#rare moment storm is happy alert

[okeancsa]

y'all im down bad for a girl. like out here kicking my feet and shit down bad

[velarisdusk]

Beneath the Vines

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

word count: 6.7k

content: [ explicit sexual content, sex pollen (so, dub-con), unprotected PIV, public sex (forest setting), language, rough sex, biting/marking ]

summary: Seeking refuge from court politics in a secluded part of the forest, Lucien meets a female from the Summer Court searching for a hidden spring. He offers to guide her, but their journey takes an unexpected turn when he comes into contact with a mysterious pollen...

author's note: this idea has been cooking in the back of my mind since i finished the first book back in december, so i'm happy to finally share it :) writing some of his lines and the narration had me swooning i love him your honor

Lucien let out a long breath as the sounds of the court faded behind him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with warm patches that shifted in the gentle breeze. He closed his eyes, focusing on the soft rustling of branches and distant birdsong. It was rare to find such quiet moments, free from the constant dance of court politics and expectations. As the tension in his shoulders slowly eased, Lucien allowed his thoughts to wander, no longer needing to guard every expression and word. 

His brow furrowed as he mulled over the latest reports from their border scouts. Hybern was growing bolder, their movements more frequent and less concealed. He’d tried to discuss it with Tamlin, but the High Lord seemed more concerned with maintaining the illusion of peace, instead focusing his people and efforts on the upcoming Calanmai festivities. 

A twig snapped beneath Lucien’s boot as he began to pace. Rumors were swirling through the courts. Whispers of Hybern’s king sending one of his most cunning generals to Prythian. Amarantha, they called her. The name tasted like ash on his tongue. 

He paused, leaning against a tree trunk, its rough bark grounding him. How long could the Spring Court afford to turn a blind eye? How long before the fragile peace between the courts shattered under the weight of this looming threat? Lucien’s gaze swept across the peaceful forest, so at odds with the turmoil in his mind. He’d seen firsthand how quickly alliances could shift, how devastating the fallout could be. This time, he vowed silently, he’d be prepared. Whatever storm was coming, he’d do everything in his power to ensure Spring weathered it. 

His ears pricked at the sound of rustling leaves, followed by the snap of a twig. In an instant, his posture changed from relaxed to alert. His hand flew to the dagger at his hip, drawing it in one fluid motion as he spun towards the source of the noise, russet eyes scanning the brush.

A figure emerged from behind a large oak, and Lucien found himself face to face with a female High Fae. She froze, eyes wide, clearly not expecting to encounter anyone else in this secluded part of the forest. Lucien’s grip on his dagger loosened slightly as he took in the unexpected sight before him. The female stood there, clearly startled, holding a woven tote bag over one shoulder. Her hair flowed slightly in the wind, and she wore a sheer, cream-colored crochet cover-up that did little to conceal the black swimsuit underneath. The ensemble was revealing for a trek through the forest. 

“Sorry to interrupt, kind sir,” she said sarcastically. “Just passing through.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“How could you possibly know that? You don’t even—”

“You’re looking for the spring, right? It’s not that way.” He gestured to his left, far ahead. “It’s hidden, and not in the direction you were headed.”

She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “And you know this because…?”

Lucien chuckled softly. “Because I’ve spent more time exploring these woods than I’d like to admit.”

She started walking off in the direction he signaled, and he jogged a bit to keep pace with her. “I can show you the way, if you’d like.”

After a moment’s hesitation, came a shrug and a nonchalant response. “Alright, lead the way then.”

He didn’t try to hide his smirk at her casual demeanor. 

As they fell into step together, he couldn’t help but notice the graceful way she moved across the uneven forest floor. He broke the silence after a moment.

“You’re not from the Spring Court, are you?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. 

Her lips formed a small smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m visiting from the Summer Court. I heard tales of the hidden natural springs here and couldn’t resist seeking them out,” she replied. “And the heat wave made the idea of a cool spring irresistible.”

Summer, he mused. She had a brightness about her, a warmth that seemed out of place in the cool shade of the forest.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Just beyond those trees over there, through the vines. I must admit, Summer, you certainly know how to find the most intriguing places.”

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “‘Summer’?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Seems fitting for a female as radiant as yourself.”

An eye roll failed to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her soft lips. 

“I’m Lucien,” he said, extending his hand with his palm up. 

She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand gently in his. “(Y/N),” she replied, her eyes meeting his with a spark of curiosity and amusement. 

“A pleasure, Summer,” Lucien said, his voice low and smooth. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across the back of it.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed to blend with the sounds of spring around them. “Nice to meet you too, Lucien.”

He lingered for a moment, their hands still lightly clasped, before finally releasing her. “Shall we?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes twinkling with intent. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Their conversation flowed easily as they walked, with Lucien pointing out various plants and sharing tidbits about them.

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to a vibrant blue flower.

“That’s moonbloom. It only opens at night, used in sleeping draughts,” Lucien explained, pleased by her interest.

“And that? The tree with the silver bark?”

“Whisperwood. The Court’s best instruments are carved from it.”

Their exchange continued, with Lucien sharing more about the flora they passed. Eventually, he turned the conversation to her.

“Tell me about the Summer Court. I’ve spent some time there, though I suspect there’s always more to learn.”

“It’s vibrant and full of life. There are endless festivities, stunning beaches, and exquisite food. I may be biased but of all the courts I’ve visited, Summer definitely has the best cuisine. People are already preparing for the solstice even though it’s barely March.” A soft sigh. “But… the constant activity, the heat… it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Time seemed to slip away as they walked, the forest around them a lush backdrop to their discussion. Eventually, they reached a curtain of vines hanging between two ancient trees. 

Lucien stepped forward gently parting the greenery. A fine, glittering pollen dusted his hand as he brushed against the vines. He blinked, momentarily disoriented by a sudden rush of warmth through his body, but he attributed it to the day’s heat. 

"After you," he said, holding the vines open with a slight bow, trying to shake off the lightheadedness.

Amusement and appreciation danced in her eyes, accompanied by a warm smile as she stepped through the vines. Lucien followed, letting the vines fall back into place behind them. As they walked, a sweet scent filled his senses — warm vanilla mingled with honey and a hint of sea salt. He found himself inhaling deeply, drawn to the aroma.

As they rounded a large boulder, the spring came into view, its serene beauty unfolding before them. The sight before them was breathtaking. A lush, verdant oasis spread out in a natural amphitheater, encircled by towering trees draped with cascading vines. The milky white pool at the center was fed by a small, delicate waterfall, its gentle cascade a soothing murmur that filled the air. Vibrant moss cloaked the surrounding rocks and tree roots, forming an ethereal green expanse that stretched to the water’s edge. Exotic flowers in vibrant hues dotted the landscape, their colors a stark contrast to the predominantly green surroundings. Above, the canopy formed a natural dome, with sunlight filtering through the intricate patterns of leaves, casting a magical glow over the alcove. 

"It's beautiful," her words were hardly more than a breath, eyes widening in genuine awe as she tentatively stepped deeper into the sanctuary.

Lucien nodded, his gaze drawn between the spring and his companion. "The minerals in the water give it that color," he explained, his voice taking on a rich, velvety quality that surprised even him. He cleared his throat and leaned against a tree, arms crossed. He watched as she  set her woven tote bag onto a nearby rock. Reaching over her shoulder to unfasten the tie of her cover-up, the delicate fabric slipped off her shoulders, revealing soft, smooth skin. The way the bikini she wore fit every dip and curve deliciously. His breath hitched as his russet eyes lingered on her, watching her with an intensity that surprised him. 

Flip flops discarded, she dipped a toe into the water, a shiver running up her spine as the coolness contrasted with the warm air. “Oh, that’s refreshing,” she murmured, taking a tentative step into the spring.

The water was unlike any she had ever felt, a soothing mixture of cool and silky, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. She fully submerged herself, the refreshing sensation washing over her as she disappeared beneath the surface. When she emerged, droplets of water clung to her skin, shimmering in the sunlight. 

A warmth spread through Lucien’s veins, his pulse quickening as he watched her. The way the sunlight played on her skin, highlighting the gentle curves and the elegance of her movements, captivated him. His thoughts grew hazy, his usually sharp focus dulled by the inexplicable urge to be closer to her. His gaze traced the line of her neck, watching as the breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. Every subtle shift, every graceful motion seemed to draw him in further. The serene pool and vibrant surroundings had practically faded, leaving only the mesmerizing vision of his Summer Court visitor before him. 

His…?

Lucien shook his head a bit, a useless attempt to rid himself of the growing intensity of his thoughts. It had to be the heat, it was getting to him. 

“You look hot,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Lucien blinked, momentarily flustered as he took in the way her wet hair clung to her, the bathing suit now a shade darker and clinging to her curves. She looked exquisite, the milky white water droplets glistening on her skin like tiny jewels. “So do you, Summer,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

She laughed, the sound like a light, bubbling brook. “I meant you’re dressed too warmly for this weather. Why don’t you join me and cool off?”

Lucien felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, as he began to undress. His fingers deftly unfastened his tunic, revealing a chiseled chest and toned muscles beneath. The sunlight filtering through the leaves cast tantalizing shadows across his skin, highlighting every ridge and contour. 

As he shrugged off his tunic, he noticed the sticky pollen coating his hand. He tried to rub it off onto the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to his skin. He frowned slightly. No matter, it would come off in the water. 

He continued undressing, kicking off his boots and undoing his belt, letting it fall to the forest floor. As he slipped out of his trousers, now standing in just his boxers, he couldn’t help but notice her eyes following his every move.

Lucien caught her gaze and held it, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He had been watching her watch him the entire time, a fact she only realized when she tore her eyes away from his body and looked up to meet his gaze.

With deliberate grace, he stepped into the water, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat bubbling beneath his skin. The spring’s translucent white waters swirled around his calves as he waded deeper, his eyes never leaving hers. 

He finally submerged himself, the water rippling around him as he moved closer to her. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, the playful smirk returning to his lips.

She felt her pulse quicken, the sight of him, all muscle and smooth confidence, stirring something deep within her. “Much,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. 

They floated together in the cool water, the soothing embrace of the spring relaxing their muscles. Lucien watched as she dipped her head back, letting her hair float around her like a halo. She closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“This place is incredible,” she said softly, her eyes still closed. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

Lucien smiled, his own tension easing in the tranquil atmosphere. “It’s one of the Spring Court’s hidden gems. Not many know about it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a flicker of curiosity. “How did you find it?”

He shrugged, moving closer. “I stumbled upon it years ago, during a particularly stressful time. This general area of the forest has been my escape ever since.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the coolness of the water. Lucien felt a tingling heat spreading through his body, no longer the gentle warmth of before. His thoughts kept drifting back to the female in front of him, the way her skin glistened with water droplets, to the curve of her lips when she smiled. He wanted to feel those lips.

He tried to push the thoughts aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more intense it became, his desire for her was becoming harder to control, the need to touch her, to feel her against him, was almost overwhelming. 

“This spring is said to have unique properties,” he continued, his eyes lingering on her face, her eyes, her lips. “Some say that bathing in its waters can bring good fortune, or help with one’s artistic talents.” He chuckled softly. “But others speak of it being enchanted in a more intimate way.”

This provoked a turn of the head and a raised eyebrow, curiosity peaked. "Well, I never cared much for fortune, and I’m a sorry excuse for an artist,” she laughed softly. “So what have you heard? About the intimacies of the spring?” An almost knowing smile graced her lips. 

He swallowed, trying to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug. “They say,” he began, slowly, “that the waters can awaken one’s deepest desires. Enhance one’s… physical urges.”

She smirked at that. “Sounds to me like whoever came up with that got to this spring already horny,” she laughed. At the shit-eating grin on his face, her laughter grew infectious. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, playfully shoving his shoulder.

But the touch was searing. He hissed, a jolt of electricity shot through Lucien’s body, his skin burning where her fingers made contact. His pulse quickened, and he felt a raw, primal need flare up inside him. The laughter faded, replaced by a charged silence. Every muscle in his body tensed as he struggled to keep composed. 

“Lucien?” Concern laced her voice. She reached out for him, but he flinched away from her touch, bringing his hands up to stop her. Hurt flashed across her face until she noticed… “What’s that on your hand?”

She reached out again, but he pulled his hand back, glancing at the sticky pollen coating his skin. Suddenly, it clicked. He knew what this was, had heard tales of its effects but had never encountered it personally.

“It’s… it’s this pollen,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It must’ve been on the vines at the entrance. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together…”

A mix of curiosity and concern filled her eyes. “What does it do?”

Lucien took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could hear his heart thrumming in his ears and wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw himself at the female mere feet across from him. “The pollen is known to,” he pauses with a sigh, choosing his words carefully. “It causes arousal, an intense arousal, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. It heightens every sensation, makes my skin feel like it’s on fire whenever you touch me.” She could see his chest rising and falling more shallowly, could hear his breaths coming more rapidly, could see his pupils dilate each time he looked at her. He hesitantly added, “The only way to get rid of its effects is through… physical intimacy.”

Her eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on her. “You mean…?”

He nodded, though his regretful expression barely concealed his longing. “Yes, but don’t concern yourself. This isn’t your problem to solve,” he said, his voice strained yet resolute. “I’ll return home and find a way to… handle this. You’re under no obligation here.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, clearly struggling with the pollen’s effects, but his eyes remained steady. “I apologize, it was careless of me not to recognize the signs sooner.”

With that, he turned, moving to exit the spring and retrieve his clothes. The cool water swirled around him as he took a step, but he felt a hand grasp his bicep, halting his retreat. The contact sent a shockwave of heat through his body, as if her hold would be permanently marked on the flesh there. His muscles coiled tightly beneath her touch, and he had to force himself to contain a whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Every sensation was amplified, transforming the simple gesture into an exquisite torment. He glanced back, his eyes darkening, surprise giving way to raw, unadulterated need. 

“It’s not such an inconvenience,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

His eyes widened in surprise, but she rolled hers, a playful smirk forming on her lips. “Don’t act so surprised, Lucien.” His name on her tongue sent a jolt of arousal through him, and he only realized now how painfully constricted his cock was. “It’s obvious I want you, and I think you wanted me even before the pollen?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I did. I do.”

Her smirk turned into a gentle smile as she reached out again, tracing a finger down his chest. “So let me help you.”

Lucien’s body tensed, caught between desire and restraint. “Wait,” he said, his voice husky. As he spoke, his hand dipped beneath the water, fingers flexing unconsciously. “You should know… I’ve managed to control myself thus far, but if we continue…” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice dropping to a low, strained growl. “Once I feel you, I won’t be able to stop.”

His fingers curled into a fist underwater. Most of the visible pollen had washed away, leaving only faint traces on his skin, but its effects still coursed through his body. The cool water did nothing to dull the rush of his blood pumping in his ears. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he refocused on her, his eyes full of want. 

“The pollen… it’s mostly gone now,” he managed, his breath nothing more than rhythmic, short pants. “But it’s like it’s under my skin, in my blood. I can feel it everywhere.” He unclenched his fist, watching as the last remnants of the pollen dissipated into the vast pool, now diluted and rendered harmless. “You won’t be affected, but I…” His eyes bore into hers, desperation in his voice as he spoke, “I’m burning for you, (Y/N).”

With a tender smile, she closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. Lucien's breath caught in his throat, her touch igniting sparks beneath his skin. His hands remained steadfast on the large stone submerged beneath the water behind him, as though touching her might shatter what fragile self-control he had left.

"It's okay," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "I've got you."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with exquisite softness. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a stark contrast to the fire raging within him. Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the sensation. Even in the cool water, heat radiated from his skin, and where her lips met his, it felt as though he might combust.

She drew back slightly, placing feather-light kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. Each touch was like a brand, marking him, stoking the flames of his desire. Seeing his hesitation, she gently guided his trembling hands to her waist. The sensation of her bare skin beneath her fingertips sent a shiver through him, and he instinctively bucked his hips against her, a long, deep whine escaping his lips like a plea. The sound shot straight to her core. 

"(Y/N)," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips. 

A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “Not ‘Summer’ anymore? I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name,” she spoke against his neck.

Lucien’s gaze was unfocused, looking at the vines on the other side of the spring, pupils dilated as he struggled to process her words. His breath came in short, ragged pants, and a fine tremor ran through his body. “Forget your name?” he murmured into her ear, his voice hoarse. Each word seemed to cost him great effort, as if speaking required immense concentration. “Darling, it’s the only word my mind can form right now.”

His fingers tightened on her waist, seeking an anchor as the world around him seemed to blur, leaving only her in sharp focus.

The gentleness of her actions was both a balm and a torment. His body screamed for more, for friction, for release from this exquisite agony. Yet he found himself surrendering to her pace, allowing her to lead him through this intoxicating haze. 

She returned to his lips, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Lucien responded with a low moan, the sound vibrating through both of them. The gentle waves of the spring embraced them, their cool touch contrasting with the heat building between them, intensifying every sensation.

Without breaking the kiss, Lucien’s hands tightened on her waist, subtly guiding them towards a shallower part of the water. He felt the solid presence of a smooth, submerged stone beneath him and sank down onto it, pulling her closer. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his, pressing her body against his so deliciously that he couldn’t help it when his hips bucked up hard against hers. She gasped in surprise, the sound mingling with their shared breath.

“I’m sorry, I—” he began, but she silenced him by grinding down onto him, her movements deliberate and slow, a wordless reassurance that sent yet another pulse of need crashing through him. His mind spun, every point of contact between them sent his nerves into a frenzy. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, warm and inviting. He let his hands roam, tracing the curve of her back, feeling the subtle shift of muscles beneath her skin. The way she moved against him, the soft gasps and moans escaping her lips, were a symphony that played directly into the hot coil within him. His hands wandered further, exploring every inch of her, committing the feel of her to memory. He caressed her sides, ran his fingers along the edges of her swimsuit. His touch was gently yet firm, reflecting his reverence for her as well as the uncontrollable hunger that coursed through him. 

But it wasn’t enough. The burning within him grew fiercer with each passing second. He needed more, craved more. The sensation of her grinding against him was driving him to the edge of sanity. It was sweet torture, the ache of unfulfilled need becoming almost unbearable. Lucien’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for more, for release — demanding it. The longing was a physical pain, a fire that consumed him from the inside out. 

“Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and low, a powerful undercurrent of desperation threading through it. “I need more, (Y/N). I can’t take it… I need you.” His eyes locked onto hers, a fierce determination in their depths, even as his words pleaded for relief. His grip tightened on her waist, guiding her movements with urgency and restraint, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. “Please,” he repeated, his voice a pained rasp. 

“You need me?”

A single, tense nod.

She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the same need. “Then take me,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Lucien captured her lips once more, much more hungrily this time, their bodies moving together in the water. Her hands raked over the expanse of his back, nails lightly digging in. She relished the feel of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Every contour and ridge of his body seemed sculpted for her hands alone. The power in his frame, the way he responded to her every touch, sent a thrill through her. Her hands wandered, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, and the tautness of his abdomen. Each caress was deliberate, savoring the sensation of his body and the way it reacted to her. 

Lucien's breath hitched as her hands moved lower, feeling the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the edge of his waistband. Her touch was both curious and confident, a gentle exploration and bold possession. 

With a low groan and little thought, Lucien's hands moved to her bikini top, tugging it up just enough to expose her chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, only taking a moment to admire them before descending upon them, his mouth eagerly finding her exposed skin. He left a collection of red and purple marks across them, and she couldn't help but hum softly at the sensation.

Smiling, she pulled the bikini top the rest of the way off, tossing it to the shoreline. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she remarked, her voice breathless and not nearly as teasing as she’d hoped it’d be.

Lucien looked up at her, his eyes so different than when they’d first encountered each other not an hour prior, a smirk playing at his lips. “Only for you,” he murmured before his mouth returned to her skin, his kisses hungry and possessive, leaving a trail of marks across her chest. He shifted slightly, the water lapping at his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his shoulder, not ceasing the movement of her hips. 

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, concern evident in her voice.

He straightened, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s unbearable. Every touch, every breath…I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.” He swallowed hard and brought her hand to the nape of his neck, leaning into her touch as if it were a lifeline. 

“Are you sure this is helping…? Maybe we could try—”

“(Y/N),” Lucien interrupted, his eyes wild and craving. “Doing anything but this would destroy me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, but I know… I know that I need you. All of you. I need to feel every inch of you against me.” His gaze locked onto hers, pupils dilated. “Your touch,” he choked out, “is both torment and salvation. I crave it like I crave air to breathe.” Lucien’s hands trembled as they moved to her hips, urging her closer. His fingers splayed across her skin, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between them. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the soft lapping of the water.

She shivered against him, not from the water, but from the raw emotion in his voice. She brought her hand from the back of his neck to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. 

“Lucien,” his name on her tongue was so pleasing to his ears. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, lean into her touch.

Her other hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, finally reaching the waistband of the only thing keeping all of him from her. 

“Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over his ear. Her hand traveled further yet, getting ahold of him, cupping him, squeezing him, feeling the size and weight of him.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, muscles taut. A strangled moan escaped from his lips, closing his eyes and rolling his head back. He dug his fingers into her hips, only vaguely aware of the frustrating barrier of her swimsuit. “(Y/N)...” Her touch, her ministrations, it was all so intense. “You’re driving me insane,” he growled.

A low chuckle emanated from her. “Say my name like that again, let me hear it.”

He obliged, her name falling from his lips like a reverent prayer, drawing out each syllable like a sinful plea. 

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Whether it was from his voice or the fact that he was tugging her bottoms off, he had no idea. But the sounds she let out were mouthwatering. He watched as she shuddered and moaned beneath his touch, letting out grunts and curses of his own. “Gods,” he rasped, his voice thick. “You sound so beautiful when you moan for me.”

She squeezed him sinfully at that bit of praise, moaning his name quietly. 

“Please touch me, (Y/N)... It hurts…”

In that moment she caved, both of them lifting up a bit to allow the other to rid them of their last bits of clothing. She tugged him a few times, grip tight and movements long. He rocked into her hand, a string of curses falling from his lips. Normally he wouldn’t unravel so quickly, but with every sensation magnified, he’d be surprised if he lasted another minute. 

“Sweetheart, you have to… Gods, please don’t stop,” he managed to gasp out, his hips rocking eagerly, his face scrunched in concentration. 

She met his gaze, her eyes darkening with desire. Nodding slightly, her breath coming out in puffs, she continued, increasing her pace while he maintained his movements into her hand. Lucien’s breath caught, his muscles tensed as waves of pleasure washed over him. He clung to her desperately, burying his face into the crook of her neck to muffle his increasingly vocal responses. His release coated her hand, but quickly washed away into the water as she continued stroking him through it. She murmured soft encouragements all the while. 

She felt his weight slumped against her, heard his breathing slow, found herself wondering if it had passed. She held him close, running a soothing hand along his back, through the hair and the nape of his neck.

When he finally lifted his head, she was ready to greet him with a warm smile, but where she expected either newfound calm or lingering distress, she found neither. On the contrary, it almost seemed as if their actions amplified his hunger. 

Lucien wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and found himself rutting his hips up, thoughtlessly trying to find her entrance. She gained purchase on a stone behind him, her chest hovering over his face. With a groan, he released one of his arms from around her, using the hand to guide himself. But when his fingers brushed against her and she let out the softest, most helpless whimper he’d heard in his life, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear more from her. He replaced the head of his cock with his fingers, shakily grazing over her folds. 

Her repeated mantra of “oh’s” and “yes’s” goaded him on, and as he dipped his fingers further through them, he slowly thrusted the still-hard length of himself along her cunt. The caress of both on her sensitive skin getting to be too much. “Lucien, why don’t you just—” What bordered on a wail interrupted her words when he let his tip brush against her clit, the first meaningful relief of pressure she’d gotten there all this time. 

“Wanna feel you, wanna make sure you’re alright,” she could hardly recognize his voice, it sounded pained, his words slurred. “Don’t want… to hurt you.” When he went to slip his fingers into her, she pulled them away, moving to seat herself on him.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him she was alright. “I’m helping you, just worry about yourself, okay?” But he shook his head, insisting that he wanted her to feel just as good as he did. “I will. I am.” With that, she lowered herself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Their faces were a mirror of shared ecstasy, expressions soft with contentment. They were entwined — she cradled in his embrace, he sheathed within her warmth. 

Lucien's world had narrowed to this single point in time and space. Any remaining semblance of coherent thought dissolved entirely. The feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the scent of her hair — these were the only realities that existed for him now. Nothing else mattered — not the court, not his duties, not even his own name. There was only her, only this. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he tightened his hold, desperate to remove any open space from between them. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving only base instinct and overwhelming need.

“(Y/N),” he huffed, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t… I need…”

Words failed him, but his body spoke volumes. Trembling muscles, racing pulse, sharp breaths. He was a male consumed. Lucien heard her voice distantly. 

“It’s okay… Take what you need, Lucien.”

As she pulled herself up, something primal awakened in him. Lucien drove his hips up into her and moved with fervent intensity, his actions far beyond conscious control. Every fiber of his being sang with pleasure, drowning out all else. Nothing beyond this moment.

He was dimly aware of sounds escaping him — groans, gasps, fragmented words of reverence. There was only feeling, only her, only them. 

The spring water surged around them, disturbed by the frenzied movements of their bodies. Each trust was relentless, powerful, driven by an urgent need. Lucien’s hands guided her by the hips with a force that left no room for gentleness.

He groaned her name, told her he needed more of her. He didn’t know how it would be possible, in this moment she was his everything. 

Her responses were lost in a series of breathless moans and gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to match his relentless rhythm. “Lucien… don’t stop… please…”

The words spurred him on, his pace now frantic. His eyes bore into hers. Every thrust, every movement, was a raw expression of his need, amplified by the pollen’s effects coursing through his veins.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. She clung to him, feeling the intensity of his desire in each powerful motion. The friction and pressure were overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her body responded to his instinctually, her moans and cries echoing through the trees around them.

“So… damn good… So tight,” he groaned into her.

She gasped, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rode him, rode the pleasure coursing through her. “Lucien… oh gods… you’re so deep, I can’t,” she buried her face into the crook of his neck. All she saw was the tanned color of his skin, the golden red of his hair, and smelled the earthy scent of cedar and fresh rain, mingling with the faintest hint of smoke and spice.

He shook his head. “Don’t hold back… Let me hear you. Tell me—fuck—tell me how good it feels.”

Her voice came out in broken gasps, each word punctuated by a moan. “It’s… so good… you’re so good... I can't... I need…”

Lucien's lips found her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before he sucked hard, leaving a mark. "Need what, darling? I want to hear you say it."

"Need you... need you to make me come," she confessed, her voice trembling with need. "Please, Lucien... I’m so close."

He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. "Anything for you, love." His mouth trailed down to her chest, his lips closing around one of her nipples. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. "Lucien... yes, just like that... don't stop..."

His free hand snaked between their bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. He rubbed in firm, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The combined sensations of his mouth on her nipple, his fingers on her clit, and the relentless drive of his hips were too much.

