more fun than studying for biology. But it wasn’t something he wanted for you.

He found himself somewhere he wasn’t too familiar with. White two story houses with paved driveways and well maintained lawns. It’s gotta be around here. He cut the music and began scanning the area. It didn’t take too long to find. He came upon a modestly immaculate home. Through the trees he could see plastic cups littering the yard and teens smoking in the driveway. The thump of music could be heard coming from inside the house. Yep, this is definitely it. Eddie switched off the engine and began making his way to the house. He assumed there would be a few people there less than happy to see him. He just prayed you weren’t one of them.

The closer he got to the house, the more familiar the faces in the driveway became. Clients. One was a regular, Tate. Tate was a stand-up guy. Very punctual and genuinely pleasant during their transactions. Eddie was a little shocked to see him there. As he looked around, he noticed the crowd wasn’t entirely what he expected. He imagined testosterone filled, wannabe frat-boys everywhere. This seemed way less hostile. Band geeks, science nerds. And now, Eddie the Freak.

“EDDIE? NO WAY! You’re here?! NOW it’s a party!” Tate exclaimed, the light from the house driving the shadows away from Eddie’s clean, shaven face. His brown eyes darted from one group to another. He could feel their heads turning in his direction. It was so nice of Tate to alert everyone of his arrival, but he would’ve much preferred to be in and out without notice.

Eddie took a slight bow. “Don’t get too excited. I’m off the clock. No goody bags.”

“…Well that sucks. BUT it’s still gooda see you, man.” Tate swayed as he slurred. Sweet kid. Eddie was glad he was having a good time.

“Hey, you know y/n, right? Is she uh- is she here?” He questioned Tate hopefully.

“Oh yea, shesin the house. But if you’re looking to spend some quality time with her, you’re prolly gonna have to wait in line. Andy has been barking up that tree aaall night.”

That son of a bitch. Eddie patted Tate on the back as if to thank him for his service before storming towards the door. He just knew that basketball prick was up to something. The closer he got, the harder his heart pounded. Through the door, he encountered a sea of people. Some happily surprised to see him. Others snickering and undoubtedly whispering to their friends about him or cracking jokes. Not that he cared. He was only there for you. He began pushing and weaving through the hoards trying to find you. He tried to call your name but it was instantly lost in the pulsating music and endless chatter.

“Watch where the hell you’re going!” An all too friendly party-goer sounded as he was accidentally nudged. Eddie offered up his hands to show no offense. This was impossible! The house was sizable to say the least and there were too many people. He struggled to think of where to start. If I were a drunk girl at a party…where would I be? Eddie pondered this for a second, someone’s elbow digging into his side as he squeezed through. Kitchen. Always the kitchen. He could see the white glow of light reflecting off tile and into the hall from where he was standing. Not much further.

————

“Let me pour you another.” Andy was way too close to you for Eddie’s comfort. From the doorway he could see the two of you.

“A-another? I feel like I’ve had a lot. Things are getting a little spinny.” An involuntary chuckle escaped your lips. At first you liked the way the alcohol made you feel. Your muscles loosened. Your body felt warm. So warm in fact, Andy took the liberty of helping you out of your jacket. But after about the third or fourth drink, things started feeling too surreal. Almost dreamy. You felt the cold envelope you hands as Andy filled your cup once more. You weren’t entirely sure what you had been drinking, but it was sweet, pink and citrusy.

“Why do I never see you at any of the games?” Andy brushed a piece of hair behind your ear before letting his hand rest on your upper arm. His palm run up to your shoulder and slyly, he slid a finger under the strap of your dress. If you had your wits about you, you probably would’ve slapped him or at least told him off. But you weren’t even sure if what was happening was real. How could it be? Andy coming onto you at Jason’s Carver’s house? That was some alternate reality shit. You shyly tried to pull your shoulder to your ear to break the contact, but lost your balance as your head swiveled. “Whoa, careful.” Andy laughed, moving his hands to your hips to steady you. He kept them there. It didn’t feel right, but your inebriated brain lacked the coherency to understand why or shut it down.

You were visibly drunk. Your cheeks flushed pink and head heavy. Eddie knew with one look. Your body language was entirely different than your usual. Even so, he could see your discomfort towards Andy’s advances. His blood boiled under his skin as he watched him put his hands on you. He didn’t look half as drunk as you were. How fucking dare he think he can take advantage. No way that was happening. Eddie unapologetically shoved through the remainder of the crowd to get to you.

“Eddie?” You were so confused. You weren’t sure if it was really him or some girl with a similar haircut. It took a second for your vision to settle. Wait- Nope, definitely Eddie. “Wh-why are you-“

“Get your fucking hands off her, man.” His voice was low and gravely. Quick and biting. In one forceful motion, he grabbed The arm of Andy’s letterman jacket and ripped his hand off your waist. His sweaty palm leaving a wrinkle on your delicate dress.

“You got a problem, Freak?” Andy stiffened his posture. He turned away from you, giving Eddie his full attention. “Is this your girl?”

As quick as the flick of a lighter, Eddie’s eyes shot to you. There was something there, but you couldn’t read him in your state. “N-No, she-“

“Then I suggest you back off, Freak.” He punctuated the sentence with a shove to Eddie’s leather clad shoulder. But Eddie didn’t flinch. He barely budged. His eyes grew wild and dark. You’d never seen him like this. His nostrils flared and jaw clenched. Andy stepped closer and puffed his chest as if trying to instigate a reaction. You looked down and saw Eddie’s ringed hand curling into a tight fist. He was volatile. You felt like he could take him honestly, but one swing and Eddie would be jumped. Andy would definitely have backup nearby. You weakly placed your hand over his fist.

“Eddie, don’t.”

“Get your jacket. I’m taking you home.” You didn’t protest. He continued staring daggers into Andy, refusing to break eye contact.

“You really leaving with this guy, y/n?”

You ignored the question, allowing Eddie to drape your jacket over your exposed shoulders, eyes still locked on Andy. You’d never seen him look so intense or intimidating. It was kinda scary. Andy shook his head in disbelief. Munson had swooped in and stole you right out of his hands. “Whatever.” He huffed. Surprisingly, he let it go and skulked away. It was a relief. Things could’ve gotten messy. As you tried to walk away with your friend, you struggled to keep even footing. Why was it suddenly so hard to walk like a normal person? You nearly tripped over your own feet.

“I got you.” His voice was almost a whisper. He leaned down to drape your arm over his shoulder, his other arm around your waist. Maybe it was because he was familiar or maybe you could feel the difference of intentions, but his touch felt way more comfortable than Andy’s. You could smell his cologne mixed with the smoke of his last cigarette. Weirdly pleasant. “Let’s get you the hell out of here.” You leaned into your friend, the leather of his jacket sticking to your cheek. With closed eyes, you let him guide you back to the van.

————

For a while you drove in silence. You thought maybe he was pissed at you. Every so often you could feel him look at you, but you were too embarrassed to meet his eyes. You imagined the looks he gave you would either rack you with guilt or tear through you like paper. Such an idiot. The alcohol in your system felt amplified in the dark of the van. The road ahead you felt winding and barely recognizable.

“…You okay?” He finally spoke.

“Myeah, I’m fine. Woozy is’all.” You spoke quietly to conserve what energy you felt you had left. The silence overtook the two of you again. You could feel there was something else he wanted to ask, but he almost seemed afraid to.

“…..he didn't….he didn’t like-“ Eddie bit at his thumb and nervously shifted his focus between the road and you.

“No…no, that was as far as it went.” You looked down at the wrinkle on your dress. You wondered what might’ve happened if Eddie hadn’t have shown up when he did. “But I’m glad you were there.”

The air felt heavy with a tension you may have even struggled to grasp while sober. “You were that mad at me?” Eddie’s eyebrows pinched together as he spoke.

“I just wanted to prove you wrong. But I guess I fucked up. Probably ruined your night.”

”Ruined my night? Are you kidding? I got to crash Jason Carver’s house party and leave with the hottest girl there.” His toned lifted to it’s natural state, clearing away some of the edge you felt. He couldn’t have meant that. You smirked and rolled your eyes. “….you do look nice though.” His face softened as he eyed you up and down in your party dress. He had never seen you in something like that. His gaze lingered momentarily on the hem of the skirt, slightly raised and resting against your skin. It wasn’t a hungry look in his eyes. Still, he quickly pulled the back up to the road as if he was committing sin. “So is this a new look for you?”

“No. After tonight it returns to the back of the closet.” You preferred your jeans and T-shirts. “So…where are we going exactly?”

“Um, I’m taking you back home?”

“Nononono. I can’t do that. I told my parents I was staying with a friend. My dad has a nose like a bloodhound, okay. If-If he catches me sneaking back in, he’ll know right away. I-I can’t.” You we’re in full protest of the idea.

“Well is there somewhere else you can go?”

You thought about his question for a second. The first thing that came to your mind was Maddy. You always thought you’d be attending your first big party together. The two of you crashing at her place afterward. “No.” You admitted, voice sullen and small.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Eddie may not have known the nature of it, but he knew the word was laden. “Tell you what, I gotta stop of for gas. It was a bit of an adventure finding your ass tonight.” He grinned, begrudgingly. “I’ll run in, grab you something to sober you up a little then you can come stay with me. You can take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor. And as soon as you wake up, I’ll run you back home. ‘Kay?” He’d really do all that? It seemed like such a grand gesture, but he was so casual about it. He was probably still feeling guilty about what happened in the woods.

All at once the heat radiating from the vents changed from pleasant to smothering and sickening.

“Eh-Eddie I don’t feel-“ A slight tremble at the end. His head snapped to you so quick he could’ve got whiplash. The color completely drained from your face. He looked at you in horror. He knew what was coming.

“JESUS CHRIST! Don’t you do it, y/n! DON’T!” He frantically bounced in his seat. The van bounced with him adding to the queasy, fun-house effect stationed on your insides. “D-D-D UHHHH” he stammered. “DOWN! ROLL THE WINDOW DOWN OR SOMETHING! I am NOT cleaning up after you!”

You clumsily grabbed the window crank on the side of the door. Just as quickly as you let the window down, you shoved your head out. The chilly fall air filled your nose and eased you back from the verge of sweat. The feeling in your stomach slowly began to subside. You breathed in the relief. It smelled of wet leaves and asphalt. You took a moment to appreciate it. Beyond the sound of wind fluttering past your ears, you could hear music. Eye’s Without A Face by Billy Idol. It played with Eddie inside the van. A bubbly smile found it’s way to you. Maybe it was the alcohol, but life seemed to lose all its heaviness in that moment. You were carefree. Is this what Eddie was trying to get through to you? He watched you from the corner of his eye, smiling to yourself. Hair blowing in the breeze, singing into the wind. The corners of his mouth curling into a proud smile. He sang along with you.

‘I’m thinking of you. You’re out there, so say your prayers’

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagines #w

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buckybarnesdollface · 3 years

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Sick Costumes

Summary: Bucky & Reader are covered in blood when their recon mission gets blown & they end up in the middle of a party in downtown Brooklyn. The fact that it's Halloween is really convenient.

Warnings: Smut, Female Reader, Violence

“Behind you!” Bucky shouted, and I spun around just in time to see the burly gang member coming at me. I aimed a high kick at his head, but he pulled a knife from his belt and sliced at my arm, tearing through the nylon bomber jacket and into my flesh underneath. I stumbled with a grunt, falling against the wall behind me. The man lunged at me with the knife again, this time aimed at my chest, but before I could drag myself out of the way, Bucky was hauling the guy away from me and tossing him into the opposite wall. The drywall crumbled under the impact, knocking the guy out cold.

Bucky held out his flesh hand to help me up. “There’ll be more of them, we have to get out of here.”

I nodded, letting him pull me up. He glanced down both ends of the hallway before pulling me to the stairwell.

“Up,” he urged, and I followed him up the stairs. The fluorescent lights flickered and the air smelled musty, a sign of the neglect of the building. We’d been tipped off a few days ago that this was one of the rendezvous points of the newest gang terrorizing Brooklyn. They had been pushing a new kind of drug, similar to cocaine but with the promise of giving a person temporary “superhuman” abilities – In other words, the drugs were meant to mimic the supersoldier serum that Steve and Bucky had been injected with. Bucky and I had been on a recon mission to determine whether or not HYDRA was behind the drug, but our cover had been blown.

We’d barely made it to the next floor when the air echoed with a gunshot. Bucky shoved me roughly out of the way and drew his pistol, firing up the stairwell. Two more bullets were aimed at us, this time from below, and I drew my own handgun and aimed at the flash of black at the bottom of the staircase. A strangled cry from below let me know I’d hit my target, but then bullets were coming at us from both directions. One grazed my thigh and I cursed, firing angrily above at my attacker.

“You take the two below – I’ll take the two above,” Bucky grunted, our backs pressed together. They were trying to trap us so we had nowhere to go.

“Buck, they’re cornering us –”

“Do you trust me?”

I frowned, firing another shot at the two guys making their way up the stairs. “Do I have a choice?” I said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll get us out of here,” he promised. “You just have to trust me.”

The two guys above us reached us first, but I couldn’t even turn around to help Bucky because the two below us weren’t far behind. I clipped the first one in the shoulder and with a cry he dropped his gun – It clanged loudly as it fell down the stairwell. The second guy raised his handgun but I ducked under his arm and pressed the barrel of my gun to his temple.

“Drop it,” I growled, and when he hesitated, I pressed the gun harder. “Drop it.”

He dropped the gun, and I kicked it down the stairs. Then I knocked him out with the grip of my gun and shoved his unconscious body down the stairs as well. The first guy, having recovered from the shock of being shot, lunged at me and slammed my body against the wall, temporarily knocking the breath from my lungs. A large hand closed around my throat and I gasped, nails clawing at his skin to try and free my windpipe. Realizing that was in vain, I brought a knee up to his groin and he grunted, hand falling from my throat as he stumbled.

I gulped in air greedily, but then he had grabbed my neck again and shoved me back against the wall, this time cracking my head against the concrete. My vision temporarily blurred, and as his fingers tightened their grip on me, I was starting to see black spots. I tried to lift my arms to fight back but my strength was waning and I could feel my legs start to give out underneath me.

Just before I was about to black out, the pressure on my windpipe disappeared and something wet and warm spattered over me. As my eyes refocused, I saw the man’s throat had been slit and as his body crumpled to the floor, Bucky was left standing there with a knife in his hand. His leather jacket was torn, the front of his white t-shirt stained with blood and a shallow gash stretched across his cheek. As I rubbed at my aching throat, I glanced warily around.

“Are there any more?” I asked hoarsely, and he shook his head.

“Not at the moment, but it won’t be long – If any of them were in the area they would have heard the gunshots. We need to get out of here.” Bucky frowned. “You look like shit, (Y/L/N). You alright?”

I shot him a sardonic look. “Always the charmer, Barnes. I’m fine. What’s the plan?”

“The roof,” Bucky replied. “We get up there, then get into the building next door. We can make our escape from there.”

With a huff, I pulled myself away from the wall and followed Bucky up the last three flights of stairs and out onto the rooftop into the crisp night air. The noises of the city filled my ears, and I glanced around nervously, worried this was a trap and they were waiting for us.

“(Y/N)!” Bucky hissed, already at the edge of the roof. I scurried over, and then shot him a wide-eyed look when I realized how far of a jump it was going to be.

“I can’t jump that far!” I cried. “It’s suicide.”

“Which is why you’re going to hold onto me and I’m going to jump,” Bucky told me calmly, lifting me into his arms before I had time to protest. With my arms and legs locked tight around him, Bucky sprang off the ledge onto the roof next door. We hit the rooftop hard but Bucky cradled my body against his, rolling to take the brunt of the impact. Agile as a cat, he was quickly on his feet and pulling me with him.

The door to the roof was locked, but with a rough shove of Bucky’s shoulder the hinges gave way and he dragged me inside. The building was in better shape than the last one, the apartments in it all occupied. The sounds of people talking and laughing mingled with the deep bass of party music being played over large speakers. The smell of alcohol and marijuana was overpowering and I wrinkled my nose.

“God, it smells like a frat house in here,” I complained, and Bucky frowned.

“It sounds like there’s a party going on.” He glanced down at our bloodied appearances. “That won’t bode well for us.”

“Not necessarily,” I disagreed with a shake of my head. “Did you forget what today is?”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Uh, Saturday?”

“No, you idiot, it’s Halloween. The one night of the year our appearances won’t look suspicious.”

I watched the understanding take over Bucky’s face as his eyes widened, and then he grinned. “That is really convenient,” he pointed out. “Suddenly I hate Halloween a little less.”

My brow furrowed. “You hate Halloween? How does anyone hate –” I stopped myself, shaking my head. “Y’know what, it doesn’t even matter. We have to get out of here before anyone else starts shooting at us. C’mon.”

Bucky shoved open the big metal fire escape door, and we were hit head-on with the party. The building appeared to only have two apartments per floor, but the doors to both apartments on this floor were wide open, and people came and went from each one, some lingering in the hall and some heading down the stairs, where it sounded like the party continued.

“Sounds like the whole damn building is one big party,” I breathed. Bucky was frowning.

“Stay close,” he murmured, slipping a hand into mine. I shot him a look, but when he tugged me down the hall I followed. The hallways were dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs having been temporarily replaced with blacklight bulbs to set the mood for the party. The walls were lined with plastic skeletons and synthetic cobwebs, and fake bats and Halloween garland hung from the ceiling. Between the dim lighting and the throng of people dressed in Harley Quinn and vampire costumes, it was easy to get unintentionally separated, and anyone could be hiding under the various masks and faces painted with makeup.

We had made it to the floor below and were just walking past the open door of one of the apartments when a drunk guy dressed in a gladiator costume stumbled into me roughly. Bucky kept pulling me down the hall, but when the guy spoke, we both froze.

“Well shit, look at the two of you.”

Bucky’s hand around mine tightened, and I watched as his body tensed. We slowly turned around, and Bucky shifted, placing me behind him.

“I’m sorry?” he said, voice low and hard, and I didn’t have to see his face to know his expression had gone full Winter Soldier. If the gladiator was intimidated, though, he didn’t show it; a grin stretched across his face.

“You guys look incredible. My friend’s gotta see this – Doug!” He grabbed the arm of a guy dressed as Woody from Toy Story talking to a Playboy Bunny and pulled him over. “Look at these two. Isn’t this great?”

Doug’s eyes widened. “Sick costumes,” he breathed, and I watched as the tension visibly left Bucky’s body. “The blood looks so real, and the wounds…It’s uncanny.”

I stepped forward, plastering a grin on my face. “I’m a makeup artist, and I get a little crazy at Halloween,” I lied smoothly. “We were supposed to go as Bonnie and Clyde, but someone didn’t want to wear the 1930s clothing” – I shot Bucky a pointed look – “so we settled for this instead.”

“Well, you nailed it,” the gladiator said. “Kudos.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, and then I slid my arms around Bucky’s flesh arm and looked up at him with my best doe eyes. “We should get going, babe,” I told him. “Angie’s downstairs and she still has my purse.”

Bucky nodded, and I slid my hand back into his as we left the gladiator and his friend Doug behind. Once out of earshot, Bucky turned to look at me.

“You’re quick on your feet,” he said. “Those lies fell off your lips like they were the truth.”

I shrugged. “Why do you think Tony sends me on so many undercover missions?” I grinned. “Besides, the Bonnie and Clyde thing wasn’t too far-off; we are kinda like Bonnie and Clyde right now.”

“Except that we’re the good guys.”

“And we aren’t dating.”

Bucky snorted. “Exactly.”

I had just opened my mouth to say something else, when Bucky was all of a sudden yanking me through the nearest open door. Before I could protest, Bucky’s hand had clamped over my mouth as his eyes widened. He’d pulled me into one of the apartments behind the open door, and his eyes stayed focused on the crack between the door and the frame until whatever threat he’d seen that I hadn’t had passed.

“What the hell was that?” I asked as he pulled his hand from my mouth.

“Gang members coming up the stairs,” he replied. “They didn’t see us, but they know we’re here.”

I frowned. “So what now? If they know we’re here, the front door isn’t an option.”

“We find another way out. A fire escape or something. For now, though, we just stay calm and try to blend in so we don’t draw attention to ourselves. Which means you have to try and hide that limp you’ve got.”

“I got shot in the leg –”

“Ssh!” Bucky hissed. “I know, but if you’re limping it’s going to give away that the blood soaking through your jeans didn’t come from a bottle.”

I frowned, but I knew he was right. Gritting my teeth, I pushed away from the wall and took a few steps in practice. Bucky set a hand on the small of my back.

“If it gets to be too much, just lean against me and pretend you’re drunk,” he murmured. “You won’t be the only drunk girl leaning against her boyfriend for support.”

I turned to him and arched an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

“You started it,” he grunted in reply. “We may as well roll with it.”

Bucky’s hand stayed on the small of my back as we made our way through the apartment. He was tense again, eyes and ears on alert for anyone that could be concealing a weapon. I should have been just as thorough as him, but the pain in my thigh had it hard to focus on anything else. Finally, I steered towards the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the counter before pouring some into a red plastic cup and downing it in one gulp. Bucky’s eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hissed. “Are you crazy? Now is not the time to be getting drunk.”

“Relax.” I cut him off, rolling my eyes. “One shot of vodka isn’t enough to impair me. I have no access to painkillers right now and my leg is killing me. The vodka is just to take the edge off.”

Bucky frowned, glancing down at my thigh. “The bullet isn’t still in there, is it?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“Just grazed it, but it still hurts like a bitch.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll get out of this place soon and we can get you back to the compound to get stitched up.” Bucky wrinkled his nose. “The sooner the better, too. What is this god-awful music?”

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in my chest. “It’s the Monster Mash!” I exclaimed, and Bucky scowled.

“It’s terrible.”

“It’s a Halloween classic; no Halloween party is complete without it.” I shook my head, still chuckling. “If there was a Scrooge equivalent for Halloween, it would be you. Why do you hate it so much?”

Bucky pursed his lips. “I just don’t get the point of it. You dress up in silly costumes, put up fake skeletons and ghosts, carve a pumpkin, and take your kids to strangers’ houses for candy. I don’t see the appeal.”

“Buzzkill,” I accused, and he glared at me.

“That’s enough judging me for one night,” he grumbled. “We need to get out of here.”

I nodded, and was just about to suggest we look for a fire escape when over Bucky’s shoulder I saw two figures in all black come through the front door of the apartment. My eyes widened, and Bucky frowned.

“(Y/N), what is it –”

“They’re here,” I hissed, and before Bucky could say anything or turn around to look, I had grabbed his face between my hands. Confusion clouded his face and I bit my lip. “Kiss me,” I said quickly, and it was his turn to widen his eyes.

“What? No. I’m not –”

I was losing patience and we were about to be spotted. “Dammit, Barnes, listen to me! Public displays of affection usually make people look away. Kiss me, before they see us and realize who we are!”

The next thing I knew, Bucky’s flesh hand was at the back of my head and he was pulling me to him. Our lips met, tentative at first, almost hesitant. But as Bucky’s lips moved cautiously against mine, he guided my body backwards until my back was against the wall. I knew in the back of my mind that he was only shielding my body with his from any searching eyes, but the action had also triggered another part of my mind and suddenly my hands were carding through Bucky’s hair and pulling him down to me to deepen the kiss.

Bucky tensed for only a fraction of a second before his initial shock wore away and his lips pressed harder to mine. When his tongue swiped feather-light across my bottom lip my mouth yielded far too easily to his, our breaths mingling, and I felt myself falling farther into the kiss. Who would have guessed that Bucky Barnes, the former Fist of HYDRA and current Grumpiest Avenger, would be such a damn good kisser? Certainly not me.

No. My head was spinning, and even though I could have very well let myself get lost in the feel of his lips on mine, this was a survival tactic and we were still on a mission. And this was Bucky. This was wrong.

I pushed Bucky away from me, and suddenly reality snapped back to us. Both of us were breathing heavily, and Bucky wouldn’t even meet my eyes as he spoke.

“We should get out of here,” he mumbled, and I nodded.

“I think they went towards the bedrooms. If we can get to the apartment across the hall, we can try for a fire escape there.”

Bucky nodded, and then peered out of the kitchen. Once he’d determined the coast was clear, he reached for my hand only to stop and let his own fall awkwardly back to his side. I pursed my lips and snatched Bucky’s hand in mine. His eyes rounded, cheeks dusted pink, and I shook my head.

“There’s no time to get awkward and embarrassed on me right now, Barnes,” I quipped, tugging him towards the door. He let me lead him out of the apartment and across the hall, where we navigated through the drunken partygoers to the bedroom and the fire escape outside the window. Bucky leaned out the window and frowned.

“We might have a problem,” he said, and I sighed.

“What now?”

“There are no stairs past this floor. We’ll have to jump.”

My eyes widened. “We’re four storeys up!” I cried. “Even without an injured leg, that’s too far of a drop for me.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll go first,” he explained calmly, “and then I’ll catch you when you jump.”

“I don’t know…”

“(Y/N), I swear I’ll catch you.” Bucky’s voice was firm but soft, and something in his eyes told me he was serious. “I won’t let you fall.”

“Okay,” I ceded, voice quiet, and he shot me a devilish grin before climbing onto the windowsill and slipping onto the fire escape, jumping down to the alley below. I climbed out onto the fire escape and looked uneasily down at the pavement.

“C’mon, (Y/N), I’ve got you,” Bucky called, and taking a deep breath I leapt off the edge. The air whooshed around me for only a couple of seconds before Bucky’s strong arms were secured around me in a bridal-style carry. My cheeks were flushed, but Bucky’s smile was warm.

“Told you I’d catch you,” he chuckled, setting me carefully back on my feet. I kept a hand on his arm to steady myself.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “Now let’s get out of here.”

We spun around, only to be met with six men, all with guns aimed at us. I felt my heartrate speed up; even as dangerous as he was, Bucky would have a hard time fighting his way out of this.

