#romantic tension

[otakubimbo]

Fake Love Fake Rage

Part 2!

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader

Contents: Yelling, Anger, Cussing, Fake Dating, Angst, Mean Miguel, Insecurity, Emotionally Immature Miguel, Argument, A Bit of Fluff At The End

Everything has gotten worse in the spider society now that you've taken a leave of absence, but are you even coming back? Not without something from Miguel first.

Sticky: Hi, me a known liar. Sorry it took so long for part 2 ya girl as been busy T-T but I hope yall enjoy! I may make a part 3 but who knows I am a known liar after all but you can ask. Mwah <;3 Requests are open btw.

Part 1

Masterlist

For two weeks since your absence, the rumor mills up in full force since your departure. Of course, people heard the truth about you and Miguel, but people also heard the two of you arguing and now with your disappearance people were talking. It didn’t help that Miguel was in a worse mood than usual with your absence. He was grumpier than usual, shouting at anything that anyone did even if it was something successful or useful. Everyone at headquarters was walking on eggshells around him and even that was too loud. Not even Jess, Lyla, or Lego Peter Parker could put him in a better mood.

The whispers in the corridors about your absence infuriated him even more. When were you going to return? Why haven’t you contacted him yet? Why haven’t you contacted anyone yet? Everyone knew better than to ask him about you missing from his side, you are missing from your lab, you are missing from headquarters. If Miguel wasn’t storming around headquarters looking for someone to take his aggression out on, he locked himself away in his lab not daring anyone to interfere with his sulking. If only he would go and apologize to you, all his problems would be solved but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to apologize because he wasn’t wrong. Well, yes, he was wrong, but you were the one who started it. You were the one who started the rumors, this was your fault. It had to be your fault, he wouldn’t have had to face the fact that everyone knew that you were too good to be with him, that you were too kind, too smart, too great to be with him. Everyone loved you and he…... and you were the only one he was able to tolerate besides Jess.  Your absence was missed by everyone.

Miguel, Hobie, Gwen, and Pav all watched Miguel storm around for those two weeks hoping that you would have returned by now. This wasn’t the first time the two of you have argued but it is the first time you didn’t return to headquarters after a day of cool off period. They were all starting to get worried about you since no one could contact you in your universe since your watch was inactive. It was decided that one of them would have to visit you to check on you and inquire about when you were going to be back to fix things with Miguel.

The first person to visit you in your universe was Miles, the sweet baby angel pacing out in front of your condo awaiting your answer to his call from the door. Miles looks at you sheepishly, “Hey kid, what are you doing here?” You greet him by letting him into your condo.  

“I just wanted to check and see if you were okay since you didn’t show up to HQ and no one can reach you.” He said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head not knowing what to say, there wasn’t a plan for his arrival. The gang just assumed once you spoke to Miles that it may just get you to come back, you would hopefully assume that Miguel may have sent him or something. You gave him a tiny laugh, knowing that it was everyone else but him that is reaching on about your wellbeing.

“I’m fine darling, just trying to adjust my watch in peace. Hopefully, it will be able to help everyone when it’s finished.”

‘Everyone’ you said, not ‘us’ but everyone, excluding yourself. You didn’t know if you were going to go back, returning to headquarters was the furthest thing on your mind. Your only focus is making the adjustments and protecting your own universe. You never took anything from Miguel, and you weren’t going to start now. He hurt you, the only person who was patient with him, the only person who gave him the grace that he didn’t deserve, the only person who he thought understood him. You. Miles could feel the pain in your voice, could see it in your eyes but you still held that small smile attempting to reassure him that everything was fine even if it was a lie to him and yourself.

“Well, we all miss you. We all do.” Miles attempts to say the quiet part out loud. That everyone misses you, that Miguel misses you, but there was no way you were going to believe that until you heard it from him.  

You give a defeated sigh, “Yeah, I know but work must be done. The multiverse isn’t going to save itself.”

Miles's eyes are kind as you attempt to joke about the situation, he gives you a sad smile nodding at you in understanding. He leaves you to your work and your thoughts. All your thoughts are avoiding thinking about that one thing, that one person. Your heart is heavy with Miles's departure, but you won’t focus on that.

Once Miles turns back to headquarters the gang surrounds him with questions, hoping that he received the confirmation that you were going to be coming back to headquarters soon and Miguel's tirade would stop. The look on Miles's face told everyone everything they needed to know before he could even answer any of their questions.

“She looked so sad,” is how Miles starts as he tells them what happened when he went to meet with you, almost in a hushed whisper as if Miguel would hear them from his office. No one knew exactly what he had said to you to make you leave but now after Miles returned it must have been something that would not only make you stay away for so long but still affect you enough to sadden you.  They agreed to give you some more space and time since you seemed to want to be left alone for the time being.

Even still, after another two weeks, there was still no word from you. You've been gone for almost a month now and Miguel has just gotten worse. You couldn’t even imagine how bad. It wasn’t even his temper anymore; he was fucking up. Missions were going poorly, anomalies weren’t being captured properly, and even worse Miguel got hurt. It was stupid and was easily avoidable and yet his mind was everywhere else but on catching anomalies. It was about you and his last moments with you. All he could see was your face, your eyes, the tears that were threatening to spill, and the way you looked at him with such pain. He was distracted and careless. A green goblin anomaly got him good and broke at least two of his ribs. Nothing that would do any permanent damage or leave him out of commission for more than a day or so, but the anomaly got away and he fucked up. Because of you. All because of you and that made him even more upset. Why weren’t you back yet? Why were you distracting him even if you weren’t even here?

“Just go and apologize to her” Lyla snarks at Miguel as he sulks in pain in his lab. He groans attempting to ignore her until she pops up right in front of his face. “Seriously Miguel, I don’t think she’s going to return unless you go and apologize.”

“I have nothing to apologize for” He scoffs attempting to swat the AI away. His last memories of you flash behind his eyes, ‘Fuck you, Miguel’ were your final words to him as you left headquarters eyes filling with tears. He never wanted to see your face like that again and he didn’t think even if he apologized you would accept it. You had never spoken to him like that before, at least not in a serious manner, and never cried because of him. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t apologize. He just couldn’t. Miguel resigned to not seeing you until you decided to come back to headquarters until you decided to forgive him on your own.

That was until a week later when Miles Morales as gently as possible webbed his way onto Miguel's office platform. Miguel barely even acknowledged his presence, just grunted in his direction as he continued to focus on the screens in front of him. Carefully, Miles walked up and placed a multiverse gizmo on his desk. It almost immediately caught Miguel's attention because it wasn’t any gizmo, it was YOUR gizmo. Obviously, it was yours because while everyone else’s was black, yours was your favorite color.  Miguel just glared at it and in the silence, Miles decided to speak.