Her body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she teetered on the edge of release. Lucien bit down gently on her nipple, the sudden spike of pain mingling with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing her over the edge. She shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that left her breathless and trembling.

Lucien didn’t slow, riding out her climax, his own release following swiftly. With a final, powerful thrust, he let out a primal roar, spilling into her with a force that made stars dance behind his eyelids.

For a moment, they were locked together, their breaths harsh and mingled, hearts racing in unison. Slowly, as the intensity of their climaxes began to fade, they slumped into the water, still entwined, the spring's cool embrace a stark contrast to the heat of their encounter.

Lucien pressed his forehead against hers, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Are you... alright?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse with lingering desire and concern.

She nodded weakly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "More than alright," she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "That was... incredible."

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through both of them. 

She lifted her head slightly, looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling now?"

Lucien took a deep breath, still holding her close. "I still feel it," he admitted, his voice softer now, more controlled. "But it's much more manageable.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I was worried for a moment there."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his eyes softening. "You were amazing," he whispered. 

They lingered in the water for a few more moments, their breaths slowly returning to normal. But the connection between them, the raw need, was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

And then Lucien moved again, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "But I think," he said, his voice taking on that rough, hungry edge once more, "that we have a bit more to take care of."

She shivered in anticipation, her own desire flaring up once again. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

His answer was a low growl as he shifted their positions, lifting her up and guiding her onto a nearby rock. He took her again there, their bodies moving together with a renewed intensity. Then, he turned her around, bending her over it, her cries echoing through the spring as he thrust into her from behind.

They moved to the water's edge next, Lucien pulling her onto his lap as he sat on a submerged boulder. She rode him hard, the water splashing around them as their movements grew more frantic.

Later, he laid her down on a bed of soft moss, hovering over her as he entered her again. The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one pushing them both closer to the edge once more.

And when they finally left the spring, sated but still hungry for each other, Lucien carried her back to his chambers. He laid her on his bed, driven by a deeper need, something more enduring. There, in the privacy of his room, he took her yet again, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and connection, free from any enchantments, driven only by their desire for each other.

[eebydeebyderby]

Are You Ready?

A one-shot in which Reader tends to a badly-injured Egon Spengler in the firehouse during a blizzard lockdown.

General info:

Female reader insert, Hurt/comfort, Egon Spengler whump, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending

~4.0k word count

Content Warnings:

Blood, description of injuries (he'll be fine, I swear)

The world is frozen over. 

The city is in complete lockdown as the blizzard rages outside, the worst storm since the ten-day ice freeze of 1931. It was quite sudden, with the city only getting three hours of notice as the eye of the storm approached from the Atlantic. There was quite a frantic scramble outside as people scurried around to secure spots, with sirens and car horns and chatter echoing through the city. But, the only noises coming from outside now are the deafening howls of the blizzard. Emergency services will be completely unavailable for the next twelve hours until the worst of the storm passes, and rolling blackouts are expected throughout the city’s power grid. 

Egon sits cozy in his lab, where the sounds of the storm are only a faint whisper. He has the entirety of the firehouse to himself, a rare luxury that he’s eagerly enjoying. It isn’t that he dislikes his coworkers—far from it, he’s quite fond of everyone—but, for the most part, solitude is his preferred state. He doesn’t have to worry about entertaining anyone, doesn’t have to worry about carefully treading around delicate social customs that he so-often blunders through. 

He hears footsteps descending towards the lab and he's immediately annoyed. He was looking forward to his night of solitude and now that was ruined.

“Egon?” a voice calls out. “Are you down here?” 

Oh. It's you. 

Immediately his annoyance fades, replaced by a nervous excitement that bubbles in his chest. “Yes. I'm down here.” 

You trot down into the lab, fresh-eyed and brightly awake, despite the late hour. He can't help but smile a bit at the sight of you, so charming and lovely with a blanket tossed around your shoulders, your arms full of old, tattered textbooks and notebooks. “I didn't know there was a lockdown,” you say sheepishly. “I was napping upstairs with my walkman and I guess I missed all the storm alerts. Is it alright if I work down here for a bit? I hate the idea of being alone upstairs during the storm. It's spooky, you know? All that wind rattling the windows. I know you were probably wanting to be alone, and that you don't really like people just barging in here, and you probably stayed so you'd be alone, but…” 

You trail off, and he sees the nervousness on your face, the fear that he'll reject your presence like he’s done countless times with other people. But, he's never kicked you out. Never you. Still though, you're hesitant. “You're always a guest I look forward to having. I want you to make yourself comfortable and stay as long as you'd like.” 

You smile, and he sees your nervousness relax. “You know, I'm glad it's you I'm here with. I really like spending time with you.” 

His heart flutters in his chest and he can't help but preen. “Likewise,” he says simply, hoping the heat burning in his face isn't too noticeable.

You settle in nicely at one of his spare desks and get to work. He returns to his own tasks, but can’t help but occasionally glance at you. You're sitting at the edge of your seat, lightly bouncing your knee and deeply concentrating on your work, silently mouthing words under your breath as you pore over the ancient texts. Brittle pages and old books are scattered around, with one heavy textbook even open in your lap as you scribble in a notebook, jotting down the spiritual intonations of civilizations long dead. He loves you. You’re radiant and splendid and wonderful and delightful and he loves you. He's loved you for quite some time. 

You catch his eye and for a split moment he's absolutely mortified that you caught him staring. But you just smile warmly at him, melting the icy pit formed in his chest, and he can't help but give you a half smile in return. You put your pen down and turn to face him. "What are you working on?" 

"I'm resetting the trap I set next to the sweets drawer and changing out the bait." 

"Did you finally catch that rat?"

"No. I caught Venkman." 

You scoff and shake your head a bit in disbelief. 

"I blame myself a bit. In hindsight, I should not use one of his favorite treats as bait. I apologized and offered to buy him lunch tomorrow. Overall, however, he was a very good sport about it.”

You cock an eyebrow, and there's a glint of mischief in your eyes that is so endearing to him. "Peter reached his grubby Peter fingers into a trap and expected not to be…trapped?"

He nods. 

“What happened next?” 

"Ray took him to get it stitched up," he says, raising his coffee mug to his lips. 

"Really? The veterinarian was open that late?"

He snorts into his coffee, spilling it down his chin, and you laugh. He catches your eye and can't help but smile as he wipes his mouth on the back of his lab coat sleeve. Your laughter is in no way derisive and adds a lovely glow to your face, and it's a delightful sight for him to take in. Then, he notices it again, like he's done countless times before: there’s a melancholy about you.

Beneath the sweetness of your smile, the brightness that flashes in your eyes when you laugh, he always catches a fleeting glimpse of something. Something he can never quite place, something he can never string into coherent words. He’s barely able to notice it before it fades away from sight, disappears beneath the depths in your eyes. He can’t see it anymore, but he knows it’s there. It's always been there, since the day he met you. He often imagines himself wrestling it to the surface, grappling it until he's able to free you from its grip entirely. 

             He shakes his head a bit. A stupid thought. He's almost embarrassed at the absurdity of it. 

The lab falls back into silence. He returns to his tasks, and you return to yours. 

“Egon?” 

The sound of his name in your voice is so lovely and sweet, it almost sends shivers down his spine. “Yes?”

“If it's not too much of an inconvenience, could I borrow your copy of Tobin’s Spiritual Guide?”

“Of course. It's no inconvenience at all.” He makes his way over to the huge bookcase that lines the entirety of the walls on both sides of the old fireplace and slides the ladder over to the proper section. He climbs a few feet up to the shelf labeled “Spiritual Entities, Cryptids, and Other Beasts” and starts scanning through the titles of the books when the rung of the ladder he’s standing on snaps beneath him. 

A jolt of panic shoots down his spine as he tries and fails to find footing; the sharp metal of the broken rung tears deeply through the side of his thigh as he falls and he hits the ground with a harsh “Oomph!” The broken ladder clatters next to him on the ground, dripping and spattering blood off its broken rung. He gasps. “Shit!” he hisses under his breath. His hands grasp his thigh and hot blood spills between his fingers, soaking through his pants and pooling onto the floor. The pain hits him all at once, tearing the breath from his lungs—a stabbing, searing, sickening pain that splinters viscerally through his entire leg. He cries out a bit at the fresh waves of pain that course through him like venom with each heartbeat that sends blood gushing between his fingers. The back of his head bumps the ground and he squeezes his eyes shut, his breathing grows rapid and shallow as the room spins around him. He's light-headed. He's dizzy. He's nauseous. He's going to pass out—

“Egon, move your hands.” 

Your voice is surprisingly smooth and calm next to him, and it tethers him back from complete panic. You’re kneeling next to him, the large first-aid kit open on the ground next to you. He complies and you slip a tourniquet under his leg. He groans and grits his teeth, unable to suppress the whine that escapes his lips as you tighten the tourniquet around his thigh as much as you can. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you sputter. He sees the split moment of panic on your face when you feel his blood on your hands, hot and viscous, wrong and horrifying, but you quickly reel it back. The bleeding almost instantly slows down to an ooze, but it aches terribly. 

“Don't cover it up yet,” he says quickly, seeing the pads of gauze in your hand. He props himself up on his elbows, trying to will his heart to stop beating so rapidly. “I need to see how bad it is.” You wordlessly hand him the scissors from the first-aid kit and he deftly cuts off his bloodied pant leg just below the tourniquet. He hears you gasp and he needs to suppress his own as he sees the extent of it. The deep wound flays him nearly to the bone on the outside of his thigh, extending more than a foot long. “Shit.” He lays his head back on the ground, nervousness coiling around his throat. It's bad. It's undoubtedly very, very bad. And it fucking hurts. 

Your voice is quiet when you're able to finally summon it. “What do you say we do?”  

“It needs to be cauterized.” 

“Isn't cautery outdated? Shouldn't we just keep the tourniquet and wrap it up?”

“Emergency services will be unavailable for at least ten hours, and the tourniquet will have me septic in less than six hours, but I'll bleed to death without it. Dressing alone won't adequately stop the bleeding, stitches are too shallow.”

“Alright. I trust your judgment. What am I supposed to use for the cautery tool? 

“I have a battery-operated welding blade in the drawer at the welding table.”

You wince and swallow, hard, looking down at your hands covered in his blood, already beginning to dry and crack on your palms. “Okay, okay. I'm gonna wash my hands real quick and come back. Then just tell me what to do from there.” 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“ ‘Sterile non-stick gauze. Lidocaine 5% mucoadhesive wet dressing. Sterile sodium chloride saline 0.9% solution. Isopropyl alcohol 99%,’ ” you mutter under your breath, reading the labels of the various tools you pull out of the first-aid kit. “My reluctance kind of comes from the fact that I…really, really like you,” you say as you scrub your hands down with rubbing alcohol. “If you were Venkman then I’d be delighted at the chance to stick a blade in your leg.” You set the bottle of alcohol on the floor. “Okay, just running this through real quick one last time: first I rinse with saline, then I do the cautery, then I put the wet dressing, then the dry dressing.”

He nods. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Okay.” You slowly exhale. “Okay. Step one: saline rinse.” You crack open the bottle and hold it over his leg. “Are you ready?”

He nods, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Okay.” 

He involuntarily sucks in a sharp breath and squeezes his eyes shut as an icy chill washes over his leg, immediately followed by a fiery sting that courses through his leg like venom. It's bitingly cold and freezes him to the bone, but it also burns so, so badly. He grits his teeth but a slight groan still escapes his lips, followed by a strangled whine. He's immediately ashamed and clenches his jaw so much that it aches, focusing all of his energy on staying quiet. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, sweat forming on his brow. 

“Sorry, sorry. Okay, that's done.”

He sharply exhales the breath he didn't know he was holding in and he struggles to pull enough air into his burning lungs with shallow, rapid panting.

“Hey, Egon?” Your hand slips into his and his heart flutters in his chest. “Hey, you're doing good. You're going to be alright.” Your voice is so soothing that he wants to believe you. His eyes are still shut, but he nods. 

“Next is this.” You pour rubbing alcohol all over the welding blade in an attempt to disinfect it. The harsh, acrid fumes sting the inside of his nose and burn the back of his throat as it splashes on the ground next to him. “This is insane. This is absolutely insane,” you mutter rapidly under your breath. “I feel like I’m torturing you.” 

“You’re not.” He tries to sound confident, but his voice is strained and shaking. “Don’t feel guilty.”

“I’ll do my best. How long should I keep this thing on your leg?” 

“A minimum of ten seconds, no matter how badly I react. Anything less would not adequately stop the bleeding.” 

“No matter how badly you react,” you repeat under your breath. “Fuck, dude…” You shut your eyes and for a moment you look like you're about to cry, but you manage to force it back down and open your eyes to reveal a frightened, brittle resolve. You switch on the welder and the little old machine sputters to life. He hears the crackling of the heating element and a sickening shiver runs through him, settling heavily in his stomach as a nauseating dread. The dark gray blade glows a faint red and yellow with the heat burning through it. “It’ll be over soon. Just ten seconds.” You sigh, and he sees your brow furrow as you steel your nerves, forcing yourself into a state of strained calmness. “Are you ready?”

No. He's terrified. He's in pain. His composure is failing and he doesn't want you to see him completely fall apart. “Yes.”

“Okay.” You hold up the makeshift cautery blade and take aim, putting your other hand and knee on his upper thigh to keep him still. “Now.” You plunge the blade into his leg. 

He screams. 

His entire body convulses but you keep his leg pinned firmly beneath your knee. The pain is blinding and searing and overwhelming and he screams until his throat seizes and he's desperately choking for air. His vision blanks and he's nearly on the verge of passing out when—

It's over. 

You pull the blade away and his entire body goes limp. His head is spinning and his chest burns. Tears run down the sides of his face and he’s gasping and panting between sobs, unable to catch his breath. He cries out again with the icy jolt that shoots up his leg when your shaking hands press the wet compress to the freshly cauterized wound. He tries and fails to steady his breathing, fails to stop openly sobbing as you wrap the dry dressing around his thigh and remove the tourniquet. 

He's ashamed that you're seeing him cry. Egon Spengler, a man who prides himself on prioritizing rationality over emotions, is reduced to a sobbing, quivering mess in front of the woman he's in love with, his clothing and the floor beneath him soiled by a sickening mixture of saline and his own blood. His face burns with embarrassment. How pathetic he must look to you, the facade of the level headed scientist shattered. Frustration boils within him and tightens within his chest. 

Oh. Your hand grazes the side of his face, and his attention snaps to you. Your touch is warm, gentle, and so, so soothing. You're talking to him. You've been talking to him this whole time, but it's only now that his scrambled mind is able to actually notice it. 

“Hey, it's okay. It's okay,” you whisper to him, stroking his sweating, clammy face. “It's over. You're gonna be okay.” Your other hand slips into his and he weakly grasps your hand in return. You continue talking to him for several minutes, gently stroking his face and occasionally squeezing his hand as tears flow down his face. There's sincerity in your gestures of comfort, a deep genuineness that can only be made through love. Still, though, he can't stop crying, but he's no longer self-conscious about doing so in front of you. 

Eventually, his breathing begins steadying a bit and his heart stops beating so wildly in his chest. The lidocaine dressing starts taking the edge off the pain, leaving behind a dull, painful ache that throbs through his entire leg. It still hurts terribly, but it is far from overwhelming. 

A headache starts to settle heavily behind his eyes. His entire body shivers violently despite the heat burning through him. Nausea curdles in his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut but it isn't enough; the lights still ache deeply and seem to tunnel through his head.

You gently lift his head and put a damp rag on the back of his neck. He gasps at the chill that shoots down his spine, but the relief it brings is almost instant. His nausea wanes; the painful throbbing of his head begins to dull as you delicately lift his glasses off his face and set them safely aside. You place another damp rag on his forehead and he's grateful that you cover his eyes, completely blocking out the light. 

You're tossing the blanket you brought down earlier over him when the lights go out, leaving the two of you in complete darkness. The coffee maker stops gurgling, the heater stops rumbling, and the lab is left in near complete silence, the only noises coming from the raging storm howling faintly outside. “Crap…” You rummage through the first-aid kit for a flashlight. “Egon, I’ll be right back. Try to get some rest.” 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Egon. Egon.” You gently nudge his shoulder, rousing him from his heavy doze.

He groans and grits his teeth with the dull agony that settled in his leg as he slept, heavy and stiff; his hands instinctively grasp his thigh in a futile attempt to try and relieve some of the pain.

“I know, I'm sorry, but your temperature’s spiking a bit and I need you to take some ibuprofen to try and get it down. I also found a couple Vicodin in Peter's things that I think you'll appreciate.”

He takes the small handful of pills and voraciously downs both water bottles you offer him. 

He's bundled up under several blankets, warm and cozy, despite the discomfort of the hard floor beneath him. The fireplace crackles and spits as the only light source in the lab, animating the shadows of the objects it illuminates in its soft, hot glow. “Power's still out. Pipes are frozen,” you say, rising to your feet. His eyes follow you as you toss another hunk of wood into the fireplace, sending a pleasant wave of heat over him. “But we're doing alright.” You glance at him. “You’re starting to look a bit better.”

“Where did you find wood for the fireplace?” he asks.

“I can't tell you. Also, Peter's nightstand is now missing.” 

He snickers. The pain in his leg has already started lifting, replaced by a faint, floaty feeling. “Of all the places to grievously injure myself, next to the fireplace is a lucky break.” 

You look at him intently, and there isn't a hint of humor on your face. 

“Sorry,” he says just a bit too quickly, his face practically steaming with embarrassment. He clears his throat and scrambles a bit for a change of topic. “I really admire you—especially in the way you handle yourself in an emergency. I admire a lot of things about you.” 

You scoff. “I see the Vicodin is kicking in.”

“If anything, I think my mental faculties are more perspicuous with the hydrocodone. The distraction of the pain is much less pronounced.” He slowly pulls himself into a sitting position, wincing a bit, but the pain is just a fraction of what it was, throbbing dully deep in his leg. “Though, I must say that our recent experiences together have also given me a greater sentiment of closeness to you. I feel safe with you. I’m sure part of this mentality is just the narcotic inhibiting my usual reticence, but for the most part, I believe it’s authentic.”

“Egon.” 

You kneel next to him, and he has trouble seeing your face in the harsh shadows cast by the crackling fireplace. One of his old coats is draped around your shoulders and it’s far too large on you, which he finds so, so endearing. A burst of affection washes over him, bubbles in his chest and brings warmth to his face. The urge to kiss you is overwhelming, almost primal. He catches your eye and leans forward. 

You read his intentions and pull back. You gently place your hand on his chest, nudging him back a bit. “Look, I'm not sur--” 

“Please, I want to kiss you.”

“Egon.”

“I love you. I’m in love with you,” he blurts. “I've been in love with you f—”

“Stop! Stop it! Stop talking!” That melancholy about you suddenly rushes to the surface and bursts forth as tears in your eyes and you clench your jaw, bite the inside of your cheek, but the tears flow freely down your face. You sigh, annoyed, and avert your gaze, impatiently wiping your eyes on your sleeve. “Look, Egon, this is not a conversation I'm ready to have right now. I am so fucking overwhelmed as it is, okay? I just…Fuck, don’t do this to me now.” 

His heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach and he lies back on the ground. It’s not an outright rejection, far from it. But, it still aches deeply in his chest as you weep next to him, your head bent and your palm on your forehead.

“I'm sorry,” you say quietly, your voice thick with tears. “It’s just, it’s been a really bad night. If I hadn't asked you to grab me that stupid fucking book then none of this would have happened. And I have my own goddamn copy upstairs! I just didn't want to go grab it! And I almost killed you because of that!” You lift your head. “Seeing all that blood, hearing you scream like that…Oh my God, that was so awful. Oh, Egon, I'm so sorry…” You sigh, summoning all your courage for your next words. “I love you. I really do. I love you so much that it sometimes keeps me up at night.” He’s positively euphoric at hearing these words. His heart soars, but your next words send it plummeting back to the bottom of his stomach. “But, Egon, I feel so terrible about it.” A sob hitches in your throat and you struggle to keep your next words steady. “Look at this fucking mess we're in…”

He reaches for your hand. You see him, but don't protest as his fingers intertwine with yours. His other hand slowly reaches up and gently cups the side of your face. You lock eyes with him, and he sees the sorrow aching so deeply within you, your vision blurred by the tears flowing freely down your face. 

“I love you,” he says simply, delicately wiping a calloused thumb beneath your eye.

You shake your head. “How could you?” 

“How could I not?” he answers earnestly.

You crack a small smile. You press a kiss to the palm of his hand and hold it against your face, delighting in the warmth of his touch. He's absolutely exhilarated at this, and he smiles so brightly at you that you can't help but smile back, despite the fresh tears spilling from your eyes. He sees it now, the reason behind the melancholy about you:

You love him. 

You love him so deeply that it burns through the core of your very being. That love for him that would flash in your eyes every time you smiled at him, everytime the brightness of your laugh lit up your face, has now rushed to the surface and painfully burst forth as tears running down your face.

You bend down and plant a soft kiss on his forehead, still holding his hand in yours as you lie down next to him in front of the fireplace. 

[cocrante]

Walking the Wire

[SOLANGELO FANFIC]

warning: it contains significant spoilers, please do not read it unless you have read the third book of "The Trials of Apollo". If you decide to proceed, I will not be held responsible.

summary: The dreams at Camp Half-Blood have vanished. Gentle nights embrace the campers in their hours of sleep, but just as the dreams have disappeared, so have the prophecies. For a mortal, this might not mean anything—nightmares suddenly gone, sweet nights wrapped them in the warmth of the sheets—but for a demigod, dreams are the bridge that connects them between the mortal and immortal worlds, an annoying bell that keeps them constantly on alert, and without those to disturb their nights, it was like losing their compass. But not everyone is without dreams, if "dream" this can be called, one is still allowed to travel in the dream world, perhaps out of pity and compassion of the Fates.

note: the chapters will be updated every Wednesday. If you want to read upcoming chapters of the fanfiction in advance, I invite you to follow me on Patreon. Subscribing is not necessary, these chapters will be added for free on the platform on Saturday. Following me there is just a kind and free gesture to support my work c:

Reblogs are highly appreciated c:

[CHAPTER 6]

It was a dreamless night.

NICO WOKE UP AT DAWN, LOOKING OUT THE WINDOW TO SEE THE SUNRISE. Everything had become silent in that cabin. The air was crisp as before a storm, and Nico had the horrible feeling that it would come much sooner than expected. That was the worst night of all: as long as he dreamed them —as long as he saw them— then it meant that that demigod, that hero, was still alive and wherever he was, he was still fine. But now he no longer had this certainty.

With a sigh, he got up, going out a few minutes later to go to the mess hall.

Even that morning, he found Will awake early, waiting for him at his table. He had prepared a tray with all the good things Nico liked. Nico thanked him with a smile, sitting down to eat, and finally managed to eat more after many mornings. Will was happy to see him like that, he looked much more rested, seemed more energetic than the other days, his appetite had even returned. Only his eyes were always the same: sunken, dull, thoughtful, they were the eyes of someone not looking at this world. Will was sure he was still searching for that person or somehow waiting for them. He couldn't imagine how horrible it must be not to know who the Fates were referring to.

"Have you had any more?" he asked, placing a hand on his, waking him from his reverie. Nico closed his eyes, letting those souls disappear from his gaze.

"No" he replied, playing with Will's fingers, unable to shake off that feeling that had been accompanying him for a while. He still thought about the dream he had had the night before, the pain in his arms, the tightness in his chest, the exhaustion in his body. He couldn't even remotely imagine what that demigod would have to feel when the time came. He didn't even want to think about it.

"Do you mind if I come with you to the infirmary?" he asked, lifting those tired eyes to Will's radiant ones.

"I'd be happy to" he smiled at him, and for a moment Nico felt warmth.

That morning there wasn't much activity in the infirmary, so Will could focus entirely on his boyfriend and listen to those worries that were slowly devouring him from within.

Often Will forgot how fragile that boy could be. Over time, he had become really good at masking his emotions until he self-destructed. Will had known Nico since he arrived at camp that year—they hadn't stopped to talk much, they couldn't even be called friends, but he remembered those rare times when they had spoken, and he had found Nico to be a truly interesting demigod.

During that time, Nico spent most of his days with the children of Hermes, assigned to the Hermes Cabin, and when he disappeared that night, and no one knew anything about him anymore, it saddened Will. He had just started to get to know him, and —as strange as it might seem— he was starting to like him. Then, during the war against the Titans, he saw him again. In those years, Nico had changed, he was no longer the child with a smile painted on his face that Will remembered: life with him must have been truly cruel. If one had enough courage to look at him, one could read it in his eyes.

Then that day, hidden among the trees, it was like finding a totally different person in front of him. Will more than ever wanted to know everything that had happened to him. He wanted to understand what had happened to that cheerful boy, who once ran with a smile on his face through the camp, who looked with wonder at everything around him. Will would do anything to see that smile again, even just once.

In the infirmary, away from the campers' prying eyes, Will let Nico tell him what he hadn't had the courage to tell him, and he found out that a strange and chilling sensation was running through his body, he couldn't explain it very well in words, much less describe what he really felt. "It's like with Bianca" he explained.

Nico didn't talk to anyone about his sister; even after all those years, he couldn't forget that pain. His features hardened, Will knew he was about to say something he had been holding inside for too long. "I feel the same sensation as back then. I felt it the night before she disappeared, at the time I didn't pay attention to it" he frowned, as if blaming himself for not understanding it sooner. "It's like my body is telling me that something is happening out there and soon someone I care about will die" he said, not beating around the bush. Will put a hand on his lips, shivering. Unintentionally, he cast a cold shadow over the room, Nico reproached himself for that too. "I'm sorry" Nico apologized, alarming him was certainly the last thing he wanted to do.

But Will shook his head. "No, it's okay" he replied. "I just want you to tell me everything that happens to you. I want to be able to help you, but to do that, I need you to tell me what's happening to you" he took both of Nico's hands, intertwining his fingers with his own. Nico blushed, happy that there was such a special person in his life. "Isn't that what any good boyfriend would do?" he asked ironically. Nico smiled again, for a moment it almost seemed like he could see that sweet smile of the past.

"I don't know, I've never had one before" he replied to the joke, wanting to play along.

"Then I'll be the best one" he declared as if it were a promise.

"Believe me, you already are" he looked at him for a moment before kissing him on the lips.

At lunch, they sat together with the other children of Apollo, listening to Kayla complain about the new demigods who had arrived at camp and their poor archery skills.

"I don't know how many times I've put my hands in my hair today" she sighed, skewering the roast with her fork.

Will laughed, telling her she just had to wait and improvements would come.

"And then remember that no one can be worse than our Jackson with a bow" Austin reminded her, managing to get a laugh out of Kayla as well. Throughout lunch, the kids talked about their lives outside of camp, remembering what awaited them once all this was finally over. They also asked Nico if he missed New Rome, knowing that his decision hadn't been an easy one.