“Drop your weapons!” one of the men ordered, as Bucky’s hand had reached for the gun at his hip. His hand froze, fingers twitching around the grip.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked in a low, even voice. “It’s hardly a fair fight.”

“I’d say from where we’re standing, the odds are looking pretty good. Drop your weapons, and I’ll make sure you and your girl there die quickly.”

“Bucky…” I whispered.

“Stay behind me, doll,” he told me. I shook my head.

“Bucky, they’ll kill us! We’re outnumbered.”

“And they seem to forget who they’re dealing with. Just stay behind me and let me take care of this.”

Something in Bucky’s voice had changed, and it sent a shiver down my spine. He was about to do something really stupid and crazy, and I wasn’t sure if I should duck and cover or jump in and help him. Something told me he probably didn’t need the help, but what kind of teammate would I be if I let him fight six armed men on his own?

It turned out I should have let him handle it on his own. I had seen Bucky in action before, had known what he was capable of, but this – It was like a switch had gone off in his brain and he had gone full Winter Soldier. His moves were cold, calculated and deadly as he successfully deflected every attack aimed at him and put down each man that came at him. Feeling both helpless and useless, I had drawn my handgun and picked one of the men to engage. He saw me coming, though, and he kicked the gun from my hand. I reached for the knife I had hidden in my boot, but the man was faster, kicking me hard in the stomach.

I cried out, doubling over in pain. I fell to my knees, clutching at my stomach, which is how I didn’t see the backhand coming at me until it had struck me so hard across my face that my ears were ringing. I crumpled to the pavement, vision blurry, trying to force myself to reach for my knife. My fingers grazed the hilt, but then I was being shoved roughly onto my back and a heavy boot was on my chest, holding me down and making it hard to breathe.

“Bucky…” I managed to choke out, and I could see Bucky’s large frame spin on his heels, vibranium hand still closed around the throat of one of the men. Upon seeing me, his face twisted and he flung the man he had a hold of against the brick wall as if he weighed nothing more than a ragdoll. He crumpled to the pavement, and from the angle his body slumped at, I was sure he wasn’t breathing.

Bucky stalked towards us, and in that moment every ghoul and monster that Halloween celebrated could make themselves known and it wouldn’t matter; nothing could come close to how terrifying Bucky Barnes was at this point in time. I understood why he had been the world’s deadliest assassin, and why HYDRA had gone to such great lengths to keep him in their grasp – He screamed danger. His massive frame could break regular men like toothpicks, and the murderous look on his face now said that’s what he planned on doing to this guy.

The man pulled his gun and fired, but Bucky lifted his vibranium arm and deflected the bullet without even slowing his stride. When he reached the man, he grabbed his wrist, bending it backwards until the gun dropped to the ground and I could hear bones crunching. The man let out a horrible shriek, but even then, he managed to pull out a knife and plunge it into Bucky’s side. I gasped, but Bucky didn’t even flinch. Eyes cold and face hard as stone, he yanked the knife from his flesh and drove the blade into the side of the man’s neck. Blood spurted everywhere, and then his lifeless body crumpled to bleed out on the pavement.

I tried to sit up and groaned. The noise snapped Bucky out of his cold rage, and his eyes widened as he dropped to the ground at my side, hands hovering over me as his eyes frantically raked over my body to assess the damage.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” he breathed, and I nodded, wincing as he helped me sit up.

“I’m good,” I croaked. “Might have a cracked rib or two, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Bucky scowled. “I told you to stay behind me and let me handle it,” he snapped, and I frowned.

“There were six of them and one of you; I felt useless just standing there.”

“Yeah, well you almost got yourself killed!” His voice had risen and he pursed his lips, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose as he struggled to calm himself. “I had it under control,” he said in a more even voice.

“I’d say,” I muttered. “Jesus, Buck, you were terrifying.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and his face blanched. “You weren’t…” He swallowed hard. “You’re scared of me, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, self-loathing painted his features, and I quickly shook my head. “No, of course not,” I scoffed. “You don’t scare me, Barnes. Now help me up so I can go home and wash up and take some damn painkillers.”

Pursing his lips, Bucky gingerly pulled me to my feet and supported my weight as we made our way down the street to where we’d left our car. The drive back to the compound was silent, and Tony and Steve were waiting at the door when we got back.

“What happened?” Steve demanded as he took in our bloodied appearances. I grinned up at him.

“We went to a Halloween party,” I said wryly. “C’mon, Stevie, don’t you like our costumes?”

“We were compromised,” Bucky answered, scowling. “There are casualties. All enemy, but you still might want to get it cleaned up – It’s kind of a mess.”

Tony sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Of course it is. Conference room in ten minutes – I want a full debriefing of what the hell happened.”

“No.”

Bucky’s voice was firm, and I looked up at him with rounded eyes. Even Steve looked shocked. Tony was annoyed and impatient.

“What do you mean, no?” he asked. Bucky scowled again.

“(Y/N) needs to go to the infirmary. She’s been stabbed, shot, has at least two cracked ribs, there’s a chance her windpipe is damaged, and she might have a concussion. We can debrief in the morning. She needs treatment and rest.”

I shook my head. “I’m alright,” I protested, and Bucky glared at me.

“You go to the infirmary,” he said in a low voice, “or I’ll carry you there myself.”

No one said anything for a moment, and then Tony cleared his throat. “Fine. Conference room, first thing tomorrow morning. Now, excuse me while I go clean up your mess.”

Tony disappeared down the hall, and Bucky shot me a stern look. “Infirmary,” he ordered, and then he left Steve and I standing in the hallway.

“C’mon, I’ll take you,” Steve offered, and he helped support my weight as we made our way to the infirmary. He was silent for a moment before speaking. “How many were there?” he asked.

I didn’t have to ask him to clarify to know he meant how many casualties. I frowned. “Seven, I think,” I answered quietly. Steve’s face twisted.

“He won’t be taking this well. He hates killing them. He tries so hard not to.”

“Two of them were to save my life. I would have died had he not stepped in.” The image of his face as he fought that man was burned into my mind, and I pursed my lips. “He wasn’t himself, Steve,” I said softly. Steve’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

I shook my head. “It’s like I got a glimpse of the Winter Soldier,” I told him. “He was ruthless, Steve, like nothing could touch him. I’ve never seen anything like it.” I bit my lip. “He’s convinced I’m scared of him now.”

Steve ran a hand through his blonde hair and sighed. We had reached the infirmary. “I should go check on him,” he said. “He’s likely not in a good place right now. Are you okay from here?”

I nodded. “I’m good. Go check on him. And Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure he knows how grateful I am that he saved me. I honestly would have died tonight if it wasn’t for him.”

The ghost of a smile touched Steve’s lips. “I’ll make sure he knows,” he assured me. “For the record, though, (Y/N), Buck would never let anything happen to you anyway.”

My brow furrowed, but before I could ask what he meant by that he was heading down the hall. Frowning, I pushed open the door of the infirmary.

A few stitches and a whole lot of painkillers later, I was back in my room and washing off the mess from the night’s events. I had no concussion, but two cracked ribs and tissue damage in my throat. It could have been worse; I was grateful it wasn’t.

Once I was showered and had put on a comfy oversized sweater and a pair of sleep shorts, I headed downstairs to the common area and grabbed the box of Halloween candy I’d hidden under the sink in the kitchen, pouring it into a bowl. I had been just about to heat up some apple cider when I saw Bucky walk into the kitchen out of the corner of my eye.

I turned, a small smile on my face. “Hey,” I murmured.

“Hey,” he replied. He had showered as well, and was wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. His eyes were cautious, but he fixed his own small smile onto his face. “Feeling better?”

“Loads,” I admitted with a rueful grin. “One of the perks of being an Avenger is the top-notch painkillers. I can’t feel a damn thing right now.”

Bucky’s smile faded, and he shook his head. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” he said.

“It would have been if it weren’t for you. You saved me twice, tonight, Buck. I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he disagreed. “Don’t act like I’m a hero. I killed people.”

“Bad people,” I said. “They weren’t good people. And it’s not like they wouldn’t have done the same to us.”

Bucky’s face twisted. “That isn’t the point, (Y/N). I…I lost control. It’s like I saw them, and it all came back to me and the rage...It just took over and all I wanted to do was make them suffer the way I did.”

My eyes widened. Suddenly it made sense. “You knew them,” I said softly, and the muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched. He nodded. “They were HYDRA, weren’t they?”

“They used to work for Alexander Pierce,” he explained in a tight voice. “They were my ‘handlers,’ in simple terms. They were the ones who made sure I didn’t cause trouble, and who would wipe me after missions.”

“Jesus, Buck…”

He looked absolutely miserable, and I reached out to set a hand on his arm. His body tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

“How do you not see me as a monster right now?” he asked incredulously, and I shook my head.

“Because you aren’t a monster. You’re someone who’s been through more trauma than any one person should ever have to deal with, and tonight you had to face that trauma head-on.” I shrugged. “Besides, it was them or us. They were going to kill us, so you did what you had to do to get us home.”

His lips twitched. “I told you I’d get you back here,” he murmured, and I grinned.

“That you did.” I held up the bottle of apple cider. “I’m heating it up, do you want some?”

“Do we have the cinnamon sticks to put in it?”

I pulled the box out of the cupboard and Bucky grinned. Grabbing an extra mug, I placed a cinnamon stick in each and waited for the cider to warm up on the stove.

“So what’s with the bowl of candy?” Bucky asked. “I don’t think the compound gets trick-or-treaters, and even if we did, it’s a little late for them to show up.”

I grinned mischievously. “It’s Halloween,” I said simply. “I’m going to take my apple cider and my bowl of candy and spend the rest of the night watching Halloween movies.”

Bucky reached for the bowl but I swatted his hand away, making him drop the peanut butter cup he’d grabbed. He gave me a petulant look. “What was that for? You have an entire bowl full.”

“Halloween candy is only for people that actually like Halloween,” I replied. “Not for those who mock it and regard it with disdain.”

Bucky shrugged. “So what if I watch movies with you, then?” he suggested, and I arched an eyebrow.

“You’d sit there and watch Halloween movies with me?”

“Why not? It’s Saturday night, and I can’t see myself falling asleep anytime soon.”

My heart panged at that – He was still trying to process what had happened tonight, and he needed a distraction. Fixing a smile onto my face, I handed him a steaming mug of apple cider.

“Fine, you can join me,” I ceded, “but I don’t want to hear any quips or comments about the movies we’re watching, got it? They’re some of my favourites, and I don’t need any of your spooky-hating attitude ruining my Halloween spirit.”

Bucky snorted as he grabbed the bowl of candy. “Don’t worry, I won’t spoil your Halloween for you,” he said drily, as we made our way to the common room. We settled on either end of the couch, the bowl of candy between us, and I put on the first movie – Beetlejuice.

At first, I could see that Bucky was trying so hard to keep his mouth shut – To be fair, starting off movie night with a Tim Burton film probably wasn’t the best way to ease a Halloween-hating supersoldier born in the early twentieth century into the genre, but it didn’t take long before he’d loosened up and was laughing harder than I was.

“I want to hate this, but I can’t,” he breathed after the Banana Boat scene. I grinned.

“It’s a good movie!” I exclaimed, and Bucky nodded in agreement.

When the movie was over and a considerable amount of candy had been eaten, Bucky stood from the couch and stretched. I frowned.

“You’re leaving already?” I asked with a pout, and he grinned.

“’Course not, doll. I was just gonna offer to get us some drinks while you pick the next movie.” Bucky winked. “I’ll be right back.”

Relieved that he wasn’t bailing, I chose the next movie and then settled back into my spot, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch and over my legs. When Bucky returned, he was carrying two cocktail glasses filled with black liquid and garnished with slices of lime. I arched an eyebrow as I sat up straighter in curiosity.

“What is that?” I breathed, and Bucky shrugged nonchalantly.

“I figured it fits the mood,” he replied, handing me a glass. “It’s just black vodka with some 7-Up and lime juice, but I figured since you’re so into the whole Halloween thing and your night hasn’t been all that great, I’d indulge you and make some spooky-looking drinks for us.”

I but my lip, my heart doing a weird little flutter at his words. I took a sip as a distraction, and grinned up at him. “Buck, this is good,” I told him. “Like, real good. Is there a hint of blackberry in here, too?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, and I chuckled.

“Well, if your career as an Avenger ever falls through, you have a promising future as a bartender.”

“Duly noted,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “Now, what are we watching next?”

“Change of pace,” I said, as I pressed play on The Descent. “No Halloween is complete without at least one horror movie, and I’ve never seen this one before. It’s supposed to be really good.”

“Bring it on,” Bucky said, and then we settled into the couch to watch the movie.

It didn’t take me long to realize I’d made a mistake choosing this movie; horror movies usually didn’t frighten me, but this one focused heavily on claustrophobia and tiny dark places, which had me shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I couldn’t shut it off, though – Bucky was engrossed in the movie, and if I shut it off, I’d be subject to endless teasing and torment from him.

Bucky just happened to be reaching into the bowl of candy during one of the jump scares, and to my embarrassment my hand shot out and grabbed onto his vibranium arm with a quiet gasp. Bucky glanced down at my fingers clutching at him and then up at my face, one dark eyebrow cocked and the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

“You alright, doll?” he teased, and I glared as my fingers quickly released him, cheeks on fire.

“Just startled is all,” I mumbled, and pulled myself closer to the arm of the couch as I refocused my attention back on the movie. Before long, I was pulling the blanket up to my face, barely peeking over the edge of it at the TV. Bucky glanced over at me again, this time concern replacing the teasing.

“(Y/N),” he said softly, “are you even enjoying the movie?”

“Yes,” I muttered. A lie.

“I know about your claustrophobia, Steve told me what happened in Argentina last year.” He paused. “We can pick a different movie, if you’d like. I wouldn’t blame you.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “I’m fine. It’s just a dumb movie.” Even as I said it, the scene on the TV had my hands tightening around the blanket. Bucky frowned, and then he was moving the bowl of candy to the coffee table and stretching his arm across the back of the couch.

“Come here.”

My eyes widened. “What?”

“Come here,” he repeated. “If you’re going to be stubborn enough to keep watching the movie, then at least hide your face against something that will make you feel safe when you’re scared. That blanket won’t do shit to protect you from anything.”

I blushed, but crawled across the couch to curl against Bucky’s side. He draped his vibranium arm lightly around my shoulders, his flesh hand adjusting the blanket over my legs. At first, I had a hard time letting myself relax – Bucky and I had never been close like this before; our relationship had always been strictly professional, with occasional sarcastic banter. But the way his arm instinctively tightened around me when I’d flinch at the screen had me burrowing deeper into the comfort of his embrace.

“Shit,” I whispered at a particularly frightening scene, turning my whole body and pressing my face to Bucky’s chest as my hands grasped at the fabric of his t-shirt. This should have been embarrassing, appearing so weak and frightened over a movie, but Bucky’s arms wound around me and held me tight to him, cradling my head to his chest as his flesh hand smoothed out my hair.

“It’s okay, doll, I’ve got you,” he murmured soothingly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Suddenly, I was no longer thinking about the movie, but instead about what Steve had said to me outside the infirmary earlier that night. “Buck would never let anything happen to you.” I bit my lip, pulling away from the warmth of Bucky’s chest to look up at him with imploring eyes.

“Buck?”

“What is it, doll?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

“I have a question,” I said hesitantly, “and before I say anything, I swear I don’t mean any offense by it; I’m just genuinely curious and need to know.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed as he shifted to sit up straight. “Okay…” he said warily, and I wet my lips before continuing.

“I know the fact that it was HYDRA made tonight a lot harder for you,” I said, “but if it had been someone else with you – anyone else on the team – would that have changed what happened tonight?”

Bucky’s brows drew closer together as his eyes narrowed and he frowned. “You mean, would I have not murdered anyone,” he said flatly, and I was quick to shake my head.

“No, that wasn’t what I meant,” I told him before he could spiral back into his self-loathing. “It’s just…I noticed a difference between the way you handled most of those men compared to the two that I was trying to fight off. You normally kill as a last resort, but those two…You didn’t even hesitate.”

My voice was quiet, and free of judgement but also doing nothing to mask my confusion. Bucky scowled, eyes drifting away from my gaze.

“They were going to kill you,” he finally mumbled, and I shook my head.

“When Nat nearly died in Moscow, or when Sam nearly died in Miami, you helped them, but not by killing their attackers,” I argued. “Was it because this time it was HYDRA, or –”

“They were going to kill you, (Y/N),” he repeated firmly, this time meeting my eyes. His blue eyes were burning fiercely and it left me a little lightheaded. “I know that isn’t an excuse because I’m supposed to only kill someone if I have no other choice,” he continued, “and I’m sorry if my actions frightened or upset you in any way. But I almost saw you die in front of me twice tonight, and it…I don’t know, something inside me snapped, I guess.” Bucky shook his head in disgust. “I lost control. There’s no excuse.”

I frowned, setting a hand on his arm. “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t scare me, Bucky,” I told him firmly. He scowled.

“Why did you bring this up, anyway?” he accused. I bit my lip, not missing the way his eyes were drawn to my mouth, and the way it made my heart flutter.

“You kissed me,” I pointed out quietly, and Bucky’s eyes widened, having not expected me to change the subject; especially not to this. He shook his head.

“You told me to!” he defended. “It was for our safety.”

“You used tongue,” I added, voice barely above a whisper now. Bucky’s face reddened.

“You started running your hands through my hair; I was only following your lead –”

“If it had been Sam or Nat or even Steve with you tonight, and not me,” I interrupted, “would you have killed those men? If Sam was the one being strangled, would you have slit the guy’s throat? Or if Steve was the one pinned down on the pavement, would you have plunged that knife into that guy’s carotid? Or would you have just intervened so your teammates could fight off their foes? Answer me truthfully, Barnes.”

Bucky’s face was twisted. “You want me to say it?” he snarled. “Fine. No, I probably wouldn’t have killed them, at least not without a fight. But it wasn’t Sam or Steve with me, (Y/N), it was you. And maybe I went a little wild at the thought of something happening to you while you were with me. But I couldn’t help it. I see someone lay a hand on you, especially with the intent of harming you, and I get the urge to tear them apart. I’m not proud of it, and I know I sound like a raging lunatic, but goddamn it, (Y/N), there isn’t a thing in this world I wouldn’t do to protect you.”

He was regarding me warily, like he was afraid his words would have me running for the hills, but they had the opposite effect on me. My eyes widened, but then I tugged my bottom lip between my teeth, heat flooding my body.

“I know I’m supposed to say I can take care of myself, and I’m a badass superhero that doesn’t need a man to fight my battles for me, and in my heart, I know that’s true and I know you know it, too,” I murmured, and Bucky nodded, looking uncertain. “But,” I continued, “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me absolutely weak when a guy is willing to get blood on his hands to protect a girl.”

Bucky swallowed hard as he realized what I was saying. “It doesn’t frighten you that I can lose control like that?” he asked in a strained voice, and I shook my head.

“I’ve never felt safer with anyone than I do with you, Buck,” I assured him softly. “And knowing that you’re so aggressively protective of me is way hotter than it should be.”

“You have no idea,” he murmured. “The other day, when you were in the kitchen making chili and Sam had his hand on the small of your back as he reached around you to taste it…” Bucky’s eyes hardened and the noise that came from his throat almost sounded like a growl. “It took everything in me not to break his hand and lay his ass flat on the floor for touching you.”

“Bucky!” I squealed, but his grin held no apology. I’d had no idea he’d felt this way about me, but it was making me all warm inside. “You can’t get mad at Sam for that,” I chided. “It’s not like I belong to you.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “That’s an easy fix,” he murmured, and I felt a shiver go up and down my spine. The movie was completely forgotten at this point, barely even background noise as Bucky’s eyes held mine. He was challenging me, but he wouldn’t push me – He was leaving the decision up to me, giving me the power to choose how we proceeded.

“Kiss me,” I finally whispered, and this time when I asked, he didn’t hesitate. He shifted his body so he was half on top of me, catching my lips with his. My arms wrapped around his neck to pull him closer to me, and it wasn’t long before his tongue was slipping into my mouth and tangling with mine. I gasped into the kiss when his hands slid under my thighs and pulled me into his lap so I was straddling him.

“Buck…” I breathed as his lips left hot kisses along my throat and his hands grabbed at my backside over the fabric of my sleep shorts. It was like a switch had been flipped inside him, and all the cold and darkness in him from earlier in the night had been replaced with a scorching fire – The way he was kissing and groping me had the feel of teenagers in the backseat of a car, and it was more arousing than it had any right to be. At the same time, though, we weren’t exactly somewhere private. I pulled away from Bucky, his lips chasing me, and I shook my head. “Buck, we can’t,” I told him. “Not here. Any one of the team could walk in here right now…”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with mischief – a look I’d never seen on him before. “Oh, c’mon, doll,” he drawled, fingertips of his flesh hand trailing across my bare thigh and raising goosebumps as he spoke. “You mean to tell me a girl that loves Halloween as much as you do is afraid to live a little on the edge? I don’t buy it.” His fingers trailed higher, teasing the hem of my shorts. “Tell me you don’t want me to take you right here on this couch,” he murmured. “Tell me it doesn’t send a thrill through you, knowing anyone could walk in on us at any second.”

“Oh, fuck,” I whined, and then I was crashing my lips back to Bucky’s. I could feel him grinning into the kiss, the bastard, but then his fingers had slipped into my shorts and I let out a gasp as his knuckles just barely grazed over my folds. He paused, pulling away to cock an eyebrow at me. His blue eyes were nearly black.

“No underwear?” he breathed. “Christ, doll, you’re almost makin’ this too easy for me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You calling me easy, Barnes?”

Bucky’s answering grin was salacious. “I wouldn’t dare,” he assured me. He swept his fingers through my folds and I moaned, hands coming to his shoulders for balance. He spread my arousal, his eyes two pools of ink as he watched the way my brows knitted together and my jaw went slack. I rolled my hips instinctively into his hand and he chuckled. “So eager,” he mused. “I honestly never thought I’d see this side of you, (Y/N).”

“Ditto,” I managed to rasp, my breath hitching when his thumb circled my clit. He grinned at my sensitivity, and then his vibranium hand was tugging at the neckline of my oversized sweater to expose one of my breasts. His mouth enveloped my nipple just as he sank two fingers into my heat and I cried out, only to have him still and pull away from my chest with a frown on his face.

“You have to be quiet, doll,” he said sternly. “It’s fun knowing someone could walk in on us, but if we actually are caught, I might have to gouge out some eyes. Can’t have anyone else seeing you all hot and bothered and needy the way you are right now. Only I get to see you like this.”

His words made me dizzy with desire, and I nodded meekly. “Yes, sir,” I murmured, and Bucky’s eyes flashed.

“Fucking Christ, doll, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, and then his mouth was back on my breast and his fingers pumped in and out of me until I was a sweaty, breathy mess in his lap. I was so close, but before I could crash over the edge, his mouth released me and he pulled his fingers from my heat.

I whined shamelessly. “What the hell –” I started, but Bucky silenced me with a deep kiss.

“Ssh, I got you,” he murmured, voice husky, and then he was tugging at the waistband of my shorts. I lifted off him enough to get them down my legs, and he was tugging down his sweatpants to free his erection. I bit my lip at the sight of it, thick and hard with the tip red and leaking precum.

“Well shit, Barnes,” I breathed. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Bucky grinned, almost sheepishly, as he pulled my face back to his for a lingering kiss. As he set his hands on my waist, he looked at me with imploring eyes.

“You sure about this?” he asked, and in response I took him into my hand and lined him up with my entrance, sinking down onto him until I was fully seated in his lap.

Bucky’s breath hitched, and I let out a quiet moan as my walls adjusted to his size. I rolled my hips experimentally, and Bucky’s hands tightened on my flesh.

If there was an uncertainty between us, it didn’t last long – Bucky’s hands on my hips pulled me down onto him as his hips rolled up into me, and it was made clear very early on that it wasn’t just in battle that he was a force to be reckoned with. I could feel his power in every thrust, and the way his muscles tightened and contracted under my touch. I thought about how the same hands that were now gripping my hips with a near-bruising force had so expertly used those knives against the HYDRA thugs; how the muscles so easily driving me down onto him now had lifted men twice my size and thrown them around like ragdolls. It should have disturbed me, but instead it sent a thrill through me that had me crashing my lips to Bucky’s in a fiery kiss.

“Tell me I’m yours,” I said breathlessly as Bucky drove into me. “Tell me I’m yours, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes widened, but they narrowed just as quickly as his vibranium hand maintained its grip on my hip and his flesh hand took hold of my chin and held my gaze to his. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Mine. My girl. Would do anything for ya, doll. You’re mine.”

My heart hammered against my ribcage at his words as butterflies set my stomach aflutter. I whimpered, hands slipping under the front of his t-shirt so my nails could rake down his taut muscles. He growled again but this time it was softer, and then he was capturing my lips in his and we climaxed simultaneously, my walls clenching around him as he spilled his release inside me.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together and breaths hot against each other’s faces as my body slumped, spent and satisfied, against his. His flesh hand cupped the back of my neck gently as his vibranium hand sat at the small of my back under my sweater, cooling my flushed skin,

“Mine,” he whispered, nipping playfully at my jaw. I grinned and nuzzled my face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

“Yours,” I agreed. “Now c’mon, we gotta put our clothes back on before someone finds us.”

We redressed, and then I put on The Nightmare Before Christmas and we snuggled up on the couch together. Bucky’s arm wrapped around my waist and he pulled me closer to him, kissing the crown of my head.

“Y’know, maybe Halloween isn’t so bad after all,” he mused, and I looked up at him with a smirk.

“Funny you should say that,” I said, “because I already have next year’s costumes picked out.”

Bucky shot me a look of mock exasperation. “And what’s that?” he asked, and I grinned.

“Bonnie and Clyde.”