“She asked me to give it to you. Said that there were modifications to it to help direct the spider society closer to the anomalies when we use it. She said you would be able to figure it out.” Miles explained, his voice softer than usual to not agitate Miguel because Miles knew what it meant when you gave that to Miguel.

It meant that you weren’t coming back. It meant that you were standing up to Miguel and his shit. Someone had to and it had always been you but never like this, never to the point of not returning. Now Miguel was panicking, he thought that eventually you would just come back fuss at him, and forgive him but no, you were leaving. You were leaving society; you were leaving him. His panic turned into rage and his rage turned into him pounding at your window in the middle of the night after going to your universe.

The banging on your window was completely unexpected, your spidey senses feeling it before it happened making you jolt out of bed.  You knew it was him even in your groggy state before you went to your window, you just didn’t think it would ever be him. Your eyes went wide blinking at him as if he was an apparition, you knew it had to be him because your body told you so but it truly just couldn’t be. You hadn’t seen him in over a month and you were sure that he resigned to go back running the society alone without your assistance. Unconsciously, you open your window letting him in and he starts his tantrum.

“What kind of scientist are you that you let a child bring in one of your projects without an explanation on anything?” He starts attempting to tower over you as you're still waking up from your abrupt sleep interruption.

“Huh” You’re confused looking up at him, forgetting that you finally finished making the modifications to your gizmo, giving it to Miles on his last visit to you. He came immediately after Miguel got hurt, hoping that would soften you enough to come back to headquarters. It didn’t, which is why you gave Miles your finished prototype and told him to tell Miguel to figure it out.

“So, you didn’t give Miles your gizmo and tell me to figure it out??”  He glowed down at you as you noticed he was gripping your watch with the band to not damage it.

You slowly start coming to your senses, realizing what was happening, “I assumed it would be helpful to the society with the modifications I made and an idiot could figure out how to work it. So there was no need for me to explain anything.”  Your hands cross under your chest, not thinking how it is pushing your boobs and shirt up towards him. Miguel almost falters watching you do that, realizing that you in fact were only in a shirt, his shirt (and maybe panties but he could barely tell).

“Why haven’t you returned to headquarters?” another question, no apology, but yet another question.

“For what Miguel? I did my job good enough in my universe, yes? You would have been able to test it properly if you weren’t here right now. And yet, you are. Why are you here?” Your eyes narrow at him as you ask the question, he didn’t want you to. “Isn’t it easier without my presence annoying you? You can figure things out by yourself, no?”

You throw his words back in his face, getting as upset as him. How dare he barge into your universe? How dare he act like he hasn’t done anything wrong? Why is it always like trying to move an immovable object with him? He was the one always pushing you away. He was the one who said that your ‘business’ was annoying and that you should keep him out of it. Foolish of you to believe that at one point he may have cared for you, that in some universe that couldn’t be one that either of you would ever visit the two of you would be together, the two of you would make sense.

You could tell that Miguel was frustrated by what you said, irritated, he mumbled under his breath in Spanish. He rakes his hand through his hair starting to pace back and forth in your bedroom. He throws your watch on your bed as he comes to stand in front of you, his thoughts making no sense in his own head. The exhale he makes from his nose washes over your face, but you stand tall glaring up at him, challenging him as you always did. As he looked down at you, the one thing on his mind that he never wanted to admit was blaring at him. He loved you; he fucking loved you and he hated that he loved you. He hated that he didn’t feel good enough for you and he hated that everyone else saw that he wasn’t good enough for you.

His voice was low and soft as he spoke back to you, “Why did you tell Ben we were dating?” You were taken back for a second, almost annoyed that he was bringing this up again. Was this really the issue of everything? As long as he told everyone the truth it would have died down and no one would have really cared.

“Seriously Miguel?!” You throw your hands up frustrated, “This again?? What’s the issue?? We aren’t and it doesn’t matter!”

“You don’t think it hurts for everyone to talk about how I could never be good enough to be with you?? How you’re so much better than me and have no good reason to be with me anyway??” He grits through his teeth as he runs both his hands over his face and hair again. Your eyes go wide in shock and misunderstanding.

“What are you talking about?” You ask taking a step back to look at him, he’s shaking, hands opening and closing in frustration, saying what you assumed were curses in Spanish.

“Just because I don’t have spidey senses, doesn’t mean I can’t hear.” His head turns from you as you look at him yet again in confusion. “Everyone in the society said you were too good for me, that there was no way that you would actually want to be with me” His voice was softer than you had ever heard him speak when he said that, and it broke your heart. How could he not see how much you cared for him? How could he not understand that the reason you were comfortable with the fake dating is because you wouldn’t have minded it being real? But that didn’t give him the right to treat you that way.

“So you hurt me because of what other people said? You truly think I care nothing for you Mig?” You say just as softly as he did, looking up at him fighting the urge to hold his face in your hands.

“I….” He starts as he gazes down at you, pausing and unpausing as he fights to hold your face in his hands also. “I know I’m not good enough for you. I’ve known since the first day I laid my eyes on you that I would never be good enough for you.” He confessed and tears started to build along your lash line at his words.

“I’m sorry….” He says before hesitantly grasping your cheek, “You are too good for me, but I want you so badly. I want to kiss you, hold you, go to bed with you, wake up to you. You’re everything I am not and more.”

“Miguel” You barely whisper as your hand grasps onto the wrist that was holding your cheek.

“I hated hearing what I already felt from everyone.” He confessed.

You looked up at him, his brown eyes filled with sadness. You, who knew him better than anyone, should have known this. But you didn’t, he kept this hidden even from you. As you locked eyes with him, the walls you had built towards him almost immediately crumbled and a spark of courage flowed through you. You press on the balls of your feet upwards, lips landing directly on his. Your hands make their way around his neck as he freezes for a moment in your embrace until realizing that you’re kissing him. YOU are kissing HIM. Once his brain catches up to reality his hands immediately wrap around your waist, drawing you into him to deepen the kiss. Your mouths move against each other as if they are in a dance that only they know. As things get more intense, your hands find his face and pull the two of you apart.

You pant a little before speaking, “Why didn’t you come for me sooner?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me.”

“I’ve always wanted you.”