"Sometimes I miss it" he replied. "I hoped to see Hazel again soon and the others too" the thought made him even sadder, wondering if he would be able to see his friends all together again.

Will squeezed his hand, reminding him that he would always be there in his life. At that gesture, the other campers also saw a slight smile appear on Nico's face.

At the end of lunch, the group of demigods scattered throughout the camp. Will asked Nico if they could also go to the arena that day, wanting him to show him again how he had managed to parry his attack the day before. Nico agreed, going together to the arena where he showed him slowly how he had done it. Will tried to copy him, stumbling over his own steps, but tried again several times until he got it right enough. Nico was quite satisfied with his slight improvement. Then they started sparring for real.

Nico parried all of Will's attacks, responding with slow strikes so that he could find time to block them. He wasn't as fluid as the day before, maybe Will was still thinking too much, so he reminded him to let his instincts guide him, to let himself be guided by his senses, and as soon as he reminded him, his movements improved. Will started attacking him again, but still getting blocked by the opponent's blade. The boy didn't want to give up, he would make him drop his guard that day.

The Hade's son was ready to parry Will's sword again when suddenly everything around him stopped. Nico had a strong jolt,he often had it when his gaze ended up in the realm of the dead. For years he had managed to control it, not allowing his eyes to linger on every deceased person who crossed Charon's door, ignoring those specters, ignoring their faces, but that time it was impossible for him. His pupils dilated, his eyelids stopped beating, his eyes were looking at another world. It was like being there, halfway between the realm of the living and that of the dead. He slowly lowered the sword, which suddenly felt heavier, until it slipped from his hands. Will stopped, looking at that frozen body in front of him. A cold shiver ran through him.

He ran to him, taking his hand, placing the other on his cheek. He shouted to the campers who were there training to go call Chiron. The shadows of the trees and the dummies swayed, as if crazed, as if they wanted to detach and escape from that place at all costs. The Hade's son was trembling with anger, and with it, the camp began to shake too. Tears fell from those expressionless eyes, only one word came from his lips:—"No" he screamed.

That was just one of his bad dreams, it had to be. Will looked at him with tears in his eyes, unable to do anything but look at him with fear, trying in any way to make him look back at him. The earth around them shook harder and harder, Will knew it would split soon. "Nico!" the boy shouted, holding his face with both hands. But Nico didn't hear him; his eyes couldn't look at anything but the shadow of that soul waiting for permission to board the boat and cross the river of souls.

"Please, look at me" Will pleaded, embracing him as if to protect him from whatever his eyes were seeing, and as if released from a spell, Nico blinked again. Darkness gave way to light.

He was back at camp, he was in Will's arms. Nico held onto his boyfriend, happy that he was there hugging him. Will flinched feeling Nico's hands on his back, the tremors slowly ceased.

"Nico" he whispered, stroking his hair. The boy didn't speak, he just cried with his face buried in Will's shirt. The sobs spread throughout the arena, Nico couldn't believe what he had seen, who he had seen. Chiron galloped to the arena, along with the demigods who had called him, ordering the group to step aside and leave them alone. Will looked at that group watching them from afar, puzzled, worried, but above all curious. He looked at Chiron, thanking him with his eyes, silently asking him to leave them alone for a moment. The centaur took away the campers, the two would join them when Nico felt better. As soon as the crowd dispersed, Nico's legs gave way, collapsing to the ground on his knees, and Will followed him. He held him tightly in his arms, unable to let him go.

After endless minutes of silence, broken only by tears and sobs, Nico said his name: "Jason" his voice broke.

He pulled away from the boy's body to look at him in those perfect blue eyes. "It's Jason" he repeated with a trembling voice, more tears streaked his face, collapsing again into his boyfriend's arms, who now looked expressionless ahead of him.

He immediately understood what he meant, all those nightmares, the Fates, the thread, it was all meant for him.

"I couldn't even say goodbye to him" he sobbed, holding onto his orange shirt soaked with tears. "I couldn't even do it with him" the words choked in his throat.

Will couldn't speak, he didn't know what was right to say or do. He continued to hold him in that embrace, giving him all the warmth he needed at that moment. Jason was surely the best friend Nico had ever had and after Bianca, he had been one of the few to obtain permission to enter his little strange world. They had known each other for a short time, Will knew, and yet for that short time, Nico saw in Jason's eyes the figure of a brother.

prologue

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[agirlattea]

Sincerely, a Rainbow of stories for you:

Please Tell Me the Story of the Rainbow: Part 2

(Location: Magic Manor’s Foyer, Central Kingdom, Afternoon)

Figaro: In the end, I don’t think any of us expected to be running around the manor all day like this.

Oz’s storm had passed. The few wizards who remained in the hall all looked exhausted.

Akira: Who would have guessed that on top of the one in the garden, there were also several fires inside the building?

Shino: I thought we’d be cleaning all day, not putting out fires.

Mithra: Seriously, being forced to work is the worst.

Snow: Who do you think is to blame for that?

Figaro: Well, in the end we were all able to work together, weren’t we?

Rutile: Yes! Running around with everyone was really fun!

Akira: Haha… and we ended up competing to see who could find the smallest fire!

White: Yes, we have indeed honed our teamwork.

Snow: Our cooperation is now shining! Though, a few bones were broken along the way.

Shylock: Though whether or not our bonds have deepened is up for debate, I do believe that at the moment we are all moderately weary.

This pleasant fatigue is the type that allows one to relax their mind.

Faust: Is that so? I don’t quite feel like I’m resting after a busy day off…

Shylock: Even so, I’m sure I will have no problems sleeping tonight. When you think of it like that, this has been a successful day of relaxation, hasn’t it?

Figaro: The fact that we received no investigation or subjugation requests does make this a rare day.

Shino: Honestly, I’d rather have gone on a mission for some high ranking person who could give us rewards.

Rutile: But it’s also important to rest. If you're on alert all the time, your body won’t respond when you need it to.

Murr: But could this quiet day be a harbinger for a hectic one? Could this be the calm before the storm?

Murr twirls through the air and lands in front of my face.

Murr: After all, it’s impossible for us wizards to have peace and leisure. Something interesting must be about to happen! Don’t you think so, Master Sage?

Akira: Umm, you might be right….

I’d be happy if the incident provides an interesting experience, but wouldn’t taking care of a complicated case be a problem?

Arthur: Master Sage, I’ve returned.

At that moment, the large front door opens and I hear a refreshing voice.

Arthur and Cock Robin, clad in the evening breeze, step into the hall with light footsteps.

Akira: Welcome back, Arthur. Thank you for all your hard work.

Arthur: Thank you for your concern… did something happen? Everyone seems to have less energy than usual.

Akira: Umm. Actually, lots of things happened…

Figaro: By the way, since Cock Robin is here, does that mean he has business to attend to?

Cock Robin: Um, that’s right. I do need to consult the Sage about something…

Shino: An incident so soon? That was a short-lived peace.

Murr: Incident! Incident!

Cock Robin hurriedly waved his hands as Murr and Shino leaned closer to him in anticipation.

Cock Robin: N-no! Nothing dangerous has happened.

Actually this time, I came to tell you about an exhibition being held in an old castle in the Central Country.

As he spoke, Cock Robin took out an envelope with the seal cut off. It looked like some sort of guide.

Cock Robin: The organizer is the head of an influential family of art dealers. They have gifted many things to Granville Castle over the years.

It seems this is just an extension of his hobby, but he plans to collect various works and pieces of art from around the world, though mainly from Central Country, and hold a large-scale event.

Arthur: This is very impressive, for an individual host. This appears to be a rather large exhibition.

There appears to be an invitation for us as well.

Akira: An invitation to the exhibition?

Cock Robin: Yes! The Sage’s Wizards saved Central Country from the Umbra Volans* and the other mysterious incidents in the capital!**

It seems the organizer was deeply moved by that. I hear he is deeply grateful to you all.

He said he wanted to thank those who undertook various missions to quell disasters throughout the world.

Faust: That’s a convenient story. If he wants to pay his respects, he should come here.

Arthur: Don’t say that. I’m sure the organizer is extending this invitation with respect.

Faust: I wonder. Human opinions tend to change with the wind.

He might wake up tomorrow and decide that he’s changed his mind. In the best case scenario, this invitation is simply a whim fueled by youth.

Arthur: Thank you for looking out for us, Faust.

Faust: I’m only pointing out the obvious, there’s no need for thanks.

Arthur: The person extending this invitation is both a long-time associate of the Granvelle Royal Family and understanding of wizards.

From this letter we can feel his genuine gratitude, just like everyone else expressed theirs at the parade.

Everyone in Central Country is thankful to those who saved it.

I too, would like to thank you all once again.

As he spoke, Arthur put his hand on his chest and bowed deeply. His posture truly reflected his sincere heart.

The gap between wizards and humans seems to close, despite this, cracks run throughout it, just as it it collapses, a bridge is formed, keeping the two sides connected still.

It’s a cycle.

A few steps forward, a few steps back. There is a sense of “now” in repeating joy and sorrow over and over again.

Arthur looks up as the sun sets. Clear eyes as blue as the sky capture mine.

His earnest gaze had the power to make me feel as though the next step after “now” would be one towards a brighter future.

Akira: … the Sage’s Wizard’s achievements aren’t limited to just stopping the Umbra Volans.

I was surprised at the words that came out of my own throat.

My mouth was open in surprise. It was as if the words had been lured out of my mouth by the steady, clear, gaze of the Central Country’s Prince.

Akira: During the Five Nation’s Peace Conference, you were the ones who saved both me and Granvelle Castle.***

It’s unfortunate that everyone was asleep during the attack, and cannot remember your actions…

But even if no one else does, I will always remember how you all came together bravely to fight!

Arthur: Master Sage…

Akira: That’s why I’m really happy that there are people who recognize your achievements, like the man who sent this invitation!

When I looked at the faces of everyone present, my thoughts naturally turned into words.

Although they can be a little eccentric, they’re honest with themselves. I’m glad that there are people who think favorably of my free-spirited dear friends.

That fact alone overwhelmed my heart with emotion.

Arthur: …Thank you. I am also happy that everyone’s efforts are being recognized.

I am also proud. I hope that the Sage’s Wizard’s deeds will continue to be conveyed without misunderstanding.

By the way, there’s something I want to show you and everyone else.

(Location: Magic Manor’s Lounge, Central Kingdom, Afternoon)

Cock Robin: This was gifted to us by the host of the exhibition.

Cock Robin reached into his bag and pulled out a book.

The book was large enough that he had to use both hands to hold it. It had a beautiful binding and a delicate picture drawn on the cover.

Akira: Is this a picture book?

Rutile: Oh, I love picture books! May I try opening it?

Arthur: Of course! That’s why I brought it.

Upon receiving the picture book from Cock Robin, Rutile wore a delighted smile, like a flower in bloom, upon his face.

Rutile: Mitile, Riquet, Chloe, let’s read this together!

Chloe: Me too? Okay! This cover is lovely!I can’t take my eyes off the beautiful design!

Chloe’s voice bounced with excitement as his violet eyes twinkled. Riquet’s voice, laced with curiosity, rang out from where he stood, as his eyes traced the cover gently.

Riquet: Can I read the picture book too? I’ve learned more words recently, but…

Mitile: I’m sure you’ll be fine. If there are words you don’t know, I’ll teach you!

Riquet: Okay! The beautiful letters on the cover are… what do these words say?

Rutile: Luca Caroll… It’s a nice name.

Akira: Is she a famous author?

Shino: I don’t know anything about books or authors, but you do, right Heath?

Heathcliff: I’ve never heard of her, but seeing as this book is a gift to the royal family, it must be pretty valuable.

Murr: Hey, this is kind of exciting!

Murr peers into the picture book from directly above Rutile and happily spins around.

Murr: Something fun is about to happen!

Arthur: Haha, you’re the same as always, Murr.

Arthur, who was watching everyone’s chat from the side, looked up at Murr with an elegant smile.

Arthur: This is a pre-release copy of the book. The author, Luca Caroll, is said to be a witch.

Akira: He’s a witch?

Arthur: Yes, supposedly there’s a magic trick incorporated into each one of her books.

Arthur speaks with a hint of mischief in his elegant eyes.

Everyone’s eyes light up with excitement and focus on the picture book in Rutile’s hands.

Mitile: I wonder what the trick is! If the pictures were drawn by a witch, I wonder if they’re enchanted.

Riquet: What kind of magic is that? Let’s open it and see!

Murr: Hurry, hurry!

Rutile: Of course!

As if gently opening an unknown chest . Like a nameless flower opening its petals for the first time.

Rutile opened the book.

Then, the smell of a forest filled the air as a soft breeze brushed my cheek.

*“Tobikageri” roughly translates to “shadow bird”, I borrowed the term “Umbra Volans”, which means the same thing, but in Latin, from healingbonds’ translations for the Main Story Part 1, You can read them at: https://healingbonds.dreamwidth.org

**This is a reference to the events of the Main Story Part 1, which covers everything from the Sage arriving in the world up until they save the capital.

***This is a reference to the events of the Main Story Part 1.5, which was released as the First Anniversary Event. It covers the story of how the Sage’s Wizards rescue Granvelle castle after it's been captured by a mysterious wizard who wants revenge on Murr.

Back to Event Masterlist

[the-cat-chat]

April 22, 2023

The Mist (2007)

A freak storm unleashes a species of bloodthirsty creatures on a small town, where a small band of citizens hole up in a supermarket and fight for their lives.

Warning: This review does contain spoilers for the movie. Read at your own risk.

JayBell: For some reason, I was under the impression that the mist was like acid or something and that’s why people couldn’t leave the supermarket. But no. It’s full on weird tentacle-y creatures and bug monsters and stuff. Which is cool, just unexpected.

Let’s start with our main character. For some reason, I found him both really creepy and yet utterly boring. To me, he was just very bland and forgettable. Also, it was so weird that they introduced the cliche “perfect” women, and the whole time it felt like the movie was trying to set them up as a romantic pairing while they were both still married? Plus, her character basically becomes “mom” to his kid and that really freaked me out. Speaking of the kid, yikes did he really not bring much to this movie. He also had the convenient ability to sleep when crazy things were happening.

The best actors were Marcia Gay Harden (the crazy religious zealot), Andre Braugher (the resentful neighbor), and Toby Jones (the store worker). I actually enjoyed the way the movie explored group dynamics and group thinking. It felt like a social experiment gone wrong. So much was put into the relationship between Andre Braugher’s character and the main guy that his death made his character arc seem incomplete. I thought this was one of the most interesting dynamics in the movie, but it felt like there was no emotional payout.

Now the ending. I don’t mind an anti-Hollywood ending. It can be refreshing and surprising sometimes. But it seemed a little ridiculous here. They go through all this effort to fight and live, drive for a ways, and then the car runs out of gas. Their immediate thought? Murder suicide. Not their second or third thought. One of them even says, “Well no one can argue we didn’t try.” I meeeeeaaannn. Did you really try? You didn’t even get out of the car to see if there was another car you could take or siphon gas out of. You didn’t even try to run for some semblance of safety. No one tried to run off and get help. Nope. Clearly the only option is murder suicide. It actually felt so ridiculous that I couldn’t even feel sad at the ending, I just ended up laughing. 

Rating: 4/10 cats 🐈

Anzie: Ummmm. I know its a very rare occasion when I might love a movie- and the rest of the time my other two emotions are either traumatized or seething with rage. But I’m seething with rage with just a dash of traumatization. I reallllly was liking this movie from a dissect it and make funny of it way (bc it is so outlandish but has its moments). And honestly the end of the world? Tell me the one place on planet Earth you’d die willingly rather than to be stuck in- yes the loathsome grocery store. Now come on forget Freddy Krueger- that’s true horror.

I just wanna say- to start off strong- the one thing I didn’t expect to come from The Mist was *spoiler alert* tentacles with teeth OR giant bugs. I thought it would be for sure zombies or like ghouls of some sort - so this plot twist was interesting. The vibes are there for sure too - you definitely pick up on the paranoia that settles in among the people too. Noooow. Let’s not even talk about the religious screaming lady bc I can feel the irritation literally in the pieces of my spine. And then she had to brainwash everyone??? Whhhhhy? 😩 I get it and why the movie does it but I’m not happy about it - so she for sure did a good job. Ohhhh my gawd. The spiders?!? Those thing were 1000x worse that Pennywise. The Punisher’s kid was almost as annoying as the religious lady. And I think his screaming “Daddy?!?” continually throughout the movie really knocks it down at least a half a point. And the fatally flaw. The ending. How? Why? I don’t need this. For reellllzzzzz man. You didn’t see a flame throwing army convoy in your rear view?!??!? I don’t wanna talk about it. Really. If you hate someone tell them to watch this movie just to see their soul leave their body when they watch the end scene. And totally unrelated, but the mystery I wanna know- what was the neighbor’s lawsuit about?? Why even bring it up so much to not tell us? Uggg.

Rating: 3.5/10 Cats 🐈

[uncpanda]

Snowstorm

AN: This is a different take on, AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED! I hope you enjoy it. It was a lot of fun to write. 

Prompt 21: And there was only one bed. 

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

You glance out the car window at the snow that’s falling in blankets around you, and then glance over at Hotch. His focus is solely on the road and you can’t blame him; a freak snowstorm on your way to go testify in a small town was not a good omen. His lips had twitched at that and assured you that it wasn’t an omen. He had then followed that up with an order to keep your eyes open for a motel where you could wait out the worst of the storm. That had been an hour ago, and for all you know, you could have passed a million hotels but thanks to zero visibility you hadn’t seen them. That, and the GPS hadn’t picked up anything either. You were in the middle of nowhere after all. 

You squint and look out your window again until a small grunt gets your attention. You look over at Hotch. “There’s no visibility left.” He glances at the GPS, “But there’s a rest stop up ahead. At the very least we can pull in, and keep from running the car off the road.” You’ll take it.

By the time he pulls into the empty rest stop, you’re a bit relieved because it seems like the snow is coming down even harder now. You’re grateful for the still half full tank of gas, four wheel drive, and the space the FBI issued SUV provides. And at least here you have access to a restroom and a vending machine. 

You take turns going into the bathrooms. You go first and the moment the cold hits you, you sprint towards the building. No ice has gathered yet, but you know that won’t last long. You do your business, and raid the vending machine before heading back to the SUV and allowing Hotch his break. While he’s gone you scoot into the back and pull out your suitcase. You always bring a fuzzy blanket and a pillow with you on cases or where you have to testify, simply because it allows you a small amount of peace. You throw them into the back seat for later, because you have a feeling that you’re not going to be able to keep the car on for long, which means no heat. 

A burst of cold air and the door slamming shut alerts you to Hotch’s arrival. You smile at him from the back seat and he raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing back there?” 

You toss your head towards the blanket and pillow, “Wanted to make sure we had a few creature comforts.” 

He smiles at that, and then your eyes focus on his hair. It’s filled with snowflakes. Without thinking you reach forward and brush them away. You can feel his eyes on you, and your belly does a flip. Your little crush on Hotch wasn’t necessarily a secret: Penny knew about it, JJ knew about it, Emily knew about it, and you lived it.

It had started off small, watching him be kind to a victim or their family, seeing him comfort one of the team, observing his dealings with local law enforcement. From there it had grown when you had seen him interact with his son, or smile, or subtly tease someone on the team. You’d gotten very good at reading him.

And for that reason you kept your distance. You rarely said anything to Hotch directly. You kept to the shadows, happy to make quiet observations. More often than not you were paired with Rossi or Emily in the field. You weren't even sure if he really knew anything about you. The girls found the whole thing very frustrating. Which was how you’d ended up here. 

When the small town of Smithville, North Dakota had called asking for two of you to testify, Garcia had signed the two of you up before you could blink. You could both kiss and kill the woman. You’d very nearly killed her when she had asked if you had packed any pretty underwear. And you, yourself, had nearly died when Emily had instructed you on how to be bold and make your intentions known.

As you retract your hand he says a quiet, “Thanks.” And you just shoot him a quick smile. You slip out of the back seat, into the cold, and then back into the front seat. Climbing over the console would have probably put your butt in his face and then you would have died of mortification. So braving the cold is worth it in your book. 

Hotch keeps the car on for about thirty minutes before stating, “We’re going to need to preserve the gas we have just in case. The warmth in the car should last a while as long as we don’t open the doors.” 

“I have a blanket back there if we need it.” 

His lips quirk, “I know.” 

You blush, and mentally groan. You had already told him about it. You sink into your seat, and reach down to pull out a book. You have no desire to kill the phone on your battery just in case. About five minutes in you can feel eyes on you. You look over to see Hotch studying the cover of your book. You bite back another groan. Cheesy romance novels were a guilty pleasure of yours. They allowed you an escape from gruesome and mentally taxing things you witnessed on the day to day. 

His eyes rise to meet yours, “Is it any good?” 

You shrug, “I’m only about two pages in.” that’s when you realize he doesn’t carry a purse, and he probably doesn’t have anything to entertain him. “Do you want to read it with me?” 

“Do you mind?” 

You shake your head, flip back to the start of the book and lean into the console. He leans into it too. When you reach the end of the page, you look over at him. You keep that up for a little while before his hand settles on your forearm. His hand is large, and warm, and you can feel the calluses on his fingers. You can feel your cheeks heating up. When he’s done with a page, he applies the slightest bit of pressure to your skin. 

You’re about a third of the way through the book when things take a turn. The words, and there was only one bed come up l, and you realize where the scene is going. While many of your books tend to have more . . . mature scenes, you hadn’t thought this book was one of them. A friend had recommended it to you, and the cover had been deceptively innocent looking. Every bone in your body is telling you to slam the book shut, and toss it out into the snow and then follow it with your own body, because freezing your butt off has to be better than embarrassing yourself in front of your crush/ boss.

The slightest of sounds comes out of Hotch’s throat and you realize, completely horrified, that he’s reached the start of the scene. The words tumble out of your mouth, “I didn’t know that scene was in there. Penny recommended the book to me.” You throw your friend under the bus so fast you can’t even help it. 

There’s an actual, small, smile on Hotch’s face, “Why doesn’t that surprise me? We can always skip the scene if it make you uncomfortable?” 

Your mouth drops open in shock, “You want to keep reading?” 

He shrugs, “I’m invested now.” 

You pass the book to him, “You hold it for a while.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, he takes the book, and you reverse your positions. This time, it’s you with your hand on his forearm. His jacket and dress shirt keep you from feeling his skin. You steadily avoid looking at him while you read through the scene. But it’s just your luck that there are three more of them within the book. 

In the end it takes about four hours to read through the book, and by the time you’re done the warmth has left the car, and the sun has nearly set. Hotch hands the book back to you and goes to start the car, to get it warmed up a little bit. When the engine stalls you scowl. It’s apparently gotten too cold for the car to even start. That figured. 

“What else do you like to read?” 

The question snaps you out of glaring at the front of the car, “What?” A very intelligent response if you do say so. 

“Do you only read romance novels, or do you read other things?” 

“I try to stick to more lighthearted stuff. It kind of erases bad things from my head, it helps me sleep and relax. It allows me to think about something other than cases.” 

He leans back in his seat, “So no murder mysteries?” 

“No. I read those too. They’re fairly easy for me to solve, and they don’t even come close to what we see. I just try to keep reading fun, it’s one of my few outlets. It’s like how Penny Knits, or Derek renovates houses, or Spencer plays chess. It allows me to disconnect. What about you?” 

You watch him think about it, “I build things with Jack. Models or legos. When he was little we would build with blocks and lincoln logs. The occasional fort.” 

You smile at the thought of him and Jack in a fort, “He must love that.” 

The smile on Aaron’s face is soft, “He does. I know he’s only six, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to become an architect or an engineer.” 

Conversation flows easily after that as you and Hotch get to know each other. It’s flowing so well, that you barely even notice when your teeth start to chatter. When he shrugs out of his jacket and lays it over you, you protest, “No! You’ll get cold.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

You shake your head and start to remove it, but he reaches over the console and somehow maneuvers you into it. Your brow furrows, as you wonder how he did it. You’re a special agent with the FBI you should be able to figure it out. But then a new scent surrounds you; it’s a mix of coffee, pine, and his cologne. It’s entirely masculine and it makes butterflies stir in your belly. 

“Thank you.” 

He smiles at you, and feeling the need to do something you fish the snacks you had gotten from the vending machine out of your purse along with two bottles of water. He looks down at the purse as you pull item after item out of it. You hear him mumble something about Mary Poppins before he takes the water. You tell him to choose first and you’re only slightly surprised when he chooses the chocolate. Who knew Hotch had a sweet tooth? 

The two of you make it through your dinner of vending machine crap, and head out into the storm to use the restroom one more time. This time you go together, but you leave Aaron’s suit jacket behind. You’d both been to too many crime scenes where something bad had happened at a public restroom. You do your business and come back out to Aaron waitin for you. 

You make a mad dash back to the car, and you’re only slightly surprised when he steers you towards the back seat. He quickly reclines the seat back before ushering you in. You’re both shivering, but instead of taking care of himself, he reaches for his coat and the front seat, and wraps you in it again. You shrink into it, and grab your blanket, you go through with your next movement before you can stop yourself. 

You snuggle into his side, wrapping the large blanket around the both of you. The blanket plus your combined body heat provides the first amount of relief from the cold that you’ve had in hours. It’s then that you realize Aaron’s arm is wrapped around your shoulders. 

You look up at him and he smiles down at you. You stay like that, perfectly quiet and content for quite a while, before you feel fingers start playing with your hair. You glance up at him through your lashes and find his eyes closed. He looks peaceful, but you know the two of you can’t stay just like this for long or you’ll both be hurting in the morning. 

“Aaron.” Your voice is quiet, kind of like the snow. 

“Hmm.” 

“We have to readjust or we’ll both be hurting tomorrow.” 

His eyes open and he looks over at you, “Pass me the pillow.” 

You do so and he places it against the window. You scoot back as he brings both of his long legs up onto the seat. And then he’s gently pulling you towards him. You find yourself laying on top of him, your ear over his heart, and his fingers tangled in your hair. When he presses a kiss to the top of your head, you nearly scream. Instead, you bury your face in his chest. 

He wraps the blanket around the both of you again, and you feel his hand rub soothingly up and down your back. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.” 

You look up at him then, and you can see it in his eyes: he knows! “How?” 

He knows what you’re asking, “Heard you talking about it nearly eight months ago. I didn’t believe it for about a month until I cornered Garcia and confirmed it. But I needed to make sure.  I’m not a fan of making a fool out of myself or having my heart broken, and you, have had the power to do both since you first walked into the bullpen.” 

Your fingers tighten in his shirt, and his hand settles on your hip with his thumb stroking back and forth there. “I waited for you to make a move. You didn’t. And just something about today felt like something was telling me to make the move. So I did. IF you’re uncomfortable at all we can pretend today never happened.” 