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes reader #bucky barnes reader #smut #halloween #mcu #steve rogers #tony stark #bucky barnes smut #bucky reader smut

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candy-and-writing · 4 years

Text

Siren Song

This is my entry for @mermaidxatxheart challenge #jamies500writingchallenge with the AU Siren/Sailor. I decided to kind of put a twist on it, so I hope it still fits!!!

Summary: You are a Siren. Your voice is an aphrodisiac that lures people into a spell. The only way they can break your spell is if they sleep with you. Steve accidentally hears you singing after a mission.

Warnings: dub-con, smut, drugging, gags, restraints, fingering, oral sex, Steve waiting too long for the woman he loves

A/n: Feedback is welcomed and appreciated! I was a dumbass and waited until the day before this was due to write this, so if there are any error, please let me know :)

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

"What's your status, Siren?" Tony's voice came through your earpiece. You finished flattening out the line of your dress, taking a sip of your champagne before you answered.

"So far, so good. I have eyes on the target, let me finish my drink and I can engage—"

"No!" Steve spat in your ear, making you flinch. "Y/n, do not engage, do you understand?"

You scoffed. If Steve didn't want you to engage, then what was the point of you being here? At this point, you weren't even batting any eyelashes at anybody—under strict orders from your Captain not to.

"Come on, Sailor," you purred. "I can help. Let me do my job."

"You use your power on me again, I'm gonna quarantine you," Steve growled. You chuckled at his threat.

"Then what exactly is the reason I'm here, Captain?" you asked, taking another sip of the overtly expensive drink you held. "You want the target incapacitated, I can incapacitate him for you. It'll be easy."

"Incapacitated, not oogling over you."

"You got a problem with my powers, Sailor?"

You heard Steve sigh. "You know that I don't. I got a problem with the men here, especially the man we're trying to catch. He doesn't have a good rep with pretty dames like you, I'm trying to keep you safe."

"You think I'm pretty?" You feigned surprise, bringing your hand to your chest to mimic shock.

"That—" he paused for a moment before letting out an aggravated breath. "That's not the point and you know it. Just keep your distance for now, when we're ready we'll let you know."

You sighed. "Yeah, that's not happening, Cap. Sorry."

"Y/n—"

You turned off your comms, swaying over to your target, a man named Viktor Yakovich. He was a HYDRA lackie known for sex trafficking and importing drugs in and out of the Harbour. You passed him, fingers dragging along the chest of his iron pressed suit, rolling off his shoulder and when you looked back to meet his eyes, you winked.

The wide-eyed, jaw-dropped expression he wore showed you he was enthralled. He watched as you sauntered to an empty seat at the end of the bar. You ordered a drink, a fancy strawberry vanilla tequila cocktail with a misconstructed french name. You watched the bartender make your drink, pouring different liquids into the mixer. He shook the tin almost violently before he poured the drink into a cocktail glass, adding three small strawberry slices into your glass. You thanked him as he handed it to you and took a hefty sip.

Just as you finished the last of your cocktail, Yakovich stood leaning against the bartop, eyeing you with a level of lust that had chills running down your spine.

"I'll have a double whiskey on the rocks," he said to the bartender, his accent thick, "and another of whatever the lady is having."

"Extra shot of tequila, please," you added. Viktor smirked at you.

"You are quite beautiful," he commented. "What brings you here?"

You made up some story about your father being too sick to attend the luxurious gala himself, so he sent you as his representative. It was a story engraved in your brain, a caring daughter worried about her poor father's health. His liver was failing, you told Yakovich.

Yakovich was quick to give you his sympathies. You thanked him, sipping on your new drink. Gathering your courage, you set your hand on his thigh, rubbing your thumb softly against the fabric of his trousers. You watched his eyes widen, his shoulders raised as his breathing hitched.

"Why don't we go upstairs?" Your voice lowered several octaves. Yakovich grinned, offering you his arm.

Your head pounded as you regained consciousness, groaning. You're vaguely aware of the pain in your body, the heaviness in your legs and how your arms almost felt numb. The dim light above you all too bright as you clenched your eyes shut in protest, grimacing. Your mouth was dry, the corners of your lips ached, and you felt a piece of plastic lodged between your teeth. You tried to bring your hand up, but something was keeping your arms rooted in place. As your mind became clearer, you saw your wrists were tied to the edges of the chair, arms pulled taut at your sides. You were gagged and tied down. Great.

What was the last thing you remembered? Yakovich had taken you to his hotel room above the ballroom. You remembered you had kissed him, he had pushed you against the wall. He moved you to the bed after you felt a sharp prick in your neck and then—and then it went black. The damn bastard had drugged you. But how had he gotten out of your spell? That wasn't supposed to be possible.

"Well, well, well. . . looks like the little dove is awake." The rich Russian accent sounded oddly humorous, which sent a shudder up your spine. Footsteps echoed against the chipped concrete. Yakovich stepped into view, a wicked grin plastered on his face. You frowned at him, tilting your chin up defiantly. He chuckled at you, roughly grabbing your chin. "I know all about you, little dove. You were HYDRA's most powerful weapon, made the Winter Soldier look like child's play. But. . . you defected. How come?"

You shrugged. Mumbled through your gag some jarbled excuse. Really you were just making noise. Yakovich sighed before backhanding you across the cheek, your head snapping to the side with a sharp crack. You bit down on the plastic wedged between your teeth, a yelp getting stuck in your throat.

"Oh, dove. You make such lovely noises. It is such a shame I won't get to hear more. Kill her now."

A knife was at your throat. You held your head up, glaring at Yakovich. There was a crash, shards of glass shattering on the cement floor. Something flew past your head with a deafening whoosh, Steve's shield striking Yakovich square in the chest, sending him flying. The knife had left your throat, Tony blasting the blade out the man's hand as Sam drop kicked him.

Steve was in front of you, reaching to unbuckle the gag behind your head. He threw it to the ground, his hand cupping your cheek.

"Hey, Sailor," you rasped, your voice hoarse.

His thumb brushed over the red marks at the corner of your mouth. "Are you okay?"

"I had it handled," you smirked. Steve chuckled incredulously, dropping his head.

"You're unbelievable," he laughed.

He tore the twine that was wrapped tightly around your wrists. He rubbed the dark red marks, trying to get the blood flowing back in your hands. He whispered something that sounded similar to 'oh, baby', looking at the marks surrounding your wrists.

"Let's get you out of here. Okay?" Steve's hand went under your knees, your arm draping the back of his neck. He carried you out of the warehouse, the quinjet parked a few meters away. Steve sat you on the exam table that came up from the floor. "The others will be here soon, okay? They just gotta take care of Yakovich."

You nodded, swallowing. The pain was starting to set in—your head throbbed in sharp pains, your wrists were burning in piercing pulses. You were so dizzy, your world spun around you until you had to hold onto Steve. He looked at you, concern swimming behind his eyes as his hand covered yours over his bicep.

"I'm fine," you said weakly.

Natasha, Tony, and Sam boarded the quinjet.

"Hey, kiddo," Tony smiled. "How you doing?"

"Never better," you grinned. "Where's Yakovich?"

"Local police are gonna hold him while we get you back to the Compound," Natasha said, "then Tony and I are going to bring him into S.H.I.E.L.D. . . . What happened?"

You shrugged. "I don't know, I-I thought I had him. We were upstairs, I was—um, you know. . .." you scratched the back of your neck. "And then it just went black."

"I thought people couldn't resist your powers?"

"They're not supposed to be able to." You frowned, rubbing the bridge of your nose. There was so much pressure building up in your head, you just wanted to take some aspirin and sleep for a week.

"You gonna need medical?" Sam had his arms crossed, a frown on his face. You shook your head.

"I'll be fine."

"Y/n," Steve said sternly. Natasha went to the front of the jet, pressing buttons and flipping a switch. The ramp pulled up and sealed the entrance as the engine roared to life.

You sighed. "I'm fine, Sailor. Seriously. I just need a hot shower and to get out of this dress."

Steve tried to argue with you. "You might have a concussion."

You reminded Steve about the serum that was coursing through your veins. The same one HYDRA had forced into you, the same one Bucky had coursing through his veins. Except it didn't make you strong like him or Steve. It had done something to your cells, and with a few genetic alterations, HYDRA was able to give you your powers.

And HYDRA wondered why you left.

You let the dress slip off your body, leaving you in a lacy pair of wine red panties and a thigh holster. You discarded the holster, sliding the lace off your legs before stepping into the shower.

The water was warm, soothing your taut muscles. Your shoulders were so tight they felt like concrete. You sighed, leaning your head back into the water stream.

You left the bathroom clad in a towel, your hair damp. Your head felt better than it had when you arrived at the compound. Your wrists were bruising, the dark red marks encircling your wrists turning a violent purple. You had a bruise forming on your cheek, too, from where Yakovich slapped you.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?" you called.

"Yes, Miss L/n?" the A.I responded.

"Can you play some music for me? My 'Calm' playlist, please?"

"Of course, Miss L/n."

A Lana Del Rey song echoed through your room. You thought it was called 'Love song' but honestly, you couldn't be sure. You hummed along, drying your hair with a separate towel.

In the car, in the car, in the backseat, I'm your baby

We go fast, we go so fast, we don't move

"I believe in a place you take me," you sang, eyes closed, scrunching the water out of your locks. "Make you real proud of your baby."

You stood, grabbing a lavender and cedarwood lotion off your dresser. You sat back down on your bed, bringing your leg up.

"Oh, be my once in a lifetime—" You rub lotion up and down your leg, massaging it in. "Lyin' on your chest in my party dress."

You dropped your towel, moving to your drawer chest. You grabbed a pair of white cotton panties that were a size too small and an old Yankees shirt that was too big. It used to be Steve's, but one day he was doing laundry and the shirt shrunk. You snatched it before he could throw it away.

"Dream a dream, here's a scene." You pulled a pair of green fuzzy socks over your feet. "Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby."

You turned around, running into a solid wall of muscle. You yelped, Steve grabbing your arms to steady you. You looked up at him, frowning.

"Hey, Sailor, whatcha doing?" Steve was silent, staring at you intently. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as they raked up and down your form. "Steve?"

"I've never heard you sing before," he commented, his voice a few octaves lower than you've ever heard it. "Your voice is beautiful."

Your eyes widened, inhaling a sharp breath. You thought you had set F.R.I.D.A.Y up so when you told her to play music it also activated her soundproofing protocol. Tony assured you no one could hear you.

"O-o-o-o-o-kay." You twisted out of Steve's grasp, holding your hands out in front of you. "I think you should go. Go take a cold shower or something, okay?"

"Oh, but, sweetheart. . . you said I could touch you anywhere."

You slowly stepped around him, Steve stalking you with a dark look. Your knees hit the bed and you crashed down, looking up at him in—in what, fear? Anticipation?

Steve hooked his finger under your chin, tilting your head up. He looked down on you, a crooked grin splitting his lips. You swallowed, looking at his smooth, plump lips. You quickly looked up to meet his gaze, his bright blue eyes swallowed in lust. You called out his name, your voice barely above a whisper.

And then his lips were on yours. A small whimper died in your throat, his lips soft as they moved against your own. Your eyes fluttered shut, Steve's grip on your chin tightening. His knees came up to rest on either side of you, straddling you. He pushed you down, leaning down to cup your cheeks as he sucked at your bottom lip. His heated length pressed against your center. When his tongue pressed into your mouth, you pushed against his chest again only to have him press your hands against the mattress.

Heat pooled in your core as you felt the effects of his arousal. It was a lot like secondhand smoking, the way it affected you. Steve was hooked, caught in your trap like a fly in a spider's web.

"Steve. . . Steve, wait." He pulled away, his hot breath hitting your lips, your noses almost touching. "You don't want this—please, snap out it."

"Come on, Siren," Steve smirked. "All that flirting. . . and you didn't see this coming?" His lips met your neck, trailing kisses down the column of your neck. Your lip trembled as he sucked a bruise into your skin, in the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

"Steve, please. You can fight this."

A hand trailed up past the hem of your shirt. "Oh, I don't wanna fight it, sweetheart. Look at you, all dressed up for me in my shirt, pretty as a picture."

His hand palmed your breast. You pushed against his chest, trying desperately to get him off. He nipped at your collarbone, pinching your nipple until you yelped. He shushed you, pushing the shirt over your head and up your arms. He ripped the fabric apart effortlessly, manhandling you to lay across the bed before he grabbed your wrists. Using the shreds of the old shirt he tied you to the bars of your metal bed frame. You were surprised by the amount of panic that fled through you as you pulled against the makeshift restraints, the cloth digging into the bruises around your wrists.

His lips teased your shoulder while he gently played with your breasts. He added the slightest pressure as he squeezed, your breasts fitting perfectly in his hands as you shuddered out a breath.

"Oh."

"That feel good, baby?" Steve mumbled into your neck. You helplessly nodded, whimpering as he rubbed his hard length against you in a rhythm that had your traitorous body moving your hips against him.

You tried to remind yourself that it was the effects of your powers, that both of you were under a spell and this wasn't real. It wasn't intimacy, this wasn't you and Steve so madly in love with each other it drove you insane. It was raw, unadulterated hunger. Nothing more than a spell.

"Steve, please," you whimpered, a particular grind against your core making you gasp. "You know how this is going to end—do you want that?"

"I want you, that's all that matters."

You cried out Steve's name as his lips latched onto your nipple, rolling the other sensitive bud between his fingertips. Steve couldn't mean that—if he wanted this, that meant you couldn't force him out of your spell. He was bewitched until he fucked it out of his system.

Steve's fingertips danced down your torso, hovering over your belly button and stopping at the line of your underwear. He traced the edge of the garments, mouthing at the spot where your neck and shoulder met. His fingers hooked into your waistband and he pulled your panties down your legs, dropping them on the floor. Steve groaned, inhaling your scent.

"Smell so good, baby," he murmured, "bet you taste even better."

Your cheeks flushed. You weren't sure you wanted him to put his mouth on you. It was wrong, Steve wasn't in his right mind. He wasn't thinking straight.

A strangled moan left your lips as Steve plunged two fingers into your slick heat, looking for the spot inside you that could shatter you. That coil inside you was tight, threatening to explode and send you over the edge. You began to babble mindlessly, endless pleas of 'Steve, please' and vulgar curses. You struggled against your restraints, trying desperately to touch him. You wanted to feel him. He pumped his fingers in and out of you slowly, drawing out the stimulation.

Then his lips were on the little bundle of nerves just above your entrance. You squealed, bucking your hips into his face. You thighs clenched around his head, pushing his face impossibly closer to your center. He removed his fingers from your entrance, leaving you feeling desperate and empty. You whimpered at Steve, gasping when his tongue darted into your entrance.

He devastated you with his mouth, his tongue teasing your aching clit again and again until the little bundle of nerves was vibrating. As soon as you felt your release forming, he'd move back down to your entrance, teasing it in and out of there just deep enough to have you begging for more.

"Taste so good, baby." He hummed into your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit, his hips rutting into the mattress. He pushed the pads of his fingers up, still teasing your bundle of nerves and that was all it took. You cried out, the coil snapping like a taut rubber band, your hips involuntarily jerking as you cried out and struggled against your bonds.

Your entire body was buzzing, your limbs boneless as you panted below him. Steve climbed atop you, fervently pressing his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on him. Licking your lips as he mouthed at your jaw, you closed your eyes. Your brow was sweaty as you tried to catch your breath. Powers or not, you hadn't cum like that in a long time.

When you opened your eyes, his knees were wedged between your thighs, the tip of his cockhead at your entrance. Steve hummed, brushing himself against your wet folds. You dug your teeth into your lower lip, trying desperately not to whimper. Steve leaned down to kiss your cheek before he pushed into you slowly, his thick cock stretching your walls.

Your breath left your lungs, a cry breaking in your throat as Steve groaned into your ear, your silky heat clenching him like a vice. You pulled against your restraints, wincing as pain burned your wrists. He shushed you, nibbling at your shoulder as a means of distraction. When he bottomed out, a growl reverberated through his chest.

"Fuck." Steve's hot breath hit your ear. "You feel so good, Y/n. So tight."

You preened as Steve picked up his pace, easily falling into a hard and fast rhythm. You screamed into his chest, Steve pushing your legs up and effectively folding you in half, the new angle allowing him to hit deeper. You were losing circulation to your hands by how hard you were pulling against the strands of fabric but you didn't care. All you felt was Steve and the way the tip of his cock hit the tip of your cervix.

Your orgasm came out of nowhere—rose so quickly and crashed over you like a tidal wave, sending you reeling. You screamed, seizing up and convulsing around Steve's cock. Steve cursed, feeling you pulsate around him. Black dots invaded your vision as Steve slammed into you harder, faster, and then pulled out suddenly, hot spurts of cum shooting onto your lower stomach. With an animalistic groan, Steve fell to the side.

It took several minutes for either of you to gather your bearings. You were still tied to the bed, breathless and coated in cum when Steve rose, the color in his eyes returning.

"Y/n, I—" Steve faltered. The guilty look in his puppy-dog eyes making your chest flutter.

"Can you just untie me?" you said quietly. "Please?"

"Oh—yeah. Um. . . yeah." He undid the knot, letting you bring your hands down and sit up. He felt his heart skip a beat at the fresh marks around your wrists. He jumped off the bed and for a moment you were worried he was going to run away, but he gently handed you his shirt before pulling his pants over his hips. "Hold on, okay? I'm gonna get you a rag." You watched him disappear into the bathroom. You pulled his shirt over your head, massaging your wrists gently.

Steve came back into the room with a damp rag. He handed it to you, hesitant to sit down as you wiped yourself off. "Y/n, I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." You tossed the rag on the floor, looking down at your wrinkled sheets. "Just—I should have been more careful about singing."

"No—no, don't blame yourself, sweetheart."

"Listen, I'll go to Tony in the morning, tell him what happened." You sighed. "Maybe he can fix F.R.I.D.A.Y's protocol. I'll ask to be removed from missions, too, if that's what you want—"

"No, no. Y/n, I don't want that." Steve groaned. "I'll talk to Tony. I'm the one that invaded your space. I caused this, I'll fix this."

You bit your lip, ringing Steve's shirt in your hands.

"What is it?"

You sighed. "Nothing, it's just. . . I just Siren Song-ed you into sex and—and you're my friend, I don't want this to ruin things."

"It won't ruin things," Steve promised. "I was actually hoping we could. . . maybe go get some—you know, actually, never mind. It was a bad idea."

"Steve," you smirked. "What is it?"

Steve sighed. "Would you want to go get coffee with me? Maybe tomorrow?"

A smile spread across your face. "You wanna get coffee with me?"

"Yeah. I was gonna ask you after the mission, but things went a little. . . sideways."

You breathed out a chuckle. "I'd love to get coffee with you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. "Good, good. I'll pick you up after the briefing tomorrow? We can go to the coffee shop in town with all the books?"

You smiled. "That sounds great."

"Good." Steve flashed you a toothy grin. "I'm—uh—I'm gonna let you get some sleep, okay? You've had a long day."

You scoffed, slipping your legs under your covers. "Yeah. Goodnight, Sailor."

Steve stood in the threshold, shirtless and sweaty, his hair messy as he peaked past the door. "Goodnight, Siren."

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demonbanisher · 3 years

Note

You know I’m weak for your sweet words but what about a slightly older Wolfstar get together? Maybe they’re in their 30s-40s or smth?

Maybe Remus is an author and Sirius goes to his reading? Or Sirius brings in his bike to get fixed and Remus is the mechanic (lets flip the script, why not). Or they meet at Harry’s university graduation and you can pick their roles.

Idk. It’s late and I’m indecisive and I’ll love whatever you write even if it’s none of these. 😘

Oooooo - all of these are such good options! How to choose - how to choose

Also thank you for the lovely compliment you’re so kind

Okay, I’m going to go with an older wolfstar with Remus as a mechanic. We’re gonna really flip the narrative with Remus being the one who actually knows about motorcycles. It got away from me a bit so I’ll put part of it under the cut.

Sirius left his bike outside and walked into the shop, hearing the little bell over the door jingle as he made his way inside. He waited for someone to come out and meet him, taking in the waiting room that looked like it had been frozen in the 1980s with the yellow carpet and hard plastic chairs.

“Sorry,” a warm voice said and Sirius turned to see a man emerging from what he presumed was the back door. “Hope you weren’t waiting long. It’s hard to hear the bell in the shop sometimes.”

Sirius took the man in. He had flecks of grey in his golden hair and was far from the chubby caricature that Sirius had in his head when he thought of mechanics. In fact, he was quite lean with well-defined arms that Sirius was definitely not wondering about what they would feel like holding him. The beginning of a wolf tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve as he used a cloth to rub oil off his hands. He was wearing blue coveralls and Sirius saw they had the name Remus stitched into them with yellow thread.

“No worries,” Sirius said, regaining his voice and hoping his staring wasn’t too obvious. “I’m, uh, Sirius by the way,” he said, jutting out his hand towards the man suddenly.

“Remus,” he said, as he held up his hands in apology instead of shaking Sirius’.

“Dirty, right,” Sirius thought. “Can I make more of an idiot of myself?”

“What can I help you with?” Remus smiled at him and Sirius had to remind himself what he came here for to stop from saying “Well, you could kiss me to start.”

“Uh my bike has been making this weird noise.”

“Any idea where it’s coming from?”

“No, it sounds something like a combination between the noise a cat makes when you step on its tail and a harp seal baby.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius curiously. And before Sirius could stop himself, he was replicating the sound for Remus the best he could.

His cheeks burned red with embarrassment and the sight of Remus trying to stifle his laugh politely only made them redder.

“I take it you aren’t a motorcycle person.”

“Well, I always wanted one, but this is my first bike. You think in all those years I’d have done some research.”

“It’s alright,” Remus said, heading to the door and gesturing for Sirius to follow him outside so he could show him the bike. “We get a lot of people like that in here. You wouldn’t believe how common of a middle-life crisis purchase they are.”

Sirius laughed, “More like finally got out of the arranged marriage my crazy mother forced me into.”

Remus raised another eyebrow at that, and Sirius berated himself mentally for his brain not being connected to his mouth.

“Mind if I start it up?” he asked.

Sirius nodded and handed him the keys, which Remus inserted into the ignition and turned. Sure enough, there was that awful, grating noise. Remus turned the bike off again and smiled at Sirius.

“Well, you did a pretty good job of mimicking that sound.”

“You should hear what other sounds I can mimic,” Sirius said and then went beet red at how dirty he realized that sounded. “Oh my god, I am so sorry. I used to babysit my nephew when he was little and got really good at impressions. That is not what I meant.”

Remus was laughing so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes and the wonder of hearing that delightful noise helped abate Sirius’ desire to crawl into the nearest sewer grate. Remus reached up to wipe the last of the tears from his eyes and smeared oil on his face in the process.

“Oh, you’ve got-” Sirius started and then compelled by some unseen force stepped closer to Remus to wipe the oil off his face. Little did he know that motor oil was very stubborn and all he proceeded to do was smear more of it across Remus’ freckles.

“You really don’t know much about bikes do you,” Remus said smiling at him again.

Sirius stepped back shyly, a bit ashamed that he was so clueless. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“I could always show you the ropes. We have some good lessons here for beginners, just teach you the basics so you don’t have to come in every time you need an oil change. Gotta capitalize on those mid-life crises, right?”

Sirius simply nodded in response, not trusting himself to say anything else.

“As for your bike, I think it’s a transmission issue. I can probably get to it today, and then I’ll give you a call and let you know how long it will be for parts. Do you need a ride home?”

“No, my brother works just around the corner. I’m going to meet him there.”

“Alright, but here,” Remus said pulling a clean cloth from a back pocket, “can’t have you spreading oil everywhere.”

There was a faint chemical smell to the fabric as Remus took Sirius’ hand and wiped the oil he’d got on it while trying to clean Remus’ face.

“Thank you,” Sirius said and was grateful that he managed to make his way through the rest of the transaction without making even more of a fool of himself.

Either way, he was in a miserable mood by the time he got to James’ office. Certain the adorable mechanic would never want to speak to him again.

When he returned to pick up his bike a few days later, he was more than surprised to find Remus’ number scrawled on the bottom of his invoice next to a note that said “In case you ever want to show more of those sounds you can make ;).”

#asks #wolfstar fic #thanks for the prompt

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Text

Gift (Indruck)

A second fill for @crepuscularlives

16. we didn’t read the invitation that said this party was formal so we’re in our ugly christmas sweaters. SFW

Duck’s fully prepared for Aubrey, and maybe even Mama, to tease him for his Newton family christmas sweater. When he gets to the Lodge to find everyone dressed swanky, he thinks it’s some sort of elaborate prank. He decides to ask Barclay, since he tends to be less invested in pranks than the others.

“Uhhh” Barclay points to a stray invite, “it said formal, see? We thought a change of pace would be fun.”

“Fuck. I just came straight from a family thing, didn’t think it’d matter.”

Barclay pats his shoulder with a warm smile, “Don’t worry about it, man, it’s not like anyone’s gonna toss you out for it.”

Duck grumbles something about not wanting to stick out as he turns, and spies an even uglier sweater across the room. It’s bright green and fire-engine red with, covered in old-school colored bulb christmas lights, blinking like fireflies.

Somehow, it suits Indrid perfectly.

The Sylph waves when we spots Duck, coming over to join him by the drinks table.

“Hello Duck, I’m glad this is the future where you’re here.” He ladles himself a mug from one of the two crockpots of eggnog.

“Howdy, ‘Drid. Glad I ain’t the only one who went for the ugly sweater vibe.”

Indrid cocks his head, “This is the nicest thing I own.”

Duck groans, reaches up to hide behind a hat that isn’t there.

Indrids smile widens, “I’m joking. It was a, ah, what do always call it...ah yes, a goof.”

He laughs, relieved, “Jesus, you got me good.”

“It’s payback for the time you convinced me that squirrels were carnivorous.”