Taglist, i think i got everyone: @berlinswifey @migueloharastruelove@kinkybandages@razertail18@beckberin-xo

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

11. Palmiers

Bucky

Because he’s on the far end of the spectrum, Bucky’s sex drive is affected by his condition. He wakes up hard almost every morning of his life, and Steve doesn’t need much encouragement to get himself worked up into the same state very quickly. Mutual morning jerk offs were always bound to become part of their routine.

They take a shower and stand toe to toe, hands sliding and groping all over each others’ slick bodies, pulling on their cocks until both of them are shooting off against each other’s bellies. The water washes it away, and Steve gives him a deep, happy kiss. “Mmm. Mornin’.”

“Blegch. Go brush your teeth, you heathen.”

Steve laughs and gets out of the shower. Bucky stays in for a few minutes longer, adjusting the spray to its hardest setting and letting the hot water beat down on his back and shoulders. He sighs and stretches his neck this way and that, trying to get his vertebrae to pop, but his muscles are all too tight, and the stretching just seems to make it worse. Bucky drops his head in defeat. In all honesty, his shoulders and neck and back are all pretty fucked after months of near-constant use of his prosthetic.

Steve’s right: he doesn’t usually wear it this much. And he’s also right that Bucky’s been wearing it all day every day because he wants to feel powerful and able bodied in front of Mary. As per usual, Steve is the first one to have noticed what maladaptive behavior pattern he’s doing and why, and pointed it out to him. It really is for the best, Bucky knows. Because he can’t sustain wearing the arm all the time anymore. The thing is just too damn heavy.

The engineers who designed it have made tweaks and adjustments over the years. They’ve done all they can to lighten the load as much as possible, but the thing still weighs over twenty pounds. Twenty pounds doesn’t sound like much, but when it’s pulling on the same muscle groups day in and day out, everything in Bucky’s body winds up getting strained and unbalanced. He understands better now, how women fuck up their necks so badly from shouldering their purses (or their tits) around. A little bit of weight makes a big difference.

As a Dom, Bucky may have a tiny problem admitting when he needs help. He has to be in quite a bit of pain, trouble, or both, before he’ll ever speak up and allow himself to be vulnerable like that. It’s an inherent behavior that shrinks have been trying to therapize and medicate out of him since he was a kid, but nothing ever changed it much. Falling in love with Steve helped; Bucky can let himself be more vulnerable around him. But even still, it’s no small thing that he regularly approaches his husband to ask for help in getting his arm back on correctly (Bucky can do it, but it’s a pain in the ass, getting the mechanism lined up just right before it’ll take). 

He gets out of the shower and dries off, then approaches Steve with the prosthesis. “Gimme a hand?” 

Steve makes a cheerful noise of acknowledgement around his mouthful of toothpaste, spits and rinses, then takes the arm from Bucky. He lines it up just so, and then Bucky feels the deep shudder of the arm’s inner workings coming to life as they recognize their mate. The arm attaches and Steve lets go. 

“Thanks babe.”

“Uh huh.” 

It’s as Bucky’s bending over and pulling up his underwear and joggers that a spasm runs through his back and he cries out in a pained, “Ah!”

“Babe? What’s wrong?”

Gritting his teeth, Bucky slowly stands back up. He’s able to get his pants up, but when he tests the movement of his neck and shoulders, the pain flares again. It feels like everything between the base of his skull and his mid back is seizing up. “Fuck,” he hisses, frustrated. It’s his day off. He’d been planning to go to the gym for his long workout. 

Steve steps up and puts a worried hand on his left shoulder. “Babe? Do you need it off?” 

“No. I need some painkillers and a magnesium tablet,” he grunts, already turning around (full body, because turning his head is a bad idea right now). “Fuck.” He starts off for the kitchen. 

Steve follows along with worried protests, telling him to lay his “stubborn ass” down and he’ll get it for him. Bucky ignores him and goes to the kitchen cabinet where they keep their supplement stuff. He winds up yelling again when he tries to reach up and grab the ibuprofen. “Fuck!” he says angrily.

“Babe, I said to let me do it,” Steve scolds, his hand back on Bucky’s shoulder. “And let me take this off. It’s hurting you.”

“Steve, back off,” he snaps, angry and waspish from being in pain, and from being frustrated with his own goddamn body. 

“What’s going on?” 

Bucky turns his head without thinking, hisses in pain, and then turns himself full-body to face in Mary’s direction. She’s standing there looking at the two of them in concern, one hand holding one of those swirly, flaky, crack-cookies that she makes, and the other holding a cup of tea. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bucky’s arm and body, reminding him that this is the first time she’s seen him without a shirt on. “Nothin’,” Bucky grunts.

“Shit,” she says. “Are you guys fighting? Is this a couples’ fight? I’ll just …” She turns to leave back towards her room.

“We’re not fighting,” Steve says. “Buck’s just being an ass. He gets that way when he’s in pain.”

Bucky would turn his head to glare at him, but it isn’t worth another flair of agony in his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he says, when Mary comes back over. “It’s fine,” he stresses. He opens the pill bottle and dumps three capsules into his palm. “Jeez, will everybody stop babying me? I just need a glass of water.” 

“I’ll get it,” Steve says, causing Bucky to huff once again. “Don’t be a jerk, babe.”

“Why are you in pain?” Mary asks, her eyes tracing all over the left side of Bucky’s scarred up body. “Is it … does your arm hurt?” 

“No. It just fucks up my muscles, sometimes.”

“Your muscles?”

Bucky sighs impatiently. “Steve, do you know where the heating pad is?”

“I’ll have to look.” Steve has returned with a glass of water, and Bucky tosses back the handful of pills, wincing at how even the slight motion of raising his arm up makes his trap twinge in protest. “Ugh.” 

“You should get a massage,” Mary suggests, and Bucky fights not to lash out at her. She doesn’t know that one of his biggest pet peeves in life is having other people tell him what he “should” do.

“My PT maxed out back in October,” he tells her. “Doesn’t renew again till January.”

Steve takes the water glass from him once he’s done. “Go lie face down on the bed,” he murmurs. “I’ll find the heating pad.”

“Well I could do it,” Mary blurts out. Both Bucky and Steve pause and look at her. She looks surprised, too, as though she hadn’t been planning to say the words until they were out of her mouth, and now doesn’t know how to continue  “Um, that is ..." she gestures weakly with her cookie. “I just meant I know how to, if you wanted.” Eventually her cheeks color and she looks away. “Erm, Nevermind.”

“Wait,” Steve says. When Mary turns back, he’s looking at her earnestly, and Bucky thinks, Oh no. “You know how to give a back massage? Like a real one?”