“No.” The words comes out fast and loud. You look up at him, meet his eyes, and then bury your face in his chest again.

There’s a light laugh, and his fingers start playing with your hair again, before he leans down to kiss the top of your head, “My shy, sweet girl.” 

You smile at that, and perfectly content, you drift off. You wake up the next morning to Aaron wrapped around you, but you certainly don’t mind. You adjust against him smiling to yourself, and watch as he opens his eyes. Before he can even say good morning, and before you can lose your nerve, you stretch up and kiss him 

Both of your lips are a little chapped due to the cold, but they fit and move together like the two of you were made for each other. When you pull back he smiles at you, and you can’t help but be grateful for meddling friends and snow storms. 

 . 

[robininthelabyrinth]

Wei Wuxian comes back from the Burial Mounds with the inability to lie. Somehow it seems to be a curse inflicted by Suibian- Sandu?- who is not amused by wwx's decision to just give his core away.

Thank you! <3

“You cannot do this to me,” Wei Wuxian hissed at his sword.

His sword did not respond.

This was not a surprise, since it was a sword, and yet Wei Wuxian was convinced that Suibian was to blame for his current dilemma. After all, what else could explain such a very specific issue tied directly to his golden core other than the only other thing he had allowed a direct tie into it?

Besides, everyone knew that spiritual weapons were temperamental, in need of careful care and consideration, and Wei Wuxian had, well, more or less done the one thing that meant he was going to have to give up using Suibian. It made sense that Suibian would be angry enough to curse him.

Also, when Jiang Cheng had handed him Suibian and their hands had been on it at the same moment, the sword – Wei Wuxian would swear – had very briefly vibrated, as if in response to a command.

And ever since then…

Well.

Listen, it’d be one thing if he walked out of the Burial Mounds without the ability to lie, okay? A weird churning compulsion to tell the truth, originating deep in his belly right where his golden core had once been before he’d given it up...yes, it would make sense. It would be – weird, incredibly so, but it wasn’t like his particular brand of demonic cultivation had much precedent, what with all the other variations involving a great deal more murdering people to harvest their power. Not to mention the whole idea of cultivating post-golden core; that wasn’t exactly something that had happened many times before!

So that would have made sense. Since it was new, it was reasonable that there would be side effects, even bizarre side effects.

It was not reasonable that the side effect in question – the inability to lie – had an area of impact that tied directly into the presence of one Jiang Cheng.

No Jiang Cheng? Wei Wuxian could be as free with the truth as he liked.

Jiang Cheng somewhere in the vicinity but not immediately present? He started tripping up on it. Strange restrictions appeared on his tongue, choking him; there seemed to be no logical sense to them or to the way they wove in and out of his speech, presumably depending on where Jiang Cheng was standing at any given moment. Why some exaggerations were acceptable while others were considered untruths and thus forbidden, Wei Wuxian had yet to figure out.

Jiang Cheng standing beside him?

It was time for Wei Wuxian to keep his mouth shut because every word that passed through his lips had to be weighed and found truthful as if he were standing before the judges of the dead.

That was all bad enough, of course, but recently even omissions had started burning at his lips, and that was just very much not on.

“It’s for his own good,” he argued, pleading, beseeching. “You can’t make me tell him. He would only be hurt if he knew!”

Suibian did not respond.

It was, after all, just a sword.

Even if it was currently behaving more like a backstabbing dagger.

(Nie Huaisang would have said that the sword wasn’t acting like anything at all.

Wei Wuxian had circuitously brought up the issue to him on one of his rare visits to the safe back line, reasoning out of sheer desperation that Nie Huaisang was the only person he knew that was gullible enough that he could tell the whole story to him without risking him figuring out the entire thing.

Nie Huaisang had laughed long and hard at it – Wei Wuxian couldn’t really blame him, since he’d claimed it was a story he’d seen in a play and if it had been happening in a play he would’ve found it funny, too – and then said that the playwright had missed the obvious answer: that it wasn’t the sword at all.

What could it be other than the sword, Wei Wuxian had asked.

It’s all in his mind, Nie Huaisang had said. He feels guilty, so he’s doing it to himself, and he’s blaming the sword because it’s the only other thing that he feels guilty towards. What else could it be?)

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng called, and Wei Wuxian grimaced, hastily hiding Suibian away so that he could pretend to have forgotten it back at camp - so that no one would ask him to use it. He’d apologize to it later. “Are you ready to go?”

“Physically yes, emotionally no,” Wei Wuxian called back, and heard Jiang Cheng snort like a pig with amusement – at least someone was getting something out of this, and no, he wasn’t counting Nie Huaisang.

He didn’t especially want to go, didn’t want to have to be constantly on mental alert to make sure he didn’t blurt out something stupid and life-destroying, but what could he do about it? In the end, he went.

Jiang Cheng looped an arm over his shoulder. “More Wen sect to kill,” he said, briefly looking tough and serious and even, dare Wei Wuxian think it, manly, and then promptly ruined it by smirking at him with exactly the same sort of dumb face he’d used that one time they'd planned on slipping dye into the water Uncle Jiang used to use to wash his hair. “Emotionally ready for that?”

“Comparatively speaking, yes,” Wei Wuxian said.

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I’m not going to ask what’s going on with you, because if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me,” he said, demonstrating surprising maturity, and possibly also the receipt of advice from the crumpled letter he’d shoved away half-hidden; Wei Wuxian wondered who Jiang Cheng was corresponding with that would dare give him advice like that. “But – you’ll tell me eventually, right?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said impatiently, and then blinked, surprised at himself.

If he’d said it, here with Jiang Cheng so close, then it must be the truth.

He would tell him.

Maybe not immediately, but – eventually.

When he’d agreed to the golden core transfer, did all those things to keep the secret from Jiang Cheng, to make sure he didn’t know, he’d thought he’d take the secret to his grave. He wanted to. He still thought it would only hurt Jiang Cheng to know what he’d done – Jiang Cheng would take it all the wrong ways, doubt himself, blame himself, hurt himself, when all Wei Wuxian wanted was for him to be happy and healthy.

But – Suibian or no Suibian – he couldn’t lie right now.

And if he couldn’t…eventually, one day, Jiang Cheng would ask.

Something would happen.

He’d find out.

If he did it in an unguarded moment - when Wei Wuxian was drunk, perhaps, or over-tired after battle, or punch-drunk after a close encounter - that would be the worst possible thing. He wouldn’t be able to plan out how to phrase it or how to couch it or how to reassure him; it would be nothing but betrayed looks all the way down and Jiang Cheng storming away and all attendant disasters. He’d have to quit the Jiang sect and go live on a mountain out of sheer shame, and that sounded awful even if he could probably con one of those quiet-loves-solitude types like Lan Wangji into joining him. 

And so the only thing to do was…

“Hey, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said. Attempt the impossible. “After the battle today, can we – talk?”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng said, brightening up like the sunrise. “Any time.”

[champion-leon-imagines]

Chronicles of Galar - Chapter 3: A loss & Gain of trust

This chapter is kinda sad at first. As a warning, a minor (and non-canon) character death that hit you hard and you don’t know what to do.. then you meet Leon and everything changes. Your level of friendship increases and he gives you comfort in a way, no other person would ever be able to give you. Comfort!Fluff.

"[Y/n]..", Cynthia's voice was sad and battered and that alerted you directly. Cynthia rarely called, and only when it was important or bad news. Her pitched voice suggested the worst. "I hate to have to say something like that over the phone .. ... Grandmother died .."

Your eyes widened and tears began to run down your cheeks. You had expected all sorts of things, but this news threw you completely off the mark.

"W-what ..? W-How ..? She was very healthy and not yet that old .. ", you mumbled sadly and clutched your smartphone tightly while more tears ran down your face. Professor Carolina, the village elder of Celestic Town and grandmother of Cynthia, was like a mother to you. Carolina had cared for you since the beginning of your trainer career. Since you lived in Sinnoh for several years and lived with her, the two of you cultivated such an intimate and harmonious relationship. Her death news had torn the ground from under your feet.

"She had a heart attack .. Caused by an allergic reaction after she had been exposed to the poison of an aggressive Roserade .. Roserades release a special toxin that has so far remained undiscovered by researchers, as they only eliminate it when they are really feel cornered and have to protect their offspring .. Grandmother had found a nest and wanted to study it from a safe distance, but one of the Roserades has lost its nerve. She fought for survival in the hospital for days, but .. ", Cynthia said and could no longer speak through her own tears .

"For days ...? And you call me NOW ..? Cynthia, I would have left everything and gone to Sinnoh .. "

"I didn't wanted to ruin your adventure in Galar. None of us expected that Grandmother ... would not survive .. The doctors also said at first that she was recovering nicely, but then her condition deteriorated so rapidly .... And then I was just too occupied and sad that I forgot to call you earlier. I am so sorry.."

You felt terrible. Not only because of the loss, but also because you screamed at Cynthia like this for not letting you know sooner. "Don't apologize .. I'm sorry if I sounded harsh .. I .. can't believe it .." you mumbled sadly and wiped your face.

"We all feel that way in Celestia Town.. Believe me .. The .. funeral is next week .. on Wednesday ... Are .. are you coming ..? "

"Of course I'll come .. Cynthia, thanks for everything you've done for me. I'll never forget Carolina .. I'll see you on Wednesday .. I love you, big sister, okay ..? "

"I love you too, little sister .. take good care of yourself."

With these words, Cynthia hung up and you dropped to your knees to completely give in to your emotions. You were crying so loud that your brother and his fiancée ran from the study straight to your room and wanted to know what was going on.

It wasn't long before you felt overwhelmed by the comforting hugs and words of your real family. You gently pushed the two of them away and stood up. "Sorry .. But I would like to be alone for a moment .. I'll go for a walk ..", you said and walked to the door.

"Now..? Do you took a look outside? It's raining cats and dogs. Take an umbrella with you at least. ", Aki said , worried and crossed her arms.

"I don't mind .. It's just water .. I'll .. I'll come back later, okay ..?", You smiled sadly and raised your hand to say goodbye before you just stormed out into the rain. Aki shook her head and collapsed onto the hotel couch. You and them currently stayed in Motostoke.

“I never realized how close the relationship was between her and Professor Carolina. Her death hits her as hard as if a family member had died. ", Aki said quietly.

"She was a family member for her." Mamoru began sadly. “When [Y/n] lived in Sinnoh after our parents started to argue daily, the professor behaved like a mother to her. She raised [Y/n] without hesitation, and became more or less like a little sister to Cynthia. Professor Carolina was the caring mother, our mother couldn't be at that time. So I understand that her death takes [Y/n] with it ... ", he explained.

"Shouldn't we then follow her and be there for her?", Aki insisted. Mamoru shook his head slightly.

"No. She said she wants to be alone. My sister is strong. She won't do anything stupid. Let's give her some time. And when she has recovered, she will come back and then we can still be there for her. ", he smiled confidently.

"If she hasn't caught pneumonia by then.", Aki sighed slightly. Mamoru smiled sadly.

“Then we mustn't blame her. This is what she needs least of all at the moment. "

You ran around aimlessly in the rain for a few minutes until you lost your strength and sat down on a wet bench. Your clothes were soaked and your hair was stuck to your face so that you could barely see anything. But you didn't really care about that at the moment. You pulled back your knees and put your arms around them as you leaned your head on your drawn knees and sobbed softly into them. You couldn't even say goodbye to Carolina .. You wanted to tell her so much, show her so much .. So many things were unsaid .. For example, how grateful you were that she welcomed you so warmly .. How much you appreciated you had learned and how much you  loved to bake Christmas cookies with her one last time .. that was all over now. That thought just didn't go into your head.

Minutes passed. The minutes turned into hours and the rain just wouldn't stop. It was like the heaven cried for her too. Not that it helped in any way, because your own tears just wouldn't stop. At some point you could only hear the rain, but the droplets didn't seem to hit you anymore.

'Have my senses become so numb that I can no longer feel the rain on me ..?' You thought bitterly and then looked up. You blinked perplexed when a red cape was stretched over you. You saw Leon, who was holding his big cape over him and you and protecting both of you from the rain.

"You didn't choose a good day to sit out here." Leon laughed slightly until he saw that it wasn't just rainwater that had moistened your face. Your gloomy eyes made his smile fade and he held the cape over you more generously. "Did you .. cry ..?" He asked quietly. Normally you would have been happy to meet him here, but under the current circumstances, you couldn't utter a single word. Instead, you bit your lip to hold back more tears. Unsuccessful as it seemed, because more tears ran down your cheeks again and made you sob softly in response.

Leon seemed a little overwhelmed. How should he behave now? Nobody has ever cried in front of them, especially not a woman. The purple-haired man looked around for help until he noticed that his hotel was not far from here. "You don't have to speak right now, but we should get dry first, don't you think so?" He smiled and you nodded slightly when you got up. Then, under the protection of his cape, you ran to the hotel. As he entered, Leon called the receptionist to bring fresh clothes and a towel to his room. And a hot tea. You two went to an elevator and drove to the floor where his room was.

Once there, Leon took the towel and rubbed your hair dry. Then there was a knock on the door and the room service had brought a sleeping gown that you could slip into for the time being. Leon gratefully accepted the  gown and handed it to you.

“I'm going to have a look after the tea. So you can change in peace. ", He smiled and patted your head lightly before he got up and left the room. You looked after him slightly. The tears finally stopped, but you still felt miserable. Although another emotion was budded in your heart. A warm, pleasant feeling.. You were glad that someone was looking after you at the moment .. and he was so thoughtful.

A few minutes passed before there was a knock on the door. "It's me," Leon called. "Can I come in?" He asked, not wanting to burst in while you were changing. You thanked him very much for his courteous manner.

"Y-yes. I've already finished dressing. ", You said a little broken. The door opened and Leon held a small tray with the tea on it. He saw you on the hotel bed. The towel around your shoulders and in the hotel's white night gown. He smiled a little, because you didn't seem so exhausted anymore. After placing the tray on the bedside table, he sat down next to you.

"How are you?" He asked.

"Terrible .." you replied quietly. "But better than before," you added after seeing Leon a little worried.

"Would you like to talk now about what happened?" He asked further, looking at you.

"... The woman who practically raised me ... and was like a mother to me ... died." You wiped away the new tears and sobbed softly. "She was such a wonderful person .. Why did she have to die so early .."

Leon was silent for a moment and then looked sadly at the floor. His hands clenched into a fist and he didn't even know how to react.

"Professor Carolina ..?" Leon didn't even had to guess, since he already knew a lot about your past. You nodded sadly and Leon's face grew sadder. "I'm really sorry about that .. My deepest condolences .." he said sadly.

"Thanks ..", you mumbled and hugged yourself, trying to find some warmth.

"If I can do anything for you .. Tell me.", He offered you and you looked next to you. You swallowed lightly and sighed.

"Can you .. just hug me ..?" You asked softly. Leon blinked slightly. Although you had met a few times, both of you hardly had any physical contact so far. Except for a short, half-hearted hug as a greeting. This time it was different.

"Of course," he replied immediately and put his arms around your trembling body to pull you close. You buried your face right in his jersey and wrapped your arms around his stomach.

"Thank you ..", you whispered softly and muffled when you felt how he caressed your back soothingly.

"Don't mention it." he said and hugged you to give you the greatest possible comfort. You and Leon lingered in that embrace in silence. Your sobs grew quieter and your breathing became calmer. At some point the purple-haired man noticed that your eyes were closed. You must have fallen asleep. Leon smiled a little and laid you on the bed properly before covering you and caressing your cheek. Then he looked at his smartphone, which was about to remind him of an appointment. He got up and wanted to go when he noticed how you grabbed his hand and prevented him from going. "[Y/n] ..?"

"Please don't go now .. I .. don't want to .. be .. alone ..", you stuttered with half-open eyes. Your [e/c] irises shone from all the weeping and Leon looked at you desperately. He thought about his appointment and sighed. Then he put his other hand on top of yours and smiled.

"Alright. I'll stay with you. ", He said and sat down on the bed again. You smiled gratefully and pressed his hand to your cheek.

"Thank you ...", you mumbled softly and then held up your other hand, asking that he lay down next to you. Leon smiled and lay down next to you to pull you into his arms and hug you. You both looked at each other for a while before closing your eyes and falling asleep.

On the next morning, Leon's voice woke you up. He didn't sounded angry, but a little louder than usual. And he seemed to be talking to someone. You opened your eyes and blinked when you saw Leon pacing up and down the room.

“I told you Oleana. I couldn't meet with President Rose on this appointment because there was an emergency. ... a private emergency. No, it didn't concern me personally, but ... ... Now please listen to me. ", Leon sighed and rubbed his face in annoyance. You just couldn't talk sensibly to this woman. “Of course, I am aware of the consequences if I fail to keep important appointments for no good reason. But the reason was important to me. And I don't care if you see it any other way. … Yes, then tell President Rose that we will postpone the appointment until next week. ”He hung up and sighed deeply again. "I wouldn't want to work with this woman .." he mumbled quietly and turned around. He saw that you were awake and looked at him in shock. "Oh..“

"You had an appointment with President Rose yesterday ...?" You asked and Leon averted his gaze guiltily. "Why did not you say anything..? I wouldn't have held you here if I had known that you had an important appointment .. ", You said ashamed and straightened up.

"You needed someone.", Was his only answer when he looked at you again. His words only made you more shocked.

"You had put my well-being over your appointments ..?", You asked incredulously and put your hand over your mouth. Leon smiled and walked towards you when he put his big hand over your head.

"Of course. I can always make up or postpone appointments. But you cannot control your feelings. That's why .. it was more important to me to be there for you than to give Rose another stupid interview about why I'm the unbeatable champion. ", He said with a charming smile.

You felt like you were about to start crying again. This time, however, not from grief. The warmth of this man simply took in every fiber of your body and you literally threw yourself into his arms after these words. Leon blinked in astonishment before putting his arms around you and hugging you again as you buried your nose in his neck.

"I-I'm sorry, only because of me...Because of me your schedule got messed up .. I'll make it up to you, I promise," You said quietly. Leon laughed softly before pulling away a little and caressing your cheek.

“If you want to make it up, then .. I know of a small, cozy ice cream parlor. That serves the BEST Alcremie sundae in Galar. How does that sound? ”He asked and winked. You smiled and your grief was almost forgotten for that moment.

"Sounds good."

Since that day the friendship of you had reached a new, more intimate level.

[procrastinatorimagines]

Better Than They Know

Fandom: 9-1-1

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,827

Request:  Hello! I Hope you're doing good! I don't know if you ccurrently do requests or not or if this is where to ask for them but I have one in case you do take them. Evan Buckley x reader where his parents come to town and they are really passive agressive towards him, complaining about his work and that he's "not as nice of a boy as he used to be" but he doesn't tell them to stop. Eventually they remark on his birthmark, hitting an old insecurity and reader comforts him? Thank you for your time! <33

You’d never met Buck’s parents, and he barely spoke about them, so when you got a call at work from your boyfriend telling you his family would be joining you both for dinner that night you’d spent the rest of the day fretting about what to wear, what to say, how to act...

Maddie and Chimney would be there too, but Buck had told you he wouldn’t survive the dinner without you, whatever that meant. You knew things weren’t great between the Buckley’s and their parents, but they’d both always been so vague on the details. Maybe you should have pushed, but you didn’t think you’d meet them this soon.

“They can’t be that bad, you and Maddie turned out great,” you tried, phone between your ear and your shoulder as you fastened the burgundy blouse you’d opted to wear. 

“Just wait until you meet them,” Buck said in a low voice, calling to check what time you’d be arriving. You could hear conversation in the background, definitely Maddie and two other voices you didn’t recognise, presumably the parents. 

“Is this really how you chose to decorate your living room?” You heard a female voice call out to Buck, hearing him sigh a little on the other end of the line, clearly wearing thin. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll come save you as soon as I can,” you promised, tucking your shirt in and searching for your earrings, curious to see just what Mr and Mrs Buckley were actually like.

“Thank you, thank you,” he repeated gratefully, getting called again by his parents as he hurried up his good byes, “I love you, see you soon.”

“I love you too, bye,” he hung up, leaving you to pick up the pace a little. He sounded stressed, and on edge, two things Buck rarely was. You wished he’d told you more about them, but you guessed you’d just have to find out when you arrived. 

Double checking you had everything and giving yourself one last look over in the full length mirror by your door, you headed out.

Buck had text you to just come right on in, so you made your way into his apartment and headed straight for the dining area, following the sounds of strained conversation with anticipation. Chimney seemed to be trying to carry a conversation, but it was clear from where you were standing that there was tension between the four Buckley’s.

Maddie gave you a pained look when she noticed you, still offering you a welcoming and almost pitying smile as the sound of your footsteps alerted the others to your presence.

Buck lit up, standing from his seat to kiss you. “Hey, glad you could make it,” he said, taking the wine you’d brought off of your hands so you could sit down.

“You must be Y/N,” the woman who was clearly Buck’s mother smiled, standing to hug you in greeting. It took you by surprise, but she seemed friendly enough. “I’m Donna, this is my husband Steve,” she told you, Steve standing up to shake your hand as you all settled down at the table.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” you told them, glancing between Buck and Maddie, then at a relieved looking Chimney. You’d come because Buck had wanted saving, but you actually thought he looked the most uncomfortable out of everyone here, which was saying something. 

“It’s lovely to finally meet you too, even though we haven’t heard very much about you,” Donna said with a pointed look at Buck, “I was hoping we’d get a chance to meet sooner, but it seems like we have to put in all the effort if we want to see our kids.”

“You know how busy we’ve been with work,” Buck explained, which was valid given that his parents lived out of state and both siblings worked five out of seven days a week. 

“You always are,” Steve retorted in a tone you couldn���t quite read, but from the way Maddie took a large gulp of her wine, you felt that this was an old issue in the Buckley family, and one that had probably already been brought up today.

The food looked lovely, so you settled in and took a bite as a bit of an awkward silence fell over the table, Chimney shooting you a sympathetic and knowing look that had you dreading what was to come.

“So Y/N,” Steve began, ignoring the looks of dread from both his children as he continued, “do you put on a costume and run into fires for minimum wage or do you have a proper job?” 

Oh crap. You slowly swallowed the food in your mouth, looking at him in a little bit of shock.

“Dad-” Maddie tried despairingly but he waved her off with a dismissive hand, still looking at you as he awaited your response. It suddenly felt like you’d turned up to an interview unprepared.

“Oh er, I’m a lawyer,” you replied finally, sticking more food in your mouth in the hopes of not having to say anything else on the matter. No wonder Chimney had looked so happy to see you - had he been subject to same third degree? From the way Steve had just spoke about firefighters, you figured you had your answer.

“Oh, see that’s what we wanted Evan to do, but...” Donna looked at Buck like some kind of child who’d just disappointed her, “it wasn’t his strong suit.”

You bit your tongue, your stubborn protectiveness rising up. These were Buck’s parents, there were certain rules of etiquette right? You couldn’t put them in their place? 

“I love my job,” Buck spoke up for the first time, “I’m good at my job, I help people-”

“Of course, we’re only saying we wanted more for you,” Donna clarified like that made what she said any better, or did she not even see anything wrong with it?

“What more could you want? That was your dream for me, not mine,” Buck replied defensively, the fake polite smile on Donna’s face vanishing. Steve put his cutlery down then, not happy with the tone Buck had just taken with his mother.

“Evan, really, what happened to that nice and polite boy we raised?” He scolded, voice stern. Buck clamped his mouth shut again quicker than you’d ever seen.

“Mr and Mrs Buckley-” you tried to interject, but Buck shook his head at you, resigning himself to accepting the criticism and insult once again.

You and Chimney shared a confused and helpless look, unsure of what to say or do in this situation but both wanting desperately to say or do something. 

The meal continued awkwardly, with snippets of small talk mixed in with the sound of cutlery and eating, and you naively began to think that the worst of it had passed. Donna had just asked what kind of law you specialised in, but by the time you’d finished explaining, it became clear that Mrs Buckley wasn’t done saying her piece from earlier.

“I’m glad Buck’s found someone mature and grown up, surprised, but glad,” she told you cheerfully, their complete lack of awareness at how terribly they talked to their children startling you once again.

“How so?” You asked, voice tight, your protectiveness beginning to boil over. Chimney saw the way you tensed, knowing you well enough to know that things were about to take a turn as he cleared he deliberately cleared his throat, warning you.

“Mom-” Buck tried with no small amount of desperation as Donna took a breath to reply to you, somehow unaware of your tone or expression.

“No no, you know what I mean, good job, good looking, Evan’s lucky he isn’t insecure about dating someone who earns more than him,” she and Steve laughed, but your jaw was clenched so tightly you thought your teeth were going to shatter, “oh don’t get me wrong, he is handsome, but we always said, he’d look much better if he fixed that mark on his face.”

You saw white as she tried to gently touch his face to make her point, looking a little insulted when Buck ducked away from her hand. She was about to make yet another comment when your knife and fork clanged down onto the plate with deliberate force, making her jump and stopping the conversation. Buck took that moment to get up, shoving his chair back and leaving the table.

“Buck!” Maddie called her brother, looking at her parents with disappointment. Donna shot back a questioning look, like she didn’t know what she’d said or done. 

“Evan we’re in the middle of dinner-” Steve seemed like he was about to lecture his son on his table manners, but you stopped listening, making a show of throwing your napkin down onto the table and glaring at both his parents before storming off after Buck without another word.

You found him in the bathroom, leaning with his hands on either side of the sink, head hung low and eyes closed. Without a word you went up behind him and wrapped your arms around his back, hugging him as you felt him release a breath, grateful as one of his arms moved to yours.

“I love you,” you told him, tightening your grip to emphasise the point, “they shouldn’t speak to you like that, they don’t have any right to.”

“They always have,” Buck sighed. You hated this, absolutely hated it, and you had just the mind to march back in there and tell Mr and Mrs Buckley just how much you hated it.

“That doesn’t mean they should,” you said with force, trying to convince him that he deserved more as you pulled the hand that was holding yours, getting him to turn around to face you. “Evan Buckley, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re charming, and you’re ten times the man they could ever imagine, try not to forget that.”

“I not-” he began but you shook your head, not letting him get in a word of self-doubt and insecurity.

“Yes, you are, and even if I have to repeat it over and over, I’m going to keep saying it until you believe it too, okay?” You weren’t actually asking, and he knew that as he met your eyes, reluctantly nodding with a small smile of appreciation.

You sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I wish you could see yourself how I do, how the rest of us do, you’re far too good for them and better than they’ll ever know. I love you.”

“I- I love you too,” he got out, a little choked up by your sentiment as he cleared his throat and blinked a few times. “We er, we should probably get back in there and save Maddie and Chim, huh?”

You laughed, “I’ll try not to stab your parents with my knife, but I can’t say it’s a promise.”