Duck snickers at the memory of Indrid, in his moth form in the woods, eyeing the squirrels warily.

He joins Aubrey, Thacker, and Dani by the fire, and Indrid wanders over to oin them, taking a seat next to Duck when the human scoots over to offer him it. Thacker talks about the library and the regrowing cities, and Indrid’s face turns wistful. Duck suspects only he can see it, Indrid’s glasses showing enough of his eyes from the side to make emotions clearer.

(Indrid always sits across from people. The last few times they’ve met up, he sits next to Duck).

In spite of only some gentle ribbing about his clothes, he keeps picking at the sleeve of the sweater. It’s a little itchy, and he could have worn that nice green shirt with the pine tree tie that he likes. And every time he catches a glimpse of himself in a window, he’s back in space, watching an evil hivemind recreate it’s pattern on a mimic of his sister.

“Is it bothering you a lot?” Indrid murmurs.

“N-no, uh, I, uh, just, fuck, it’s nothin,” He stops talking, flees Indrid’s red stare to refill his cider. He pauses to talk with Kirby and Ned, is looking around the room for a new spot to sit (and for Indrid), only for a tan hand to wave him into a hallway.

“Here, try this.” Indrid ties a discarded gift ribbon around his wrist, and he’s no longer looking down at the wool sweater and jeans. He’s in a deep gray suit, with a green shirt and a silver tie.

“Holy shit. Wait, do I look-”

“-different? No, I left your physical form intact. I can make disguises of different magnitudes. A simple clothing swap is easily done. And I, ah, I did not want you to spend a night with friends lost in frightening memories.”

Duck’s about to thank him when the words sink in.

“There was a future where you told me. I, ah, you’ve mentioned what you saw at Reconciliation before, but not that detail.”

“Wasn’t scared so much as pissed.” Duck glances at his shoes, now well-shined loafers.

“Understandable. And useful; the odds were not in your favor, believe me. But well-timed anger can change the course of fate. Just as choosing mercy--even when others urge for violence--can. Punching me also reset fate rather dramatically.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Indrid’s smile is small, and stunningly fake, “It was for the best. I’m going to get some more nog. Would you like some?”

“Nah, still gotta finish this. But I do wanna try some of that salmon dip.”

“In true bear fashion.” Indrid’s smile turns genuine when Duck snorts and elbows him.

They talk and mingle with their friends, Indrid making frequent returns to the nog bowl. Duck steps outside for air, comes back and spends a moment watching Indrid by the fire. Stern notices him, steps away from an animated conversation with a ghostly Boyd about art forgery to join him.

“Quite the dapper costume change.”

“Thanks. ‘Drid did it for me.”

Stern follows Duck’s gaze, then casually sip his wine, “Have you told him yet?”

“Told, uh, told him what?”

“Duck, you spend more time with him than almost anyone else.”

“Half my friends live on another planet now.”

“And every time you look at him, your smile changes. His does too. According to Barclay, he talks about you like you’re the most fascinating thing on earth. Right, love?” He kisses Barclay’s cheek as the cook joins them.

“Yep.”

There’s a crash as Indrid loses his balance and knocks over a lamp, which Aubrey freezes mid-air.

“Shit, he’s hammered.” Barclay sounds surprised.

“How much rum did you put in the nog?” Duck doesn’t remember the sip he had from Indrid’s cup tasting that strong.

“I made two batches, one with booze and one without. Indrid was drinking the non-spiked one earlier. Wonder when he switched.”

“About the time Duck changed clothes.”

“...How did you not catch us durin the Pine Guard days again?”

Stern smiles, “Barclay can be very distracting when he wants to be. And none of you have ever asked exactly how much I worked out.”

He has a point. As does Barclay when he points out that Indrid should have someone take him home after the party.

When Duck offers him a ride, Indrid chirps excitedly, bonks his forehead on the roof of the car, and climbs in. By the time they get back to the ‘Bago, Duck knows he can’t just leave Indrid here.

“You’re staying?” Indrid bounces on the bed as Duck turns on the space heaters.

“Just ‘til you sober up. I’ll stay out in the main cab so you can sleep.”

Indrid lets out a chirr that intensifies when Duck slips the ribbon from his wrist. It almost sounds perturbed.

“I mean, uh, I can go if you really need me to.”

Indrid shakes his head, barely managing to get his shoes off before burrowing under to covers, “Please stay as long as you want.”

Duck nods, excuses himself to use the bathroom, and comes back to Indrid chirp-snoring into the pillows. He’s such a cute, weird man. Duck will just sit down a second to make sure he doesn’t wake up and need something.

The one small seat is taken up by a binder, which opens when Duck lifts it. Instead of the expected paper avalanche, he finds drawings, each in their own plastic slip. He flips through it as he settles in the chair. Interspersed with the drawings are papers labeled in one or two two words of Sylph, and Duck reverse engineers their likely meanings from the images that follow them. The section with all the plants and animals must be “nature,” the one with parties and state fairs “events.” There’s even a section that’s all elements of winter holidays; the Rockefeller tree with decorations that suggest the 1930s, a menorah in a window, candles on the table of a house that’s seen better days. Towards the back is a section that has to be “friends.” There are one or two people who appear in images with Indrid. Including the kind that make Duck quickly turn the page. The further he gets in that section, the more familiar faces he sees; Barclay, Aubrey, Jake, Ned.

He sees himself, returning from saving the world, battered but alive.

“The odds were not good”

Tucked at the very back of the section, between the final empty pages and the binder, is a folded paper. Curious, Duck opens it.

It’s him. With Indrid. They’re on Indrid’s tiny bed, kissing.

God that looks nice.

Startled by his own thoughts, he tucks the picture back into the binder and sets the whole thing on the floor. Decides one of the paperbacks strewn on the floor is a better way to occupy himself then accidentally finding more personal images.

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

The world is ending, everything is ripping away into the sky, everything he’s fought for is gone. He failed. He didn’t want a destiny, and he’s failed the fucking thing anyway and it’s all gone and there’s no future for him now but to be torn into ash-

“Duck, Duck wake up”

He jolts, whams his head into the wall of the very intact Winnebago at the edge of the still standing Monongahela while a very alive, now-sober Indrid leans over him.

“Owfuck.”

“Oh, oh no, I’m sorry, you were very clearly having a nightmare and I figured you’d like it to stop.”

“Yeah” He rubs his head, “yeah I did. Thanks. Sorry if I woke you up.”

“Given that in many futures our positions were reversed, I don’t have a lot of room to complain about someone shouting in their sleep.” Indrid sits down on the floor next to the chair, stays silent as Duck coaxes his breathing to even out. A hand hesitates in the air, then touches his arm, rubbing it reassuringly.

No one else saw it. Not even Minerva or Leo, the only people who could understand the horror of seeing a thing unfold with scant chances of stopping it.

Indrid’s hand brush lightly over his own before returning to his arm.

No, not the only people.

“Indrid, can I ask you somethin?”

“Of course.”

“The day we let The Quell through and saved the worlds did you, uh, did you see what woulda happened if Aubrey hadn’t blown the gate apart?”

“Yes.” The reply is quiet.

“Do you, uh, still see it sometimes?”

“Now and then, but I have far more bad timelines in my mind, and more failures in my past, for my nightmares to draw upon than you do. That is half the reason I drank so much tonight. Around the time of the winter solstice, my nightmares increase in frequency and intensity, Sylvain only knows why. Sometimes substances dull that.”

“Oh, ‘Drid.” Duck turns in the chair. Indrid’s gaze stays straight ahead, but his fingers shred a nearby scrap of paper.

“The irony is, I love this time of year on Earth, in spite of the chill. I love the winter holidays, the gathering of warmth and light to hold one over until the spring returns. But my enjoyment of it is dampened by the workings of my powers and mind.”

“Fuck, guess I oughta count myself lucky I only got a few bad visions to remember.” The joke falls flat, and Indrid glances at him.

“That vision is nothing to laugh at. I’m glad you had it all the same, glad you triumphed and survived.”

“Woulda really sucked to accept my destiny only to fail at the last fuckin second.”

He shuts his mouth to stop the next thought from escaping; Indrid doesn’t need to know that he sometimes fears that everything he’s done and wants to do now that fate is no longer hanging a talking sword over his head will somehow be hollow.

“You were so much more than your destiny, Duck Newton. You still are.”

The sincerity, half-obscured in shadow and red lens, is too much. He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should say anything at all.

“Guess, uh, guess you likin the holidays explains that section in the binder.”

“Yes. Wait. Did, ah, did you look through the whole thing?” Fear slips into his voice.

“Uhhuh.”

“Even the, ah, the last page?”

“Yep. Some real beautiful drawin’s in there. Some mighty interestin ones too.”

Indrid nervously taps his fingers together, “Since you are about to ask, that future took place shortly after the cottonwood. You, you came by to apologize for punching me and to tell me you were glad I was alright and, and ask me to stay in Kepler and when I asked why, you did that. Just one little kiss. That’s as far as I got before the timelines changed. It’s, it’s alright, of course, that’s how timelines work, and you did eventually apologize.”

He did, two or three separate times, and each time Indrid brushed it off, insisting it was what needed to be done.

Duck sinks to the floor, turns on his knees to bring them face to face.

“What are you-” Indrid stiffens as Duck gingerly pushes up his glasses. He’s never seen Indrid’s face like this, uncovered but still human, and it takes all the air from his lungs.

“Which eye did I hit?”

Indrid touches the right side of his face. Duck tips forward, balancing his fingers on Indrids thighs, and kisses the corner of his right eye.

“There. Now it’s a real apology.” He whispers in Indrid’s ear, close enough that faint, hopeful chirps reach him. He moves a few inches down and over, lips the barest strip of air away from Indrid’s own.

“You, you don’t have to. Just because something appears in a future doesn’t mean it’s fated to happen.”

“What if I want it to happen?”

Indrid surges forward, cupping Duck’s face. His kisses re feather-light and sweeter than nectar, and Duck wants to drink them down, knows that after this taste he’ll never be full.

“Duck I, h, I want” Indrid clings to him, his words turning to chirps nd clicks, as he’s so overwhelmed by a little kissing.

“Want me to keep, uh, ‘apologizin?”

“So very much.”

“Then take me to bed, darlin.”

The instant they hit the bed Indrid pulls Duck atop him, fingers fawning over his body as he kisses him over and over. When they stop to catch their breath, Duck remembers something,

“‘Drid, what was the other half of the reason you got drunk?”

“A problem of my own making. I did not foresee just how you would look in your suit, and I was trying to avoid an, ah, embarrassing bodily response. Alcohol helps my kind of Sylph in that regard.”

Duck chuckles, nips Indrid’s lower lip, “want me to put it back on?”

“Not just yet.”

“Want me to kiss you ‘til we fall asleep?”

“More than I’ve wanted anything for Christmas in a long time.”

Duck kisses him, keeps teasing their lips together as he murmurs, “then consider me your resent, darlin.”

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #winter fills #taz amnesty

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

Text

Daylight | Edward Cullen x Stark!OC

Chapter 1 | Hard Time Adjusting

"You gotta step into the daylight and let it go"

Summary: Delphina Stark, to be frank, is tired. After the events of the Accords are done and half of the Avengers are now considered fugitives, she moves from bustling New York to live with her mom in Forks, Washington. Wielding a sarcastic attitude and crippling self-deprecating humor, she somehow gets wrapped up in the supernatural world.

Word Count: ~4k

Note: Click here for the Masterlist for this series ♡ || Link for my tag list in my Bio ♡

Cold and rain, something so typical of this place, yet Delphina can’t help but scowl as she stares out the car window. The lush green trees from the forest that surround them zip past them, becoming nothing but blurs in shades of green and brown. Her forehead rests against the cool glass, the window fogging up wherever her warm breath hits. If she was seven years old, she’d excitedly draw little pictures on the window, writing witty things that only she laughed at, but she’s not seven anymore. Instead of bouncing in her seat, talking animatedly about everything to anyone who listens, she just sits in the car, barely moving an inch, as silent as a statue. Quiet music pours from the sterosystem of the car, an acoustic guitar and a smooth male voice easing the silence. Occasionally her mom sings along, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song.

Delphina looks over at her, taking in her brown hair that’s been cut to her shoulders. Her eyes trace over her mom’s pale complection, a stark contrast to Delphina’s sunkissed skin. Her brown eyes focus on the road in front of them, a small smile resting on her lips. Her gaze moves back to the window, a small sigh leaving her mouth, creating a large cloud of fog on the glass.

Forks, Washington; easily one of the dreariest places Delphina has had the privilege of visiting. Rain always pours from the sky, threatening to drown the town and sweep it away until it’s nothing more than Atlantis. On the off chance the rain ceases, a thick overcast covers the sky, blocking out any chance of sunlight shining down on the city, bathing everything in it’s warm glow. And on the especially rare days where there is no rain but only clear skies, blue is tinged with grey and the sun is dim, not as bright as the summer days in New York. The town is small, with a population of only around 3,000 people, which means the high school can only have one hundred students, two hundred tops.

“School starts tomorrow. Are you excited?” her mom, Anna asks from the driver’s side of the car. It’s been two hours since the plane hit Seattle, an hour of that time spent in the car. They didn’t exchange anything more than small talk and pleasantries in the airport, Delphina too lost in her own little world, dreaming of grand adventures far from here.

“About as excited as I’ll ever be,” she mutters, taking a sip of her soda. It’s awkward and tense, Delphina not having anything to say and her mom not knowing what to say. It feels like a lifetime since Delphina last visited, wearing two pigtails and bright summer dresses she’d inevitably ruin, only ten and causing a storm. But she doesn’t wear pigtails anymore, nor overly bright summer dresses she’d ruin, but still causes a storm everywhere she goes.

“What classes are you excited for?” she continues to prod, either not realizing how disconnected her daughter is or maybe she did and doesn’t care.

“The one with the books and the paper. Don’t even get me started on the ones involving pens and pencils. I’m getting giddy just thinking about it,” she says. A sardonic smile forms on Delphina’s face as her eyes continue to trace random shapes in the green-blue sky. Her mom reaches across the dash and smacks her arm lightly, the sound off beat with the music playing.

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady.”

“Can’t help it, have you met my dad?” Delphina replies.

“Unfortunately.” her mom replies while rolling her eyes. Delphina simply snorts but says nothing else.

“You were the one that procreated with him,” she mutters, glancing at her mom from the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah and now I’ve got to deal with you,” Anna says, a smile creeping onto her lips that are painted a soft pink.

“Lucky you.”

The silence surrounds them for a few moments, the sound of rain pattering against the car piercing through it. Delphina slips her hand into the pocket of her sweatshirt, feeling the smooth surface of the flip phone. She runs her finger over its smooth surface, feeling the indent from glass to plastic. And it’s comforting, knowing Nat is only a phone call away, ready to swoop in if Delphina needs her. But more than that, it’s a piece of her home as she’s being thrown into the wolf den.

“You’re hair’s blonde,” her mom says, glancing at her briefly before returning her gaze to the winding road. Delphina touches the tips of her bleached hair, a light silver that she decided on after the abysmal mess Season 8 of Game of Thrones ended up being.

“Yeah, thought it’d look better,” Delphina says, dropping the strands of hair, watching as they limply fell, lying past her shoulders. She remembers lounging out in the main room, watching Game of Thrones with the TV on full blast, if only for the stern reprimanding she knew Steve would give her. And whenever he was on Earth, Thor would sit on one of the couches, enthusiastically watching it with her, despite not knowing what was happening. He’d cheer when Delphina did and get mad with her, even if he didn’t know why he should be upset when Daenerys burned King’s Landing.

The rest of the car ride is spent in silence, the minutes dragging on until they reach the house, her new house. When they stop in the driveway, her mom turns off the car and the two of them get out and begin the slow process of unloading the things Delphina brought onto the plane. Her furniture and boxes already arrived two days prior, courtesy of her dad and expedited shipping. The process of unpacking is tedious and annoying, Delphina growing unreasonably frustrated with each passing moment. Her room here is much smaller than her room at the Compound so it’s like playing Tetris trying to fit her furniture. Delphina never liked Tetris. Eventually, she gives up, hearing the sounds of the front door opening and shutting, the old house shaking from the force, a second later unfamiliar voices filtering through the house.

Quietly, Delphina walks downstairs, the soft sound of feet touching the carpet the only sound she makes. It sounds like two voices - a man and a woman. Upon reaching the landing of the stairs, she sees two people standing in the living room with her mom. The girl looks around Delphina’s age, with mousy brown hair and a pale complexion that makes her mom look like a middle aged woman who fell asleep in a tanning bed. The man next to her is much older, probably her dad. He’s wearing a police officer uniform with short brown hair and a mustache that looks like something straight out of an 80s boy band.

“Delphina! I was just about to call you. Come in come in, I want you to meet some people.” her mom exclaims, the smile on her face a touch too wide. The two people look over at Delphina as she apprehensively walks further into the room until she stands next to her mom, directly across from the girl.

“This is Charlie Swan and his daughter Bella,” both of them smile at Delphina, the girl nodding when her mom says her name.

“Hey,” Delphina says, feeling the gaze of her mom that oozes with sugary sweetness, hiding daggers in them, silently demanding that Delphina play nice, if only for the next few minutes.

“Hey,” the girl, Bella, mimics. “You’re going to Fork High, right?”

“Not like there's any other high school,” Delphina says. Her mom digs her elbow into

Delphina’s side, subtle enough their guests don't notice, but firm enough to get her point across. Bella’s expression falls the tiniest bit, glancing at her dad and Delphina’s mom before moving her gaze back to her, and Delphina feels a small amount of guilt set in.

‘Must be Capsicle’s influence finally rubbing off on me.’

“Sorry, yes, I’ll be at Forks,” Delphina says, painting the most charming smile she can force on her lips. And Bella’s smile returns, nodding her head again as she opens her hand, pointing it towards Delphina.

“Me too, I can pick you up tomorrow, if you’d like?” she continued. Delphina opens her mouth to decline, not wanting to interact with anyone more than necessary--.

“She’d love to.” her mom interjects smiling at Delphina, her voice too chirper to be normal. Delphina gifts her with a scathing glare, not enjoying her mom strong-arming her into making friends. “It might be good for you to have some friends your own age.” her mom says in a defensive tone. This elicited an eye roll from Delphina but she didn’t argue and a laugh from Charlie that he quickly covers up with a cough when she looks over at him.

“Yeah, Bella could introduce you to her friends at school, they’re… interesting.” Charlie says. At the end of his sentence, he starts scratching the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. The tension in the room between Delphina and her mom is palpable, so thick you could taste it.

“That’s a great idea! Now, I do believe Bella was kind enough to bake us some brownies, so let’s go eat dinner and devour those,” her mom exclaims, bustling towards the kitchen area.

Internally, Delphina groans as she drags her feet towards the dining room. She would give her left foot away if it meant she could be back at the Compound, locked away in her dad’s lab as she tinkers with anything and everything. Instead she has to endure as her mom plays host, pretending to not notice the wary looks both Bella and Charlie give her, like she’s a ticking bomb seconds away from exploding if either of them say or do the wrong thing.

o0o0o0o

After the most awkward dinner ever, Charlie and Bella leave their house, Bella telling Delphina she’ll be back at 7:30 am to pick her up. After helping her mom clean up, placing dishes in the sink and quickly wiping down the table, Delphina rushes up to her room, ready to go to sleep. She gets undressed and throws on some cotton pajamas, running through her skincare routine before eventually settling in bed, scrolling through her IPad mindlessly, doing anything and everything to avoid any headlines that involve the Avengers. A few moments later, her mom knocks on her doorway, standing in the hallway. She’s out of her clothes and in a sleep shirt and old leggings, wet hair dripping on the carpet with a bare face.

“Goodnight,” she says.

“Night mom,” Delphina says, not looking up from her screen.

“Del, I’m glad you’re here.” her mom says after a moment of silence.

“Yeah, I missed you,” she mutters, briefly meeting her mom’s gaze before her eyes flit back to the bright screen, enraptured by the cat video playing. She sighs and then another moment of silence passes before once again, it’s broken by her mom.

“Look, I understand this must be difficult with everything that’s happened in the past month --” her mom begins. Delphina’s mind snaps to the present upon hearing the words, already where the conversation is heading and not liking it.

“I’m gonna make like Kanye, and cut you off. I don’t want to talk about it,” she says, holding up one perfectly manicured hand.

“I’m serious Delphina, I know you were close with all of them, and now most of them are wanted criminals --” her mom pushes through like a charging boar going headfirst, seemingly unbothered by Delphina’s attempt at shutting down the conversation.

“And I’m serious when I say I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice grows louder, completely smothering the words her mom said. She presses down on the lock button, her IPad turning off with a quiet click. She haphazardly tosses it to the other side of the bed, bouncing a few times before it settles in its spot.

“Ignoring it isn’t going to solve anything,” Anna continues to argue, looking at her daughter with wide, pleading eyes.

“And neither is this conversation,” Delphina says, throwing the plush duvet over herself, cocooning herself in it’s warm embrace, willing her mom and her prying question away.

“I don’t want to start this right now Del. Just know I love you.” and with that, her mom closes the door behind her, her footsteps slowly disappearing.

Delphina lays motionless for hours, staring at the same spot in the wall, her mind a chaotic storm, sweeping away any sense and logic. Eventually sleep overcomes her, lulling her into it’s warm embrace, the memories fading away until all she dreams about is happier times.

o0o0o0o

FORKS HIGH Home of the Spartans.

The wood sign in the grass displaying the high school name, like everything else in this town, is old and worn, the words nearly too faded to read. The school building itself is no exception. The brick building is larger than Delphina anticipated, different than the pictures she painted in her mind. The design is similar to the stereotypical school, the kind in all the kids cartoons. Bella’s orange truck pulls into a parking spot, near a white van with a group of people surrounding it. Her eyes scan over them, watching the three boys rambunctiously talk to each, pushing one another around, feeding into the small town stereotypes Delphina built up. The group turn to face the truck once Bella cuts the engine, the truck spitting loudly before finally shutting down. And Delphina has to force the scowl that’s forming on her face away, unwilling to further the rich girl stereotype, even if she perfectly fits into it most days.

“Hey, Bella! Who’s that with you?” a blonde guy in a letterman jacket and jeans says to Bella as she opens the car door, Delphina following suit.

“Hey Mike, this is Delphina, she’s new here,” Bella replied, gesturing towards Delphina’s general direction with her hand. The group immediately turn their attention to Delphina, watching her like scavenger birds about to feast upon a freshly rotted corpse.

Gross.

“Delphina eh? Interesting name, I’m Mike,” the guy - Mike - says, walking towards her with his hand outstretched.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, effortlessly side stepping him and turning towards Bella. “I’ll see you later, I’ve got to get my schedule.”

“Wait aren’t you Tony Stark’s daughter!?” a girl in the group exclaims, her voice grating against Delphina’s eardrums.

She doesn’t give them a response or any indication she hears the question, quickly walking away from the group. She adjusts her backpack and messes with the bracelet on her wrist, the metal is cold and smooth to the touch, bringing her out of her thoughts momentarily.

Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot.

She wills herself to keep moving forward rather than fleeing like she wanted to, especially since everyone’s gaze is on her. She can see in their faces, the tilt of confusion, eyes alight as they recognize the daughter of Iron Man himself. The closer she gets to the steps that lead up to the school, the more people notice her. And despite the airs of arrogance she puts on, Delphina hates people looking at her, especially when they look at her like a tiny new toy to play with. And for a brief moment, she considers convincing her mom to let her do online school rather than deal with any people. Or maybe she could run off into the woods surrounding the school, never to be seen again as she lives in solitude for the rest of her days.

Eventually she reaches the top of the steps, moving in the school building that brings a much-needed warmth to her chilled body. Her eyes scan the entrance, trying to see past all the people moving around, chatting loudly with one another. More students are inside, near lockers and other spots, seemingly enjoying the cold as much as Delphina did. She darts towards the wooden door to her left, the sign hanging over it reading OFFICE.

Entering the room, it’s relatively small with a few chairs pushed up against the wall. They face towards the counter that the front desk woman is sitting behind. And further behind her is another door that most likely leads to the office of the principal and the assistant principal. The woman behind the desk looks to be in her late 40s, with fine blonde hair, nearly as pale as her skin, that’s cropped short. She wears a pair of stereotypical receptionist glasses set on the bridge of her nose as she eyes Delphina with a look of interest. Thick red lipstick coats her thin, wrinkly lips, some of it smudging onto her face.

“How can I help you today sweetie?” she asks, lowering her gaze slightly to get a better look. Her eyes burned through Delphina for a few moments, trying to determine if she knows her from somewhere. Delphina moves forward until she stands close enough to the counter that she can touch it and smell the strong floral perfume the woman wears.

“Hi, I’m Delphina Stark. I’m here to pick up my schedule,” she says. With those magical words, Delphina watches the woman’s eyes widen a fraction in surprise before she manages to semi collect herself. But she’s sitting up a bit straighter, her lips stretching into a grin that is a hair wider than a few minutes before.

It looks like the notoriety of her last name has reached everyone in little old Forks.

“Oh of course! I’ll get that right for you, Ms. Stark,” the woman says, rolling her chair away and opening a filing cabinet. She rummages around for a few moments, before finding her target. She rolls back to where Delphina is waiting and places the sheet of paper on the counter, her long acrylic nails tapping against the countertop. Bright red, a bold color, yet so stereotypical for a secretary. “Here you go, dear.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, turning to leave the room as soon as possible. Looking down at the paper, she reads her first class of the day, Biology. Glancing down at the map in her hands, Delphina begins following the vague directions, hoping to get there before class starts.

‘God knows I don’t need the attention.’

o0o0o0o

The bell rings loudly in the hall, piercing through any ambient noises and causes any lingering students to rush off. With a slur of curse words, Delphina rushes towards the door, that if the map is correct, should lead to her Biology class. Her footsteps pound against the glossy linoleum floors as she closes the distance between her and the door. She stops in front of the door, smoothing down her sweater and jeans, adjusting her backpack, and smooths her hair. With a final deep breath, Delphina opens the door, entering the classroom.