“Yeah. My, ah, my ex always had neck problems, so.” She shrugs, looking embarrassed. “I took a class at the community college, learned the basics.”

Bucky blinks. That’s the subbiest fucking thing he’s ever heard. “You did this for the husband that beat you?” he drawls, immediately regretting it because it comes out sounding way more derogatory than he intends it to. “Sorry. I just … actually would pay good money for a massage right now. If you know how to do it.” 

Mary bites her lip, looking deliciously shy and sweet. Bucky’s mood sours as he realizes that she doesn’t really want to. He’s about to let her off the hook, but then some unconscious movement he makes without meaning to has him flinching in pain again. “Sheezus,” he complains. 

“It’s not usually this bad,” Steve worries.

“I must’a slept on it wrong.”

Mary nods, as if this settles it. “Okay. Well, go in the bedroom and tie your hair up so it's out of the way.” She turns to Steve, all but dismissing Bucky now that she’s got a task to complete. Bucky fights back an amused smirk as he heads towards the bedroom, and he hears Mary bossing Steve around, telling him she needs dry oil, the heating pad, towels, and all the seat cushions off the couch. 

The fuck does she need those for? Bucky thinks as he pads back into his and Steve’s room.

He finds out a moment later, when Mary and Steve come in with a couch cushion each, and Steve goes back out to get another. They lay them in a line on the bed, and Mary directs Bucky to lie on top of them, with his body placed just so and his face down just there, and … Oh. He gets it.

She’s left space between the cushion under Bucky’s chest, and the next cushion up, which supports his forehead. The gap creates a drop through for his face—like a massage table. And when she shapes the towel into a donut shape and sticks it there, it's pretty much perfect.

“Oh,” Bucky says, as he’s settling into place. “Oh, that’s actually really smart.” He can’t see Mary from his position, but somehow he senses her preening over the praise anyway. Steve returns from the bathroom with the heating pad and oil. “Found this stuffed in the back of the linen closet. I don’t know what ‘jojoba’ is, but, um … it’s either that or the virgin olive out in the pantry.”

“Do not use that,” Bucky grumbles. “Shit’s expensive, and I don’t wanna smell like garlic truffle for the next three days.”

“That’ll work fine.” Mary is totally task focused, ignoring Bucky’s surliness and telling Steve to apply the heating pad across Bucky’s shoulders and neck for thirty minutes before they get started.

“Thirty minutes?!” Bucky complains, unable to see anything but the top of the bedcovers as the two of them go out into the hallway. 

“Just relax, Babe,” Steve says (and if Bucky isn’t mistaken, he sounds amused). “Take a nap.”

“I just woke up!” He scoffs at the bedspread when the door quietly ‘snicks’ shut and he realizes that he’s been abandoned. “Well okay then,” he mutters petulantly. Steve is right: he does turn into an ass when he’s in pain. Hmm. Maybe he should work on that.

Steve

Steve turns the tv onto a low volume so they can talk without Bucky hearing. “Sorry about him,” he says. “He’s a humongous jerk whenever he’s feeling crummy.”

“You mean it’s not just all the time?” Mary drawls.

“He’s … just one of those people you have to learn to love before you like them.” Mary raises an eyebrow, and Steve winces. “Er, that sounded harsh. Don’t tell him I said that.”

She twists her lips and looks down. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“Thanks, Hon. You want more tea?” 

“Yes please. There’s more of the palmiers in a baggie next to the coffee pot, if you want any.” 

“Heck yeah, I love those things.” Steve had thought the prepackaged ones at Starbucks were good, hadn’t even realized that they weren’t supposed to be all stale and hard like that. Just another commercialized pastry that Mary’s gone and ruined him for. He goes into the kitchen and makes himself coffee and Mary tea, knowing by now how she takes it.

She thanks him silently as he returns and joins her on the couch, both of them sitting close to one another on the chaise, since it’s the only part of the couch that still has its cushion.

"Palmier is French. Know what else they call these?" Mary asks.

Steve's lips quirk. Mary's always got these little facts she knows about the origins of this pastry or that. It's cute. Endearing. "No," he plays along. "What?"

"Elephant ears, because of the shape, see?"

"Oh yeah. Huh. That's neat."

She goes back to eating and sipping at her teacup, and after a moment of unrequited, affectionate staring, Steve looks away. "Elephant ears," he murmurs, trying not to be mopey. "That's funny."

They split the palmiers between them, and aside from the sounds of them munching cookies and sipping their drinks, it’s quiet for a long time. Steve made both the tea and the coffee very hot, so they at least have the excuse of cradling and blowing on their steaming mugs to keep the silence from being too awkward. Mary keeps her eyes trained forward, but Steve gets the sense that she isn’t really paying attention to the home renovation program that’s playing on the tv. His suspicions are confirmed when she eventually asks,

“So: His arm.”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yeah. His arm.”

“What happened?”

Steve frowns. He can tell by her inflection that she’s asking not just about the arm, but about the state of Bucky’s entire left side from shoulder to hip. “We were in the army,” he confides. “Deployed overseas. I made captain young, but he was a specialist in the field: a sniper. So I wasn’t put into the same types of situations as he was. His convoy got blown up by an IED. And when the dust settled …” He shrugs. “No more arm.”

“Oh.” Mary sits there and absorbs that information. “I guess I kind of figured it was something like that. I mean what else is there, besides like, a shark attack or something?”

Steve’s mouth twitches. Shark attack, ha. He’ll have to suggest that one to Buck. Might be fun to lie about, the next time a stranger asks. “Naw, just a boring old bomb. And afterwards, well. It was a long road for him, after. He didn’t have the arm when I met him.”

Mary turns her head, surprised. “Oh. You two didn’t meet in the army?”

“No, after. I met him at the V.A., when he was already angry, hurt, and didn’t want to be where he was.” Steve looks over and gives her a meaningful look. “Kind of like when I first met you.” 

Her eyes widen, and then her face colors and she looks away again, pulling her knees up and hunkering over her mug. “Was I really that bad?” she mumbles.

“... You were pretty bad, Honey.”

She frowns and doesn’t say anything, and Steve decides to leave it alone. “So yeah, his arm. He got into a program for experimental cybernetics. It was a big gamble. Back then, he still had his arm down to nearly the elbow, which meant he could use a lot of the different types of prostheses they had on the market. The less arm you have, the less they can do for you. The surgeries for the implant required removal all the way up to and including his left shoulder blade. So if he went through with it and the procedures didn’t work out, he’d be left with less function than he started with.”

“Jeez.”