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Sleep and Other Things

Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, Grinding, Fingering (with them metal fingers babbbby), Oral (f), Mentions of Masturbation (f), Sergeant Kink, Praise Kink, Cockwarming, Light spanking, Sub/Dom, Hair pulling, Pining, Sexual tension/frustration, Language, Classic Tropes (I will not apologize), Fluff

Word Count: 11K+ (I really went on on this one I’m sorry)

A/N: It’s been TOO long since I’ve written for my bby I apologize

-

This sucks.

Royally, royally, royally sucks. 

And if you could choose from any supernatural powers at all known to man, you’d choose the power of sleep. 

Because for the past few nights, it just hasn’t struck you. You’ve tried everything you can think of: punching and kicking away at the bag in front of you in the training room until your knuckles started to bruise, drinking a nice, hot cup of tea, hell even meditation. None of it seemed to work in your favor, and you wanted to punch the force that was holding you back from a full night's rest. 

Please God, or you know, whatever is out there listening. All’s I’m asking a normal fucking sleep schedule, is that too much to ask?

The blaring flashes sting your eyes with every white, vicious transition of another rerun on TV. It’s the only light in the otherwise dark room, and it’s dimmed with the volume low so that every stupid little background laughter is dull instead of blaring. And judging by the big red 3:30 on your alarm clock, you’ve been awake for approximately ten hours with no hope of a fulfilled slumber. You believe this is your third night in a row. 

You sigh for what seems the hundredth time, flopping onto your right side and shoving your pillow under your arm. The soft fabric and the fresh smell of your favorite laundry detergent is doing nothing to soothe your mind and your body alike, but maybe keeping up the facade that it does will lull your eyes to remain shut and your brain silent; in the back of your mind, annoyingly, you already know that it will not work. 

“Fuck it.” You mutter to yourself and throw your covers off. The floor is slightly chilly against your bare feet, but not too terribly cold, and the compound is stable and quiet; more alone time for you, more time to watch the clock slowly tick by as yet another night—day you should say given the time—drags by thorough dark circles and irritable mood swings. 

The door is silent as you creek it open, though it doesn’t make one sound and you’re grateful for that. No use dragging everyone down with you. 

You’re not exactly sure on what you’re looking for, but it feels right to be where the food is. It’s a start, at least. The good news, too, about going to the kitchen is that it’s not that far from your room, a blessing to you now. 

The hallway is dark, too dark for you weak eyes you realize as you stub your toe on a corner of a wall. “OW—oH fuckfuck what the fuckity fu—”

“Shoulda paid attention, doll.”

You whirl around mid-tantrum, hopping on the uninjured foot rather ungracefully towards the raspy voice you recognize in a heartbeat. 

The root to your problem is sitting there—short, chopped dark hair, eyes that are sometimes grey and others times blue, like a storm and a ocean living and correlating together to create a beautiful color that you often dream of, and built, toned body hiding behind a black tank top and you’re going to assume matching sweatpants—with a coffee mug in his hands, sitting by the kitchen island and stifling a shit-eating grin as you wallow. 

Normally, you’d be very happy to see Bucky. Over the year that you’ve been on the team, Bucky has been nothing but kind to you, even after a rocky start to the friendship. As quiet and closed off as he is, you had managed to weasel your way into his circle; you leave him alone whenever you sense he needs it, not wanting to overwhelm him. Watch TV with him on the couch when it’s just the two of you; sometimes you’d barely say a word to each other at all, happy with the comfortable silence. He jokes around with you if you manage to burn another pancake or whatever concaussion you could scramble up or he’ll invite you to have drinks with him and the others—others being Steve and, despite the pranks and banters, Sam, and so, so much more. It’s as easy as breathing, just being with him, and the comfort and stability that you find in him never fails to put you at ease. 

But it’s like somewhere down the road something shifted. You don’t know when or how it happened, but when it did it hit you like a freight train. There’s a pull towards him when you catch yourself paying extra attention to the way his body moves, alerting yours with a sudden new and ferocious need; the daydreams that come from it are even better. The soft, barely there brushes as you pass by or the barely fingertip touch when you’re standing next to each other. The longing stares that makes you wonder if there ever could be more. There’s no denying that you can’t stop looking at him differently now, as more than just the friend you cherish deeply, but as someone who could become more than just. 

Sometimes, you even dream of his hand between your legs. 

What makes this even worse is that you’ll occasionally catch Bucky doing the same thing to you; he may be faster than you in oh so many ways thanks to his enhancements, but there are moments where you catch him looking quickly away and towards whatever was in front or next to him, eyes glaring like he’s—he’s scolding himself.   

“Sexual tension.” Wanda told you when you first explained your worries to her. “That’s what’s happening.”

You shook your head, laughing it off. “Nooo it can’t be Wanda. We’re just—”

“Friends?” She smirked. 

“Yes.” You defended. “Just friends. I mean maybe—maybe we’re just going through a phase, and everything will soon go back to normal.”

Wanda rolled her eyes with a smirk. “We’ll see.”    

Deep down, you knew that she was right. And that terrified you. Still does, actually. Why would you want to ruin such a good thing over what may be just a stupid, silly crush?

Now, exhausted, frustrated, and hopping around like a moron in the dark, the smug look on his face heavily annoys you more than ever. 

“Thanks.” You snarl. 

He puts his hands up in mock surrender, easily taking in your disdained mood. “Sorry.”

You finally let your foot drop back to the ground, your toe still stinging. Bucky continues to watch you as you limp towards the cabinets and reach for your favorite mug, setting it too harshly down on the marble counter before opening the fridge. 

“Try drinking tea,” he says. “It’ll be better than…Dr. Pepper.”

You shrug as you uncap the bottle and pour the sweet soda into your mug. “I’ve already tried that.” You mutter. “Nothing’s been working.”

You hear Bucky shift in his chair, hear the clicks of his metal arm as he stretches it out; he rarely does it when there’s too many people around, letting himself be free with the metal prosthetic. You feel special knowing that he’s comfortable enough to be free in your presence. 

“How long has this been going on?” He asks quietly. 

You lean your back against the counter and bring the cup to your lips. “Almost a full week now.”

You see him nod from your peripheral vision, straightening his back and taking a sip from his own up you didn’t realize he had until now; it smells like green tea, with a hint of something sweeter. Honey, most likely. 

You expect him to ask you more questions but he stays silent as you both take small sips of your drinks. Your eyes are heavy and your body is on the verge of completely slumping against the small space behind you, but you’re still too wired to sleep—okay, Bucky was right on the soda, but you’re not going to admit that to him. 

“Why are you awake?” You ask him. 

He just shrugs. “Same reason as you.”

That gets you to snort. Yeah right, buddy. 

“Tried sparring?” Bucky suddenly breaks the silence, causing you to jump from the intrusion. 

“Sorta.” You iffley say. “Still didn’t help me much…I really don’t know what my problem is.” Liar.

He hums softly. “Well,” he puffs as he sits up from the stool. “Let’s go then.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”

For such a heavy man, it still surprises you when he walks silently towards you, so quietly that if you weren’t looking you’d had no idea if he was moving at all. The familiar smell of his soap overwhelms your senses as he leans in, his left arm stretched to put his cup in the sink. You can’t help but inhale the alluring musk, which causes a shiver to run through your body. 

“Sexual tension.” Wanda’s voice rings through your head. 

God he really does smell good and he’s warm...stop it! 

“So?” He scares you again out of your thoughts, and when you look up he’s close. He’s really close—well, closer than you anticipated for only putting away a dish. He’s looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, but that smirk of his returns and your heart flutters at the close proximity of it. 

You set your now empty mug in the sink next to his with a sigh and nod your head. “Take it easy on me. I’m not exactly coordinated right now.” 

Bucky only chuckles, hearty and gruff, at your warning. “Whatever you say.”

You really like the way he says it. It sounds stupid, but you do. 

He leads the way to the training room, turning every now and then to make sure you’re still following—and that you don’t stub your toe again. 

“Turning the lights on.” Bucky warns you just seconds before the lights blare your vision, making you wince and blink against the onslaught. 

When you can finally make out the shapes moving around, Bucky is already standing in the middle of the mat, watching you with his signature smirk. You can’t help but give him a small closed lip smile of your own as you make your way towards him. 

“I’m totally gonna kick your ass.” You tease with a slight slur.

He grunts, face squished as he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah yeah, hurry up.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to be here, Barnes.” You chide as you start to wrap your knuckles. “You’re the one who suggested this.”

“Doesn’t mean you gotta be a turtle about it.” 

You give him the best glare you can muster as he struggles to hold in his laughter. Your grimace deepens when they finally escape, and his face is really fucking adorable when he laughs like this; without a care in the world. That makes you stare at him longer than necessary as he recovers. 

“Okay I’m sorry!” He gasps, putting his hand up. “I’ll stop, I swear it.”

The scowl doesn’t disappear even as you start to adjust the strings on your sweatpants; tightening them. You know you look like a child right now with the way you’re stomping dramatically heavily towards the ex-assassin, but you’re too tired and slightly agitated to care. 

“Alright,” he huffs. “Just come right at me and don’t hold back. Think you can handle that, doll?”

You smirk despite yourself and prepare a simple stance; attack. “Sure, ice bucket.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch from the playful tease. What he does is pat his chest with a closed knuckle and says, “I’m waiting.”

You watch him, take in his posture and immediately go for the legs. You’re a good agent, not the best, definitely in need of improvement, but you’re good. What you’re sort of forgetting here, a habit with him it seems, is that he is. in fact, a super soldier. 

The air leaves your lungs with an oof as you land flat on your back. His hand, warm flesh that feels like is scorching your skin through your shirt, holds you down by your upper chest. You blink dumbly up at him as you struggle to catch your breath, your body jolted from its heavy, sleepless form. 

“C’mon,” he says your name disappointingly. “You know better than that.”

You roll your eyes and grunt, swatting his hand away and standing yourself up. “I don’t see the point of this.” You complain. “If anything, I feel more awake than tired.”

“Oh you know what the point is.” Bucky scoffs. “Stop complaining and fight me.”

“Fine!” You growl. 

The next charge at him, you honestly thought that you’d get the upper hand. Where he goes to block, you quickly change course and go for a punch. It all happens in a blink of an eye, and suddenly his metal arm is wrapped loosely around your neck in a lock, the other locking your wrists in his wide grip.  

“You’re not even trying.” He breathes in your ear. 

“I am.” You say through gritted teeth. 

He finally lets you go with a small chuckle. It makes you angry. “If you’re just going to keep laughing at me then I’m—”

Bucky lunges at you. Your body reacts on instinct and ducks away from his attack, bouncing on your feet to the other side. The muscles in his back strain as he runs his fingers through his hair, flashing you a grin as he turns around. 

“There ya ‘re.” His brooklyn accent runs thick through his praise. 

That praise—and it’s not like you’ve never heard it from him before, always in playful banter—raises goosebumps and there’s no way he doesn’t notice it. You fight the rush of blood flooding to your cheeks. 

“Here,” you try, bouncing around him and playfully trying to grab him, distracting yourself from your own confusing thoughts. “Just stand still and let me punch and kick at you until I pass out.”

He laughs with you and dodges your weak attempts with liquid ease. “Oh I’m sure you’d love that.”

“I would, actually.” 

“You’re jus’ bein’ a sore loser.”

“So what—” You grunt as he slides to his right and pushes your hit lightly away from him. “—if I am.”

You do this for some time, aimlessly throwing weak kicks at his shins as he teases you—you’re really fucking jealous at how he seemingly floats with each bounce to his dodges. You finally manage to knip him around the ankle, causing him to wince and curse. 

“Ha!” You cheer. “I bet that hur—”  

Bucky takes your short moment of victory to sweep around you and kick your legs out from under you. You land ungracefully yet again on the hard mat, but this time you quickly recover and loop your legs around the arm closest to you and pull him down with all your strength. He flips hard on his back, gasping as soon as he makes contact and now you’re the one laughing at him as you have the upper hand. 

“Well Barnes,” you tsk. “Looks like you’re losing your touch.”

“Don’t get cocky.” He warns as his hand flexes still in your grip. “Or else this happens.”

You blink and feel a harsh tug at the back of your neck. Everything is a blur as you feel yourself being lifted and flipped into the air, like you weigh nothing at all. Your eyes automatically shut and your body awaits for the hard impact. 

It doesn’t come. 

Bucky softens your fall by quickly rolling his body into yours and wrapping his arms around you, practically caging you in. Your hands reach for the first solid thing they can find, which happens to be soft skin and hard muscle. His legs cage yours between his, his hair lightly curled and there’s a strangled noise coming from somewhere and holy fuck he’s—

“You alright?” He asks, panting. 

Your breaths mix together as you stare into each other’s eyes. You hear what he says, the words playing through your ears but your brain doesn’t register the nerves to actually respond to him. It feels like you’ve never been this close to him before, not like this anyway. It feels… suffocating. In such a good, intoxicating way that you don’t want him to move. 

And then you realize that the reason why he must be asking that question is because he thinks you’re hurt; that strangled cry was from you. 

He shifts, just slightly to adjust, that gets his arms to tighten around you for a split second. Your jaw clenches as you struggle to hide the hitch in your breath and the pool of arousal flooding between your legs. 

“Y-yeah.” You finally answer, swallowing thickly. His adam’s apple bobs as he does the same, and that gets your body tingling with a familiar sensation that has your eyes widening. “I think I’m tired now.”

The second those words escape your lips you want to take them back. His eyes fall as he shakes his head and chuckles, looking shyly down as he sighs. He unwraps himself from you and holds his hand out for you to take. It takes you a moment, still reeling from—well from whatever the hell that was. 

Now it feels awkward. You both can’t keep your eyes on each other, looking anywhere’s else like it’s fucking interesting. You gotta stop this. 

“Than—”

“Can I—”

You both say at the same time. Bucky’s soft, harmonic—in your very humble opinion—chuckle joins yours and you shake your head to clear away the fuzziness clouding your brain. 

“Sorry, uh what were you going to say?”

Bucky hesitates, and there’s something in his eyes that tells you that he’s nervous. It worries you, and instinct takes over to walk to him and comfort him. 

“No it’s—,” he inhales sharply. “It’s okay. We can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re more…awake.”

“I’m plenty coherent, Bucky.” You scoff. “Just tell me. I’m your friend.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes; it goes without the same brightness that usually greets you and that makes your stomach drop and your heart clench with an uncomfortable grip. 

“I know.” He says softly. Then his eyebrow raises in a mischievous arch. “Need me to walk you to your room?”

This time it’s you who hesitates. On any other circumstance, you would’ve immediately said yes and that would be that; no awkwardness, no tension or—or whatever the fuck is going on between the two of you.  

“Um… yeah. Yeah s-sure.”

You curse yourself mentally and berate yourself to keep it together. The walk back is quicker than the walk to the training room, and a part of you is entirely grateful for it. Bucky stays close as he paddles softly through the hall until your door is in sight, and you’re standing with one hand on the handle while chewing on your bottom lip. Now what?

“Goodnight,” he says your name softly, so softly you can barely hear him. 

“Goodnight Buck.” You whisper back. 

He gives you one last smile and walks away, and as simple and normal as this is, it feels wrong. Like he shouldn’t be walking away, because there’s something obviously going on between the two of you and you have no idea how—well, you know one way—to fix it because you’re a goddamn coward and that smile isn’t the same smile he gives you.

You lean against your bedroom door as it shuts. Your eyes sting with unshed tears and the aching pressure between your legs is long gone, but the evidence of it sticks to your panties. Ignoring it, you hop onto your bed and fling yourself against your lush pillows, and the rest of the morning is spent with you staring at the tv screen overthinking every interaction you ever had with the man responsible for your turmoil, and fall asleep with frustration seeping through your veins.

When you come to, early afternoon you think, the ache in your pussy is too much to ignore and you cum with Bucky’s name a sigh from your ecstasy. It’s the first time you do. 

–

“You look…better.”

“Thank you.”

“So what was the trick?”

I masturbated thinking about my best friend. “Training. With Bucky.”

That gets her eyebrows rising up as she ahhh’s at you. “How are things between the two of you?”

“Good.” You feign. “Really good, actually.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I’m serious.”

“Just fuck already.”

“Wanda—”

“Seriously, I’m getting pretty sick of watching you mope around like this. You’ve got to talk to him.”

You sigh through your nose, throwing your head back against the couch cushion. “I know.” You groan. “It’s just—I don’t know how, you know? I mean, what if this ruins our entire friendship? I can’t…I can’t live with that.”

Wanda purses her lips and rubs your shoulder comfortably. “I know,” she coos. “But don’t think you’ll feel better getting it off your chest? How do you know that he doesn’t feel the same way?”

A pause. “No.” Yes. Another pause. “And no.” One more.  “How did this happen?” 

She understands what you mean when you say it in a whine. She opens her mouth and is about to reply when—

“Did what happen?”

You freeze, eyes going wide as Wanda stares back in equal horror; you also detect the glint in her green eyes that spells nothing but trouble for you. 

“She just agreed to have a movie night with Vis and I. My pick, which she’s still sulking about.” She throws in, so casually that you’re kind of surprised and impressed. “We were just talking about asking you to join us.”

You should’ve seen this coming. Really, you should have. It pisses you off. 

‘Calm down.’ Her voice whispers in your head, a skill she’s been working on. ‘I’m sorry, but this is for your own good.’

“Yeah?” Bucky says, all rich honey. “When?”

You roll your lips and force a smirk as you turn towards him. “Tonight, around nine.” If she was going to force you into this and pick the movie, you wanted to at least have some control over this situation. 

His eyes meet yours and the crinkles around them washes away the annoyance that was starting to build. He nods while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets and grins towards Wanda. 

“Alright. Pick a good movie, would ya?”

Wanda laughs. “I will!”

Your fingers twinkle in a wave as Bucky awkwardly waves back. Once you’re sure he’s gone and out of earshot, you nudge Wanda’s leg with your foot. “What the hell was that?” You hiss. 

“Oh hush,” she clicks her tongue. “I just gave you an opportunity, and who knows maybe something good will happen, and you’ll be thanking me after you fuc—”

“Alright alright I get it!” You stop her, a part of you still scared that anyone will just waltz in and hear. “I’ll stop complaining under one condition.”

“Okay.” She says suspiciously with narrowed eyes. 

“I get to pick the movie.”

—

Your legs hurt. 

Curled up crookedly under your blanket, back at an awkward angle as you stare at the moving faces and listen to the screams as they run through the forest. 

The Blair Witch Project has always been one of your favorites, and you figure there’s no sex, no nudity, nothing that could put you in a weird position with the man you can’t stop thinking about sitting right next to you on the plushy loveseat. Yeah, why not?

But of course, Wanda had to be Wanda, and insisted that the two of you lounge on the small couch while her and Vision take over the other, bigger one. As if they needed the space. 

Bucky, although, doesn’t seem to sense your discomfort, and if he does he’s kept quiet about it. He seems just as stiff as you are, but more relaxed and attentive. 

It’s been almost an hour of this. 

There’s a little giggle from the couple to your left, and when you look over you see Wanda putting her finger to her lips, shushing Vision as she holds in more of her laughter. 

Glad she’s having fun. 

Stop it. You’re doing this to yourself. 

You let out a soft sigh and shuffle to your right, closer to Buck as you gingerly uncurl your legs and sit them criss cross. Much better. You can pay attention to the movie better now that you’re more comfortable, so lost in the panic on the screen that you don’t hear him move but rather feel the brush of his thigh against your knee. 

Once you realize it you decide to ignore the onslaught of the electric shock rushing through your core—it’s embarrassing that a touch of his leg of all things gets you going. 

Bang!

You gasp and jump, gripping onto the first thing your flying hands find. It happens to be Bucky, naturally. 

“Sorry!” Wanda whispers yells. 

You roll your eyes with a loud, annoyed sigh and settle back into the loveseat. Your hands still grip onto his bicep, and it’s his subtle clear of the throat that brings your attention to it.

“Sorry.” You flinch and let go of him. 

“It’s okay.” He sounds off, a little dejected. 

You’re about to over analyze it—because that’s what you do best—when Bucky scooches closer to you and hands his arm up to rest on the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely reaching your shoulder. Willing yourself to relax and focus, you don’t notice the side glances he’s throwing you or the hushed whispers of your friend, who is no longer paying attention to the movie at all, but rather at you and Bucky. 

“We’re gonna turn in.” Wanda announces. 

Your mouth opens in a small o as you stare at her in disbelief. “Are you sure?” It’s hard to hide the plea. “It’s almost at the end!”

Vision gives you an apologetic shrug and mouths ‘sorry’ as Wanda drags him away by his hand. “Yeah, we’re sure. Don’t have too much fun without me!” Her accent thrums with pure tease and you can only blubber like an idiot while watching them disappear to their room. 

“Well,” Bucky sighs and shifts lower until he’s more comfortable. “Just us.”

“Hm.”

You don’t mean to sound so annoyed. You can tell it hurts his feelings because his arm moves back to his side, effectively putting more space between you. Your heart clenches at the fact that you’re the one doing this, no one else, and seeing him now, eyebrows furrowed and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as his leg starts to bounce anxiously, makes you feel even worse. 

“I think I’m going to bed, too.” Bucky says. 

He stands up before you can say something, though you’re not exactly sure what you want to say to him; there’s so much and your brain is in too much of a scramble of self wallowing and fear that it’s hard to put them coherently together. 

“Goodnight.” He doesn’t say your name, or give you your smile. An awkward wave and heavy steps is all you get, and when they become more faint do you curse yourself and fight the stupid tears clogging your throat as you sit there in the dark. 

–

It’s been a week since that night. 

Wanda, much to your relief, has left you alone about Bucky, but you know with every look when he enters the room that she’s still thinking about it; still scolding you for not taking the leap of faith into what could lead to so much more.  To be honest, you don’t blame her; you’d be doing the same if you knew she’d be happy. 

This time it’s so bad that the rest of the team starts to notice yours and Bucky’s sudden thrift. Steve, bless him, has been the most frequent next to Wanda. 

“You know you can tell me anything Buck,” Steve’s voice rang through the empty room. 

This was the night after the movie incident. Restless once again, you decided to punch out your feelings and frustrations at two in the morning with the hope that you would be alone. You almost walked in on them, not paying attention, when you heard him. 

“I know.” Bucky said. “But I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. There’s nothing there.”

Your heart leapt in your chest and your stomach dropped. Somehow, you knew they were talking about you. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked; you imagine he did so while crossing his arms.

A bang, followed by a grunt. “Nothing. Just as I said it.”

A stab deep in your heart with a jagged edge made your knees nearly buckle. 

“Buck—“

“Listen punk,” Bucky interrupted. “I know you’re just looking out for me and I appreciate it, but I don’t want to…I want—“

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” FRIDAY interjects robotically. “But I’m afraid Rogers has a call waiting for him and it’s very urgent.”

You heard Steve sigh and something moved or fell, but you hurried away before you could get caught. 

Ever since, you can’t get those words out of your head. They play over and over like a broken record, chasing you to insanity. 

Why oh why did FRIDAY have to say something?

It was like a sign from the universe itself. Whether it was good or bad, you weren’t quite sure yet.

Tonight is a particularly warm night, which you’re not complaining about, especially with Stark’s AC. It looks to be another night of staring blankly into space until you get tired of that; covers thrown haphazardly across the room, cool air breezing against your bare skin, a new set of dark bags under your eyes brewing. A typical night for you. 

This time you debate on whether you should move. It’s getting old, just sitting here but you’re too afraid of running into—well into anyone at this point. You just don’t think you have the energy for it. 

So you decide on sitting by your window and watching the cars drive by, lights flashing through the busy city. Count the stars that barely shine through in the dark sky, too many city lights blocking out the natural brightness. Finally, after several long and agonizing minutes, you throw on a pair of shorts and quietly open the door, peering at the hallways to the best of your ability without any light with ears straining to detect any type of sound no matter big or small, and once you’re satisfied that you’re alone you close the door and blink. 

Where to this time?

You could try the training room again, but the last time makes you hold out on that. The living room maybe? Kitchen? Game room? 

Suddenly it hits you, and you want to wack yourself on the head for not thinking of this sooner. Quickly tiptoeing back to your room, you grab the fluffiest blanket you own and wrap it around yourself. 

You usually prefer taking the elevator up, too lazy for the stairs, but it’s too late for that so, stairs it is. Thankfully, it’s not that many flights and when the first breeze of fresh, cool air hits your skin you immediately sigh and inhale deeply. The night is filled with miscellaneous noises of the common city, but after being here for so long you’re more than used to it. You can see the moon now, hiding behind slivers of a dark cloud, and to your right a gruff, 

“What’re you doing up here?”

It’s not unwelcoming, just a question out of curiosity. You turn to him, shocked to find him up here. 

“Uh.” You drawl, mouth hanging open as you think of something to say. “Well—well I…” Why is this so hard?

“Why are you up here?” You ask instead, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. 

Bucky shifts in the lawn chair—a cheap brand that creaks a little under his weight—and offers you a timid smile. “Don’t you remember?”

You shuffle through your memories, trying to understand the meaning behind his question. He’s patient with you, even shuffling deeper into his stance as you stare quizzically at him. What the fuc––oh. Oh you know what he’s talking about now. 

“Oh Jesus Bucky I’m––” you run a palm over your face in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to say sorry for,” he assures you. 

But you do. You do because he’s your friend, one of your best friends even, and with all of this going on, he deserves to have a good friend. 

So it makes you feel terrible that you forgot the quite frankly huge significance of this roof, and even more specifically the very spot he’s sitting in right now; this is where he goes when he has nightmares. When he wants to be alone. This is where your friendship started. 

You had snuck up to the roof in the middle of one of Tony’s parties, clad in a simple short blue dress and an armful of drinks and snacks for yourself. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t having fun, you were never one to turn down a good party. But that night you had just wanted a little alone time, and the roof was one of your sanctums of escape from the world and its responsibilities. 

Balancing everything awkwardly and praying that you wouldn’t have to bend down and pick any of them up, you finally twisted and pushed the door unceremoniously. 

It should’ve banged against something with the amount of force you excurted—out of pure annoyance—but instead it was stopped by flashy, shiny fingers, curled against the rim of the door with quiet clicks. 

“Fuck!” You gasped. “I’m sorry, didn’t know anyone was up here.”

Bucky stared down at you wearily, eyes full of surprise and wonder as he eyed you up and down, particularly taking in the overflowing variousity of items in your arms.     

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just needed…to get away for a moment.”

At this point you already knew how Bucky was with large crowds; you didn’t blame him for coming here, especially on warm summer nights such as this. 

“Yeah,” you repeated. “Me too.” You looked down at your feet, shifting your weight. “Do you… would you like to join me?”

He froze. The blood to your cheeks was prominent, you could feel that from the heat of it. You shifted again, lifting a foot to help shove a box back into your arms.

“Okay.”

You smiled then, bright and toothy. “Here,” Bucky said, reaching for the snacks. “Let me get that.”