The chattering that previously filled the room ceases once Delphina enters the room. The teacher, Mr. Molina is standing near his desk and currently faces Delphina, some papers in hand along with a pen. He smiles widely at her, in an attempt to ease her anxiety, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he does. Each of her steps in the room is magnified 100x, the students watching her like a hawk.

“Hello, Delphina I assume?” he asks, meeting her halfway, clicking his pen on.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she says, handing him the paper the front desk lady gave her. He quickly scribbles his signature and hands the paper back to Delphina. He turns towards his desk and grabs a book before turning back to her.

“Alright Delphina Stark, welcome to Biology! Here’s this book for you --” he says as he hands her the Biology textbook. “I’ve got a seat for you, right over there,” he continues, pointing to the only empty seat in the room.

“Thanks,” she mutters, making her way down the rows of seats towards her new lab partner.

When her eyes land on him, Delphina nearly forgets how to breathe properly, needing to make an effort to inhale and exhale. He looks perfect, like a sculpture from Ancient Greece with a beauty that could put actual gods to shame. His skin is porcelain pale, nearly glowing in the dingy classroom lighting. His copper hair is messy, like he runs his hands through it a million times a day, framing golden eyes that look like glittering gold. He’s boyish in appearance with a blank expression resting on his perfect face, clearly already bored with the class. An unopened notebook along with a pen is the only possession he seems to have with him.

His gaze moves up to Delphina, gold meeting blue for only a second, but it’s enough to electrify her, as he moves his eyes back to his desk, fist clenching at his sides ever so slightly. And despite Delphina’s best interest, her heart stutters for a moment, her mouth getting drier the longer she looks at him.

Like in a trance, she moved towards the table, her eyes moving from her mysterious lab partner, to the back wall, back to him, then back to the wall. She finally arrives at the table, pulling out the chair and sitting in it. The chair scrapes against the floor, pulling attention back to Delphina, but they quickly lose interest as the Mr. Molino starts to speak, droning on about onions or something.

“Hey,” she says, not expecting a reply, if his sullen expression is anything to go by.

And she doesn’t receive one. The entire class passes by and he manages to not utter a single word to Delphina, doesn’t even breathe in her direction.

As soon as the bell rings, signifying that class is over, the guy shoots out the classroom, disappearing from view before Delphina could even blink, leaving her mildly disgruntled, confusion clouding her thoughts.

“Hey, New York!” the voice of Mike breaks her out of her thoughts. “Why don’t you let me walk you to class?”

And as she grabs her books and bag, she groans, doing everything in her power to dodge Mike while inflicting minimal injuries to him, not wanting to be sent home on her first day of school.

o0o0o0o

Tags:

@stuckupstucky

#Edward Cullen x reader #Edward Cullen imagine #edward cullen #edward cullen fanfic #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight imagine #twilight one shot #cullen clan #stark!reader #stark!daughter #stark!oc #Avengers #post civil war #avengers crossover #pre infinity war

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stuckonvenus · 3 years

Text

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 » Ellie & Becca

Ｊｕｌｙ３１ｓｔ，１９９８

The saying goes as such: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb... or whatever. Honestly I have only ever applied this proverb to my relationship with my sister whenever we weren’t in mortal peril. While I have plenty of friends and acquaintances who I’ve shared battlefields with (i.e. the morning after a party), that never made me any closer to them in a real crisis. I would say about seventy-five percent of the time that the blood is thicker than the water, and the remaining twenty-five percent is when the water isn’t necessarily thicker, but more pressurized. That’s the only time in our lives when we’ve ever come together as sisters.

Well, this is the twenty five percent, and never has the feeling of being sucked and trapped against a fissure at the bottom of the Challenger Deep been more realized than now. It doesn’t help that my bladder is about to implode and leak the citrus-flavored toxic waste I’ve consumed in rapid succession over the past half hour into my visceral fat and contaminate all my vital organs.

I waddle awkwardly through the narrow doorway of Page One and slam my tiny palm onto the countertop. A bookkeeper who I can recognize as my lab partner from sophomore year chemistry pokes his nose out from the novel he’s immersed in. Moby Dick. Jesus, who reads school assigned books after graduation?

“Hey, Drew-Drew,” I greet him, a lopsided grin fitted on my lips as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and offers me a smile in return. He has a lot more charisma than I remember. I think his eyes have gotten bigger and bluer, too. It reminds me of the water’s surface I’m staring up at from the very bottom of the ocean. “Where’s Becky at?”

Drew dog-ears his page — which is kind of disgusting to me, do they not sell bookmarks in this busted ass joint? — and he points toward the graphic novel section. “Over there, we just got Spider-Man #76, she’s stocking up.”

“... Didn’t #76 come out in January? Of last year?” I ask him. He opens his mouth so he can answer but I stop him with a raised hand. “No time. You’re lookin’ good, Drew-Drew, considerably less like a delicious pepperoni pizza. Keep it up with the Oxy Pads.” I say before pushing away from the counter and venturing off to my destination.

Indeed, my older sister is crouched down and rustling with a display, slightly disgruntled by the symmetry of the copies of Spider-Man she’s stocking. I don’t really have any witty remarks as a smooth enough introduction, so I settle with, “Need help?”

She whips around and I can almost hear the crack in her spinal cord from the velocity. “Lily?” she half-whispers. I forget that I haven’t seen her since late May, and also that I swore I’d never see her again.

“In the flesh,” I confirm and do a curtsey, which threatens my full bladder. I really need to piss soon or else I’ll die a terribly death in the shittiest bookstore on the eastern seaboard. “Do you have a sec? It’s 9-1-1.”

Becca’s expression shifts from awe and minor annoyance to something resembling concern as she pushes herself off her knees. “What is it?” she asks me, crossing her arms over her chest as a last resort defense mechanism.

I don’t hesitate to hold up the plastic Walgreens bag I��ve carted with me for two blocks. She recognizes the items inside and her eyes go all moony and her jaw slacks a bit. I jerk my brows up expectantly and she assumes the position of utter bewilderment.

“Do you have a place I can empty the biohazardous contents of my bladder? It’s about to necrotize,” I hiss at her. She reaches down, digs in her pocket, unearths a bronze key and walks ahead of me at full speed. I have to waddle after her like a newly hatched penguin chick. It would be more humiliating if over half the population of Eden were literate, but alas...

Becca jams the keys into the lock and just about bodychecks the door so we can enter the rectangular bathroom. It’s cramped and the lighting resembles something out of a Hitchcock film, but who the fuck am I to be picky about where I take the most important whizz of my life?

I place the bag on the counter and take out the three empty full-sized cans of Surge I used to fuel my bladder before picking up the grossest thing I have ever held: a pregnancy test. I keep it in my grasp for a few passing beats, nearly crushing the box underneath my iron-tight grip before man-handling it open and tearing out the plastic stick that will determine my fate.

“This is by far the most unholy fortune telling experience ever,” I decide to joke as I witness my sister cower in the corner. You’d think by the looks of it she were the one whose life was about to change forever. “You think if I shake it a genie will come out and grant me three wishes?”

“... Only if it’s negative, as a gift,” Becca chimes in at last. “Otherwise not even God can save you.”

I let out an involuntary snort, because while my reflexes register this as a funny joke, I am actually scared shitless.

I stare at the porcelain toilet bowl. I feel sicker now looking at it than when I’ve genuinely been at risk for vomiting up my lunch. I could still do that, I’ve been puking like a bulimic for weeks now. The thought is almost comforting. Almost. I bite the bullet instead and yank my pants down, my boy pants, which I normally wear as a boy when I’ve got slightly wider hips and more junk to hide and taller legs to protect with denim fabric. Fuck me.

“I just... Hold it and piss, right?” I ask her, as if she’s gone through this before. I know for a fact she hasn’t, or else this wouldn’t be our first time. I’m surprised it’s our first time, actually, thinking that karma would’ve caught up with me a long time ago.

“Just don’t get any on your hand.” Becca replies. Very helpful, I think, but rather than respond verbally I give a sigh of defeat and do what needs to be done. When my bladder is emptied an eternity later, I pull up my oversized pants and briefly grieve my dick before I place the test on the counter.

I glance over my shoulder at Becca, “It’s seasoned. Just gotta let it marinate.”

“Gross.” she says with a scrunched up nose.

I turn around and slide down the wall, an action she mimics a couple seconds later. I stare ahead, up at the light that’s screwed into a 70s pendant-shaped fixture, and pass the silence by making them flicker. I do this as a distraction from the materializing tension between us. Normally, this doesn’t happen, but then again our peril has only involved either extreme intoxication, pedos on AOL (during high school), or something about her and Gabriel’s arguments, which felt like walking through Reactor 4 in Chernobyl.

She’s the first one to say something.

“Whose is it? ... If it’s a thing,” she wonders, and as I look over at her I notice that her eyebrows are knitted together and her mouth is fixed downward. “... Please don’t tell me Topher’s.”

I chuckle at the idea. “I think if it were a thing and Topher’s, it’d have grown like a xenomorph baby and ripped itself out of my stomach by now,” I tell her. “I’d deserve that kind of karma for getting knocked up by him.”

“Xenomorph?” she says, and I open my mouth to offer an explanation before she finishes, “Alien. Right.”

“... Yeah, exactly,” I nod along. How in the hell did she remember that? We only ever sat through Alien and Aliens once, and I could’ve sworn she was too preoccupied reading a magazine to actually notice what was happening on screen.

I also notice that she’s wearing my favorite striped turtleneck. Stone cold bitch.

Some things never change, huh?

Shit, I think I might cry.

This is why we’re siblings, I think, so I can hate her for wearing my favorite turtleneck while sitting by her side as we await Satan’s final decision on the state of my cursed uterus.

Tears prickle my vision but I blink them away.

“Whose is it, then?” she wonders again. I visibly tense. This is probably where our unspoken, once-in-a-blue-moon loyalties end. How do you tell your sister that her ex-boyfriend is the reason you’re sitting in the dingy bathroom of her workplace with a piss-riddled stick inches away?

In the end, I don’t have to say anything at all. We look at each other simultaneously and she reads my expression with ease. Her features soften and I can see a glint of hurt in her eyes, and I expect ripples of betrayal to make themselves known across the rest of her body soon enough. But those ripples never come. The water I thought was loosening from around me doesn’t make a goddamn move.

I’m still at the bottom of the Deep, but she’s with me now.

Her hand grips mine. Tight. I can feel our pulses match up in our paralleling wrists.

“I think it’s been enough time.” I say eventually. She doesn’t release my hand. Our shared warmth creates a comfortable friction between us. “... Will you hate me after this?”

Becca squeezes my hand. A heart beat jumps out from her touch to mine. “I think I’ve hated you enough for one summer.”

A smile flickers on the corner of my lips and I slowly depart my hand from hers. My palm is slick with sweat but I don’t mind. I stand up and feel my equilibrium struggle to steady itself before I’m ready to approach the counter. The test is still there, so I know this wasn’t an abstract fever dream I’ve had after discovering so much eerily similar history.

I’m not a fucking coward. I’m looking this shit straight on, no matter what. Do you think I’m afraid of a sign? Totally not. I lean over and stare down, my gaze idling at the base before finally fixating on the panel.

Holy shitstickers.

“... Becca?” I call out, my voice half gone from unknown forces. She perks up and I see her reflection in the mirror with widened eyes. “Do you have five bucks? I’m gonna need more Surge.”

#self-para #teheheh i couldnt nap until i finished this

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gold-from-straw · 4 years

Text

Divergence - ch11

In which Sean is the adult (well... you know what I mean) that every abused child dreamed of. I’m not even kidding. It’s pure wish fulfillment.

Charles is trying, but he is a product of his own abuse, and therefore he doesn’t actually know what healthy looks like.

Read from the beginning on Ao3 if you like!

“Did you get the teddy bear?” Sean asked Moira as they walked out of the shops back to the car.

Moira rolled her eyes. “Yes, Sean, and the colouring books, and the marbles. Anyone would think Arthur’s lived a deprived childhood the way you treat him!”

“He has,” Sean said indignantly.

“Oh, come on, you’ve seen that place! It’s not exactly living in penury, is it?”

“Well, no,” he frowned. He took a moment to try and find the right words. “It’s not about the stuff,” he said at last. “Maybe he had all the toys and books he ever wanted, but he’s been deprived, that’s for sure.”

“Of what?”

Sean jutted his chin out stubbornly. “Hugs.”

Moira laughed and popped the trunk of the car. “Hugs? Really? Aww, Sean, I didn’t know you were such a softie.”

Sean could feel his ears flaming, and knew his cheeks were clashing with his hair. “Shut up.” He was right, he knew it. He also knew all the others would think he was talking rubbish, that little kids should be seen and not heard, and Arthur was the perfect child. Well, Sean would just have to solve that problem quietly by himself.

He helped Moira unpack the bags in the kitchen, then took the stairs two at a time to Arthur’s room. “Hey, kid?” He peered in. Nothing. Sean shrugged and started the long task of searching the freaking castle they were now living in.

He found Arthur and Francis in the library, and smiled to himself. Arthur was sitting on Francis’ lap, listening with an open mouth as Francis read one of the Sword in the Stone books, putting on voices for all the characters.

Francis glanced up and pinked slightly as he acknowledged Sean there. All of a sudden, it was like a door had been opened. Sean found himself surrounded by a vast medieval forest, ancient oaks soaring up to the sky while an old wizard and a young boy walked and talked. Butterflies drifted past on the intangible breeze, just transparent enough to show the bookshelves behind through their wings.

“Woah… are you doing this?” Sean asked, staring around.

Francis nodded shyly. “I hope you don’t mind? I’ve been projecting the story into Arthur’s mind as I read for him, and I thought…”

“Yeah, this is amazing!” He walked over to the boys on the sofa and dropped himself onto the chair opposite. “Moira and I got you some stuff from the shops,” he said, waving the plastic bag at them.

Arthur jumped down off Francis’ lap and stood, his eyes huge in his little pixie face. “Did you really get me peanut butter? Nobody ever buys peanut butter!”

Sean’s heart clenched. “Uh, yeah, but that’s downstairs. I got you raspberry jelly as well, Moira tried to say strawberry was the best, but what does she know? She’s old!” The boys giggled and glanced at each other. Sean felt proud. “Nah, what I really wanted to show you was this.”

He pulled the teddy bear out of the bag and held it up to his face, pinching at the sides to make its arm move. “Hi, Arthur. I’m gonna be your best friend!” he said in a squeaky voice.

Arthur blinked at the toy and his face went a little slack. Instead of rushing to grab it like any other kid Sean knew, he just leaned ever so slightly forward and clasped his hands together in front of him, rubbing his fingers against each other like he was imagining how soft it was. “It’s lovely,” he said wistfully. “Thank you.”

“Go ahead, give it a cuddle.”

“I can… really?”

“Well, yeah, what else would you do with a teddy?” he asked, reaching out to hand it to Arthur.

He took it in both hands as if it was a precious glass sculpture and stared into its eyes, hypnotised. Sean darted a quick look at Francis. Francis shrugged. “We had a few teddies as children, but they were all heirlooms or collector’s items. They were never things for children to play with.”

“I had some on a shelf in my room,” said Arthur, gently stroking the plush on the cheap teddy bear’s ears. “I used to talk to them, but I couldn’t reach to give them a cuddle.”

Sean swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Well, this little guy’s made just for cuddling and squishing and getting covered in PB and J. He doesn’t mind a bit of rough treatment.”

“I would never,” said Arthur, looking so earnest that Sean nearly did some cuddling and squishing of his own. “I’ll look after him and keep him safe.”

“You know what you should do?” Raven said from the doorway, smirking as all three boys jumped in surprise and turned to look at her. “You should teach him how to read. Charles was always doing that to me.”

“I can teach him stuff?” Arthur said in awe, looking back down at his toy.

Francis laughed at Raven. “Well, you could always mimic our classmates so well!

Raven smiled at him, a tentative thing that grew slightly as he held her gaze. “I could have mimicked our teachers better than you, doofus,” she said.

Sean clapped his hands and stood up. “Well, playing teacher is all well and good, but now there’s a few more of us, you know what would be even better?”

“What?” asked Arthur, and Sean remembered how much he’d always enjoyed having his little cousins look up at him like he was the arbiter of cool. Once they got to Francis’ age they were usually a bit too superior for that.

He bent down as if to whisper to Arthur in confidence. “We gotta play hide and seek,” he said. “Raven’s seeker!” And with that, he grabbed Arthur’s hand and tugged him, breathless and giggling, down the corridor.

He heard Francis tearing out of the library behind him, and Raven yelling “No telepathy, you cheaters!”

“What the hell?” Alex said, as Sean and Arthur thundered past.

“Hide and seek, man, Raven’s counting to twenty!”

Alex shook his head in disgust as Sean shoved Arthur behind a thick curtain and then scooted into a cupboard.

“Ready or not, here I come!” yelled Raven from down the hall.

Alex looked around, and jumped into a window seat at the last minute. Sean snickered.

“Shut up, Cassidy,” Alex grumbled.

It wasn’t like Sean had been a vital part of the war effort, or whatever they were calling this preparation. Sometimes Hank called him into the labs and tried out a new costume on him.

“Suit,” said Hank snippily. “It’s a highly advanced flight suit.”

Sometimes Erik pushed him out a window or off a satellite dish, and Charles pretended like he disapproved.

Sometimes Sean got to fly.

But most of the time, he kept himself busy. It was a tough job teaching a little kid how to be a little kid, but he was dedicated to his task. Someone had to teach Arthur to be a bit naughty and find all the nooks and crannies of the mansion – he was way too well behaved to be real. It made Sean uncomfortable.

“You’re just making trouble for yourself,” Moira said, smirking as she saw him unpack a set of finger paints from the next shopping trip he went on, with Alex this time. “You know I’m not cleaning that up.”

“As if you clean,” he snorted, because Moira had made her opinion clear on men telling her what to do. She just grinned and left him to his new treasures.

“Arthur,” Sean yelled.

“Goddamn, Sean,” Moira yelled back from the other room. “Go find the kid before you shout the mansion down!”

He found him in the labs, of all places. He frowned as he saw Charles and Hank both bustling around Arthur. Francis was sitting beside him, holding his hand as well, talking quietly. Charles put his hand on Arthur’s cheek. “Now, I know it’s scary being back here, Arthur,” he said, looking into Arthur’s eyes. “Hank just wants to find out more about the universe where you came from.”

Arthur swallowed hard and set his jaw. “I can be brave,” he said.

Charles smiled and patted him. They placed some electrodes on his head, and Arthur took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Stop!” said Sean.

Everyone looked up at him. It was Sean’s turn to swallow and look around. “I mean,” he said. “Is this really… necessary?”

“Welll... we’ve only got a sample size of two, we’re just trying to gather all the data we possibly can,” said Hank, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “We can’t be sure of anything.”

“But you don’t need this for anything important, do you?” Sean said, looking between Charles and Hank. “You’re not trying to send them back, are you?” Francis looked away, suddenly shifty. Sean narrowed his eyes.

“Well, no, we’re not,” said Charles. “We just need to work out the differences between their world and ours, to make sure they’re safe and healthy.”

Sean bit his lip, then set his chin. “Well, I don’t think you need to do any more. Not brain stuff, anyway.”

“He’s fine,” said Francis. “He said he is.”

“No offence,” said Sean, aiming it at Charles mostly. “But he’s been used to telling adults he’s fine.”

“He knows he doesn’t have to lie to us,” Charles said, but he glanced at Arthur warily.

“He’s not lying. But he’s pushing himself for you. You do it too, both you and Francis. Raven and Moira keep teasing you about how you blacked out in Cerebro the first time. I don’t…” He plucked up his courage again. “I don’t… think you’re the best judge of what he can handle.”

Charles winced and looked down. “C’mon, Sean,” Hank laughed. “He is Arthur, he knows what he can do better than any of us.”

“No, Sean’s right,” said Charles, and now Sean felt even worse about it, because Charles looked distraught. “Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s OK,” said Arthur, shaking his head and looking up at Charles.

Charles gently took the electrodes off and squeezed his little hand. “It’s not OK. I’m sorry I didn’t notice that before.”

He lifted Arthur down off the lab bench and looked up at Sean. “Thank you,” he said.

“I didn’t…”

“No, really,” he said, patting Sean on the shoulder. “Thank you.”

As he passed, Sean caught the tail end of one of Charles’ thoughts – or rather, a memory, projected accidentally in its strong emotion. A kindly man, who hurt him and hurt him, and then patted him on the head and sent him away. The man’s face changed, and became Charles’ own.

Sean closed his eyes and concentrated, sending a thought back along that line towards Charles. You’re not him. Just learn and you’ll be better.

Thank you, Charles said softly.

Francis looked up at Sean and smiled. “I really am OK,” he said as Sean picked Arthur up. “I want to help Hank with his research.”

“Sure?” Sean said. Francis nodded. Sean made an I’m watching you face at Hank, who blinked at him and turned away, disconcerted.

“I’m fine,” Francis laughed. “But… thank you for looking after us.”

Sean quirked a grin and turned, jogging Arthur on his hip. “You want to do some painting, kid?”

Arthur nodded, a bright smile splitting his cheeks, and Sean squeezed him close, blowing a raspberry on his neck.

Tagging all you wonderful people (a) on the permanent tag list and (b) who interacted with the last chapter! Thank you! @insertmeaningfulusername, @mathmusicreading, @kungpao-giffy, @unspokenhatred, @gerec, @kaeden4, @fxngsfogxarty, @deathzpells, @thechaoticwave, @09fernandezla, @ketchavies-thoorrrr666, @pinkgalaxy34, @fullmetalcarer, @kernezelda, @maplefrost28, @these-maginot-lines, @goneadrift, @akasanata, @americassweetarts, @iwillshipyouman, @librodice, @tteabea, @lyricfulloflight, @countrygalxfandom, @alchemagickal, @mitsuki-minami, @bugy-boo, @azulso, @rainbow-door, @auri-moon, @lhowletts, @invaderlynx

#Lyn's Writing #cherik #Divergence (Charlesen)#multiple universes #multiple selves #references to past child abuse/neglect #emotional hurt/comfort

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firegrilled · 5 years

Text

Crytpobiology - Part 2

Part 1

“Aren’t they all just called cryptids? What’s special about the ones out here?”

Upon hearing Jean’s question, Marco’s face lit up. He drank the rest of his can before crumpling it and grabbing another.

“So get this. You know how most of us can trace our ancestry back to the Eldians? Well they had legends about a lot of the monsters we call cryptids but colloquially they were known as titans. Some were more direct translations than others. Take Sasquatch. They had something similar but called him the Beast Titan. He was like 30 meters tall and gigantic, but he wasn’t even the tallest one! There’s one called the Colossal Titan that’s 100 meters tall,” Marco started explaining, his excitement bubbling over. He only paused to take more swigs of his beer.

The zeal of Marco’s speech melted Jean’s heart a little. Seeing Marco so passionate and thrilled to share one of his favorite subjects with him got the butterflies swarming in Jean’s stomach but the alcohol thankfully numbed the feelings.

“Anyways, maybe those stories are exaggerations but they called their cryptids titans.”

Jean nodded, the explanation making some sense. He took only a moment to think of something quite obvious.

“Wait, if they’re all so tall then why don’t people find them easier? Kind of hard to miss creatures so fucking huge.”

“That’s the best part! They’re like skinwalkers,” Marco answered, leaving it at that.

Jean stared at Marco as an awkward silence fell over their campfire. When he realized Marco wasn’t gonna reply, Jean gestured with his hand for him to continue.

“And those are what exactly? Sounds creepy.”

Marco’s eyes widened when he realized Jean wasn’t as well versed as he was.

“Oh, uh shapeshifters. They’re true forms are much smaller but if they ever fully transform they’re big. Like real big.”

“Real descriptive,” Jean chuckled, gulping down more of the bitter drink. “So are we looking for all of them this weekend?”

“Nah, just the Jaw Titan is out here specifically,” Marco answered as he finished another beer. He dropped the empty can in a plastic bag with a clang, hitting some of their earlier drinks. “This thing is awesome.”

“The name sounds weird. What’s it look like? Big and fuzzy like Beast Man?” Jean joked, his face crinkling from laughter.

Offering a devious smirk, Marco leaned forward. The lawn chair squeaked under his shifting weight, a loud pop escaping the fire. The light danced on his face as he recounted the details for Jean. “Nobody knows. The Jaw Titan is a shapeshifter like his brothers but in a smaller sense. He mimics peple and sounds. No one knows its true form except for the fact it has a huge smile, like staring at rows of shark teeth. Hence the name.”

Processing that information, Jean’s shoulders dropped. “Then how the hell are we supposed to find it?”

Marco laughed at Jean’s incensed reaction and stood up. He swayed a little at the sudden movement and stretched his arms. “Dunno, I was hoping to find weird tracks or something. Professor Zoe always says to look for things that are out of the ordinary.”

Jean groaned loudly, “You’re lucky I like you. That’s worse than looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Marco’s movements suddenly froze at Jean’s offhanded comment.

When Jean realized what he said he mentally slapped himself. Maybe the alcohol was working better than he hoped.

Before Jean could try and explain himself, Marco giggled and burped slightly. “Aw you like me, funny. I’d hope so, that’s why we’re friends.”

And the alcohol appeared to be working on Marco too.

Deciding to not let the moment pass, Jean clenched a fist and took a deep breath.

“Look, Marco. I was planning on tell you this after we were done but I had ulterior motives for coming here,” Jean confessed.

Marco tilted his head but remained silent as Jean continued.

“I do like you. As more than friends.”

Marco blinked twice, staring at him confused. He furrowed his brows as he interpreted that last sentence.