“Hm, yeah. It was a risk.” Steve stares across the living room as he remembers all of the hospital stays and surgeries and revisions and therapy appointments. “Luckily it worked out. They replaced some bones with metal supports, some of his natural muscle with enhanced synthetic tissue. His body didn’t reject any of the junk they were putting in him, which was the biggest worry. All in all, it took five surgeries over the course of three years, and then a shit ton of physiotherapy. Buck says it was worth it, now, but it wasn’t a walk in the park when it was happening, I’ll tell you that.”

Beside him, Mary makes a sad little noise in her throat. “But … all that and it still gives him pain?”

“Yeah. He gets PT for it, but like he said; it never winds up lasting the full year. I force him to my veterans' support group when I can, but he’s gotta be in a really charitable mood for that.” Steve snorts humorlessly. “He’s always hated being disabled. It doesn’t jive with his DPD. You know that stereotype about men: never wanting to stop and ask for directions?” 

“Yeah.”

"Well it's true. And then you take a guy who’s as far on the spectrum as Bucky is, and it’s ten times worse.” He widens his eyes in emphasis and gets a little giggle out of Mary for it, which makes him warm with pride. He pulls his feet up onto the couch next to Mary’s and nudges her knee with his. “Just fair warning: He’s the worst patient I’ve ever seen. So don’t take it personally if he’s grumpy at you in there.”

Mary frowns and looks away. “Well, I mean I don’t have to do this. If he doesn’t want to.”

“Pretty sure he wants to. And he needs help with it, whether his stubborn ass wants to admit it or not.”

She nods, though she still doesn’t look confident. “It’s been over a year since I worked on anybody …”

“Well then this’ll be good practice for you, won’t it?” Steve nudges her again in encouragement and tells her to finish up her tea: He doesn’t expect Bucky’ll lie around patiently for much longer.

(“Oh, and Hon, maybe don’t tell him we were out here talking about him this whole time.”)

(“Duh.”)

In the bedroom, Mary climbs onto the bed next to where Bucky is laid out on the couch cushions. She takes the heating pad off his neck and puts it aside, looking nervously over the broad expanse of his back. “Um …” She reaches for the oil bottle and pumps some into her hands. She spends a long, long time just spreading it between her hands and staring at Bucky, until finally he snaps,

“What’s the holdup?” 

“Babe, be nice,” Steve warns. “Mary? You need anything?”

“Um, no. It’s just … usually I'd ..." She makes an aborted move, like she's thinking about repositioning herself, but winds up staying where she is. "Right," she mutters to herself. "This'll work fine." She reaches forward like she’ll start rubbing Bucky’s back, hesitates, shuffles closer to his side, then sets her hands on his shoulders.

Bucky doesn’t so much as twitch, but he’s not used to new people touching him, and Steve would bet money that his eyes are clenched shut right now.

“Okay,” Mary warns. “I haven’t done this in awhile, so don’t get your hopes up for a miracle or anything.”

“Anything’ll be better than what I can do myself,” Bucky says gruffly, voice somewhat muffled by the cushions. “Just go to town. You can’t hurt me any worse.”

Steve can see Mary’s face, and he knows by now what she looks like when she’s flustered. Awkwardly, he steps to the side, heading for the door. “I’ll just go watch some—”

“No!” Mary squeaks, and when Steve turns back around she’s looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t leave,” she says, like being left alone touching Bucky is the worst possible thing that could happen. Steve doesn’t miss how the muscles in Bucky’s arms do tense at hearing her plead for Steve to stay. 

“Uhm, okay. I’ll just … be over here.” He leans back against the dresser, feeling almost painfully awkward. Once again, he’s reminded how Mary has shown absolutely no desire to engage in sexual contact with them. He hopes she doesn’t think this is a ploy to force physical contact. She was the one who suggested it, after all.

She starts at the base of Bucky’s skull, rubbing her thumbs in small circles. “As I go along, try to tell me which areas feel the worst,” she murmurs, and Bucky hums in acknowledgement. Steve watches as she pushes and circles and kneads Bucky’s neck, working down on into his shoulders. He’s struck by how feminine and tiny her hands look against Bucky’s body … and then has to steer his mind away from the thought of how tiny they might look in other places.

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky gasps, when she reaches a certain spot on the left side of his neck.

She freezes. “Bad?” 

“Nngh. Good,” he slurs. “That whole area from there goin’ down into my back ‘n all around my shoulder blade is where it’s worst.”

“Okay.” She tentatively presses around in and around the left side of his neck and shoulder. “Oh, yeah. It starts right here and goes down.” She slides her hand down the muscle and hums. “Oh, I can feel it.”

(Steve tries really hard not to think sexual thoughts.)

“Riiight here? and … here?"

Between the cushions, Bucky’s voice comes out in a series of garbled moans.

“That’d be a yes,” Steve interprets, and Mary actually shoots him a grin at that. Glad to have cut the tension a bit, he dares to take a few steps closer to the bed. He peers down at what Mary’s doing, the way her fingers dig in at sharp, focused points in some places and rub more gently in others. “It’s your trap that’s the worst,” she mutters distractedly, feeling around with her hands and staring off into space with the tip of her tongue poking out at the corner of her mouth. It’s cute. “Mmm, but probably your levator scapulae, too. Those tend to get fucked up hand in hand.”

“Mmrr.”

“And here: your rhomboid.”

“Ooh!”

“Tender?” 

“Shuyeahhh,” Bucky grunts, then his breath hitches when she digs into another spot. “Oh, yep yep right there. Was’that?”

Steve can’t help but grin. Bucky sounds like he’s drooling at this point.

“Your trapezius muscle. It's big. Does a lot of work, covers a large area. Probably the main offender.” Mary hums and feels around a little more. “Oof, yeah. You’ve got a whole bunch of tension right here.”

“You can feel it?” Steve asks, fascinated. He can't see anything.

“Yeah. Here, gimme your hand.” Steve is taken aback when she grabs his hand and guides his fingers into place, her own smaller hand pressing down. “Riiight there. You feel it?”

Steve swallows thickly. “Ah, yeah.” His eyes flick from her hand on his hand on Bucky’s back, up to her face, and back again before she can catch him looking. “Y-yeah it’s hard.” He grimaces at his choice of words (If he's not careful, "it" soon will be).

“I’m gonna focus on this one for a few minutes,” Mary tells Bucky. Then you can guide me around to the other bad spots.”

“Sounds good,” he slurs. Steve is about to take a step back again, but then Bucky calls out, “Hey Babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Pay attention to what she’s doin’. It feels really fuckin’ good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mmhm. You can learn n' do it next time,” he says dreamily. On his back, Mary’s hands still for the briefest of seconds. “S’goood.”