That night was filled with nothing but small talk and laughter, and it was one of the best nights of your life in a long, long time. From then on, you and Bucky grew closer and closer until you started to dream about riding his cock until he screamed your name and you started to push him away. 

“Buck.” You sigh, shaking the perverted thoughts away. 

“Just come here,” he says, reaching his hand out. “I want you to see something.”

You hesitate, but only for a split second before you find yourself walking towards him. His eyes, grey tonight, bare deep into yours like he’s trying to see into your soul; to figure you out, more likely.

Once you’re within hand’s reach he gently tugs at your blanket and your heart skips a beat at the sheer…domestically of such a minuscule motion. He tugs again, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the armrest. 

“That chair is gonna break as soon as I sit on it.” You argue. 

“It’s not,” he defends gently. 

He still senses your hesitance and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Can I—?” He scrunches his eyebrows and carefully wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you to the left side of him. You let him guide your body until you’re half seated on his lap, legs practically curled over his thighs while his arm stays wrapped around you. 

The heat from his body is searing, even through the extra layers of fluff you have on you. His breath ghosts over your cheek, casting a whiff of something sweet and minty on his breath. The hard, metal muscles dig into your back, although not uncomfortably, but enough for you to have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together at the thought of his arm tightening around you as he pounds into you—

“Look up.” He suddenly whispers in your ear, husky and deep. It causes a delectable shiver to run down your body and your pussy clenches around nothingness. 

Keep it together. 

Bucky must mistake it as you being cold because he pulls you tighter against him, which for you only makes it harder to control your thoughts. Your heart pounds and your ankles cross to try and relieve the increasing pressure growing in your pussy; thank goodness you brought your blanket out here. 

You finally muster your eyes to follow his pointed finger and squint. “What am I looking at?”

He shifts a little more to the left. Closer to you. “There.”

You try to ignore the way his words literally hit your lips. A brush of his breath that feels like an imprint on your pink flesh and gets your mouth watering; you start to wonder what he tastes like. 

“That?” You stick your hand out to the pointed stars. 

“You know what that is?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you think. You’re not an expert in astronomy by no means, but you took a few classes back in the day, and somehow this piece of information resonates high and mighty in your memories. 

“No.” You say before you can stop yourself. 

He smiles again, that toothy smile that you love. “Cygnus. The swan, I believe. Mostly comes out during summer months and it forms this triangle,” he traces the stars. “See?”

And that is why you said no. The way he describes it, giddy and excited because he learned something new and he’s telling you…you hate yourself even more for the way you’ve been trying to avoid him. 

“It’s beautiful.” You murmur. 

Bucky hums in agreement. Your eyes scan for any more constellations, but you can feel him staring at you. You want to look down, your neck is even starting to strain from it, but you just… 

He says your name. It comes out a whisper, and he sounds… scared. You slowly, very slowly, look down and find a swirl of gray and blue. Facing him like this makes you realize you’re closer to him than you thought; tilt your head a little down and you’d be kissing him. 

As if he read your mind, he licks his lips and, unconscious or not, you start to lean forward. 

This is it.

Bucky’s leaning up and holy shit you’re about to—

“Hey, lovebirds!”

The both of you jump and turn towards the intrusion, you with shock and Bucky, a murderous glare. Both his arms are around you, as if to shield you from the outsider. 

“Emergency meeting.” Tony smirks. “I don’t like it either but,” he shrugs. “Duty calls. Let’s go.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches out of your peripheral vision, and you find yourself filled with the same agitation because fuck you were so fucking close. 

“We should go.” You tell him, like it’s not obvious that the moment is already ruined. 

“Yeah.” Bucky grits out.

You miss the safety of his arms as soon as you leave them. 

–

This time you find him on purpose. 

You start by going to his room. It’s late, but not too late this time. You knock softly against the door once, then twice and wait. 

“Bucky?” You call out softly. 

A sharp, defined meow answers you back from the otherside. You grin and give the knob a try, twisting it open slowly as you glance around the room. 

“Buck?” You try again. 

Alpine, Bucky’s white feline, greets you with a purr and rubs against your legs. You bend down with a coo and pick him up, scratching his head as he closes his eyes and continues to purr. 

“Where’s your daddy?” You whisper to the cat.

He meows like he understands you, making you chuckle. The cool floor feels nice against your bare feet this time, a nice contrast to the heat flaring through the summer air. Alpine settles himself in your arms as you search for Bucky. Everything is quiet, no signs of anyone up and moving around, and you start to wonder if Bucky is up on that roof again when you walk by the kitchen. There’s a dark figure by the corner of your eye, but you don’t register it until Alpine starts squirming and you do a double take. 

“Hey.” You put Alpine down. 

Bucky nods at you and follows Alpine with his eyes as the cat rubs up against his owner, adding an arch to his spine. 

“I was looking for you.” You explain when Bucky doesn’t say anything. 

“Hmm.” He hums nonchalantly. 

You nod, because you don’t know what you want to say now that you have him and twindle your fingers together. This is… a lot harder than you expected it to be. 

“Soo,” you start out. “How… are you?”

He shrugs. “‘M alright.”

Okay. You got that out of the way. Now let’s—  

“Let’s go to my room.” 

He’s whizzing past you before you can even blink, Alpine in tow. It takes you a moment before your muscles move and you���re following him. Your heart thuds wildly against your ribcage and you take a deep breath when his door comes into view. 

Bucky has always been in a state between organized and messy. Most days you can’t even call it an organized mess, it’s more separate if you can make any sense of it. You’re reminded of this as soon as you walk in, stepping over a t-shirt and combat boots. “Sorry, sorry.” Bucky mumbles as he quickly ducks down to pick them up. The rest of his room is about the same, but it’s not too bad to make a big deal of. 

“Can’t really sleep.” He offers an explanation. 

“Ah.” You nod. “You got my problem now.”

He smirks mischievously and it shamefully sends a wave of blazing arousal through your body, ending at the pulsing ache quivering in need. 

“It seems I do, doll.”

Is this—is this a double entendre? Is Bucky messing with you right now? Enjoying the way you’re trembling with a hold that’ll give everything away? 

If so, he’s doing a fantastic job.

“So,” you clear the lodge in your throat. “S-so do you want to, uh, train? Like last time?” Okay, that might not be such a good idea—you won’t be able to control yourself then, you’re positive of it—but you genuinely do want to help him, so you’re willing to fight your animalistic pulses for the sake of your friend. No that—that doesn’t sound right. Just calling him your friend. Now, it’s leaving a distaste in your mouth.   

He sits down on the edge of his bed—dark covers that match the aesthetics of his personality—and plants his elbows on his knees as he, dramatically you have to add, thinks thoughtfully with a slight pout to his perfect lips. 

“Push ups.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Alright?”

“But I’m gonna need a little help.”

He leans forward, just a bit more, and—and maybe it’s just your uncontrollable imagination—his eyes are dark and blown wide. 

Okay, your pussy is throbbing now, the pulse achingly worse in your clit. “O-okay.” You lick your dry lips. 

His smirk widens and stretches to put his cup onto his nightstand, making his shirt pull up, showing you a sliver of chiseled abs on his toned stomach. 

Holy fuck. You’re not going to make it. 

Bucky catches your eye before he gets down on the carpet, the muscles in his back straining deliciously and mouth watering as he stretches his legs out and holds himself up by his palms. 

“Sit on my back.”

“Wha—” You sputter with a slight giggle. “What just…just sit on you?”

“On my back, yes.” Bucky teases and glances up at you. “It’ll tire me out faster.”

It makes sense. Logically. And he does have more of an immunity than most. But you just can’t help but feel that this is part of a game of his, thinking of any and every way to torture you and watch you squirm in your helpless state. 

You’re silent as you take short steps towards his crouched form and place a hand steadily on his broad shoulder. You check on his face, still as lucid and beautiful as ever, and carefully settle your weight atop his. 

“Good?” You ask. 

“Yes, so you can relax sweetheart.” He says without a strain. So you do as he says, sitting more comfortably on him and crossing your legs. 

He bends his elbows and leans down, your fingers automatically gripping his shirt to gain more balance, and pushes himself back up at a steady pace, barely a noise coming from him. Each time he moves you feel his muscles stretch and tighten beneath you; you have to bite your lip to stop from digging your nails into his skin.  

Alpine watches as Bucky continues the workout, all the while you’re sitting on him wondering just what you’re supposed to do other than sit here, anything to clear your head and appease the burning ache coursing through you.

“Say something.” He grunts.

“Like what?” You scoff despite yourself. 

“I don’t know, talk about anything.” Up, down. A heavy breath. “Count for me then.”

“I don’t know how much you’ve done already.”

“Ten.” He answers immediately. Up. Down. “Eleven.” Up. Down. “Tw—“

“Twelve.” You interject with a mimicking tone. “Thirteen…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…”

Up. Down. You highly doubt he’s even breaking a sweat right now as your body hobbles on the muscles of steel. Up. Down. A tick, sounds like from a watch, sounds lowly in the room, but to you it sounds like it’s echoing loudly through your ears. Up. Down. You need to tell him. Up. Down. 

“Alp,” Bucky sighs annoyingly. 

You look over and see the white glob bend its head down by Bucky’s wrist, and when Bucky leans down the cat boops his nose against his and sits. 

“Oh no, c’mon.” Bucky complains. “Move.”

He tries to sweep Alpine away with one arm but you’re moving too, not holding on to him and when he leans most of his weight onto his left side, your body goes with it. 

“Woah!” Your hands fly wildly as you attempt to grab onto something. That something happens to be soft and you mistake it for his shirt and pull. 

“Hey—shitmhm!”

You freeze. He does too. 

Did that…did that just happen? 

The air is thick, so fucking thick, you’re not sure if you can breathe properly under the weight of it. 

Now what the fuck do you say?

“Um are you—” you’re breathless, like you’ve been the one doing the push ups. “Are you okay?”

He still keeps his stance, Alpine long gone by now towards his bed most likely. You don’t care about that right now. All you can think about is how his arms flex as he keeps you up and how you can see his jaw tick; it shouldn’t turn you on, but that groan does nothing to help you as it echoes through the air silently. 

“Buc—”

There’s a tug on your calf and suddenly the room is a blur. You feel yourself being pulled down and flipped onto your back, and again you brace yourself for impact but it’s—it’s just the soft carpet, and he’s leaning over you, legs between his now open ones with a dangerous look in his eyes that you can’t tear away from. A bead of sweat dribbles down the tip of his nose until it drips down onto your cheekbone, but that’s not even enough to break the spell you’re currently in. It breaks Bucky’s, however, because he curses and wipes the small line from your cheek and wipes the front of his face with an open palm. 

You should say something. A word. Just something. He turns back to you and just…looks at you. And you look back. Breaths mix together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and there’s a battle waging in his mind, you can see that in his eyes; they’re barely recognizable now, no blue or gray. 

“Can I kiss you?”

It takes you a second to register what he said. It’s soft, so fucking quiet and gentle that it pierces straight through your heart. Your stomach erupts in nerves and your legs tighten together on their own accord, pussy fluttering at the question. 

Bucky waits patiently, never once moving a muscle. You lick your lips and that’s when he moves, a flicker of his eyes and a part of his lips. 

You don’t answer him with words. You don’t think you can trust your voice enough to. Don’t think at all, actually. Instead you nod and wait with baited breath as he nods back, leisurely, and starts to lean in. It’s tentative, careful but eager. You never take your eyes off his, only when you feel the soft press of his lips against yours do you indulge yourself. 

The kiss starts off slow. Barely even a kiss, just lips against lips. You crane your neck up and back a little and press harder against him, making him moan softly in the back of his throat and shit that’s one of the most beautiful sounds you ever heard; you need to hear more of it. 

Sensing your eagerness, he presses back and kisses you like you’re sure he did back in the 40’s, slinging every gal and wooing them with just a wink of an eye. His tongue traces the outline of your bottom lip and you open your mouth with a gasp, inviting his curious tongue into your warm crevasse. He sighs at the taste of you, swirling his tongue with yours in a fight you know he’ll win. Your hands lift up and wrap around his shoulders, pushing him down on to you. He presses down on your knee and you spread your legs for him to settle in between.

“Why—” He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva connected to your lips trailing along as you whine from the loss. “Why did we wait so long to do that?”

You giggle, deep and low and he joins in with his own, harmonizing perfectly. “I don’t know,” you say. “That’s sorta my fault, I guess. I just—” you look away shyly. 

Bucky places two fingers underneath your chin, prompting you to look at him. “Didn’t want to risk our friendship.” He finishes for you. 

You nod. Your chest feels lighter now, a new sense of…of an increasing, raw excitement growing inside you. He must feel the same way, too, because he swoops back in for another kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Your arms flex as you hold him still, running your hand up the nape of his neck and into his locks, gripping a handful of it to stable yourself. Bucky moans again and drops his hips into yours, where you feel the hardening outline of his cock through his sweatpants, grinding purposefully against yours. 

“Bucky,” you gasp, moaning when his lips trail down your jaw and stop at your neck. 

“I’m so sorry we ever waited this long,” he groans into the skin, planting a kiss on your rapid pulse. “You’re so fucking beautiful, малышка.

You don’t understand much Russian, but Bucky has been trying to teach you on and off and this one you understand; babygirl.

“Fuck.” You moan. He sucks a mark on your neck and bites down on it, making you whine and arch your back into him. He pushes back down, and his cock feels impossibly harder and you know he can feel your hot, dripping cunt, too. 

“Please,” you don’t know what you’re begging for. “I-I need…”

“What?” He asks sweetly. When you continue to sputter at him, he gives a hard thrust against your clothed cunt. 

“A-ah fuck.” You keen. 

“Tell me what you want.” He orders. “Tell me and I’ll give it to you. C’mon.”

It feels like you can’t breathe. He hasn’t even been inside you yet and you’re already on the edge, chest heaving and thighs quivering with the anticipation. 

Bucky suddenly drops down to his forearms, leaving a searing kiss that has you whimpering for more. “Want me to taste you?” He whispers huskily. “Like I dreamed?” His hands slide under your shirt, skimming against your sides. Your breath catches, caught in your throat as your skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Kiss that pretty pussy of yours? Fuck you with my fingers? Get you alll—“ He palms your breasts and pinches your nipple; you bite down on your lip hard, indents digging sharply through the tender flesh. “—nice and wet for my thick, fat cock? Would you like that, doll?”

Would you like that? You’d fucking kill for it. 

“Yes!” You moan loudly. “Oh please Bucky, please.” 

Bucky loves to see you beg. His dick twitches in response in his pants and you dig your nails into his back. 

“Okay baby,” he says against your open mouth. “Get on the bed for me, legs spread.”

You don’t hesitate as soon as he lifts off you. You crawl on the bed with shaky limbs and lay on your back on his pillow; it smells distinctly Bucky, filling your senses with fueled desire. 

Bucky looks at you like you’re fucking treasure. Like you’re the sun, the moon, everything to him, and it makes you blush and flutter under the intensity of it. You hold your arms out with a slight pout. 

“Please?”

He huffs a chuckle and reaches behind him to pull his shirt over his head. Your mouth waters at the beautiful specimen before you; you want to kiss the faint scars that littler his body. He pulls down his pants next but keeps his boxers on, the outline of his hard cock prominent and strained through the fabric; if it’s bothering him, he’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it. 

Bucky crawls towards you, slow and with a curve, like a predator capturing its prey. You reach out for him and grab his shoulders, pulling him towards you for a kiss. His lips, slightly chapped but otherwise soft, move against yours in perfect synchrony, as if your bodies are already so in tune with each other. He breaks the kiss, diving back to lick your top lip, and slides the palm of his hands back up under your shirt, this time pulling the fabric with him. You help him slide the shirt off and throw it casually across the room; your nipples perk under his wandering and trumpeting gaze. 

“Fuck, doll,” he whispers. 

Before you can react he leans down and envelopes your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the perky bud. You gasp and hold his head to your chest while his hands grip down on your hips, hard enough to where you know there’s going to be bruises. He bites down on the bud, causing you to roll your hips against his and your toes to curl. 

“Bucky.” You whisper, just because he’s all you can see and feel and smell…

He lets go of your breast with a pop and trails his kisses down the valley between your breasts and to your stomach, stopping at the pant line. 

“Yes.” You say before he can ask. “Please, Bucky. I need you to touch me.”

“I already am, sweetheart.” He replies innocently. 

You don’t want to argue right now. “James.”

He laughs and dips his fingers inside the waistband, the cool metal making you shiver. “You know,” he says as he drags your pants down your legs at an agonizing pace. “I kinda like it when you say my name like that.”

You chuckle, but it comes out weird and without much air. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He bites your hip bone, making your hips jump and your pussy clench. “James.”

Keeping your eyes on him—somehow, you know that he wants you to keep watching him—Bucky licks the very same spot he just bit and catches his teeth on the lining of your panties, pulling back and tugging at the flimsy fabric. The act alone almost makes you cum. 

You moan lowly and lift your hips to help him pull them down your legs, kicking them off once they’re at your ankles. 

“Jesus.” He murmurs, his breath hot against your pussy; if it weren’t for his broad shoulders, you would’ve closed your legs to relieve the pressure. “You’re fucking dripping, baby. Did I do that to you?”

You swallow and open your mouth, but no words come out. It’s like your brain is short circuiting, cut off from oxygen. Bucky grimaces and slaps your thigh with his flesh hand, making you cry out. 

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes.” You stutter. “Fuck, Bucky yes, only you.”

He grins and kisses the top of your pubic mound, gripping your thighs tighter and scooching closer to the bed. “Gonna taste you.” He whispers, almost as if he was talking to himself rather than you. 

You wiggle your hips impatiently, waiting for him. You think he might slap you again if you continue moving, so you will yourself to relax and…and wait. Because he can’t stop fucking staring at you, and kissing everywhere but where you want him the most and it’s so frustrating you’re going to cry. 

“Pl-EASE!”

His hot, wet tongue slides up the strip of your folds and settles around your clit, circling the sensitive bundle. You preen into his mouth and clutch at the bedsheets, already writhing against him. He immediately throws an arm—his right one—over your lower stomach and pins your hips down, preventing you from moving an inch away or towards him; you’re completely under his will. 

Bucky explores the velvety slit of your pussy, humming all the while like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. The groans that are escaping you doesn’t sound like you, doesn’t feel like they’re coming from you, but they are and it finally catches up to you—James Buchannon Barnes, your friend, best friend, your co-worker, is eating your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. 

“Oh fu—” He nips carefully at your clit. You can’t focus. Not on your words, your surroundings, nothing but Bucky and the sensations he’s bring you. Every lick and suck on your pussy has you keening into his unbreakable hold, whining and clutching the sheets until you’re sure you’re going to tear right through them. This is too much, way too fucking much but you’re so close, so desperate for him, that you’ll—

He slurps lewdly and loudly, making you throw your head back and choke on a moan. “Bu-Bucky I—I need…”

He pulls back just slightly enough to say, “I know.” And he shifts, getting ready to switch arms. 

No. Oh no no no no. 

Your hand darts out and stops him. Gulping, you wordlessly place his flesh arm back on your stomach and reach for his metal fingers. Bucky’s eyes widen as soon as he figures it out and stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. 

“R-really?” He asks indubely. “You want me to—Jesus baby you—fuck.”

“Please.” You whine. “I can take it.”

He—he snarls and buries his face back into your weeping pussy, attaching his lips around your clit. You gurgle out a low curse and feel his cold fingers prod at your gaping entrance. 

“You sure?” He asks cautiously. 

“If you don’t I will literally—OH!” One thick, wide finger breaches through your hole and slides into your cunt with ease, curling as soon as he’s knuckle deep. Your body spasms, like you’ve just been electrocuted, and your fingers curl in his hair. 

“Taste fucking delicious,” he begins to babble. “Sweet like candy. Nevr’ gonna get enough of it, doll, never.” He pumps his finger in and out of you, curling each time he slides back in, brushing up against your sweet spot. After a few pumps, he dips another in, stretching you. 

“Bucky I’m—” The coil in your lower stomach tightens, your pussy fluttering against his fingers painfully, but in a way that’s everything pleasurable. “Oh fuck I’m gonna c-cum.”

His lips are around your clit again, fingers pumping faster now to the point where you can hear the squelches from your cunt, and without any warning he sucks. Hard. 

“Fuckfuckfuck.” It comes out of you without preamble, mindless babbling that doesn’t even make sense at all. Your thighs cage his head, shaking and quivering as your orgasm approaches. “I’m g-go-gonna—” Your pussy clenches harshly around his thick digits and you’re gone. White flashes behind your eyelids, a numbness searing through your entire core as you shake and gush around his fingers, and a strange sound emanates through the room again; you don’t have to question who it is. 

Bucky works you through your release, moaning and lapping at everything you have to give him. Eventually you come down when it becomes too painful to bear and you push his head away from you. Giving your clit one last kiss that makes you whimper, he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking down at you all the matter. 

“You did so good, baby.” He praises you; you shutter, legs jumping slightly as your body flexes. “Gonna let me fuck you? Huh, babygirl?”

You’ll let this man do anything to you. Your limbs feel like jello, but find enough strength to keep your legs open and open your arms invitingly to him. He makes a show of pulling his boxers down, your eyes following the patch of dark hair and bulges at the long, thick cock that slaps against the hard plains of his stomach, precum smearing from the red angry tip. Next time—and you really fucking hope there will be a next time—you’re going to put him in your mouth. 

“Like what you see?” There’s more of that cocky, playboy Bucky Barnes you’ve heard so much about. 

“Yes.” You answer honestly. “Kiss me.”

The bed shifts slightly and creaks under his weight as he crawls towards you and locks his lips with yours; you can still taste yourself on his lips, sweet and tangly. The tip of his head brushes against your clit as he lays down on top of you, hot and smearing more of his precum across your stomach. 

“Fuck me,” you moan into him. 

Bucky groans lowly and you reach down to grab his cock; it’s hot, thick enough to where your fingers don’t reach and pulsing in your hand. “Shit.” He hisses, hips stuttering in your grasp. 

Nex time, you’re going to tease him, too; give him a piece of his own medicine. You would now, but this has been a long time coming and you’re tired of waiting, so you line him up at your entrance and keep your hand on him as he slowly pushes in. 

He moans your name the same time you moan his, looking down to watch himself sink into your warm depths. He stops when he’s balls deep, and you feel so full that you’re positive the tip of him is about near your cervix. 

“Bucky.” You wiggle beneath him. “Move.”

“I got you, princess.” He croaks. “I got you.”

Pushing himself down on his forearms, Bucky pulls out painfully slow, his dick already wet and slick with your juices, and pushes back in. You roll your hips into his thrusts, taking him deeper. Every single muscle in his body flexes under your touch as you wrap your arms around his back, rolling into you with perfect thrusts that hits a spot deep inside you. You're too wired, too engrossed with the fact that it’s him, that your still overly sensitive pussy clenches around his cock. 

“Baby,” his voice presses sweet and deep in his throat as he gasps. “I’m not—fuck I’m sorry I-I’m not—”

“It’s okay.” You tell him breathlessly, pressing your forehead against his and giving his lips a quick peck. “Just fuck me, Bucky. Use me, like I’ve dreamed of.”

Bucky chokes, eyes wild and neck red, and pulls almost all the way out until the tip is barely in and thrusts back in harshly. You cry out and dig your nails into his bare skin, leaving angry marks in their wake. He grabs your leg and hitches it over his hip, bringing his arm back down to wrap around you. 

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, doll?” He grits. “Huh? Have you?” 

How—oh Jesus fuck how are you supposed to answer that when he’s fucking you so deep that you can barely remember your own name. Your pussy clenches in answer to what he already knows, and that gets him to grind down at you; the curls of his hair brush heavenly against your clit. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you?”

Pleasure rips through as his hips meet your harder and faster, the slap of skin against skin becoming louder and louder, as is your cries, but you don’t care if the whole fucking world hears you. 

“You’re tight,” he gasps, closing his eyes. “How are you s-so fucking—fuck tight?”

You don’t know if he really wants you to answer that, but the only thing you can do is bring him down to kiss you again, clashing teeth as you moan and cling to him. He breaks the kiss and buries his head in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily. His arms slide back down to grope your ass cheeks and lift your lower half up to meet more of his heavy and hurried thrusts. 

“I’m not going to last much longer,” he warns you in a moan. 

You kiss his neck while your hand slides down his back to grope at his ass—as if you can push him even more deeper inside of you—and you lick his earlobe, tugging at the end with your teeth until he shivers. 

“I want you to cum,” you whisper seductively in his ear. “Sergeant, please.”

Sergeant. Sergeant. You have no idea where it came from, but as soon as the words leave your mouth he growls and starts to plow you, fingers digging into your flesh as his hips snap into yours. 

“Shit. Oh fuck babygirl I can—I can’t.” His rhythm falters, your pussy fluttering and clenching around him, trying to get his cock to say within you after each delicious drag against your walls. He whines—a pitiful, deep whine that resonates throughout the shocked nerves—and you can’t—

“I’m cumming.” You manage to break out. “B-buck—fuck.”

Your ankles cross around his waist, and it takes his teeth in your neck to have you cry out onto the ceiling as your pussy pulses around him, sucking him in and clenching until your muscles feel spent and sore. 

“Oh God,” Bucky whimpers and it sends another wave through you, making him sputter and choke as his hips slam into you unevenly. “Shit shit, fuck.”

“Please baby.” You encourage softly. “Cum.”

He abruptly pulls out, your protest lodged in your throat as you feel the hot, thick ropes of cum spurt out onto your stomach. 

“Fuck, fuck.” Bucky continues to gasp, his hand flying to his weeping cock and fisting it. 

You moan as a few more land on your chest, painting your body with his pearly white cum; you know it’s over when he starts to slump. Without a second thought, he pushes back into you. “Bucky.” You can only say in slight confusion and pain.

“Sorry, I’m sorry I just—“ he winces as his hips connect with yours again. “—just wanna feel ya. Too good.” He slurs. 

He kisses you then, slow and unhurried unlike earlier. This kiss says so much more in its language, lost in the dance of your lips. He trails his lips up to your forehead and places the softest and faintest of kisses there before settling on your chest. 

You hum and rub his back soothingly. You’re both sweaty and sticky—Bucky doesn’t seem to mind this fact as he presses himself closer to you—and your body is satisfyingly numb and exhausted. Finally exhausted for what seems like ages. 

Once the haze evaporates from your mind, questions start flying: what does this mean for you and Bucky now? When and how do you tell the others? What does this mean for missions? What does—?  

“Stop thinking.” Bucky mumbles, voice covered by the breast he’s laid his head on. “Too loud.”

He’s right. This time, it can wait. 

You smile and whisper an apology, snuggling deeper into the hug. You try to get comfortable, but the sticky evidence is drying uncomfortably on your skin. 

“Bucky,” you sigh. “We gotta shower.”

You feel his nose squint. “Few more minutes.”

You fall asleep before those few minutes are up.

Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal​, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @dadzawas-eyebags​, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin​, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie​, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997​, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine​, @sunkissed-winter​

[waitimcomingtoo]

heeeey, in love with you, your writing and your blog 💖 Tbh I have read everything you have and I really in love with your writing. And I know that your request are close, but if you want could you write a Tom x reader where they have a fight and Tom has to leave a few days to promote his new movie and when he's back he sees like some of the reader's stuff are missing and thinks she left but in reality she's in another room couse she's awfully sick and doesn't want to get Tom sick too

Thank you so much anon!

Give Me a Minute to Hold My Girl

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom can’t find you after a bad fight

Masterlist

Tom was away a lot.

You knew traveling was a big part of his job, so you never did complain. That being said, it wasn’t easy having a boyfriend who was never around. All the missed birthdays, events, and art shows weighed on you after a while. You were more than proud of him, but you were growing lonely. He had a saying, something he said every time before he left you:

“Wherever I am, and wherever you are, we’re always looking at the same moon.”

And it used to assuage you. You’d go outside on nights he was away and stare at the moon, wishing he was looking at it where’ve he was. You knew it was never true though. He was rarely in the same time zone as you and was definitely not spending his precious time staring at the moon.

You couldn’t help it. You were miserable. 

On a night where Tom came home three hours later than he said he would after being away for a week. He sent a short text alerting you that he’d be home late, therefore missing the art show he promised he’d be at after missing the last three. Upon reading the text just mere moments before your show, you decided your quota was filled. You couldn’t handle the lonely nights anymore. If he didn’t start shaping up, you were gonna have to start considering looking elsewhere for love. You loved Tom, but you had to love yourself more.

“Hi, babygirl.” Tom came behind you that night and wrapped his arms around your waist as you rinsed your brushes. He smelled like he had been using a new cologne, one you didn’t recognize. You stiffened a little in his embrace as you wiped off a brush.

“I thought you were gonna be home at 2.” You said quietly.

“Plans changed. Sorry I didn’t call.” He kissed the back of your neck with strangers lips.

“Do you remember what today was?” You asked for your own amusement.

“Oh uh…” Tom scratched the back of his head as he raked his brain. “Not your birthday.”

“No.” You confirmed with half hearted humor.

“Not our anniversary.” He continued.

“No.” You shook your head.

“Um…” he trailed off until his eyes landing on your paint brushes next to you. “Your art show. I totally forgot.” He rubbed his eyes. “It was today?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, never meeting his eyes.

“I knew it. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Tom took your hands and looked at you apologetically. “I got pulled into a meeting about Spider-Man 3 and it just slipped my mind.”

“It’s all right. I didn’t place or anything.” You shrugged, not wanting a fight. “You can come to the next one.”

“This was the one where you paint on the spot right? Can you paint me a new one while I get changed?” Tom suggested as he brushed some hair out of your face.

“Sure. Anything specific?” You asked, warming up to him now that he was showing an interest in you again. The fire you felt for him was burning once again.

“Paint how you feel. I’ll be back soon.” Tom kissed your forehead before leaving the room.

You put a blank canvas on your easel and squirt some dark paint on your palette. As you painted, you heard Tom shouting and cheering from the other room. You decided it wasn’t worth it to get angry at him for playing a video game, after all he did have a long day. You kept the painting simple and void of color so you could get back to spending time with your boyfriend. When you finished and felt happy with your work, you called him back.

“I’m done, Tom.” You called out to him.

“Just a second. I’m in the middle of a game.” He called back. After ten minutes had gone by and he still hadn’t come into the room, you decided to add another small detail to the background of the painting. Tom walked in shortly after with a different outfit and freshly showered. You gave him a small smile.

“I can clean up and we can grab some dinner.” You said as you collected the used brushes.

“I actually gotta go soon, honey. I have meeting in Manchester tonight.” Tom told you timidly. You stopped collecting your brushes and looked at him.

“But you just got home.” You said, not bothering to hide your disappointment.

“I thought I’d come back for an hour to see you.” He said as if was no big deal.

“And then you spent that hour playing video games with Tuwaine.” You pointed out in anger. You felt the fire fizzle out.

“He’s never on, I didn’t want to miss him.” Tom said light heartedly in an attempt to cheer you up. “He’s the best at 2K.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really he was the best at 2k.” You said sarcastically. “How stupid of me to try to pull my boyfriend away from making virtual half court shots after I haven’t seen him in a week.”

“I haven’t seen him either.” Tom reminded you, only fueling your anger.

“But you gave your only free hour to him. When am I gonna get to see you, Tom? When you’re dead?” You questioned.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” He held out his arms.

“Until your car pulls up.” You shot a look at his phone which you knew would be buzzing any minute.

“What do you want me to say?” Tom asked. “I work. I’m a working actor. People need me.”

“I need you.” You threw a sheet over your canvas and finished collecting your brushes, not wanting to look at him.

“I don’t know what to tell you, darling. I’m sorry. I can’t be everywhere at once.” He apologized. You shook your head before turning to face him.

“You spent last week in Mexico, Berlin, and Scotland. You’ve been to LA, Germany, and Vancouver this week. And now you’re off to Manchester? Do you mean you can’t be everywhere at once, or do you mean you can’t be anywhere I am?” You accused.

“I don’t pick where I go. If I have a meeting, I go. If I have a premier, I go. If I have to film, I go. It’s part of the job.” Tom defended himself.

“Chris wasn’t at the London premier.” You said quietly. You weren’t going to bring it up, but it felt warranted.

“What?” Tom asked at the random claim.

“Chris Pratt. He wasn’t at the London premier for Onward.” You told him.

“Okay?” Tom said in confusion.

“Do you know why?” You tested him.

“No.” Tom said after a minute of thinking.

“He was home with his family. He said his son started crying as he was leaving for his flight so he stayed. It was all over the news.” You told him. “Traveling is part of his job too, and yet he knows how to be there for his family. Why can’t you do the same?”

“Harry and Sam were there.” Tom pointed out.

“I don’t care about Harry and Sam!” You raised your voice. “I care about how the only time I get to see my boyfriend is when I’m scrolling through Instagram. Girls all over the world get to see you but the girl you swore you loved is lying at home in an empty bed. You can make time for millions of strangers but you can’t make time for me? Do you know how it feels every time you don’t answer my FaceTime calls but then you go on Instagram live? Do you have any idea how unhappy I’ve been?” You asked desperately.

“I have to tend to my fans, it’s a part-“ Tom began.

“Of the job, I know.” You cut him off as you stormed out of the room.

“What do you want me to do? Quit?” He laughed bitterly as he followed you into the living room.

“Would you?” You spun around.

“What?” Tom faltered.

“Would you give it all up for me?” You repeated lowly. “If I asked, and I wouldn’t, but it I did? Would you give up the money and stardom and power for me?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Tom sighed.

“Because I think I know the answer.” You said tearfully. You and Tom stared at each other for a long time. He could see how hurt you were and prepared to make amends.

“I love you.” He said meekly.

“Don’t give me that.” You shook your head and looked up at the ceiling.

“I do.” He said firmly but you didn’t answer. “What do you want me to give you, then?”

“A reason to stay, maybe?” You shrugged sadly as tears fell down your cheeks. “I’m seeing nothing but a lifetime of loneliness ahead of me because of your beloved job.”

“We love each other. Isn’t that enough of a reason?” Tom stepped closer to you but you backed away. His face fell at your indifference.

“I always thought it would be but…” you shrugged and pulled your sweater tighter around you.

“You wouldn’t leave.” Tom said starkly.

“I would if I had nothing to come back to.” You looked him in the eye. His eyes were red now too.

“I’m here. I’m what you have to come back to.” His voice wavered as he got to the point of tears.

“Tom, when are you ever here?” You laughed at the absurdity of his statement. “When have I ever had you to come back to you?”

“You think I like the traveling anymore than you do? I hate leaving you. I miss you like crazy when I’m away. It kills me to be apart.” He defended himself as he raised his voice.

“Oh, is that why you don’t answer my texts? Because being away from me killed you?” You asked sarcastically. “That makes total sense now. Although, I never really got the feeling you “missed me like crazy” when you were dodging my calls.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Tom apologized, knowing this wasn’t an argument he was going to win. “I’ll start coming home more, I promise.”

“Like you promised you’d come to my show?” You shot back, not yet ready to let him off easy.

“I just forgot! Am I not allowed to forget things?” Tom shouted.

“You have ten thousand assistants who revolve around you like you’re the sun and not one of them was there to remind you about my show?” You yelled. Tom quoted down when he realized you were right.

“Darling, I cannot deal with this right now.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “Can we please talk about this tomorr-” he cut himself off with a sigh.

“What?” You asked bitterly.

“I won’t be here tomorrow. I have press in New York. I have a flight out of Manchester after the meeting tonight.” He told you with dad eyes. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot to tell you.”

“How convenient.” Your voice cracked. It was at the point where you were plenty used to the goodbyes, but this one felt final.

“I was gonna tell you, I swear. It just slipped my mind.” Tom apologized.

“That’s been happening a lot, hasn’t it?” You snapped.

“You know this is part of the job.” He said weakly, hating himself for having to give you such a lame excuse.

“I do know that.” You nodded. “What I didn’t know is that I was gonna live my life freezing to death in the shadow of your career!” You shouted.

“Then get a new life!” He shouted back, eyes immediately displaying regret. You tilted your head as tears streamed down your face.

“Do you mean that?” You asked quietly.

“Maybe I do.” Tom shrugged as he stared you coldly in the eye. His phone buzzed and he glanced down at it. “I have to go.”

“Good. Go.” You snapped. He went to the door but stopped and looked at you.

“You’re gonna be here when I get back, right?” He asked timidly.

“Would you even notice if I wasn’t?” You responded as you went to retreat into the bedroom.

“Darling, wait-“ Tom began to follow you but you stopped in your tracks.

“I don’t have anything left here to wait for.” You told him and you watched his heart break.

Tom opened his mouth to speak but his phone buzzed again. He looked at it and sighed as you wiped a tear.

“Go. Your car is waiting.” You said.

“I can’t leave you like this.” He mumbled as he typed something into his phone.

“Just leave. You know how.” You said bitterly. Tom looked up at you at your words. He was in a bad way. His nose was running and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I can cancel on the press. I can stay home-“ he said desperately.

“This is not a home! This is a prison!” You yelled. “I am chained to this one man cult we call a relationship. Please, just go! You have people waiting on you, people you clearly find more important than me. You need to leave, because I will never kick you out. Go on your press tour. Go to New York. Go do your precious “job” and meet your fans. Go stare at the fucking moon. I don’t care. Just leave.” You yelled until your voice was ragged.

“You’ll never find someone like me.” Tom warned, saying anything he could to get you to stay.

“I hope to God that’s true!” You screamed.

Tom took a step towards you, but his phone buzzed again. He wiped a tear off his cheek and nodded.

“I’ll be back in a week.” He swallowed.

“Good for you.” You said dismissively as you walked into the bedroom and slammed the door. He stared at the door for a long time, about to knock when he got yet another text telling him his car was there. He swallowed thickly, pressed a kiss to the outside of the door, and left without another word.

“I’m home.” Tom called into his home a week later.

He immediately felt the chill of your fight hitting him. When he didn’t hear a response from you, he shivered in his jacket, suddenly feeling like he was wearing somebody else’s clothes. He set his bag down timidly in the ground and looked around. The first thing he noticed was the lack of dishes in the sink. You weren’t one for cleaning up after yourself and Tom had grown accustomed to coming home to a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. You’d usually wash and dry them together before settling down on the couch to watch a movie. Tom felt fear prickle the back of his neck at the empty sink. There was no way you’d actually left, Tom told himself. You wouldn’t just up and go without a note or a call or a text. Not that Tom was very good at answering your calls and texts. Tom took another step into the house and glanced around the living room. Your favorite blanket was missing and the room looked like it hadn’t been touched since Tom left a week ago. Your pile of movies was no longer next to the TV and Tom began to feel sick.

“Y/n? I’m home.” He called out again. His voice bounced off the walls but didn’t get a reply. His palms began to sweat as he walked into the kitchen and opened the cabinet. All of your coffee mugs were gone. There was an empty space in the middle of the cabinet where they used to be.

“Princess? Are you here?” Tom called out, desperately this time. When he was met with silence, he rushed into the bathroom. Tom washed his face with cold water and noticed your toothbrush was missing from the holder. He started at the vacant spot for a long tome before rushing into your shared bedroom. Upon entrance, he noticed your pillow missing. The bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in all week, and Tom feared it hadn’t. He flung open your closet doors and noticed a large gap in your clothing. All your favorite T-shirts were gone. After rummaging through the drawers, Tom found that your leggings, bras, underwear and socks were all missing too. Tom sat on the bed and out a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs.

You’d done it. You’d left him.

While he spent the week with friends and fans, you spent the week packing up your life. Tom snapped his head up when he heard the doorbell ring.

“Babygirl?” He asked as he rushed to the front door. He swung it open, only to find his next door neighbor.

“Oh, hey Tom. Glad to see you’re back.” His elderly neighbor smiled at him.

“Hi Shane.” Tom said weakly.

“I wanted to see how Y/n was doing. She left kinda late Thursday’s night and I haven’t seen her since. Been about a week I think.” Shane informed Tom. He perked up at the mention of you.

“You saw her leaving?” Tom asked. “When was this again?”

“Thursday. Sped off in such a hurry, you’d think she was in a race.“ Shane laughed. Tom looked past Shane and noticed your car wasn’t in the driveway.

“Did she say where she was going?” Tom inquired.

“Oh, no. My wife and I only saw her leave. We were visiting our son all weekend and got worried when we got back and saw her car was still missing. I rang the doorbell a few times this week but there was never an answer.” Shane said and Tom felt like crying all over again. “When I saw that you had come back if figured I’d ask you. Is she okay?”

“I’m sorry Shane, I don’t know.” Tom answered honestly.

“She’s not home?” Shane asked.

“Uh, no.” Tom looked back in the house and then back at Shane. “Shes not home.”

“Do you think it’s serious? Has she ever done this before?” Shane wondered.

“No. Never.” Tom shook his head.

“Have you tried calling her? You two are always so cute, I thought for sure you’d know where she was.” Shane said worriedly. Tom bit his tongue to keep from crying.

“We had a fight before I left last week.” He admitted, feeling like he needed to tell anyone who would listen.

“Oh, did you?” Shane said sympathetically.

“A really bad one.” Tom continued as his voice weighed heavy with guilt.

“That’s okay. Every couple fights. My wife and I have been fighting for 52 years.” Shane tried to cheer him up.

“Shane,” Tom sniffled as he gathered his thoughts, “I don’t think Y/n is coming home anytime soon.”

“No?” Shane asked sadly.

“I think she might’ve left.” Tom said with a shaking voice. “Left me.”

“Oh, Thomas.” Shane nodded in understanding. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“I’m so sorry, will you excuse me?” Tom closed the door quickly before his neighbor could see his tears. He leaned against the door and slid down it as tears poured from his eyes. He sobbed into his hands for a moment until he noticed something. Your easel was standing in the middle of the living room with a sheet covering it. Tom got to his feet and carefully approached the easel. He soon reached it and pulled the sheet off. The canvas was a mirage of gray and white with a portrait of a woman crying. She was holding half of her own broken heart and cradling it to her chest. In the background, a faint silhouette of a man walking away with the other half of her broken heart trailing on a string behind him.

Toms words echoed in his mind from that night: “Paint how you feel.”

That’s how you felt. Heartbroken, abandoned, and tethered, all because of Tom. Tom ran his fingertips over the painting as if were a piece of you. He tilted his head and smiled at it fondly, always blown away at how talented you were, even when painting your lament.

He noticed another canvas leaning against the back wall, also covered in a sheet. He walked briskly to it and ripped the sheet off.

Underneath the off white sheet was a portrait of Tom himself sitting on the world. He had a crown on his head and a bright smile on his face. There were tiny, detailed fans and billboards with his name on either side of him. He was in a suit and had his hand clamped firmly around a the sun. You had painted with bright colors, colors of the sunset and the sky. Your words from the fight came back to him:

“You have ten thousand assistants who revolve around you like you’re the sun and not one of them was there to remind you about my show?”

On the other side of the globe sat a girl. Tom turned the portrait around and saw you. You were sitting alone, literally on the other aide of the world. Tom felt his heart break when he noticed you were staring off mournfully at the moon. On the top corner of the painting was a blue “first prize” ribbon. Tom distinctly remembered you telling him you didn’t place, despite you winning the entire competition.

That was enough for Tom. The tingling sensation started in his nose and he found himself able to see less and less of your painting as tears well up in his eyes. Body shaking sobs ripped through him as it finally sunk in that you had left him. He cried into his hands until he heard something coming from the guest bedroom.

A cough.

Tom almost thought he imagined it until he heard it again. Someone was coughing in the house. Tom scrambled to his feet and pressed an ear against the door. He heard silence for a while, then a sniffle. His heart pounded in his ears as he twisted the doorknob.

Tom opened the door slowly and heard a clanking from the floor. He looked down and saw a pile of your favorite coffee mugs, a few plates, and some bowls on the ground. He pushed them aside and fully stepped into the room. Sitting in the guest bed was a very pink-nosed and red-eyed you. You were lazily scrolling through your phone as you dabbed at your nose with a tissue. There was a bottle of bills and a bottle of cough medicine on the nightstand, as well as a sea of mugs. There was a garbage can next tot he bed with a mountain of tissues coming out as well as surrounding it. Tom felt like he was seeing a ghost and suddenly felt like a stranger in his own home. He looked around the room and saw all your missing clothes strewn around. You were wrapped in your favorite blanket and your pile of movies was next to a tub of ice cream by the TV. Tom blinked a few times in shock.

“Oh, you’re home.” You spoke and Tom snapped out of his daze. You didn’t sound angry, just congested.

“Y/n?” Tom whispered as if he spoke to loudly, you might disappear.

“Hi, Tommy.” You said sleepily as you rubbed your eyes. “Did you just get home?”

Tom watched your every movement as you scratched your head and reached for the cup of water next to the bed. He quickly got it before you did and handed it to you, taking a careful seat next to you on the bed. You gave him a grateful smile before downing the glass. You licked your dry lips a few times and sighed.

“Yeah. I just got in.” He said, never taking his eyes off you.

“I didn’t hear it. I’m on this medication that completely knocks me out. Oh, I’m sick, if you haven’t noticed.” You laughed sleepily. “I got the flu from one of my friends.”

“You’re sick? That’s why you’re in here?” Tom asked as hope burbled in his chest.

“I didn’t want to contaminate all your stuff.” You told him. “Can’t have you getting sick before Uncharted starts filming.” His heart warmed at the thought of you looking out for him even after the fight you had.

“Thank you, princess. I appreciate you looking out for me.” He told you sincerely.

“Uh oh.” You looked at him with a half smile. “You only call me “princess” when you’re really upset. What’s going on?”

Toms lip began to tremble at your words and you looked worried.

“Your toothbrush isn’t in the bathroom.” Was all he could find the strength to say.

“Yeah, because it was disgusting. I had to throw it out this morning.” You assured him.

“All your stuff is missing. Your clothes, movies, mugs.” Tom continued.

“Look around you.” You laughed again, gesturing to all your previously “missing” stuff.

“Shane is worried about you. He said you left Thursday and never came back.” Tom told you.

“Aw, is he? I drove to the hospital Thursday night because my fever was so high and the doctor made me stay overnight. I took an Uber back on Friday because I got sick in my car. Its at the shop getting cleaned until tomorrow. Would you tell him I’m okay?” You asked.

“Of course.” Tom nodded, feeling himself relax a little.

“Thank you.” You said. The room fell into an awkward silence. Tom toyed with what he needed to say in his head.

“I saw your paintings.” Tom spoke up.

“Oh.” You said causally, knowing the content of the paintings.

“You didn’t tell me you got first place.” He said softly.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad for missing it.” You admitted.

“Princess” ,Tom laughed sadly, “I feel terrible. I feel terrible about every thing. Every word I said to you, I regret it. I thought about you and our fight the entire time I was gone. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was miserable without you. And when I came home today and all your stuff was gone…” Tom trailed off as he got emotional again. You pulled him to you chest and let him cry it out. “I thought you left. I thought you left me.”

“I would never leave you.” You promised.

“But our fight.” He cried.

“All couples fight. The ill-timing and stress didn’t help. But I’m not someone who just walks away. Especially not from something like this.” You assured him as you stroked his hair.

“I hurt you. I missed your show, I didn’t talk to you when I was home.” Tom listed off his mistakes. “I abandoned you.”

“It’s the job.” You laughed sadly.

“No. I’m not gonna let that be an excuse anymore.” Tom pulled his head off your chest and you wiped his eyes. “You deserve better. So, so much better. I’m sorry it took you almost leaving for me to realize how much I need you to stay.”

“I’m sorry about the fight.” You told him weakly. “I said some things I didn’t mean.”

“What didn’t you mean?” Tom asked as he gathered your hands in his and kissed them.

“I know I said there wasn’t nothing here for me to wait for, but there is. Of course you’re worth waiting for. You’re away a lot, and it sucks, but nothing compares to when you’re here. A few days with you is better than a lifetime with somebody else, I know it. It’s just hard to remember the good times when I’m sleeping alone every night.” You finally told him your feelings in a much calmer manner.

“Princess, I’m so sorry. This ends today. If someone needs a meeting with me, they can come to Kingston. I’m not gonna fly all over the globe to talk about movies for an a hour anymore when I could be at home with my beautiful girlfriend. You are so much more important than any job.” Tom promised you. “I didn’t answer you that night, and I honestly didn’t even know the answer, but now I do. I’d give it all up in a heartbeat for you, love. All the money and fame is nothing to me if I don’t have you.”

“Do you really mean that?” You asked him.

“I do. And I’m gonna prove it.” He swore. “I want you to come with me when I shoot Uncharted. And I want you there for the rest of my press tour. You can bring your easel and your brushes and paint all over the world.”

“Really?” You asked happily.

“Yes. People are gonna stop coming to see me and start coming to see you because you’re gonna be the most famous painter in the world.” Tom painted you a picture. “You have more talent than people could even dream of achieving. The world needs to see your work.”

“I’d love to come with you.” You told him with a smile.

“Then do it. We don’t ever have to be apart again. I can’t sleep if it’s not next to you anyway. We won’t have to look at the same moon anymore. I can just roll over and see you instead.” Tom cupped your face. “We’re gonna go to Berlin and Italy and Mexico, all the places you’ve wanted to see. You’re gonna see the prettiest sights and eat the greatest food and live the most wonderful life by my side. And we can go anywhere else you want to go too. Fuck it, baby, we’re going to the moon. Or mars. Wherever. It doesn’t matter as long as we’re together. That’s all I need.”

“That’s all I ever wanted to hear.” You told him as a happy tear rolled down your cheek. “I don’t want someone like you. I just want you.”

“I just want you, too.” He grinned as happy tears welled in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, baby.” You apologized for the fight.

“I’m sorry too.” Tom nodded tearfully as he reached forward to kiss you.

“I’m sick.” You reminded him as you pulled away slightly to dodge his kiss.

“I don’t care.” Tom shook his head as he pressed his lips to yours before pulling you into a tight embrace. “I’m never leaving you again. Just give me a minute to hold my girl.”

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona @foreverxholland @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning g @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter @andreasworlsboring101 @guksmyfav @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @justcallmehitgirl @averyfosterthoughts  @jackiehollanderr @tiny-friggin-human  @celestial-skylines @loveat2am @mara-twins @iamaunicorn4704 @delicately-important-trash @spideygirl2003 @the-crazy-fanfictionist @kii-mii @maryjanee23 @spacebitch2 @vgiselle @geeksareunique @emmamarshmellow

[ziaruth27]

An Introvert and Her Dogs

Did you know that many introverts are hardcore animal lovers? (Including me!). Why? Because animals fulfill a very specific role for us introverts that people just can’t.

All my life, I grew up in a family surrounded by indoor and outdoor animals, that I loved being around with them rather than playing with other kids. Honestly, I was such an extroverted kid back then; outgoing, talkative, and confident but everything started to change after entering school. I've been bullied since the day I entered school and it cause a lot of trauma ( mentally, emotionally, and physically). It ruined my self-esteem, I became less talkative and afraid of socializing with other people. It got to the point that I developed anxiety, paranoia, and panic attacks. Until now, I still struggle to control them but with the help of my family, therapist, and my dogs they were the ones who always comfort me every time I experience them.

How Having a Dog Had Helped Me as an Introvert?

My dogs named Bella, Cupcake, and Luna provides companionship and unconditional love that I needed as a person who had a hard time interacting with people.

Since Shih Tzus are known for being  affectionate, happy, outgoing house dogs who loves nothing more than to follow their people from room to room. Here are some interesting facts in each of my dogs:

Bella the 8 year old half-Shih Tzu and half-Pomeranian

• Doesn't like her grandaughter (Luna)

• Has huge temper towards her daughter (Cupcake) and her grandaughter (Luna)

• Loves to communicate with us by barking

• Very smart and knows tricks

• Has a lot of look-alikes such as a polar bear, pig, cat, etc.

• Always alert even when sleeping and easily startled

• Dislikes children

• Barks at everything

• Gets jealous and loves attention

• Foodie

• Loves walks

Cupcake the 7 year old Shih Tzu and ¼ pomeranian

• Timid but gets easily excited when it comes to feeding time

• Knows how to sit and play hide and seek

• Very friendly even to strangers

• Rarely barks

• Easily get scared of storms

• Loves her puppies so much

• Loves to dive into trash

• Chews on socks

• She favors me more

Luna the 1 year old princess type Shih tzu ⅛ pomeranian

• Very noisy and aggressive even when tiny

• Very playful

• Gets irritated when teased

• Uses her paws as a shield every time you give her medicine or just by touching her mouth

• Hates bath times

• Doesn't like to brush her fur or brush her teeth

• Looks like a cat, ewok, skunk, etc.

• Has a high pitch tone of barking

• Loves chicken

• Loves to sleep between any kind of shoes

• Loves her toy duck so much

• Loves to play with socks

• Loves to sleep on rugs

• Pees everywhere

Having a dog in the house has been good not just for me but also the whole family in a lot of ways, and I believe that among those ways, it has helped me as an introvert. (After all, we introverts have a deep connection with animals!) Since I’m always trying to learn and grow as an introvert, I’ve looked for ways in which owning a dog can help me. Here are some of them.

1. They give me something to talk about when I don’t know what to say.

Whenever I see people who are interested with animals it’s a great “in” to start conversations, luckily some of them even became a friend of mine which in turn gives me more confidence in my ability to successfully interact with others.

2. They don't judge you.

This is one of the reason I prefer animals over people, just like my dogs I noticed that they don't judge us just by looking on our physical appearance but rather appreciating us for who we were.

3. A source of comfort.

On these days, my tired introvert soul need something to nourish me and cheer me up and my dogs fulfills this need. Everytime I would have a bad day, it helps me to know that I can come home with a cheerful dogs rushing to greet me and snuggling with their furry face that will always love me no matter what and would always listen to my crying moments and try to make me laugh for me to cheer up.