“Like, you like me like me?” Marco inquired.

Jean squinted at Marco before nodding.

“Yeah, I like you, like you. I have had a crush on you for the longest time.”

Marco bit his bottom lip, holding his breath as he processed those words. He scratched the back of his head and allowed his eyes to fall to the ground.

“So you wanna kiss me?”

Jean’s eyes widened, not fully expecting that kind of response.

“Yes?” Jean replied, not expecting Marco to suddenly walk over to his chair and grab his phone.

“Uh, I gotta pee. I’m going to use the outhouse,” Marco stated as he made a beeline for the path, lighting the way with his phone’s built in flashlight.

“What? In the parking lot? Just use the brush around here,” Jean suggested, throwing his hands up in the air in confusion.

“Nope, won’t pee on a tree. Be back soon!” Marco declared before he scurried of.

“Wait!” Jean reached out for Marco in the darkness, but he was already gone. The light faded not too long after. With Marco gone, Jean slapped himself on the forehead. “Brilliant move, Jean. Just had to dump it all on him at once.”

Time passed as Jean wallowed in his own misery. To cool his nerves he downed another can of beer, before he gathered all the empty cans into the plastic bag. He opened the one tent they brought for this trip and deposited the bag in the corner alongside Marco’s hiking pack. Seeing it now it made sense why Marco brought so much food and snacks if he planned on staying for the whole week. Though Jean might’ve killed that with his recent confession. Sleeping in the same tent was going to be super awkward now.

The sound of a footsteps drew Jean’s attention back to the camp and he turned to see Marco emerging from the woods.

“Oh, you’re back quicker than I thought,” Jean commented as he closed up the tent.

“Pee on a tree,” Marco replied. He watched Jean curiously while Jean grabbed another can to steady his nerves.

“And here I thought you were too much of a princess to do that,” Jean chuckled awkwardly, drinking once more to calm his frayed nerves. Alcohol got him into this mess and it sure as hell would get him out of it. He watched Marco walk over to his seat, though his movements seemed a tad stiff.

Jean quietly drank his beer while Marco’s eyes remained locked on him, as if studying him.

Marco reached over and grabbed a graham cracker to eat but his gaze never moved.

To be Continued

#fic: Cryptobiologist #Jean Kirschtein #marco bodt #jeanmarco #friends to lovers #college au #cryptid hunter! Marco #horror #fluff #humor #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #aot #other implied ships #let the campy horror begin :D

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bronzeflower · 5 years

Text

Small Talk-Coin

Also on ao3

Day 4: Opportunity/Chance/Risk

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~Caffeine, small talk

Wait out the plastic weather

Mmhmm, uh uh, discussing current events~

Hizashi sat across from an extraordinarily hot man that asked him on a date to a coffee shop. Hizashi could hardly believe it, especially given how stand-offish the man was when Hizashi first started talking to him.

"It's pretty rainy out, isn't it?" Hizashi said, feeling the sweat on his palms as he took a sip of the coffee he got, and that's when the floodgates opened. "You know, Earth isn't the only planet to have rain. Well, it's pretty much the only planet that actually rains water-water is pretty much exclusive to Earth, unless you count the frozen water on planets like Venus and Mars. There's also frozen water on the moons of planets, but that's pretty much exclusive to moons near the gas giant planets. Actually, both Neptune and Uranus are said to have water-though it's apparently supercritical, which I think basically means that it flows, like, really, really fast. But, yeah, rain-you know it rains diamonds on both Neptune and Saturn? And then Venus rains sulfuric acid. Oh! You know how Jupiter's Great Red Spot is because of a giant storm? Well, there's something similar on Saturn called the Great White Spot, which is the area of a huge storm that has so much lightning that the area looks white from space. Actually, the planets in general have a lot of storms. But, you know, weather doesn't just happen on the main planets-it also happens on moons, like Saturn's moon, Titan? It rains methane there, to the point where it actually heavily mimics the water cycle here on Earth, and..."

It then dawned on Hizashi that he was probably talking way, way too much. He paused and looked towards his date-Shouta, who was staring attentively at Hizashi.

"Uh..." Hizashi found that he was much too embarrassed to keep rambling on about the weather in outer space.

"Aren't you an English teacher?" Shouta asked.

"Oh! Yeah! I am," Hizashi grinned sheepishly. "But I talk a lot with some of the other teachers, and the Astronomy teacher, Mx. Thirteen, has been rambling about the weather on other planets and moons lately-I think they’re mostly just trying to get their lesson plan together, and they feel a lot more confident about it when they've hashed out the information to someone who doesn't really know anything about what they're talking about. I honestly can get that-it's pretty difficult to make sure that the material you give is going to be understood. It just so happens that I've retained some of the information regarding his lesson plans, so I guess it's kind of been of the brain lately.”

~I'll take my time

I'm not the forward thinker

You read my mind

Better to leave it unsaid

Why can't I leave it unsaid?~

Shouta managed to ask out the incredibly attractive teacher who was his co-worker and who taught his son. While Shouta was somewhat resistant to do so, Hitoshi insisted, citing that he couldn't stand the two ogling each other every time they saw each other.

Shouta found a coffee shop to be a simple, nice first date that they could go on to actually talk to each other outside of a work environment, and Shouta was starting to get the suspicion that Hizashi had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous.

Now, Shouta didn't really have any problem with the amount Hizashi was talking. In fact, it was very soothing to listen to-Hizashi had a very nice voice.

What Shouta did have a problem with is that he didn't want Hizashi to be so nervous on this date. It was supposed to be causal, nice, and low-pressure, and Hizashi looked like he was in a place that was excruciatingly formal, terrible, and high-pressure.

It was the exact opposite of the atmosphere Shouta had wanted for their date.

But how to get Hizashi to relax?

~You know I talk too much

Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up

We could blame it all on human nature

Stay cool, it's just a kiss

Oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

I talk too much, we talk too much~

"Ah, but I'm sure there's some stuff you want to talk about too," Hizashi interrupted his own train of thought after realizing that he was probably talking about himself a little too much. "You teach history and government, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Shouta answered.

"What's it like teaching that?" Hizashi questioned. "English has a tendency to be pretty subjective, especially when we're analyzing English literature in the more advanced courses. I guess history and government is a bit more concrete, yeah?"

"People often think that, but history and government are often more subjective than most might think," Shouta started, practically going into teacher mode. "In history, we have to use documents and stories and artifacts to tell us what happened. It's simple enough to talk about history that was ten or twenty years ago because nowadays we tend to write things down. It gets a bit muddier when it comes to thousands of years ago, where the only records we have are things that were left. However, even written history often has a bias, which can call into question the validity of a source, but, if it's the only source available to us, it can be difficult to eliminate that bias. There's also the issue of what events occurred to lead to other events. It's not always easy to tell what caused what, and there's always going to be more than one reason for an event happening. And we have similar problems with government and learning about how the government functions. There's a difference between how it's meant to function and how it actually functions. I often find that government is less a class about how the government works and more about how to participate in politics in a well-educated manner."

Now it was Shouta's turn to become embarrassed by how much he spoke. He looked down at his coffee cup.

"...Sorry, I don't usually talk that much."

~You know my type

Tightrope across the table

Mmhmm, uh huh

I can't keep holding my breath~

"No, no! It's fine. I did ask about it, after all," Hizashi grinned. Shouta might also be a nervous rambler, huh. "I can't say that I know too much about history or government other than the basics, not that I didn't pay attention in class, it's just been so long since I learned it that most of the details are kind of fuzzy. And, from what you say, it seems like the curriculum is different nowadays, so, even if I did remember everything from those classes, I'm not sure how much of the information is accurate anymore."

"Well, some things stay the same," Shouta admitted. "At this point, it's mostly going to be more minor details that we've corrected. And then, at least in the classes I teach, there's more of an emphasis on critical thinking skills and getting the students to form their own opinions about things. They're at that age where they're starting to actually think more about their political views, and I want them to come to rational decisions about what they believe in instead of simply parroting their parents.

"English is kind of similar in that regard," Hizashi responded. "At least the English literature course, and the other literature courses, as well. They're meant to teach students to analyze words. In those classes, they learn how to find the bias, the reason behind the bias, and how that bias can affect the way a piece of literature is read. So, in a way, it's teaching the kids to find bias in news articles and think critically about the way the information is presented."

~New wave, no time

Red velvet under pressure

Blah blah, green eyes

I never leave it unsaid

Why can't I leave it unsaid?~

Holy shit, Shouta was pretty sure he was in love.

"That's always a useful skill in this day and age," Shouta said without really thinking, his thoughts suddenly drifting elsewhere. Hizashi, almost sensing the drift in conversation, changed the subject completely.

"I guess we might be talking about work a bit too much. It kind of seems a little silly to go out to coffee so that we can talk outside of work and then talk about nothing except work, right? There's some kind of irony in that, I know. I could talk about some music I recently found! I don't know really know what your tastes in music are, but I've been listening to a band called Coin, and-"

Hizashi voice really was soothing. It was nice to listen to, like wind chimes on the front porch. Shouta knows he should probably be paying actual attention to what Hizashi is saying, but he's started to get lost in those emerald eyes, and Shouta is sorely tempted to kiss him.

~You know I talk too much

Honey, come put your lips on mine and shut me up

We could blame it all on human nature

Stay cool, it's just a kiss

Oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

I talk too much, we talk too much~

Would that be okay? They are on a date-it's not necessarily completely out of the question, but Shouta wondered if he would be overstepping his boundaries somewhat.

Or were kisses more reserved for when Shouta walked Hizashi back to his apartment as a goodbye?

Shouta barely registered saying something in response to Hizashi. He wasn't quite sure what he was saying, but he was pretty sure that they were words.

~Silence is golden, and you've got my hopes up

We talk too much

No hesitation, what are we waiting for?

We talk too much~

Eventually, the date ended, and Shouta did indeed walk Hizashi back to his apartment.

Hizashi started rambling again, clearly out of nervousness, which honestly didn’t weigh too well on Shouta’s conscious.

So Shouta did what he wanted to do for pretty much the whole date and kissed Hizashi.

~You know I talk too much (too much)

Honey, come put your lips on mine

And shut me up (shut me up)

We could blame it all on human nature

Stay cool, it's just a kiss

Oh, why you gotta be so talkative?

I talk too much, we talk too much~

Hizashi leaned back into the kiss, and, when they parted, they were both somewhat dazed.

At least they didn’t feel nervous anymore.

#erasermic #eraserhead #erasermic week 2019 #present mic #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi

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ambwimagines · 5 years

Text

Pocket Chocolate: Chapter 4, New Set of friends

*FLASHBACK* (5th grade, after school)

Mark: Y/N this is my buddy justin

Y/N: Ummm ?.... Justin?

Mark: Yeah, you know I thought it would be cool if we all could hang out together and maybe be friends.

Y/N: I don’t wanna be friends with him *sassily*

Mark: Why not?

Y/N: He’s not you

Justin: Umm... I’m just gonna go home...see ya Minhyung *waves as he runs off*

Y/N: *mocks him* see ya Minhyung. What is that ? Only I can call you Minhyung.

Mark: Everyone can call me Minhyung because its my name. You’re literally acting like a child.

Y/N: Why do you want a new friend all of a sudden, you don’t wanna be mine anymore ?

Mark: Y/N... Come on.

Y/N: Come on nothing, You don’t wanna be my friend anymore.

Mark: I never said that Y/N

Y/N: You don’t have to...

Mark: Are you mad at me?

Y/N: I should be.

Mark: I didn’t do anything, I just wanted to make us a set of friends.

Y/N: Yeah, A set of new friends...

Things were so much more simple back when you were kids. That same afternoon he invited you over to his house to watch movies and play video games. You looked up and it was 8:00 and you knew you couldn’t be out past 8, especially on a school night. You and Mark ran back to your house and he hoisted you to your bedroom window. “So we cool ?” Mark asked as he strained himself to look up in your window. “ Definitely” you responded smiling to him. He took his hands off your window sill that supported him and shoved them back down in his pockets as he went home. Moving his hands through the thought to be empty space he found a plastic-feeling piece of something. He snatched it out of his pocket and it was the wrapper from his piece of the snickers you broke in half an shared with him earlier that day. He stared at it for a while and then looked back at your house with your once illuminated window gone black in result of you turning off your lamp. It reminded him that you would always be there for him. He could count on you and you could count on him. As sure as you would share your piece of pocket chocolate with him.

*PRESENT DAY* (NCT Dorm)

5:30 AM

The blaring noise of the alarm clock awoke everyone simultaneously. The disheveled boys arise from each of their beds. Shoving covers blankets and pillows alike from their person. The slight shifts and shuffles coming from the boys slipping on their house shoes and dragging their feet across the hardwood floor. Some go directly to the kitchen Like Johnny, to make a cup of coffee or drink some water or just get something in their system. While others form a line outside of the bathroom door. Patiently waiting to groom or relieve themselves for the first time today. In the midst of all the sleepy, groggy people up and trying their best to start their day. There was still Mark. Wide awake, he still layed in his bed. He stared at the ceiling. Not because he was angry, not because he was happy either, he was just thinking. As he was thinking the youngest walked past his room but then stopped and walked in.

Haechan: Mark, huyng ? Are you okay?

Mark: Yeah, I’m okay

Haechan: Then why are you still in bed we have to get up, we have things to do today.

Mark: I’ll be up in a minute.

Haechan: Johnny Hyung!!

Mark: I'm up now. (Sits up and gets out of bed)

Johnny: What's going on ?.....Mark you were still in bed ?

Mark: No I-.....

Haechan: Yes. (Interupts mark)

Mark: (scowls at Haechan) I was thinking about something.

Johnny: Okay Mark, cause you know I don't wannna have to tell Manager- nim that means 40 minutes after practice for all of us.

Mark: (Hangs his head down)

Haechan: What's wrong now ?

Mark: You. You're whats wrong with me Haechan.

Haechan: Whatever mark (squeezes his cheeks together) (walks off singing Monster by Exo)

Mark: (looking up to the ceiling) why ?

While Mark prepared for his Schedule. You were in a race against the clock that teased and taunted you with It's hands seeming to move every two minutes and not every second. You scramble around the dorm looking for your books and loose papers from your notebook. Remembering some people borrowed those for notes. You would look up and it would be 8:30 you look again and it would be 8:32. You yell at the clock in frustration. Rushing to put your papers and books into your backpack. In your fuss you awake your friend Erin.

Erin: What are you going skitso about at 8:35 in the morning.

Y/N: It's 8:35 oh god I was supposed to be on the train 2 minutes ago.

Erin: Calm down you can still make time. Relax. You will make Mr. Jung’s class

Y/N: But he's back today. And every second I'm not there is a piece of information I don't get, and every piece I don't get is a missed question on my review, and every missed question on my review is a miss- ...

Erin: (slaps her in the face) you okay now ?

Y/N: Yeah I think, thanks

Erin: Good, now go catch the next train before you have a panic attack. We'll catch up.

Luckily you make the train, but you have 2 minute delay. The engineer saw sparks coming off of one of the wheels on the rear car. Once the Train reaches it's destination you shoot out the doors over to the building across the street as quickly as possible. Inside the bulding you are still running 140 mph down the hallway. And anyone in your way might as well lay down so you can trample them. Bypassing and almost knocking down tons of people you make your way closer and closer to your destination. Down the hall last door on the left. Unfortunately you run full speed into a poor unsuspecting guy. Both of you guys belongings being knocked out of each others hands.

Y/N: Oh,죄송합니다 (joesonghabnida)

Man: Oh, It’s totally fine. It’s my fault really I wasn’t paying attention

Y/N: You speak English ?

Man: You speak Korean?

Y/N: Well a little, I’m not quite fluent yet.

Man: I studied English in Luxembourg from my middle to high school career.

Y/N: Wow that’s interesting. I’m Y/N and you ?

Man: I’m Minjae, Song Minjae

Y/N: You have such a beautiful name. I love it

Minjae: Thank you, you know your name doesn’t sound so bad either.

Y/N: Oh thank you, well I have to get to class. See you around

Minjae: Wait, I’m gonna go grab a bite to eat after class. Would you like to come with me ?

Y/N: Sure after class

You get into class with at least a minute or two to spare. You take your usual seat sandwiched between two empty chairs reserved for your friends. Your friends come in seconds after you. They take their places beside you.

Valerie: Who was that hunk that you rammed in the hallway

Y/N: You saw that ?

Erin: Yes, another magnificent fumble from the tales of Spaz Master

Y/N: One more joke about my mental health and I swear (speaking through clenched teeth)

Erin: (mimics you) “Every second I’m not there is a piece of information I miss” wah wah wah

Y/N: Whatever, I won’t be going with you guys after class.

Erin: What gives ?

Y/N: I have plans.

Valerie: With the hunk-sicle you ran over before class?

Y/N: Maybe ?

Valerie: I want all the juicy dets when you get back.

Mr. Jung walks in and silence routinely befalls the class, as it should. Mr. Jung commands that kind of respect. His class is not the easiest to get in or stay in. So it pays to be very quiet and listen.

Mr Jung: Good Morning class, I trust you had a great day yesterday. Welcome back to Business and Marketing, There are only a few weeks left in the final semester which also means the deadline of your FFB project is rapidly approaching. With that your weekly assignment won’t be too strenuous. This week we will focus on the inner workings of marketing. and just how can anything be marketed ? In light of that I ask you to conduct an interview with someone who has a specific talent. May it be writing, singing, dancing etc. How is their talent marketable, if so how did they bring it to it’s final form of being marketable. For now I would like you to turn to page 380 in your BMT books (Business and Marketing Today) and complete the previous assignment, if you have look over your grade online and if you have any questions come talk to me. Do not wait until after class because I will not be here. i will leave the exact same time you do and I will not answer any questions.

While your friends worked diligently out of their books. You opened up your laptop you pulled out of your backpack. You go to the student portal on the universities website. You click under the grades tab and your grade is still the same. A steady 92% Soon you started to wonder. What if you don’t do the project. You get up out of your seat and walk over to Mr. Jung’s desk where he is engrossed in the newspaper. He peaks up at you from over the news paper.

Mr. Jung: May I help you Ms. (Your last name)

Y/N: Yes Mr. Jung I was wanting to talk to you about my grade is all.

Mr. Jung: Is there something wrong ?, you have an 92 % and you do the majority of my work.

Y/N: Yes I know, I was wanting to see how it would reflect on my grade if I didn't do the project.

Mr. Jung: Do you plan on not completing the project.

Y/N: Well...yes- but no-but also yes

*Bell Rings*

Mr. Jung: Ms. (Your Last name) I highly recommend you start and/or finish that project as soon as humanly possible. It is worth 25% which is a fourth of your overall grade.

Y/N: But I-...

Mr. Jung: *cuts you off * It is after class Ms. (Your Last name). Talk to me in the morning.

You walk out of class and your friends are waiting by the door for you. They take either arm and bombard you with questions about the guy you dodge rammed in the hallway.

Valerie: So Y/N !? tell us. what’s up with the guy you almost ran over in the hallway.

Y/N: His name is Minjae, Song Minjae.

Valerie: Minjae ? that has a nice ring to it.

Y/N: Yeah well I gotta go guys. I’ll see you later at the dorms

*3 HOURS LATER*

You and Minjae were sitting outside at a coffee shop near the Uni (university) sipping iced macchiatos talking over the assignment. You both came to a mutual agreement to interview each other.

Minjae: We could but that’s predictable almost expected we interview as classmates.

Y/N: Then what do you suggest ?

Minjae: I have a friend who works at SM as a talent scout and manager he has very close ties with all the groups and their staff. *pulls out phone* here’s me him and super junior, and me and him with EXO.

Y/N: Wow that’s impressive

Minjae: Sometimes it’s not what you know, but who you know.

Y/N: So you’re saying you could get me an interview with them ?

Minjae: Say the word Y/N and I have it.

Y/N: What’s the catch .

Minjae: No catch, just dinner with me.

Y/N: I should’ve seen that coming.

Minjae: Y/N you’re gorgeous. I just want to treat you how you should be treated.

Y/N: *stammering*

Minjae: *grabs you hands and looks in your eyes*

Minjae keeps you like this for a while you both just stare at each other and a slow but sure smile spreads across your face. You feel comfort in his big brown eyes. You didn’t notice Mark come in with Johnny talking and laughing until you catch him staring at the both of you out the corner of your eye. You immediately snap out of your daze with Minjae and pull yourself to usual. quickly getting your book and looking at it you decide to acknowledge Mark even though he has seen you first though.

Y/N: Oh hey Mark, come on over.

You signal towards him and he comes over there. You promptly stand up and introduce him To Minjae. Minjae stands up and shakes Mark’s hand.

Y/N: Yeah so what brings you here Mark.

Mark: You know Johnny has to have at least 3 iced Coffees a day

Y/N: *laughs* Mark you are so sill

Mark: But what about you ? what brings you here ?

Y/N: Oh me and my project partner Minjae have a project due we need some place fairly quiet.

Mark: Oh okay well have fun.

Mark thought of you and thought of life watching you be happy with someone else. It took him right back to that day in elementary. Someone else putting that smile he loved so much right on your gorgeous face and he couldn't bare it. For the second time in life he was .......

Jealous

I am far from done. I want you guys to get ready cause. I'm kinda gonna be turning these out like clockwork so if you really love this series then get ready for a marathon of chapters to read

Love

-Kayla

#ambw #nct #ambw kpop #nct 127 #mark lee #nct scenarios #kpop fluff #ambw fluff

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ontherockswithsalt · 5 years

Text

A Made Man

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A/N: These kinds of chapters are harder to write than you’d think! But very fun. Everyone is an idiot and I love them all. Enjoy the bowling.

Chapter 33.

"Lowest score…" Bianca muses, leaning over in her plastic chair as she ties her red and blue bowling shoes. "Has to sing karaoke."

"What?" I scoff without even looking back at her while I work to enter everyone's names for the scoreboard.

"Where the hell do you think you're singing karaoke tonight?" Noble wonders.

"At a gay bar called Mary's over on Waverly--"

"Whoa, wait a minute." I turn in my seat to hold out one hand while Vinny lets out a loud laugh beside me.

Bianca manages a pleading grin. "Come on."

"We're not going to a gay bar, Belle."

She opens her mouth as if she's never been so let down. "Why not? They’re fun. Haven't you always wanted to?"

With a shake of my head, I have to laugh down at the screen where I'm typing. "Not particularly."

"Hey, I'm down," Vinny offers. "Plus, I'm gonna win anyway so I need to see Reagan on that mic."

Tilting my head, I narrow my gaze at him. "Oh, you're down? Give me a break."

"What?" He shrugs. "A bar is a bar. You're telling me you're all uptight about it?"

"I'm not uptight," I insist.

"I can almost guarantee we wouldn't see anyone we know there." Bianca points out as she gets to her feet. "Nick, didn't you say we've gotta keep a low profile? It's perfect."

"Karaoke at a gay bar is the opposite of a low profile," he argues.

"Not when we're talking about the kinda people who may know us."

With folded arms, Noble shifts his gaze to me. I simply meet it with this look of resigned acceptance because whatever, it's Bianca's trip here and there's no use trying to keep a firm grip on what happens tonight. She'll just fight it even harder.

He moves away to the ball return and glances over at her. "How gay are we talking here?"

"Oh please!" She scoffs with a laugh. "Since when do you care? Although…" Then she pauses and points a look and an arched eyebrow at me.

I turn my head, confused. "What?"

"Jamie will be like shark bait over there, so just be prepared."

Noble spreads his hands. "You think I don't know that?"

"Wait, what does that mean?"

"The crowd there--" Then she waves her hand in front of me. "Will just… be a fan."

Pointing to myself, I shake my head. "Oh I'm not singing."

"Not a fan of your singing, Jamie." She clarifies. "Don't play dumb."

I check with Noble because I still don't get it.

"Because you're hot, dude," he informs me. "That's all."

"Oh." My gaze shifts as I consider it. Then I stand, making a point to broaden my chest as I offer my boyfriend a smile. "We should go then, man."

With a start, Noble juts out a fist into my arm. "Little shit."

Chuckling, I return the jab at his shoulder and pivot away.

"Whoa." Vinny looks to Bianca with an insulted pull of his brows. "You saying the crowd won't be a fan of me?"

I watch the way she smirks as she turns to him. "Depends on how good of a singer you are, I guess."

"Oh I won't need to sing," he remarks, gesturing up above to the scoreboard with our names. "Because according to that, I'm gonna be on top."

She plants her hands on her hips and blinks up at the screen. "I don't know how that'll work when I'll be the one on top tonight."

"Ayee--" Vinny blows out an amused, weary groan and turns away to Bianca's giggles.

"I feel like you guys aren't talking about bowling," Noble ponders.

Vinny points to her. "Hey, I don't know about this one. Your sister told me to keep myself in check. But--”

"Well listen," Noble cuts in. "That's a bullshit bet, Belle. Because you'll sing karaoke regardless."

"Lowest score has to sing,” she amends. “Winner gets to pick the song.”

"Alright, can we play?" I cut in, heading for my ball to take the first turn.

Noble slants a knowing smile at me. "Look who wants to get to the bar to see how popular he is with the West Village crowd."

"Excuse me," I tease, reaching across where my fingers grip the bright red ball I had picked on the way over. I lift it out of the rack, and with a subtle grunt, make a show of straining my biceps as if I'm using the ball for a set of curls.

"Don't hurt yourself," Noble quips.

I meet his teasing gaze. "My name's first and I'd like to get this game started."

"Do we all agree on the bet?" Bianca calls out.

"Yes, it's a bet," I concede, along with everyone else's acquiescence.

"Alright, let's see it, Reagan," Vinny decides. "Make the Twelfth look good."

Positioned behind the lane, I turn to hold out one arm and look at him. "I do that everyday, man."

"Oh jeez," Vinny groans. "He's in rare form tonight."