Steve nods and comes back to sit on the bed. “Okay,” he agrees, scooting in close and glancing at Mary. Her face looks pinched all of a sudden, her expression stiffened as if in annoyance. “I promise I’m not as dumb as I look,” he jokes, and watches as her face smooths out and she smiles a little.

“Oh! Oh no it’s … it’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ll teach you how.”

“Don’t mind me, m’just a teaching tool,” Bucky drawls, and Steve laughs and pats his shoulder. 

“Yeah you are. So shut up and let her teach.”

Bucky grunts and shuts up. Steve looks to Mary for instruction. He can tell she’s uncomfortable, but she manages to hide it well and keep herself on track. The more he pays attention, the sooner she can get herself out of this and never have to do it again. “Ready to learn,” he tells her.

“Now when you’re doing this, you can get more leverage if you straddle his waist.” She says this like it’s a foregone assumption that she would never dare to sit on Bucky’s waist, and Steve is sure she doesn’t notice the grumpy huff of breath Bucky gives.

“Right,” Steve says, pained. “Okay, so where are the bad spots again?”

“Put your hand here.” She takes his hand again and places it just to the left of Bucky’s spine at the level of his shoulder blade. “Slide your fingers out. There. Feel that difference? Feel how it changes when you move out to just … there?” She guides his fingers, and Steve nods. 

“Y-yeah.” Mostly, he’s just thinking about how nice Mary’s warm, oiled, tiny hand feels guiding his hand around. “Yeah.”

“The trap’s on top, but there are other muscles underneath of this one, and that differentiation you feel is where the rhomboid is ending and the—”

She keeps talking, and Steve tries to pay attention and learn, he really does. But his mind is a veritable sieve, for how well he retains the information. It’s all in one ear and out the other, ninety percent of his attention stuck on Mary’s hands on him, guiding him, pressing on his fingers and gliding his touch over Bucky’s skin. Fuck, how did they wind up here? 

Eventually, having taught Steve the basics, Mary lets him go and works on Bucky’s shoulders for a little while more. For the most part it’s quiet, with Bucky making soft grunts of pain whenever she finds a new cluster of knotted muscle, and sighs of relief once she works them out. 

Her hands linger on Bucky’s mid back when she’s done. She doesn’t seem to know what to do. “Erm. Okay. I think … I think that’s it.”

When neither Bucky nor Steve says anything, she retreats on her own, getting off the bed and looking between Bucky’s prone form and Steve’s sorrowful expression. “So, kay. You can get up, if you want. Just move slowly.”

Bucky’s right hand gives her the thumbs up symbol, but the entire rest of his body doesn’t move. “Thanks Mare. Just give us a second. That was really good. Thank you. Thanks for teaching Steve.”

It’s the “Thanks for teaching Steve” that seems to do it. Mary’s expression firms up and she nods curtly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind her. Steve stays sitting on the bed next to Bucky in silence for a long minute, then says knowingly, “Got a boner?”

“Yep.”

*This chapter would've had the "breaking point," but I don't like to post chapters of more than 4-5000 wordcounts on Tumblr. So the next part will be up in a bit once I fine tune and add to it.

**And to anyone who's only ever had store bought, pre-packaged palmiers: I'm so sorry. Along with Madeleines, those should never be eaten more than a few hours max after they've been baked.

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This has been a fill for:

@anyfandomdarkbingo

Card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square N3: Body Swap

@matchat3a @bethexo07

[harry-styles-obsessed]

Request: hi! Please could you write something about y/n being Harry’s photographer?

Thank you for the request. Enjoy!(:

©️ please do not copy or translate my work.

The photographer

When you first received the offer to become the Harry styles’ photographer you were excited— nervous of course. But extremely excited. He had been your inspiration for many years, ever since you were little. His prior photographers were used in your college photography class. Studying their projects and their amazing photography of the gorgeous green eyed man. But yet here you were now camera wrapped around your neck, sat on your bed truly debating your life decisions. You should’ve known this was a bad idea… harry was charming and sweet exactly how he was on stage and in interviews. Sweet, lovely, compassionate, funny… you should’ve known he would capture your heart in more than just one way.

You silently looked through the pictures you had taken last night, admiring each one, admiring how beautiful he was in the photos you took. It was almost a fan girl moment for you as you remained sat on your bed cross legged. You had now been his photographer for six weeks and each day that passed grew more exciting. It opened your eyes to so many things… but it also alerted you to the fact that he still made your heart race. You were currently in Harry’s tour bus the chatter of the band being heard— Harry often times just stayed in a hotel close to the place he was performing at. You believed it was managements doing as they had, had a few times where stalkers had attempted to break into the tour bus to get a quick photo with Harry styles. It left the man shaken.

“Y/n!”

A sudden voice called. Mitch. “Mitch” you responded back calmly, keeping your eyes on the camera before the curtain was pulled firmly to the right Mitch lowering down to look into your bunk his eyes locking onto you still flicking through the pictures “hey.” You finally looked up smiling “hi.” He rolled his eyes playfully “Sarah and I are headed to grab some lunch, you want anything?” You paused momentarily thinking to yourself before eventually shaking your head “no thanks. Thank you for the offer though.” Mitch only smiled, closing the curtain for you again as you heard multiple footsteps leave the tour bus. You sighed softly continuing to flick through the pictures you took. About ten minutes passed before you heard movement come from the living room of the bus— you hesitantly poked your head out cautiously staring at where the sound came from but saw nothing. Weird.

You however then shook it off, instead getting up off of your bunk drawing the curtain closed quietly as you began moving towards the sound camera dangling against your stomach as you cautiously made your way towards the sound but you saw no one and nothing. You were almost certain someone was playing a trick on you until all of a sudden you heard an abrupt and loud sound followed by a few mumbled obscenities your eyes sliding towards the culprit yet as your eyes fell upon the person your mouth got dry as bone. Harry stood facing the desk in the room, the sound of the crash being a bunch of pleasing nail polishes strewn all over the place— some on the floor, and the others all around him but that wasn’t what got your attention… no. But rather his back. Shoulder blades sharp. Skin slightly tanned, tattoos littering up and down his arms taking your breath away… he was in full view. All for you to take in…

Your hands trembled slightly as you silently flicked your camera on, bringing the view finder up to your eye as you focused the lens on harry before snapping the picture your breath hitching in your throat as you stared at the image you had just captured.