[dissociativedaydream]

Soft - Part 2

Pairing: Bossk x Vertani!reader (read more about Vertani here)

Word Count: ~2.3K

Tags: reader gets kidnapped, brief mentions of blood, protective & soft!Bossk toward the end

A/N: this is to help establish backstory, no smut in this one (probably will be in the next)

< Part 1

You stretched slowly, a sleepy croak leaving your throat. It was still dark out and you sat up, wondering what had woken you. Bossk had been gone on and off for the past few months, he was in the middle of a job right now and you weren’t expecting him back for another week.

Sitting there you strained your ears, the quiet ring of the apartment was all you could hear. It was unusual for you to wake without reason but you figured maybe it was the horror holofilm you had watched before bed.

Laying back down you closed your eyes. A few moments pass when you hear a knock on the front door. Your heart pounded. Of the few friends you’d made, they knew better than to show up without calling. Especially at night. And Bossk had the keycode to the door.

You grab your blaster from its spot on your bedside table and walk to the door. Glancing through your viewport you huffed. The hell was he doing here?

“Dad?” You asked as you open the door.

He pushes past you without so much as acknowledging you. You rolled your eyes as you close the door and put your blaster away.

“Where’s your husband?” Your father finally spoke.

What do you care?

“He’s working. Why?” You put on a robe over your PJs, feeling weirdly defensive for being in your own space but dad also did that to a lot of people.

“You need to come home.” His back was to you when you walked back out to the living room.

Fear hit you, he sounded scared. Something bad must’ve happened.

“Why? Is there something wrong with mom or sis?”

“No they’re okay.” His voice was emotionless, which wasn’t terribly unusual for him when he was sober but something about it now unsettled you.

Outside of them requiring help, you couldn’t imagine what he could possibly want you to return for. It’s not like he had acknowledged you even before your betrothal.

“Your marriage needs to be nullified.” He spoke in the same tone, still not looking at you.

You snorted. Yeah, no. That wasn’t happening. Even if you wanted it to, because of Vertani rules, you couldn’t divorce him until the three-year mark. Before you could reply though your father continued.

“That damned Cradossk double-crossed me.”

“Wait what? I thought you said he was supposed to leave you alone after your debt was paid.” Your eyes narrowed, for a man who liked talking shit about Trandoshans he was doing his best to be wrapped up in their business.

“Your marriage to Bossk was supposed to secure me a share of the Guild’s earnings.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes were bloodshot and there were dark bags under them.

“I’m sorry that the other kids aren’t playing nice,” you couldn’t help but be snarky at your father’s entitlement. “But I’m happy and no longer belong to your family so you’ll need to figure out another way to piss off your investments.”

“No girlie, you’re coming home with me.” With that, your father turned around revealing he was holding his own blaster.

Shit.

You freeze, as shitty as your father was you didn’t see this coming at all. Your brain blanks out momentarily until he moves toward you which causes you to turn to retrieve your own blaster. Before you can grab it, you feel a tug on the back of your robe.

No, no, no. There was no way you were going back there.

You pulled at the robe’s tie allowing you to shrug it off and reaching your comm that was next to your blaster before your father was able to grab you and pull you away. Thinking fast you press the button to transmit to the last person you spoke with.

“Bossk, help-!”

There was a sudden pain in the back of your head that surprised you enough to release the commlink. He hit you with his blaster! Another crack came down and as you felt the warmth radiating from the impact you blacked out.

~

Coming to you were upset to notice that you were bundled in furs, your sister’s angry voice was loud and right above you. She was chewing dad out for kidnapping you. Your head was pounding as you tentatively opened your eyes to see unfortunately familiar surroundings. Damn it.

Groaning you push yourself to sit up, a wave of dizziness and nausea causing you to waiver. Your hand goes to the back of your head, you can feel warm wetness. Bringing your hand to your face you can see the dark red color of your own blood. That’s not good.

“Easy there, how are you feeling?” Your sister wraps an arm around your shoulders before you’re able to fall back into the bed.

Your voice is muffled by your hands as you cover your mouth, willing the bile climbing your throat to disappear. “You mean other than royally pissed off?”

Your sister snorted before turning back to your father who was standing by the entrance of the tent.

“You’re an idiot. A bonified idiot. You kidnapped her!” She continued berating him. “You said yourself that Trandoshans are dangerous. Now you’ve kidnapped the wife of one. A really well-known bounty hunter to boot!”

“She’s my daughter!” Father snapped back.

“You married her off!” Your sister snapped back.

You snorted, recalling what he had said back at the apartment. “Not really. He sold me.”

That caused your sister to pause. “What do you mean?”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. As fond of Bossk as you’d grown, the realization that your flesh and blood gave you to him just for a share of bounties from his father broke your heart. You really were better off with a feared bounty hunter than your own dad.

You recounted what your father had said and your sister’s eyes grew wide. While marriages were often used to create alliances and gain resources it’s very rarely done for just money. It was pretty insulting.

Your father tried to dissipate the tension, motioning to your sister’s belly which you just realized was swollen. “High blood pressure isn’t good for the baby, your husband won’t be pleased if you jeopardize it.”

A baby! Momentarily you forgot the situation you were in and reached toward your sister, stopping short of her stomach. She didn’t glance down, she was busy still glaring daggers at your father, but pulled your outreached hand to her belly.

“The baby will be fine. You on the other hand need to get out before I do something we’ll all regret.” She growled.

Your father took the opportunity to disappear back out of the tent. Both of you sat quietly for a little bit before you interrupted, hand still on your sister’s stomach.

“When are you due?”

She gave a bitter laugh, “that’s a great question. The doctors can’t tell if it’s more Clawdite or more Vertani so we’ll see.”

You smiled as you sat back on the bed, dizziness hitting you again. Clutching your head you glance around, hoping your stay here would be brief.

“Can you call Bossk? I think I dropped my commlink when dad grabbed me.”

“I already asked hubby to call when dad told me what he did. I’ll go check and see if he answered.” Your sister paused next to you, running her fingers through your hair like she used to do when you were little.

She traced a finger down your forehead and stopped at the peak of your nose. A brief pang of sadness hit you, as much as you hated it here you missed your sister something fierce. But now she had other priorities to keep her busy, you sighed as you watched her leave the tent.

Now that you were alone the fog that was clouding your mind seemed to get thicker. The nausea had subsided but you were tired. You didn’t know if it was a good idea but the cold from outside was seeping into your tent, encouraging you to bundle yourself and sleep. Maybe when you wake up Bossk will be here.

~

“Aye, wake up sunshine.”

Not Bossk. You groaned, covering your head with the closest blanket.

“C’mon, you need to eat something.” His voice held a chuckle to it.

“Where’s your wife?”

“I dunno but she’s going to kill me if I don’t get you to eat.” Your brother-in-law quipped, you glanced at him to see him glance over his shoulder. “Unless your husband beats her to it.”

“Did he answer?”

“Yeah, he was already on the way here, I guess you sent him a message before your dad knocked you out.” He sat on the edge of the bed, holding out a piece of food to you.

You hummed, you only vaguely remembered reaching for the commlink but you’re glad you were able to do something to alert him. There was no way he’d take returning to an empty apartment well, especially after your discussion about possibly joining him on future jobs. You wanted to join him to give your cycle a better chance at syncing with his but you didn’t want to openly tell him that was why. He was less keen on letting you tag along for obvious reasons so you had let it go.

“Anyway,” the Clawdite broke the silence, “he should be here pretty soon, your sister wanted to know if you wanted to borrow any clothes.”

You looked down, forgetting that you were wearing your PJs. No wonder you were so cold. T-shirts and shorts were not conducive to keeping you warm when this stupid planet was so damned cold.

There was a loud noise outside that sounded like a ship landing. Your brother-in-law popped up and checked.

“That’s him. Are you okay if I go get him?” He turned to look at you, concern knitted in his brows.

“Now that Bossk is here I’m probably the safest person on the planet.” You giggled.

He looks relieved before he ducks out of the tent. If it wasn’t for the foot of snow outside you would’ve just made for the ship.

You could hear shouting, your dad was really willing to get hurt over his own poor decision. A roar silenced the entire camp. Bossk was mad-mad.

The sound of snow crunching gave away his approach, it muffled his normally heavy footsteps but his gait was distinguishable. He stormed into the tent, wrapped in the cloak that you had given him the day you met. His eyes fell on you and his shoulder relaxed slightly.

“Come on little wife. Let’s get you back home.” His voice was more scratchy sounding than usual, probably raw from his angry roar.

You walked over to him, ready to embrace him but before you can he scoops you up into his arms. Bossk wasn’t one for much PDA so you were surprised as he stalked back to his ship still holding you.

“You’re going to regret that!” Your father was still going as the two of you approach the ship.

You were surprised to see three people and a droid standing between your dad and Bossk’s ship. One you recognized as the kid Bossk often looked out for, Boba Fett. The other two being you didn’t recognize, one looked like he was human and the other appeared to be a Theelin possibly.

“Get over it gramps,” Boba sneered. “I’m already pissed we had to derail this mission to come here. Keep threatening us and see what happens.”

You shrunk back as much as you could in Bossk’s arms. It didn’t occur to you that you had interrupted their mission, you just assumed that Bossk wouldn’t even check his messages from you until after all was said and done. His arms tightened around you as he passed your father but for once he made the smart decision and didn’t interfere.

“Let’sss go,” Bossk rasped, leading the small crew back onto the ship.

Boba glanced at you, concern flashing in his eyes briefly, he had followed Bossk to the living quarters while the others went to the cockpit. “Are you okay?”

You rubbed the back of your head, it was sore and throbbing a bit, you probably had a concussion but there was no need to worry any of them about it. You would need to shower to get the dried blood out of your hair.

“I’m alright.” You lied.

Bossk grumbled, bordering on a growl. “I can sssmell the blood. What did he do to you?”

Boba shot you an apologetic look before disappearing down the hallway, leaving you with your still pissed-off husband. Bossk lays you on his cot before sitting next to you.

“I’m sorry for disrupting your job.” You whispered, genuinely feeling guilty.

His gaze softened as he reached up to stroke your cheek, a rare moment of unadulterated affection.

“Well, you’re getting your wish to come on a mission.” He chuckled. “We’ll talk about what happened later.”

“Bossk!” A female voice rang down the hall. “We’re landing, give wifey a kiss and let’s go!”

You giggled as he sighed. “Latts is getting a kick out of this. You’ll be happy to know that she thinks you should come with usss too.”

He stood and you sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Ssstay here. You’ll be safe on the ship.”

You pout. He’s right of course and you’re definitely not dressed to be of any help but you hope that if he does relent and let you come on more that this won’t be the reoccurring theme.

Bossk does pause, seeing your face. He leaned over you to nuzzle your hair, an action he’d adopted as a goodbye to you.

You sigh as he leaves, laying back down onto the cot. At least he kept his ship warm. You wrapped yourself in his blanket, inhaling his scent. He smelled like musk and the forest, it was calming and you felt safe. Safe enough to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

< Part 1

[kj-1130]

Broken-Collapse pt2

TW//Mentions of rape/assault//TW

Main Masterlist

     “We wouldn’t have let you jump, (y/n). You don’t deserve that.”

     “You don’t understand. They have connections and as soon as they step out of those cells, I am a dead man walking. I’d rather die at my own hands than theirs, so yes you should’ve let me jump.” 

     You pushed out of Olivia’s arms and ran into the bathroom. Walking into a stall, you locked it, slid down the wall, and started scratching your arms like crazy. You wanted to be grounded. You wanted to feel the pain. You wanted to see blood. You just wanted to be in control. 

-

     Amanda, Barba, and Oliva watched as you stormed off. The blonde was quick to follow, knowing how much damage you could do to yourself in just a short amount of time. 

     She heard the pants that were coming out and the occasional sniff. Walking towards the only closed door, she realized it was locked.

     “(Y/n)? Sweetheart, I need you to open this door for me.”

     The detective faintly heard her sergeant come in but kept her focus on the distraught girl inside the stall. 

     “N-no. I-I need to d-do it. Just le-let me do it.”

     Both women could hear the franticness in your voice. 

     “Sweetie please just open the door. Let us help you.”

     There was no answer. Your sobs only grew louder and breaths more distressed. Neither of them wanted to break the door so Rollins decided to slide underneath it and ignore how unsanitary it was. 

     She saw that your scratching had already broken skin and there was blood caking up on your arms. The detective quickly unlocked the door before grabbing your wrists and pulling them up, preventing you from hurting yourself any further.  

     Liv saw what was happening so she hurriedly went on the search for a first aid kit. 

     Rollins sat there, whispering reassurances while you were openly sobbing and whimpering in her chest. 

     “Breathe, honey, just breathe.”

     You shook your head and kept hyperventilating as Liv came back with something to clean your wounds. 

     “It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

     Amanda took a deep breath and assisted you in standing up. She led you to the sinks and helped you sit on the counter with the sergeant’s help.

     The older woman cleaned your arms while you dropped your head onto the blonde’s shoulder. She rubbed your back and guided you through some breathing exercises. 

     “I’m tired.”

     “You can take a nap soon-”

     “No, I’m tired.”

-

     You sat on the couch in Amanda’s apartment, staring blankly at the tv. She was right next to you but it felt like the distance between the two of you was miles considering you were off in your own world. 

     A light rub on your shoulder brings you back to earth and you realize Amanda is crouch’s in front of you. You didn’t even flinch which the blonde noticed and she gave a small smile. 

     “I ordered some Chinese food. You need to eat something.” 

     The detective lifted up her hands before bringing them to yours and helping you get up. 

     During dinner, Amanda was gently coaxing you to eat at least half of what was on your plate before you could go to bed. You were convinced that the food was somehow poisoned and not safe for you to eat—even though you knew she wouldn’t do that to you—and it had been so long since you last had a meal, that you rarely had an appetite and sometimes just the thought of food disgusted you. 

     With much persuasion and hesitance, you started to take a few bites. It was then you realized how hungry you actually were. Throughout the evening, you and Amanda chatted a bit which took your mind off of the case and your mental exhaustion for a while. 

     It was about 7 pm when you could barely stand, resulting in the detective changing your bandages, then leading you to the guest bedroom. 

     She tucked you in, telling you to come to her if you needed, before turning off the lamp and exiting the room. 

-

     It was 2 am and you were lying wide awake. You thought you’d be out like a light the moment your head hit the pillow considering all that happened today; but nope. All you had done was twist and turn; thinking about those sick smirks that were resting on their faces. Their yellow teeth and alcohol tinted breath. The look in their eyes that said ‘I’m coming for you.’ 

     Before you could even give it a second thought, you were on your way to Amanda’s room. The door was open, so you went in and started calling her name before poking her in the side. 

     She grumbled before rolling over to face you. Immediately, she was alert, thinking something was wrong, but you shook your head. 

     “I-I couldn’t sleep. C-can I stay here w-with you?” 

     The blonde’s eyebrows raised to her hairline. You took her surprised silence as rejection and started to back out of the room slowly. 

     “N-never mind. D-don’t worry about it.” 

     This time, the older woman was the one shaking her head. She reached out and grabbed your wrist. She felt you tense for a second before relaxing and walking forward. 

     “Hey, no. It’s fine. C’mon.” 

     She lifted the covers as an invitation into her bed. You reluctantly crawled in and got settled. She could still see the hesitance in your eyes and slowly wrapped her arms around you. Once again, you tensed before relaxing with a deep breath. 

     You felt Amanda give you a light kiss on your hairline as you teetered on the edge of unconsciousness. 

     It was the first night in a long time that you dreamt of the roses instead of the thorns. 

-     

     You stayed with Amanda for a week before the state practically forced you to go into foster care. They said ‘you weren’t in any immediate danger,’ anymore. You had been there for only a few days before they sent you to a foster family. 

     Something in your gut told you this was going to go bad. But it didn’t matter. Because no one listens to you. And if someone did, it was always too late. 

-

     It was your first day with your new foster family. It was a woman and who she claimed was her fiancé. She seemed kind of familiar to you; it was on the tip of your tongue but you just couldn’t remember where you’ve seen her. 

     At first they appeared to be a normal and loving couple, but they always say looks can be deceiving.

     By the second day, you were locked in your new room, aka a storage closet. It was cold and probably moldy. You were hungry seeing as they hadn’t given you food since lunch yesterday. 

      You were huddled up in a corner rocking back and forth when the man busted through the door and started to drag you out by the arm with no explanation whatsoever. He was pulling you so hard, it felt like he dislocated your shoulder. 

     The buff man practically pushed you down the stairs and roughly led you to the couch. When you looked up, you felt all the blood drain from your face. 

     It was them. They were here for revenge. 

     You just wanted Amanda. Was that too much to ask?

-

     Things continued like this for a week. Adam Johns and Michael Pierce were there everyday, waiting for you downstairs. 

     They would beat you then proceed to have sex with your limp, unconscious body. You thought it hurt the first time but this...this was unbearable. Sometimes, you’d disconnect mentally and just go into a state of nothingness. You didn’t feel, you couldn’t hear; it was just nothing. You wished that you could feel nothing all the time and leave this life. But you couldn’t. This was reality; your reality. And there was nothing you could do about it.

     Should’ve let me jump

-

     The blonde detective was walking from the cafe, on her way to work when she heard whimpers nearby. 

     She walked towards the sound with her hand hovering above her holster, just in case. She surveyed the area and what she saw broke her heart. 

     “Oh, sweetheart.” 

     “I told you they were going to come for me.”

-

     Rollins called Liv and told her the news. She immediately took you to the hospital, hoping that this time you could get a rape kit and put those bastards away for good. 

     She went into the room you were resting in and immediately saw your disheveled state. She was quick to run over and pull you in her arms. 

     That was all it took for you to completely break down. All you wanted these past few weeks was a loving touch; someone who would vow to take care of you no matter how broken or disconnected you seemed to be. All you wanted was Amanda. She was there when no one else was. She showed you the most affection since your mother died. 

     “We’re gonna put those bastards away for good. They’ll never be able to hurt you again. I promise you.” 

     For some reason you believed her. 

-

     “Manda c’mon! We’re gonna be late!” 

     “Okay, okay! I’m coming.” 

     It had been almost a whole year since you were last assaulted and you’ve been living with Amanda since. She was an excellent mother to you and you couldn’t have asked for a better life. 

     Admittedly, it was tough on both of you at first; you had to get used to someone helping and taking care of you as well and Amanda had to care for a child which is already a tough job let alone a child with major trauma. But the two of you made it work. 

     In weird ways, you bettered each other. 

     The detective came down the hall and grabbed her purse before walking towards you and swinging her arm across your shoulders. 

     “Finally. You know those hooligans can gobble up a whole 3 course meal in a span of 10 minutes. We’ll be lucky if an appetizer is left.” 

     The woman chuckled at your dramatics before heading towards the door with you in tow. 

     Living with your newfound parent made you happy; an emotion you had forgotten how to feel. The squad made you happy. 

     ‘I’m glad I didn’t jump.’

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

The ending lowkey sucks ngl. Hope you all liked it though!

[heli0s-writes]

About a Bruise*

Summary: After months of doting, loving, adoring Steve, because he requires the time and trust of convention, you sink to the floor and say, “Will you do something for me?”

Warnings: Smut. Oral sex. Facial.

A/N: 1.5k words. Happy Monday, here’s Stevie G! Part 2 HERE

He’s never had it like this.

Steve Rogers still gets butterflies when he undresses in front of you. Carved out of marble by the precise and masterful hand of Erskine’s serum, yet he still stands a little hunched, a little conscious of himself.

You’re confident. In him, more than anything. 

You’ve always been the instigator, or at least played the part. Steve’s nerves don’t eclipse his lust, no. But they do make him careful.

Too careful.

Gentle sex only. He holds you like an infant in need of swaddling. Kisses you slow and soft like your lips are buttercream. You love it, but sometimes you want to coax something else out of Captain America.

Something baser. Darker.

So, you get on your knees one opportune night after he gets a sip of Asgardian mead. Liquid courage— just a little.

After months of doting, loving, adoring Steve, because he requires the time and trust of convention, you sink to the floor and say, “Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.” He whispers. Your eyes are swimming pools engulfed in dusk and midnight— shimmering secrets. He’d do anything. Especially when you’re kissing his thighs and raking your nails over the fabric of his jeans like that.

Steve hardly wants to fuck with the lights on. But he’s caught off-guard and buzzing.

“Will you—” A playful bite and it makes him gasp. “Will you come on my face?”

He catches himself against a counter, legs feeling like jelly. “Wh-what?”

Your hands unbuckle his belt, still supplicated with chin on his knee, “You said anything...”

It’s filthy. Your thighs clench in anticipation. The impeding moment where Steve bites his lip, squeezes his eyes shut and grunts— god, you love that sound. Ragged. Overwhelmed. Always too short. You want to hear it more often.

A muffled jingle as you slide the denim down and marvel at the way his cock rises from his boxers. Majestic, heavy, wondrous thing. You love it and he rarely lets you get a good look at it. Shy boy.

He’s blushing pink when you slip it off, letting the tip brush against your cheek. You nose the underside of him, hands up and down his strong legs. He smells warm and musky. Lovely, like always.

Steve’s tilts his head limp over his back.

He shudders when you begin with your tongue first before eager lips stretch to fit him, guiding until he’s nestled in your mouth. And then you move, deliberately measured, building a lazy pace, sluicing him up with spit.

 “Ah, shit…” Steve’s words are already betraying him. You smile as his cock pops out of your mouth.

“How’s that? Still wanna go to bed?” Thick lashes framing glittering doe-eyes peer up at him. Purposely coy. “Or do you want to stay here?”

He returns to himself. Dazed, he blinks at the bright lights and the glossy tiled floor. The marble countertop of the sink where he grips like a lifeline.

The guest restroom down the hall. Turn a corner and twenty people are sitting on couches, drinking cocktails and cajoling. Your mouth back on him wipes the thoughts from his brain.

Squelching when you push him back past your molars, crushing your tongue.

You slide him out, voice hoarse and breathy and it chills him to the bone the way you whisper, “Door’s not even locked. Someone could come in at any time.”

With a two-handed fisting, you squeeze deft strokes, slippery with saliva. It’s amazing, he thinks, how you look so innocent while doing the kinds of things he tries not to think about in public. A determined suck and you cup his balls. Fuck, he loves that. Won’t say it, but you know it, too.

“Make me look so pretty with your come on my face.”

Even though he’s the one jammed halfway down your esophagus, Steve chokes. It stirs him, and your eyebrow raises the same time he pulses. Improper for Captain America to be turned on by that, isn’t it?

He sees the twinkle in your eye. Knows you know. Knows he’s fucked.

He’s trying to be as quiet as possible while you work, but his heart is beating too fast, breath snagged between his teeth and lungs on fire. All the blood pumping out of his heart is going straight down—and damn it, he’s so fucking hard. Always so hard with you.

“Jesus Christ. Oh, fuck, honey.” Bad words from such a good boy.

Coquettish licks on his head contrast the feverish grip of your hands. One is curled tight at his base, the other moving irresponsibly fast, fingers crooked and pistoning over the rest. The restroom is silent like a tomb, and he imagines that the echo might bounce all the way out into the goddamn yard. Maybe he doesn’t care, though.

A kiss to the tip before you rub your cheek on his thigh like a cat. Steve’s hips begin to rock, hungry for more when you slow. His palm plants itself on the side of your head, fingers twined through the updo you’d fashioned your locks into a few hours ago. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. That dark thing.

He’s never fucked like this.

Suddenly bold because he’s at the end of his rope and about to blow—completely collapse and pour down your throat and all over that pretty dress you chose to wear to the party. Little cherries, long-hemmed, low-cut. You’ve set an entire trap he willingly fell into.

Hooded blue eyes meet yours, looking down the bridge of his nose, lips parted to match. Panting. Grunting. Shedding his golden boy skin and turning savage. “You want this, sweetheart?”

You nod and bite your lip, exhilarated smile stretching out from the sides of your teeth. Steve fists your hair until you yelp at the sting. He slaps your hands away, hisses at the strands of viscous dribble sliding down your forearms and takes over.

You gasp when he presses his cock against your face, rubbing it right over rosy cheeks you’d perfectly applied blush to. Over the contours of your jaw, your eyebrows. A slap of it to your chin.

Nasty. Filthy. Delicious. Bad boy.

Stutters from his throat, ragged murmurs, clipped consonants of curse words and taunts—You want it? Yeah? You want this all over your face, pretty girl? Fuck. What if someone walks in? Someone’s gonna see—ah… Gonna see you takin’ my big load.

And it’s the shocked silence of your astonished eyes and falling-open mouth that does him in. Rendered speechless that he’s yanking your head back-- and the tiny wince—the split second that your face jerks—he’s done for.

There it is. That sound you’ve been hungry to hear. Steve Rogers snarling like an animal as he leans into a final pump, hips juddering forward into his fist, fixed on the way your face receives him. And goddamn, he thinks.

He’s never loved a girl like you.

Pretty as a painting, with thick strokes of creamy white in heavy diagonal lines. You catch some in your mouth, lick it off your lips, giggle blissfully at the tang.

Knees still planted on the floor, and as Steve regains his senses, he’s glad your dress is long tonight.

-

On the couch, you sit one leg crossed over the other, chin on your fist as you listen to Wanda tell a story. Bright and alert, laughing along to all the right jokes. Bucky hands you a drink before he makes his way back to Steve by the pool table.

“Gone a long time.” He mentions casually.

“What’s that?”

Bucky pauses behind the rim of his whiskey, “I said, you were gone a long time. Came back lookin’ a little rough around the edges.”

“Hm.” He probably does look a little rough, even after you combed your fingers through his hair and smoothed the wrinkles from his jeans. Kissed his mouth and he could still smell that pungent sweetness on your skin after you rinsed.

Bucky watches him shoot and sink two solids, catches your eyes across the room roaming. Steve’s so drawn to you that he perks up a little naturally.

New love. A little wild at the seams, tearing the good Captain America to wicked little pieces in your hands. Bucky laughs quietly because it’s about damn time.

Fresh-faced, more beautiful than before, Steve thinks. Hair down and fluffy-full, haphazardly settled in place. He can’t help but stare. A little red smudge on the corner of your eye when you scrubbed the mascara off, running along with him down your cheek. It’s still swollen like the plump edges of your lips from overwork. He swallows thickly, catches himself thinking too much on it.

From across the room, you find his ruddy cheeks and hold him in a knowing gaze. Then, your tongue slips out shamelessly—with Bucky in the audience and all—and you lick the corners of your mouth. Naughty.

The butterflies so faithful to his tummy flutter at the sight. Whirlwind flapping growing in a darkening storm. You, in the center of his hurricane on all fours.

Bad, bad boy.

Steve finds himself wondering about your red knees under the dress and how long they might take to bruise.

-

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