Amused by his heckling, I fix my focus on the lane's target arrows, take my approach and send the ball down the lane. I watch it charge towards the pins where it crashes against them, toppling over all but four.

"That's alright," Noble calls out, offering an unnecessarily loud clap of his hands. "You looked cute, at least. And that's important."

Backtracking to retrieve my ball, I shake my head at him to resist a smile. "You're gonna regret that kinda talk this early in the game," I warn him.

He fakes this clueless look. "I'm being supportive."

Firmly grasping my ball once more, I position myself to take the spare. With a few solid steps, I send the ball hurtling down the lane once again before it misses the remaining pins completely and disappears behind the pin deck.

With a hard smack of my palms, I turn away, clenching my fist in frustration only to laugh at myself. "The first frame's a throwaway turn," I insist to Vinny who's cracking up at me.

"Man, look at that," Noble muses. "Right through that empty space. If the object were to throw it in the exact same place you threw the first one, this would be your game."

I come closer to him. "Watch it."

"But on the second turn," he goes on, the corner of his lips quirking when he looks at me. "You wanna aim for the ones you missed the first time."

"Ohh…" I lift my chin to play along. "I see."

"Damn Reagan," Vinny shouts. "What if those pins had been an armed perp?"

"Well the next time we take out a perp with a bowling ball, I'll let you aim."

"Shake it off," Noble offers as he takes his orange ball to the approach for his turn.

He lines up, steps to the foul line as he swings his arm and fires the ball down the lane. It's a swift defeat of all ten pins.

"Nice," Vinny approves.

Noble turns, pumping a flexed arm at his side, then points up at the screen above to note the giant X celebrating his strike. "See you're supposed to knock them all down. Rather than just… six--”

"Go get me another damn drink," I instruct him.

He sets an amused smirk on me and I don't miss the flash of his eyes, the twitch of satisfaction at his cheek. "I can do that for you." Leaving me with a slap on the back, he passes by and heads to the bar.

"Okay, me!" Bianca announces as she hops up to grab her neon purple ball. After a little hesitation deciding her approach, she flings the ball forward where it arcs across the lane.

"No, you dumb fuck!" She shouts, crouching down to watch it dump right into the gutter there at the end.

Both Vinny and I sputter a laugh, more for her performance than her gutter ball. I'm just glad the kids birthday party that was here earlier had made its way out and the bowling alley had shifted to service only the late night adult idiots like us.

Bianca finishes off her turn with an exasperated groan over another gutter ball she barely even tried to throw straight.

"First frame's a throwaway, right?" She reminds us.

"There you go." Vinny takes his place for a turn. "I'm not gonna lie. I haven't bowled since I was like ten, so--"

"Oh now with the excuses," Bianca teases. "What happened to being on top?"

"I thought that was you," he calls back, slanting a smile her way over his shoulder.

"I don't know," she laughs, peering up at the scoreboard. "It's not looking good for me."

He pulls back as he takes his steps, releases the ball with a forceful swing and it barrels right into the sweet spot to send down every single pin.

"Goddammit." I mutter the curse.

Vinny turns with a firm clench of one arm. "Ha! You see that?"

"Haven't bowled since I was ten," I mimic him, shaking my head.

He spreads his arms like he doesn't have an explanation. "I guess some people know exactly where to hit it, Reagan." As he passes by, he grips my shoulders hard and pats me there before he moves back to his chair beside Bianca.

"Really?" I arch a critical brow at him and his smug face. "That's not what I've heard."

"Listen, six," he retorts, pointing his beer bottle at me. “One day you’ll get there.”

Noble returns with a new drink for me while he takes a look at the score and gives Vinny a nod of approval. "Oh nice."

"You like that, Nick?"

Downing some of my cocktail with a hard swallow, I decide, “Okay, I’m playing for real.” Then I set the cup on the table and move to get my ball for another turn.

Taking an extra moment to set my focus down the lane, my steps carry me forward and with a perfectly controlled swoop of my arm, I propel the ball down the center.

It crashes all ten pins down for a strike.

"There he is!" Noble shouts. “Coming alive in the second frame.”

Just as my X spins across the screen in animated graphics, the bowling alley darkens to a neon glow, eliciting a lively howl of approval from the surrounding lanes. Black lights make the pins purple, the retro designs along the wall shine in greens and pinks and disco strobes cut across the floor. The opening beat of Need You Tonight by INXS thuds the speakers surrounding us.

“Oh, it’s a game now,” Vinny announces.

And for a while, it’s anybody’s to win. Noble keeps his lead for a few frames until I catch up. It shakes his confidence and he has an off couple of turns. Meanwhile, Vinny’s initial strike proves to be a fluke when he bombs pretty much every subsequent frame.

Halfway through the game, I have to laugh at the scoreboard. “This is looking bleak, partner,” I inform him when his score hasn’t gone anywhere and Bianca trails behind him by merely two points. “What happened to knowing where to hit it?”

From his seat, Vinny hangs his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking with his amusement. “Maybe bowling’s not my game,” he decides.

I step up and grip my ball. “Bella, I need you to take him down,” I tell her. “Because I’ve always wanted to hear him sing and I need to decide on the perfect song.”

“Yes!” Bianca drags out the approval, then taps her fist on Vinny’s knee. “I’m excited.”

“I’m terrible, but you’re worse,” he admits, pointing his thumb to her shoulder and she turns her face to crack up there. “So I’m safe so long as you keep throwing them in the gutter.”

"I have a strategy!" She insists.

“Oh yeah?” He laughs. "How’s that working out for you?” But then they both seem to turn their attention to the fact that the deejay just started playing Michael Jackson’s PYT and the two of them just wind up dancing in their seats.

I shake my head, amused and move over to take my turn. This time I knock down eight, but follow it up with the spare which puts me ahead of Noble.

When I back up to look at the score, I push my fist against Noble’s shoulder and dig my teeth into my lower lip in satisfaction. “Tell me it hurts just a little bit,” I say, then gesture to my chest. “I need to hear it.”

In the pink and violet lights, he grins at me and it’s damn attractive. “I bet you do need to hear it.”

My gaze follows him as he comes closer. We’ve never really been out with a group, as a couple and there’s still some uncertainty between us when it comes to how much we’re allowed to act like it.

I tilt my face down as he leans into my ear and murmurs, “You look really fucking cute tonight and I love you and I just needed you to know that.” Then he eases away, scratching the back of his head and adds, “And it hurts a little bit” as he gets ready for his turn.

Lifting my gaze to him, I thankful for the dim lights because I can feel the color in my cheeks when I shoot him a wordless look and press my lips together. Goddamn, he so easily prompts this heat that dips in heavy loops inside me that I still never anticipate.

“Don’t get used to that lead, though,” he says, pointing up to the score as he heads for his ball.

#jamie x noble #the scene from the show we all deserved tbh

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kurly-quill · 6 years

Text

Robin’s Nest Cafe (part 1)

So, here goes nothing! This will probably have more than one part, but will likely be non-chronological.

Pairings: JayTim, maybe future JayDickTim

Rating: Mature for Language [for now]

Coffee Shop AU (sort of), Civilian!Tim (mostly?)

Part 1 - Part 2

(1) Hot Chocolate

The first thing to know about Gothamites, is that they are objectively, irrevocably rude as fuck.

It’s not like New York City, where people bustle past without so much as a nod of acknowledgement because they have somewhere to be and don’t have time for pleasantries, or the aggressive shoving on the metro in Tokyo, or God forbid, like Metropolis, where people born past 1930 still tip their hats at passerby.

No, the average Gothamite would see you, without an umbrella, soaking wet, and shake their umbrella off on you on the way inside. If you gave up your seat to an elderly Gothamite on the train, they would sooner say fuck you than thank you. If you tried to mug a Gothamite, they would probably punch you in the face and steal your wallet, because, hell, you’d be the fifth person to try it this week.

And Tim, for all of his “good breeding” and “respectable upbringing” is, at his very core, a Gothamite.

His smile is so wide that he’s baring teeth, and while it doesn’t match the snarl on the face across from him, it’s no less able to convey the sheer amounts of fuck you very much, have a fucktastic day!!

“I ain’t sayin’ it again -” the man bellows, spit hitting Tim’s face and, ew, probably his lips too, “- give me the money inna register ‘afore things get ugly!”

His eyes glimmer with the sharpness of the icicles hanging outside along the shop window, barely sparing the knife shaking under his chin a second glance.

It’s 11 pm on Friday night, and the cafe is still open because Gotham never really sleeps and Tim lives above the shop, anyway. Behind Knife Guy, there’s a few people in line, displaying varying degrees of concern.

(1- was born in a Gotham alleyway, please if you’re going to stab the cashier just do it I’ll pour the coffee myself, 5 - been in Gotham for awhile, kinda worried but Killer Croc smashed my car last week and I just really need a coffee, 10 - visiting Gotham for the first time this weekend-- and the last time.)

Tim looks skyward, praying for strength. There are cobwebs up there he’s never noticed.

“Sorry, the money in the register is a seasonal flavor. But hey, bright side, we’ve just got peppermint mocha back in, so I can ring you up for that instead?”

Knife Guy gapes for a second, squinting at Tim like he expects him to start tap dancing any second now. Tim raises a brow, patient. With a frustrated snarl, the knife jolts forward enough that it clicks against Tim’s nametag, chipping at the edge of the black and yellow batman sticker beside his name, which is his favorite sticker so excuse you.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal. Either you put away the knife and order a peppermint mocha with christmas tree sprinkles, and we pretend this never happened, or we do it the less fun way, with the GCPD. Who are a total buzzkill, by the way, believe me. Your choice.”

There’s an eye-twitch, and a change in the man’s expression that makes Tim’s finely-honed Gotham instincts go “oh damn, here we go”, when someone opens up the front door with far too much strength, the glass rattling with the force of its inward swing. The freezing night wind billows in, the scent of oil and snow filtering through the warmer scents of the cafe. There’s an unceremonious tinkle of the bell dangling on the doorframe, and beneath it stands another man.

Tim stares. Knife Guy stares. One of the customers looks up from her phone, groans long and loud, grabs her triple-espresso hazelnut latte with caramel drizzle, and walks out into the late-November chill.

The Red Hood holds the door open for her, because he’s a fucking gentleman.

The door swinging shut with another tinkle, and there’s a pause filled only with catchy holiday jingles that have been playing over the radio since September. Hood surveys the scene before strolling toward the counter.

“Damn, lemme tell ya, it’s cold as fuckin’ balls out there,” Hood laments, with absolutely zero prompting, rubbing his hands together as though he’d gain any friction through the gauntlets. He stops just short of where Tim and Knife Guy are facing off, the blade hovering threateningly in the air just under Tim’s chin. Hood cocks his head.

“Am I interrupting somethin’?”

Tim takes a quick second to make sure that, if he opens his mouth, his jaw won’t hit the floor, before he replies, “Just regular customer service in Gotham. Hope you’re not here for the money in the register too - We’re fresh out of stock. Moving onto the Winter Menu, you know?”

Hood nods, making what sounds like an understanding hum through the voice synthesizers, “Some people just never check the website. Read you’ve got a mean gingerbread latte on special.”

Tim would respond, except now the knife is shaking to a worrying degree– Knife Guy is scared shitless, because the Red Hood is nearly shoulder-to-shoulder– or, well, shoulder-to-bicep with him, because the man is huge and smells very distinctly of cigarette smoke and blood. Tim would sympathize if he wasn’t having an internal fangasm to end all fangasms at this moment.

In a display of panic-borne, truly ballsy stupidity (unfortunately, also a common trait amongst Gothamites, particularly the ones that rob cafes at knife-point at just the hour the Bats tend to come out), Knife Guy whips the knife to the side to turn on the vigilante.

Hood’s got the knife out of the guy’s hand in an instant– Tim has just enough reflexes to grab the steaming cup of caffeine goodness that’s sitting innocently in harm’s way– and in the next second he’s grabbing the guy by the hair and slamming his head backwards onto the counter, spine bent at an angle that makes the onlookers flinch. A few more scurry out the door. There are other places to get a caffeine fix.

“Look here,” Hood growls, No-Knife Guy going cross-eyed as the knife points straight at his nose, “I ain’t lookin for a side of stitches with my candy cane hot chocolate with heavy cream, ya feel me?”

Mr. No Knife squeals.

“P-Please– I’m sorry, I’ll go! Promise! Just– fuck, l-lemme go!”

Hood’s head makes a minute motion, somehow conveying sheer exasperation despite the helmet (Though Tim can just feel the eye-roll going on). He drags the wannabe-robber up to his feet, though it’s pretty useless seeing as the guy’s knees give out they’re shaking so hard– and, oh dude, gross, that’s definitely a wet spot in the front of his jeans there. Tim’s nose wrinkles. He better not have to mop that up.

Hood pays the fact that he’s basically holding up all the man’s weight one-armed no mind, dragging him to the front of the shop. The bell chimes merrily as he gives the guy a literal kick in the ass out the door. The guy lands face-first in dirty, oily, Gothamy snow. An eight year old kicks him as she walks past, hand-in-hand with her father to the nearest bus stop. That Uptown Gotham charm, amiright?

“You’re just lucky I’m feeling the holiday fucking spirit right now– Plus, no offense,” a quick appraisal, “you’re kinda pathetic.”

And then Hood closes the door.

But he’s still here.

Tim looks around the shop. Apparently, at some point in the last 2 minutes, the rest of the customers have decided that they really don’t have time for the typical Bat-dramatics today and fucked off to another cafe. Tim should be more upset about the loss in business than he is, but that’s the furthest thing from his mind.

Because the Red Hood (It’s him, it’s really him) is still standing there. In the cafe.

With Tim.

He glances down at his chest to make sure the knife isn’t actually buried there, because the possibility that he’s died makes more sense than the Red Hood standing in his cafe, surrounded by a horrific mash-up of dollar-store Hannukah and Christmas (because his family is technically Jewish even if they didn’t celebrate jack shit, and Steph took the shitty plastic menorah on top of the espresso machine as a challenge).

“Um,” Tim remarks, scrambling for the words he wants to say to one of his childhood heros, “So, can I get you something? I feel like I should get you something. Cause I mean. This is an establishment that supports vigilantism, okay? Robin’s Nest cafe, at your service. At least a 10% discount, just like military. Just putting it out there.”

Right. So where is that knife again? Can’t speak if he doesn’t have vocal chords.

The vigilante makes a sound through the synths in his helmet that must be a chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. He moves back up to the counter with movements far too fluid for someone of his size, and Tim swallows a bit as he’s forced to look up (and up) at close proximity. Wow, the helmet is something else– he’s itching to get his hands on it, take it apart and see all its functions and how it was made.

“Gotta first aid kit?” is almost lost to Tim, he’s so mesmerized – he thinks distantly that he’s probably looking a little manic, cause he’s running on caffeine and spite, and people have always told him that his tendency to hyperfocus is unnerving on a good day – but then the words click. He frowns.

“Yes, we do? He didn’t get you with the knife, did he?” he questions, eyes raking up and down Hood’s leather jacket for any telling rips or tears.

Hood tuts, reaching up to tap at his neck, “Nah, not me, but you’re ‘bout to need a new white shirt.”

Tim mimics the movement on autopilot, clapping his hand to the side of his neck and feeling the stickiness there. His heart jumps for a second as he pulls back his hand and sees enough blood there to wonder how he’d missed it.

“Oh. Damn.”

And that’s how, five minutes later, Tim’s got the doors to the cafe locked and finds himself sitting in the break room with the Red Hood dabbing at his neck with a cotton swab.

If he finally manages to overdose on caffeine tonight, he thinks he could go happily.

Hood’s so close that Tim’s 100% sure the vigilante can feel his heart trying to burst all his arteries by its sheer pumping force. He’s getting light-headed because he’s trying not to be creepy and do something like smell the the tall, buff guy with gentle hands (Cause, God, somehow the scent of cigarettes, leather, and gunmetal just work for him) and has thus forgone taking any deep breaths.

“Lucky you, s’not deep,” are the only words either of them has said since he plopped down on the table. Tim hesitates for a second, watching Hood close the first aid kit and step away, before he clears his throat.

Courage, Tim. Come on, you’re from Gotham.

“So. Thanks. For all that, I mean.”

Hood shrugs.

“Eh, there are worse ways to start the night. Plus, it’s way warmer in here than out there. Wasn’t kidding when I walked in– was gettin fucking blue balls out there, and not even from anything fun this time.”

Tim lets out a surprised laugh.

“Oh? Well, I think I have a way to warm you up.”

There’s amusement in every line of Hood’s shoulders as he tilts his head, becoming increasingly intrigued by this particularly bold civilian. When he speaks, there’s a definite purr there, mechanized though it is. Something prickly hot shoots down Tim’s spine, and he has to fight down a flush.

“Yeah? You got something in mind?”

Tim can’t help but grin. “Oh, I’ve got just the thing.”

“Let me guess. Hot chocolate with heavy cream?”

“Shut your shittin’ mouth, Dick.”

“…. It’s got candy cane flavor in it”

255 notes · View notes

shamelessly4shameless-blog · 6 years

Text

For life, yeah?

Gallavich Gift Exchange 2017 for @frank-iero-owns-my-ass! The prompt was: Mickey coaxing Ian through a particularly depressive week, it's lasted longer than usual and Ian won't come around. Ian is secretly afraid Mickey will leave him if he keeps up his manic episodes, but he feels so helpless, as does Mickey in trying to help him. Mickey pov (general guidelines, feel free to change it, im so easy to please) So here is my interpretation and I really hope you like it :) Also a huge thank you to @gallavichthings for organising this whole thing. xx

Mickey hisses through his teeth as he runs his bloody knuckles under the stream of cold water.

“Mother fucker!”

He grits out through pursed lips and flexes his hand experimentally. It’s going to bruise like a bitch but he doesn’t think anything is broken. Thank fuck for that! Ian is going to be pissed enough without adding a hospital bill. He keeps his hand submerged for a couple more minutes and then carefully wraps it in a mostly clean towel and returns to the scene of the crime.

Yev turns away from the carnage as his Papa approaches and looks up at Mickey with large, sympathetic eyes, sucking in his lower lip.

“Ah shit.”

Mickey groans, surveying the damage for himself.

“Shit, Papa.”

Yev agrees sombrely. Mickey nods and mimics the little boy’s lip movement. Though now is not the moment for taking a photo, if anyone was there to do so, it would serve as an excellent paternity test if there was any doubt left as to who fathered Yevgeny. They are two frowning, blue-eyed peas in a South Side pod.

“Daddy is gonna be super mad.”

“Yeah.”

Mickey nods grimly already thinking about the sheer level of jutting chin he’s going to have to deal with for this one. He squats down beside his five year old and Yev wordlessly hands him the broken controller. Mickey runs his thumb over the cracked plastic and floppy toggle sticks. It wasn’t Ian’s remote thank God, but it’s still going to be an expense they could do without. The re-run of the K.O that caused the meltdown is still playing on the TV.

“Your hand okay?”

Yev asks, rocking up onto the balls of his feet to see the rather impressive swell of bloody knuckles his Papa is sporting.

“Hurts a bit.”

Mickey admits and glances up at the fist shaped hole in the wall. From this angle it looks even worse.

“Fuck.”

Yev agrees again and puts a comforting arm around his Papa’s shoulders. Mickey gives him a little lopsided smile and stands up, lifting Yevgeny with him and settling the boy on his hip. Yev raises his eyebrows at his Papa and flicks his gaze to the broken plasterwork.

“What are we gonna tell Daddy?”

“That I lost my shit and busted the wall I guess.”

Mickey shrugs.

“Are you gonna get a spanking?”

“Maybe, little man. Maybe.”

Mickey laughs despite himself and Yev bites his lip in consternation. He has never been spanked but has been threatened with it a couple of times and he understands the general principle of it well enough to know it is to be avoided at all costs. He looks back at the wall over Papa’s shoulder as Mickey carries him out of the room.

“We could fix it?”

“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna have to fix it. But, hey, listen, you get that what I just did was really bad, right? We ain’t supposed to throw toys.”

“Or stamp on them.”

“Right.”

“Or punch things.”

“No …”

Mickey grimaces as Yev continues to tick things off on his fingers

“Or say cuss words really loud.”

“Okay...”

“Or …”

“I think you got it, little man. Good job!”

Mickey kisses his son’s forehead and stands him down in the kitchen, handing the kid a chocolate chip cookie. Yev isn’t supposed to have sugary snacks before lunch but when Mickey acts out in front of him, which doesn’t happen as often as most would expect, but more often than he likes to admit, he always feels like he needs to spoil him a little to make up for it. It’s not great for a five year old to learn new and improved tantrum techniques from his father.

“Want a bite, Papa?”

“Nah, you enjoy it, man.”

Yev smiles happily and stuffs the rest of the sticky treat into his mouth, chewing with a noisy enthusiasm, broken toys and punched walls all but forgotten.

Mickey is just pondering how best to patch up the wall without Ian freaking out too much when the front door slams open and his boyfriend crashes in along with a flurry of snow and cold wind, face drawn and angry.

“Daddy!”

Yev cries excitedly, immediately abandoning Mickey in favour of charging toward Ian.

“Hi Yev.”

Ian picks his son up obligingly but Mickey’s ears instantly prick at the sound of Ian’s voice. It is flat, devoid of its usual flair and light.

“Hey, you’re home early.”

Mickey ventures cautiously as Ian walks over to him, his uniform is crumpled, messy, it looks like Ian has been hunched over rather than his normal straight-backed elegance.

“Not feeling good.”

Ian looks at Mickey, glances at the hole in the wall and closes his eyes, turning his face to bury his nose in Yev’s hair.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I … ah …”

“Papa punched it.”

Yev offers.

Ian’s eyes instantly harden.

“Jesus Christ, Mickey. What the Hell is wrong with you?”

The frustrated disappointment in Ian’s weary voice renders Mickey immediately mute and he studies his bruised knuckles intently. Ian kisses Yev’s temple and hands him over to Mickey, actively trying to avoid touching him at all.

“I need to lie down. Just leave this shit alone until I get up. I don’t want your clumsy fuckin’ patch up disturbing me.”

Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the harsh words and harsher tone but the bags under Ian’s eyes silence any retort he might try to make.

“And put the damn heating on. You spend enough on cigarettes; you can spend some money on keeping our kid warm.”

Ian gestures around the already warm house and glowers at Mickey who bites his tongue with an effort and nods.

“I’ll bring you in some lunch, okay?”

“Whatever.”

Ian stomps past and closes the bedroom door loudly behind him and Mickey lets out the breath he has been holding. Yev looks up at his father uncertainly

“Is Daddy okay?”

“Yeah, just tired and mad at me for the hole in the wall.”

Mickey smiles at Yev and then glances up at the closed door, a frown creasing his own brow. It has been nearly a year since Ian’s last depressive episode, and Mickey supposes it had to happen again at some point.

The next morning Mickey wakes up and rolls over to face the Ian shaped bundle of blankets that is beside him. He knows that Ian is awake from the pattern of his breathing and Mickey tentatively rests his hand on the outline of one strong arm.

“Good morning.”

No response.

“How you feelin’?”

Mickey inches the covers back slightly to try and get a look at his boyfriend but Ian shivers against Mickey’s palm as it is laid on his shoulder and pulls away silently.

Shit.

Mickey sits up and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, wiping away the grains of sleep gathered in the corners.

He rolls himself out of bed and grabs his dark blue dressing gown from the back of the door. The thick, coarse towelling is a reassuring glint of normality and makes him feel a little better as his bare feet adjust to the cold kitchen floor.

He flips open the pill dispenser lid and empties the four pills Ian takes every morning into his palm, poking at each of them in turn with his forefinger, scowling. He wishes he knew which one of the little round fuckers had flunked out on Ian this time. He’d crush it, toss it down the toilet then take a shit on the pieces.

However, Mickey doesn’t know and so he carries all four back to Ian with a glass of water and focusses his attention on the task at hand.

“Hey man. Time to take your pills.”

Ian’s voice is muffled but clear enough for Mickey to make out:

“Go away.”

“I will in a minute, I promise. Just take these and I can go.”

Mickey crouches besides him and gently tugs the covers back from Ian’s face. He should have had Yevgeny stay the night. Ian is in pretty bad shape but not so bad as Mickey had feared and he almost always takes the pills when Yev offers them to him. As long as Ian is not at the very bottom of the pit of despair, he is still a pushover for the kid.

“Please, Mick ...”

“C’mon. You know I gotta see you do it.”

Mickey’s thighs are beginning to cramp from the squat and he shifts awkwardly, trying to be patient. Ian eventually uncurls a hand and Mickey slips the pills into it and then holds the back of Ian’s head, helping him sip water to get them down.

“Alright. I’m gonna make you a sandwich and leave it on the side here. You can eat it if you want to.”

Mickey stands, pressing a kiss to Ian’s cheek before drawing the covers back over his shoulder. Ian tugs them the rest of the way over his head and Mickey nods to himself. Fine.

He goes into the bathroom and whilst he releases the torrent of his morning piss, half-heartedly aiming at a stain on the back of the bowl, he tries to stem the rising panic bubbling in his chest, reciting the familiar mantras to himself.

They’ve done this before.

One of the pills is out of whack and needs to be regulated.

Ian will spend a day or two like this and then he’ll manages to move, they’ll go to the clinic and sort it.

They’ll be okay.

Ian isn’t even as bad as he sometimes gets, he can still call Mickey ‘Mick’ and he took the pills without crying, lashing out or just refusing until Mickey had to force him.

It’s all okay.

It is all going to be okay.

He texts Fiona and receives a reply that she’ll be over soon. Gallagher’s love a fuckin’ drama, he thinks wryly and then chides himself for being an asshole. The last couple of years the Gallagher clan have been pretty good about accepting Mickey and Fiona is always ready to help out when Ian hits a rough patch.

Mickey makes Ian a baloney sandwich, leaves it on the side with a glass of water, and goes out for his morning smoke.