He was literally perfect. His skin glowing in the dim light, your lips parting in utter admiration. He was beautiful. As you remained staring at the picture you failed to notice the sound of footsteps silently getting closer to you, until eventually you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat making your head snap up your eyes widening as you came face to face with Harry— amusement flickering in his eyes, green eyes warm and soft the amusement growing. “Oh- harry- hi…” you smiled sheepishly, Harry tilting his head slightly as he smirked down at you dimples appearing “kind of creepy sneaking around so quietly. Don’t you think? You’ve always got that camera in your hands… I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with me.” Harry’s words were teasing, playful, his eyes twinkling with mischief as you couldn’t help but blush.

“That’s quite an accusation, harry.” You murmured blushing harshly watching as he stretched one hand out to grab a hold of the camera slowly lifting it from your hand, pulling the strap over your head before he clicked on the small photograph icon the picture you had snapped immediately popping up. “Hm…” you could feel the tension grow. You had always felt some sort of attraction to him which always made the tension between the both of you almost impossible to ignore. “There’s a slight wave in this picture” he spoke, eyes finding yours as he smiled slightly “usually your hands are so steady, y/n.” You felt your heart race watching as he flicked through multiple photos noticing the difference from the ones on stage to the one just now… it was clear your hands weren’t steady just a moment ago. Harry wasn’t often to mess with you or even tease you, but he couldn’t help himself…

“Do I make you nervous, y/n.”

His words made your cheeks flush red a shaky breath leaving your lips “what— no…” you spoke avoiding eye contact Harry letting out a small chuckle “look me in the eyes and tell me that.” His words were playful, yet the way he told you demanding you to look at him it awoke something within you “harry—“ “look me in the eyes and tell me…” your eyes slowly flicked up to meet his an almost cocky smirk on his beautiful face “you…. You make me nervous.” You spoke without even thinking. “Is that so?” He asked closing the space between the two of you as he gazed down at you your eyes remaining on his as he got closer and closer until there was almost no room to breathe normally. You held your breath staring into his eyes the cockiness on his face soon being wiped off as he stared at you— your eyes searching his your breath remaining to be held as his slender fingers touched lightly against your hips “do-do you want help painting your nails?” You asked quietly feeling a different tension now surround you both.

“I would… but I think you’d be trembling too much to paint them in a straight line.” He spoke a soft chuckle leaving his lips as your eyes searched his and his eyes searched yours before eventually his hand trailed up to cup your cheek thumb brushing against your cheek as you watched as he leaned in towards you— lips inches away from touching, your breath shaking- chest raising and falling quickly—

“We’re back!!” A voice shouted Harry immediately pulling away the warmth he provided you for those few moments drove you wild your eyes remaining wide as you stared at him before he casually placed the camera back back around your neck his eyes searching yours before he cracked a smile before focusing back on Sarah who handed him what was most likely fish and chips her forcing the same thing into your hands. “Sarah I told you not to” you whined the kind woman shrugging and grinning “too late.” She spoke, everyone bidding Harry goodbye Harry waving at you as he went to leave before pausing multiple nail polishes gripped in his free hand “oh and y/n..” you nodded at him to continue “can you send me that picture?” You felt your heart skip a beat and you smiled, biting down on your lower lip “you’ll have to earn it, styles” you spoke the look flashing across Harry’s face being slight confusion which was soon turned into amusement before he chuckled shaking his head “oh I’ll earn it.”

The concert was about twenty minutes away and you were walking into the stadium, ‘HS photographer’ lanyard wrapped around your neck as you snapped a few photos of fans dressed in their brightly coloured outfits before you made your way towards backstage— entering the building that was busy filled with people working, making sure the microphones were working but also checking the sound of all the instruments. You said hi to a few people continuing to take random pictures until eventually entering your dressing room only for the door you came through slam shut, forcing you to turn around on your heels your eyes finding Harry’s. He didn’t say anything, he was wearing his outfit for that night— a purple dungarees set… he looked fucking magical. He slowly walked towards you steps intimidating and dangerous as he studied your face walking towards you one time watching you take a step back every time. Exactly what he wanted until you were eventually up against the wall trapped between the wall and Harry, your lips parted in awe as the man studied your every reaction a small smirk tugging at his lips before he without even hesitating grabbed your hips tightly the fierce grip making your knees weak as he kissed you deeply, the kiss full of fire and heat as he kept a tight grip on you— your lips moulding together with his perfectly as he kissed you deeply your hands touching against him gently and hesitantly, touching from his arms, tracing his tattoos and up his skin and to his hair tugging lightly as you both messily made out for what seemed like hours… time passed far too quick for your liking… your lips slightly red and swollen from his kissing— him pulling away from you making you frown. Wanting him close again as he tightened his grip on your waist peering down at you as the crowd screamed the starting music for ‘music for a sushi restaurant’ starting up a glow forming in Harry’s eyes as he smirked at you, his hands stroking up and down your hips delicately his touch igniting a heat within you making you want to do anything and everything for him….

“Have I earned it yet?”

He questioned a smirk playing on his lips watching as you mindlessly nodded your head his smile growing “good…” he gave your hips one last squeeze before heading towards the dressing room door where he opened the door the screams growing louder, before he turned back to look at you “don’t go back to the tour bus..” he spoke your brows arching in slight confusion “come back to my hotel room.” Your brows raised slightly “w-what…?”

“You heard me… besides I’m sure you’ll take great photos tonight. I want to see them all.” He spoke with a devilish smirk a sharp breath leaving your lips and he let out a low chuckle…

“We can take more pictures tonight too…” your eyes widened slightly “harry!” “Y/n.” He smirked laughing “I’m being serious. If you aren’t in my room by the end of the night then I’ll come drag you there myself.” He spoke before exiting the room making your breath hitch… no way that just happened. Your fingers touched against your lips as you smiled like an idiot, he had truly awoken a different side of you…. You weren’t ever desperate for anyone… but Harry made you desperate. You were drunk on him already and he hadn’t even done anything… you were only the photographer but clearly you were about to become so much more.

[plvuii]

I'm so excited you started writing! I can't believe how amazing all your writings have been so far!

Could I ask for Muichiro getting jealous when he sees the reader getting a letter from another Hashira? It could be whoever, but I also really love Obanai so maybe him hehehe.

Please do not rush or burn yourself out ok! Take breaks when you need them!

A Green-Eyed Hashira: Muichiro Tokito. Muichiro confronts his inner turmoil of jealousy, mustering the courage to express a drop of his true feelings as he watches you receive a letter from the snakey Obanai.