He stands on the porch in his robe, a battered pair of tartan slippers on his bare feet, faded blue shorts and a tank top, a cigarette dangling from his lower lip. A couple of kids ride by on bikes, leaving tracks in the fresh snow, and one of them flips Mickey off. He returns the gesture and they pedal away, shrieking with delighted laughter. They’ll probably tell their friends that they flipped off Mickey Milkovich and got away with it. Mickey doesn’t care. His is one of the few houses that has never had a juvenile break in, that tells him all he needs to know about his status in the community, thank you very fuckin’ much.

The sounds of South Side fill the morning air and Mickey inhales deeply, appreciating the familiarity of them. Sirens, screeching tires, the deep rumble of machinery in the distance.

He settles into the creaky old lounger that Ian dragged home from Christ knows where and tips his head back, drawing heavily on his smoke. The material is cold even through his dressing gown but he doesn’t mind that. It’s peaceful out here and if he freezes his balls off it doesn’t really matter. He won’t be using them for a little while anyway with Ian like this.

He feels like he has forgotten something but shrugs it off. Ian had his pills, he’s got food, he’s got water … Mickey snorts and shakes his head. Sometimes caring for Ian in these phases feels like having a sick old cat: Feed it, medicate it, clean up its … SHIT!

Mickey hastily stubs the cigarette out and hurries into the house. He shrugs out of his robe and pushes their bedroom door open gently.

“Ian, hey, we gotta ...”

Mickey trails off as his eyes light on the glass of water. No longer clear, it is now a dull yellow. Ian has pissed in the glass. It is full to the brim, Mickey’s gaze follows the splashes on the table, down the draw, and he knows, without looking there is going to be a big old wet patch on the floor. It’s not Ian’s fault. He knows it isn’t, but his eyebrows are still up to his hairline and his lips compress into a tight line.

Mickey rakes a hand over his face and waits in the doorway until he can be sure that his temper is under control.

“Okay. Fuck. Alright ...”

Mickey nods to himself and stalks into the bathroom grabbing a bucket, cloth and bottle of disinfectant all the while worrying at his lower lip with his teeth.

As he enters the bedroom, he composes his face to neutrality. Ian is looking out from the cocoon of his blanket with flat, red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s on the carpet.”

Ian whispers miserably. Mickey shrugs and glances down dismissively as if the carpet brought it on its fucking self by being in Ian’s way.

“It doesn’t matter. Carpets shit anyway.”

Mickey gingerly tips the glass into his bucket; not bothering to try to pick it up, it is too full. He drops the cloth to the carpet and stamps onto it a few times, spraying the bedside table with disinfectant at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

Ian shakes his head hopelessly and Mickey gives him a lopsided little smile

“Meh. We’ve all been there. I once pissed in Mandy’s cereal bowl ‘cause I didn’t wanna pause a video game. Don’t worry about it.”

A tear slides down Ian’s nose but he manages to lift one trembling corner of his mouth at the anecdote as Mickey pats his cheek very softly, stroking the tip of Ian’s short sideburns with his finger. Mickey hates seeing him like this, somehow when Ian is in the grip of a deep depression it is easier, the rules and limitations become more defined. This is a weird middle ground, the pills are trying to work but they are just enough out of sync to keep Ian submerged below the waterline of his illness.

“Hey. You listening to me? It’s okay.”

“You must hate me.”

“Not in this life, Gallagher.”

The kiss Mickey places against Ian’s lips is a full stop rather than a question mark and Ian reaches up to trace the curve of Mickey’s cheekbone gratefully. There is a flash of utter clarity amongst the clouding of his vision and Ian sighs gently. He doesn’t have the energy to reassure Mickey that he is still there, he just has to trust that he already knows.

Fiona arrives just as Mickey is finishing the clean-up and wiping Ian’s hands with a couple of the little wipes they keep for Yev.

“Hey Sweetface.”

She murmurs and spends a few minutes speaking in a soft, sweet voice to Ian and catching him up on family gossip. He doesn’t show any signs of interest but he is acknowledging the information and that is something. Mickey loiters on the edge of the bed, his fingers lightly resting on Ian’s foot. He is glad that Fiona is telling him normal shit, sometimes she can get a bit maudlin and it puts him on edge, plus he doesn’t want her making Ian feel worse. Once he is content that Ian is in safe hands, Mickey excuses himself to make coffee and when Fiona comes out of the bedroom, they sit at the table to drink it.

“What can I do to help, Mickey?”

Mickey taps the rim of his mug and sighs

“Not a whole lot for this but I was wonderin’ if you could watch him for a few hours on Thursday? If he’s not feelin’ better, you know?”

Fiona nods and sips her drink, it’s stronger than she’s used to but looking at the lines beside Mickey’s eyes, he desperately needs it strong today.

“What time?”

“Late afternoon? I gotta job to do and it’s kinda time sensitive. I’d tell the guy I can’t do it but I took the cash up front so now it feels shitty to bail on him.”

“You got a job?”

Fiona looks so happy that Mickey feels almost sorry to burst her nosy bubble

“Ah … not like … uh … it’s just a beat down. Some guy is havin’ trouble gettin’ his daughter’s ex to fuck off and he asked me if I could help.”

Mickey can feel the blush that creeps into his cheeks and scowls defensively, although to be fair Fiona hasn’t actually said anything but it still feels a little awkward admitting how he pays the bills.

“We need the money.”

“Sure, of course.”

Fiona’s smile is a little more stretched but credit to her, she’s trying to look impartial and Mickey cocks his eyebrow at her, letting a small grin lift his own lips.

“It’s a full service in this house. I beat ‘em up and Ian gets the call to go fix ‘em up.”

Fiona gives a surprised snort and her smile relaxes into a much more genuine grin.

“Fuckin’ Milkovichs.”

“Fuckin’ Gallaghers.”

Mickey counters as they touch coffee cups lightly and Fiona hands Mickey a cigarette. It isn’t exactly a friendship, but it’s close. Fiona respects that Mickey stands by Ian during his periods of illness and Mickey respects that Fiona shows up when he asks her. He suspects that the old superiority complex is still there deep down, but she treats him evenly and the whole family is great with Yevgeny, so fuck it. Sometimes you gotta accept the wins where you find them.

“Are you guys gonna be OK?”

“We’ll be fine. Tomorrow or Thursday, he’ll pick up and we’ll get to the clinic. Just a balance issue with the meds.”

Mickey’s tone doesn’t leave room for any disagreement so Fiona just nods and glances around the sparsely decorated little house. She likes how easy it is to pick out who chose what. The bright coloured cereal bowls, army paraphernalia and colourful movie posters are Ian to the life, whilst the solid, dark wood coffee table and Jack Daniels posters are very obviously Mickey. She glances at the no-nonsense black cup in her hands: Mickey.

“What happened to the wall?”

Fiona frowns at the gaping hole in the wall beside the TV and Mickey shrugs

“Milkovich temper tantrum.”

He hedges and to his joint relief and horror, Fiona gives him a sympathetic look and sighs

“Yev did that? Jesus. Trust me, the tantrums they have at five are nothing compared to the meltdowns of a pissed off eight year old. Carl once cracked a car wind-shield.”

Mickey makes a non-committal noise and buries his nose in his mug.

The next few of days pass in a really fucking monotonous blur for Mickey. Ian is either asleep, crying or angry. It is a low dip but it’s not the sort where he can’t function at all.

He can still demand that Mickey go out and get him some coke to help his mood, then throw a plate of food across the room when he is refused.

He can still recognise that he’s being difficult and sob his guilt and remorse into Mickey’s chest before pushing him away again.

Mickey just replaces the thrown food, refuses to get anything stronger than a joint, and strokes him back to sleep when he cries. What else can he do?

It is part of the illness, part of his body and mind trying to readjust and find a way through. Mickey knows all this, Ian’s doctor has explained it and Mickey has seen it several times. It can be hurtful, sure, but Mickey has taken a lot worse from people he doesn’t like half as much as Ian, so he figures he can handle it when it occurs.

On the fourth morning, Mickey lays down beside Ian after giving him his pills and kisses from his elbow to shoulder, resting his chin on him after the final kiss.

“I love you.”

He murmurs, sweeping a length of slightly greasy hair back behind Ian’s ear. Mickey kisses the muscular shoulder again and feels his body begin to stir. He shifts his hips back, not wanting Ian to feel the bulge in his pants. It isn’t anything Mickey can control, being near Ian is enough to get him going, no matter the circumstances, but Ian doesn’t need that kind of attention right now.

They watch a couple of shows and Mickey reads while Ian sleeps. It isn’t difficult exactly but it is boring as Hell.

When Fiona comes to relieve him of Ian watch for a couple of hours, Mickey is actually a little excited to get out of the house and work out some of his tensions and frustrations on some little punk who needs to learn when to back off.

He drives over to his clients place and parks a block over in case it goes to shit and the cops show up. This part of town is worse even than where he and Ian grew up and a few suspicious looking dudes glance appraisingly in his direction before clearly thinking better of it and going back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

One guy follows Mickey a couple hundred yards and Mickey toys with the idea of using him for practice, it’s been a while since he had a proper fight but it all seems a bit too much like hard work and although he’s glad to be out, he is worrying about Ian and his head isn’t really in the game.

The guy begins to move in on Mickey and with an impatient grunt, Mickey pulls his butterfly knife out of his jacket pocket and begins to flick it to and fro, flashing the blade with a familiar deadly grace, the metal making little ‘snicking’ sounds as it flits between his fingers.

The guy disappears down a side street and Mickey knocks on his clients door without further incident.

“Oh shit! Mickey, hey!”

“Hey Joe. You ready?”

“Oh man, listen, Ariel got back with the little prick last week, I meant to call you ...”

Mickey raises his eyebrows in irritation

“I already spent that money, Joe.”

Joe, a retired boxer and occasional bouncer flinches back at the frustrated look on the younger man’s face. He hasn’t seen the youngest Milkovich boy for a while but he seems pretty fired up and Joe knows from experience that underestimating his temper is a fool’s errand, it’s why he hired him in the first place.

“Keep it, she’ll break up with him soon and I’ll call you. OK?”

Mickey is bitterly disappointed but nods curtly.

“Alright man. Take it easy.”

“You too, Mickey.”

Mickey pauses to light a cigarette on the doorstep and hears a bolt slid discreetly into place. That cheers him up a little, he likes it when big guys feel a bit uncertain of him and Joe is a really big guy. Mickey supposes its professional pride but it is nice to know that your work is so respected that people want to make sure you don’t turn it around on them.

He considers chasing down one of the smack-head assholes who wanted to go with him earlier but decides against it. It would be just his luck to get arrested and Fiona might be okay with Ian for a few hours but Mickey doesn’t trust her (or anyone else for that matter) to see Ian through the rest of this shitty thing if he ends up doing a couple weeks inside. He’s never been away from Ian before during a depressive episode and fuck knows what would happen if Mickey got sent down right when Ian needed him most. Nothing good, that is for sure. Mickey flares his nostrils, chucks the butt of his cigarette into the gutter and heads toward his home.

“How is he?”

He asks as soon as he gets in and Fiona grimaces

“Mean. You know how it can go. I tried to feed him but he wouldn’t eat. He’s watching YouTube videos in bed.”

Looking up at Mickey she does a double take and scowls

“Jesus. You look deranged. What happened?”

“Nothin’ job got cancelled.”

He answers tersely and then gestures to his bedroom.

“The videos are good, right? He’s engaging with the world around him and all that. It’s a good thing.”

Mickey repeats, frowning at Fiona.

“Yeah of course but, Mickey, he’s being kind of a prick and you look strung out … you want me to stick around?”

“Why? In case I flip out and beat the shit out of him?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

Fiona is just tall enough to tower over him slightly and unlike Joe, she has no fucking fear. Mickey pushes a hand through his hair and shrugs against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m not gonna do that. Thanks for hanging out and all but I got it.”

He won’t outright tell Ian’s family to leave unless he has to but it’s a close call and Fiona seems to understand this as she begins to gather her coat and scarf without comment.

“How much longer can you do this, Mickey?”

“Long as it takes.”

“He might need ...”

“Whatever it is he needs, I can give him. This is his home.”

Fiona gives Mickey a sympathetic look and he shifts his eyes, not wanting to meet her concerned gaze. She’s never tried to force him to take Ian to hospital, but she has suggested it before and Mickey desperately hopes she’ll leave it alone now. He doesn’t have the patience today. Fiona clearly thinks this too as she shrugs and says

“If you need me, just call.”

“Yeah thanks.”

Mickey nods and waits with his arms folded whilst she says goodbye to Ian. He expects her to just leave but she pauses beside him and gives his cheek a tiny kiss too.

“See you Mickey.”

“Uh… yeah, you too.”

His words don’t make sense but then neither does the kiss so Mickey doesn’t worry about it too much.

Time passes. Ian’s mood doesn’t improve and neither does Mickey’s.

It has been eight days since Ian came home in a foul mood and went to bed.

Eight days and the hole is still in the wall, the controller hasn’t been replaced, the laundry isn’t piling up because neither of them are changing their damn clothes but the dishes are high in the sink and Mickey forgot to do Yev’s assignment with him so Svet has pitched a fit over text. Things are falling apart gradually and all Mickey wants is for Ian to eat something and have a wash.

He looks down at the cracked plate and the squashed and scattered sandwich remains on the carpet. Ian had asked for the sandwich. Mickey had made the sandwich. Ian had thrown the fucker into a wall.

“Guess you didn’t fancy it, huh?”

No response. Ian doesn’t even look up from his phone.

“You want me to make you another one?”

Nothing.

“How about some chips? Give the vacuum cleaner a bit of textural variety?”

Ian glances up from the video he is watching but doesn’t answer. Mickey’s patience slips

“... or maybe I could just shove the whole fuckin’ meal deal up your ass?”

“Fuck off.”

Ian glances up from his phone and glares at his boyfriend. Mickey tongues at his upper lip, clearly aggravated. The room stinks, Ian stinks. It is the cloying smell of an unwashed body and Mickey is sick of it.

“Fine. Don’t eat but you gotta wash.”

Mickey informs him, stripping down to his own boxers ready to get Ian to the shower, his legs will be wobbly after so long in bed.

“No.”

“Ian …”

“No.”

“It’ll just take a minute …”

“You fucking deaf? I SAID NO!”

Ian roars, sliding down the mattress, dragging the blanket back over his head. Mickey’s own temper flares as he presses his lips together tightly, raises his eyebrows and yanks the blanket away again with a sharp tug.

“I’ve had enough of this shit! Get the fuck up! You are on your fuckin’ phone watchin’ videos. You ain’t so far gone you can’t get up.”

He half crawls onto the mattress, intending to haul Ian off bodily and put him in the fuckin’ shower, even if he has to hold the fucker under himself.

“Go away, Mickey!”

The back of Ian’s hand catches Mickey just under his eye and he jerks back, startled.

“Ow! Fuck, Ian!”

Ian curls inward, turning his face into the pillow.

Mickey gets off the bed and closes the door behind him as he leaves. He isn’t built for this shit. When Yev had tantrums as a toddler he pretty much either ignored them or handed the kid over to Ian to deal with.

Ian is the one who deals with peoples shit. He’s the one who smooths stuff over and stays calm. Mickey doesn’t.

He tugs on some sweat pants and a thick sweater of Ian’s still over the back of the couch.

His cheek is stinging and Mickey’s hands are trembling from the shock of the whole damn thing. He paces around the house uncertain of whether or not to go back in. He decides against it.

He drinks a beer and smokes three cigarettes outside on the porch, slumped down in the lounger. He shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have snatched Ian’s cover away, shouldn’t have tried to force him. So many things he shouldn’t fucking do and he does most of them anyway.

His phone vibrates in his pants pocket and Mickey glances down at it expecting it to be Svetlana about the school project again.

Ian: I’m sorry. I love you. Please come back.

Mickey doesn’t want to go back into that room. He slips his phone back into his pocket and pretends he hasn’t seen the message. Just ten more minutes, that’s all he needs. Ten minutes to himself and then he’ll go and lie with Ian or anything else his boyfriend wants of him.

Five minutes pass and Mickey is just about to light his last smoke when the back door squeaks and Mickey looks round, one eyebrow arched in surprise. Ian is stood in boxers and vest, shivering in the cold, looking down at him in absolute misery.

“Fuck, man! Get inside!”

Mickey stumbles to his feet, smoke curling out of his nostrils as he clamps the cigarette between his lips and barrels Ian back into the house.

“I’m so sorry, Mickey.”

Ian is trembling from head to toe and Mickey grabs a blanket from the couch, throwing it around Ian’s shoulders like a cape, rubbing his arms brusquely.

“It’s okay.”

“Your eye’s all puffy … Jesus.”

Ian’s lip joins the rest of his body, quaking miserably and Mickey makes an impatient noise at the back of his throat.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, both my eyes are puffy.”

Ian shakes his head and shakes off Mickey’s hands, reaching out and pulling his boyfriend roughly into his chest, holding him close.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay...”

“Stop saying that! I’m sick, I’m not a little kid. Stop telling me it’s okay!”

Ian orders, and he sounds so much like his usual-self Mickey doesn’t even want to argue back. He likes authoritative Ian, he likes it when Ian takes charge of situations so that Mickey doesn’t have to. One of the hardest parts about the depressive episodes for Mickey is the responsibility of it all. What Ian eats, drinks, when he takes his meds, it is all down to Mickey and he hates it. He wants Ian to be in charge of his own life.

“Fine. It’s not okay. You’re being really fuckin’ hard to handle and I sort of want to kick your ass.”

“I know.”

Ian nods his chin against the top of Mickey’s head.

“I’m glad you’re up.”

Mickey says quietly and Ian nods

“I thought you might have left me.”

“Not likely.”

Mickey smiles against Ian’s chest and then pulls back looking up at him.

“You and me are for life, Firecrotch. We’re family.”

Mickey gives Ian a serious look as he says this and the younger man nods.

“Okay.”

Ian’s eyelids start to droop again. The adrenaline that got him this far is wearing off and his legs are shaking alarmingly. Mickey takes some of his weight and begins to guide him toward the bedroom but hesitates.

“Bathroom first.”

“But ...”

“Two minutes.”

He says firmly. Ian’s eyes drift down to him and it is as though Ian sees, really sees, Mickey for the first time in days. The tiredness, the strain, the smell of them both.

“Oh shit, Mick …”

“What? You think I look like shit? Man, I’m a fuckin’ runway model compared to you.”

Mickey smooths Ian’s greasy hair and kisses his hairy cheek. They’re both sporting the beginnings of beards and the soft rasp of stubble is so calming that Ian actually turns his cheek, pressing it closer to Mickey. The effort is exhausting but the smile it raises on his boyfriends face is worth it.

“You actually like this, huh?”

Mickey asks softly and Ian nods.

“Sexier on you now than when we were kids.”

“Alright. Well, we don’t have to shave mine but we gotta shave yours. Makes you look like a damn schnauzer. I’m gonna start the shower and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

Ian feels a tear slide over his nose, and Mickey’s breath hitches as he notices it, but when he speaks, his voice is firm.

“I need you to help me, Ian. I can’t carry you.”

The amount of weight Ian has lost in the last week, this is probably not true but it has the desired effect and Ian straightens his spine determinedly.

“OK.”

“Good.”

Ian hears the water running in the bathroom, he hears Mickey’s tuneless humming, and he hears his heart pounding in his temples and knows that it beats for the man who is so desperately trying to take care of him. Ian grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and with great effort, he tugs his shirt over his head and peels out of his boxers.

It is like moving through a swamp, like his limbs have turned into thick rubber noodles that refuse to cooperate with his minds commands but he takes the few steps he needs to reach the bathroom door and pushes it open.

Mickey is leaning over the bath, his sweater sleeves pushed up, testing the temperature of the water raining down. His ass is jutting out in a sweet, round bubble against the soft fabric of the sweats. Ian feels nothing at all and the realisation stops him cold.

Then Mickey turns and he is smiling that wide, generous smile that is only for Ian, all white teeth and creased eyes, his nose scrunching just the tiniest bit and Ian manages another step forward.

Two weeks later

Mickey wakes to the smell of coffee and waffles. He blinks, frowns, squints against the small stream of sunlight that has found a chink in the curtains and is falling stubbornly over Mickey’s face. It takes him a few seconds to process the smells in conjunction with a small, warm weight covering his back.

He half pushes himself upright but an impatient noise stills his movements as a little hand takes a fistful of his t-shirt.

‘Yev’ Mickey thinks with a small huff. He half remembers the kid coming in during the night and squeezing in between him and Ian. He considers it a bad habit and something of a liberty but Ian doesn’t seem to mind at all so Mickey tend to just stake his claim on as much mattress as possible and ignores it.

Now, Mickey rolls over slowly until the weight dislodges with another grunt and a tiny bump on Ian’s side of the bed.

“Yeah, that’s what you get.”

Mickey mumbles as he sits on the edge of the bed and fondly smooths the frantic sweep of Yevgeny’s hair down, tucking the blanket around his sturdy little shoulders.

“Good Papa.”

Yev murmurs up at him approvingly, already slipping back toward sleep. Mickey smiles to himself and yawns widely.

Padding out of the bedroom he makes his way downstairs rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Ian is moving slowly around the kitchen, he looks tired but content. Mickey’s eyes flick toward the pill box and he notices the lid is flipped up which means Ian has remembered to take them. He’s been doing really well since the meds changed but Mickey always checks.

“Good morning.”

“Oh! Oh shit! I wanted to surprise you!”

Ian pauses mid waffle flip, a tiny frown creasing his brow

“You did.”

Mickey assures him, scratching at his beard. It’s come in a lot fuller than the last time he tried to grow one at seventeen and it’s actually pretty impressive now. Ian has tried to convince him to go for the full ‘Hipster’ look but Mickey has to draw a line somewhere and apparently, it gets drawn at a top-knot.

“How you feeling?”

“Shitty but I made breakfast and don’t feel like I need to sleep again already so I’m doing great, right?”

Ian lets his expression soften into a self-effacing smile and pours Mickey a cup of coffee.

“Damn right, you are.”

Mickey sips his drink and snakes a hand around Ian’s waist, palming him lightly.

“Not while the waffles are cooking.”

Ian’s scolds but his smile broadens when Mickey clucks his tongue in faux impatience.

“Fine but they better be damn good waffles.”

“Oh you know it. Sit your ass down and I’ll bring you some over.”

“Make sure I get the biggest one. You always give it to Yev.”

“Are you pouting?”

Ian laughs as Mickey settles into his usual spot at the head of the table and lights a cigarette

“Not yet.”

Mickey says evenly, flashing Ian a smile around the smoke. Ian serves them up, making sure to give Mickey the largest one and putting Yev’s share in the oven to keep warm. They eat in an easy silence, Ian’s foot nudging gently against his boyfriends.

“Hey, listen, I gotta patch up that hole in the wall today and I know we’re gonna take Yev home, but once we’ve done that … you wanna head down to town hall?”

“What for?”

Ian looks up from his plate and gives Mickey a sweet, wonky smile. Mickey scratches the side of his nose a little embarrassed and shrugs

“I figure now you’re out of bed, we’ll get married.”

Ian chokes on his coffee and Mickey pounds his back with a little bit of unnecessary force

“Jesus. I didn’t realise the thought of marrying me would make you wanna kill yourself by fuckin’ beverage inhalation.”

“No it’s … well, fuck! I wasn’t expecting it that’s all.”

Ian truly wasn’t. If anything he was bracing himself for a talk about maybe not being quite right for each other or something. He knows it’s stupid, that Mickey loves him and is fiercely loyal but when Ian has come out the other side of an episode, manic or depressive, he always wonders at the back of his mind if this will be the one to finally push his boyfriend away.

“Look it’s not a roses and champagne proposal it’s just … Fiona is your next of kin and fuck knows who mine is. I wanna know that if something happens it’s you and me who make the big decisions.”

Ian’s smile wavers but holds

“Did she try and get me into hospital?”

“No, but I wanna know that no one can. I make that call for you. You make it for me. Seems right.”

Mickey shrugs and looks shiftily between his coffee cup and the bright green eyes of his partner.

“So? Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Jesus Christ, Ian. Marry me! Will you marry me?”

Mickey’s eyebrows are half-way to irritated and Ian grins at him

“I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Asshole.”

Mickey suppresses his own grin, nudging his tongue into the corner of his mouth impatiently when Ian continues to stare at him.

“Ian, I swear if you don’t give me a fuckin’ answer, like, now…”

“Yes, Mick. I’ll marry you.”

“Today?”

Mickey prompts, blue eyes shining with happiness that he cannot quantify and doesn’t try to.

“Yes, today.”

Ian laughs, nodding and then seems to think of something else and shakes his head a little.

“Are you sure though? You really want ...”

“I just asked you, didn’t I?”

Mickey says sternly but tempers his tone with a soft kiss on Ian’s cheek.

“Yeah but …”

“It’s you and me, Gallagher. For life.”

“I’m so fucking lucky to have you.”

Mickey flushes slightly at the unexpected praise and Ian grips the back of his head, drawing him close and kissing the tip of his nose, lips twitching with a hidden smile

“You hear me? I am lucky to have you. You are a kind, generous, good person Mickey.”

Ian holds Mickey’s gaze until he is sure the words have sunk in and then pulls him into a kiss, knowing Mickey is more comfortable with expressing himself physically than verbally and damn, does Mickey express himself well.

Ian’s mouth is warm and welcoming and the sweet tang of syrup mingles with the taste of coffee and cigarettes. Mickey sighs into him as Ian drops his fingers questioningly into Mickey’s lap and finds the answer all too apparent.

The words “I love you” float up between them and it is not clear which voice speaks them, but it doesn’t matter. They are simply and irrevocably true.

#gge2017 #shameless #shameless fanfiction #mickey milkovich #Ian Gallagher #ian x mickey #yevgeny milkovich #Bipolar ian #Love #gallavich #happy ending

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