The morning sun bathed the Demon Slayer Corps headquarters in a warm glow, casting a serene ambiance over the bustling courtyard. As you made your way through the familiar paths, a small smile played on your lips. Today, you were expecting a letter from Obanai, a fellow Hashira whose stoic demeanor had intrigued you from the moment you joined the Corps.

Unbeknownst to you, Muichiro had caught a glimpse of the letter as you received it, his keen eyes not missing the familiar handwriting. A pang of jealousy struck his heart, an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation. He had never experienced such emotions before, but the sight of you receiving a letter from another Hashira stirred something deep within him.

As you opened the letter, a soft blush dusted your cheeks, your eyes scanning the words with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Muichiro couldn't help but steal glances at your reaction from a distance, his gaze clouded with a mixture of worry and jealousy.

Unable to bear the unease any longer, Muichiro approached you, his usual calm demeanor slightly faltering. "___," he called out, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

You turned towards him, the letter still clutched in your hand. "Oh, Muichiro! Good morning," you greeted him with a warm smile. "Did you need something?"

Muichiro hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the letter before meeting your eyes. "I couldn't help but notice that you received a letter from Obanai," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, followed by understanding. "Oh, this?" you said, holding up the letter. "It's just a friendly correspondence. Obanai and I have been exchanging letters about our experiences as Hashiras."

Muichiro's tense expression softened slightly, his jealousy giving way to a mix of relief and curiosity. "I see... So, it's nothing more than that?"

You shook your head, a reassuring smile playing on your lips. "No, Muichiro. I value our friendship, and I value you. The letters are simply a way for us to share knowledge and support each other as comrades."

Muichiro's shoulders relaxed, a weight lifting off his chest. "I'm glad to hear that," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I… was worried that I might lose you to someone like Obanai."

You stepped closer to him, your hand reaching out to gently touch his arm. "Muichiro, you mean a lot to me. Our bond goes beyond letters or friendships with other Hashiras. You're special to me, and no one else can replace that."

A soft blush crept onto Muichiro's cheeks, his gaze meeting yours with a mix of gratitude and affection. "Thank you, ___," he murmured, his voice filled with sincerity. "I care about you too—more than I can express."

At that moment, the tension between you dissolved, replaced by a shared understanding and a newfound closeness. Muichiro's jealousy had brought forth his true feelings, and you were grateful for the opportunity to reassure him and strengthen your connection.

With a gentle smile, you reached out and took his hand, intertwining your fingers.

[pistachiozombie]

[The Hobbit - Bofur x Leanna] A couple of wandering, hungry eyes in Laketown's cavern after months of romantic tension

[lunaslogs]

Can anyone in this room tell me what about this scene was monogamous at all? Anybody?

[magpiemoon6]

Love me in the dark

(chapter 2)

DBF Simon Riley x OC

Summary - Maevis and Simons prank war questions what they are to each other because strangers doesn't feel correct.

Theme - angst, smut, fluff

Warnings - trauma dumping, smoking, arguments, self hate, age gap ( 12 years), smut- voyeurism, self pleasure, pet names.

He’s still in my head, circling my thoughts every single second I breathe, those eyes haunt me in my sleep so full of pain. Dragging myself to deal with the day scheduled of course as if dear old Dad could cope without complete control, probably have a heart attack. Padding into the kitchen only for my breath to hitch. Mother of fuck. Simon’s standing, boiling the kettle in grey sweats. Just grey sweats. Sweet Jesus I’m salivating, my eyes are glued to his tattoos on his back the ink details that litter his back, song with areas of white skin. Between his shoulder blades is an interactive drawing of an angel with tattered wings that spread the blades of his shoulders. I’m physically choking on air while I stare, I can't stop.

And then it clicks, in a childish fit last night- at 2 in the fucking morning when his face was making me weak in the knees and electrocuting my skin- I decided to act like a spoiled child. Stomping into the kitchen, my glare zoning into the kitchen where he stood making tea only a few hours ago, I quickly ripped the sugar container from its place, dumping the contents in a spare bowl. My fingers search for the salt. His words about me being a daddies girl as if he knows our relationship, the fact ‘daddy’ left with no answers because it was easier than admitting his career destroyed our relationship and the phone doesnt go both ways when your fucking ten.

I rip off the salt lid and pour it into the original sugar jar and then pour the sugar into the salt container. Cleaning the mess in a haze of glee and popping it all back I practically hopped into my room. 

Shit do i tell him? Yes, that's the mature thing someone my age, with a big girl job, would do.

“Princess if you stare at my back any harder it's gonna leave a mark,” he teases, turning around as he stirs his tea smugly. The smirk on his face angers me to unrivalled levels, but also forces me to pull together from the nickname. Of course he fucking notices this but can’t seem to notice a car moving. Fuck it, he can drink the salty tea.

Simons pouring unknowingly salt into his tea as I turn back to my room and yell out.

“Enjoy your tea Simon!” I sprint the second I’m out of his view, locking my door instantly.

It doesn’t take long for me to hear my name being bellowed by Simon

“Maevis get your ass out here now!” He practically threatens standing in front of my door.

“Sorry Simy can't pop in the shower, need anything?” inquiring as innocently as I can. I'm dying inside knowing the hissy fit this man is about to pull.

I begin to undress for the shower when I hear him.

“Maevis.”  I see Simon as I peek out of the shower. “Simon.”I'm waiting to see what he will do.

“Now Maevis.” “No thank you I’d rather not,” I quip and slam the shower for him to hear and carry on. 

Fuck him.

Simon’s pov- 

She is nothing like her father, she's reckless and childish, changing the sugar for salt? Is she 10 years old for the love of fuck.

The buzz of voices in the garden as people socialise, moving in fluttery movements unsure of who to chat about their waiting for the crappy wine to be soaked up and the fuzz of being drunk fogs their fears of being judged. I remain in a corner, feeling the rose thorn prick me ever so gently. I observe the guests hop from one group to the next, wondering how I ended up here. I'm here because my ex-captain when I was a recruit helped me out, and now I'm here as his best man around people I don't know asking questions i dont want and having to see her. 

The air smells like the nearby vineyard filling my head with the sweetness, the bitterness from the salt is still on my tongue even with the whiskey. my eyes scan the groups of people and the moment my eyes land on her finally my mind is consumed by her once again. She is the most beautiful person I've ever seen. The green dress hugs her curves with a side slit showing the thigh tattoo that curls its way on her flesh, inked flowers. pretty. My eyes rise to dress, my god. My eyes nearly fall out when she turns around to talk to someone. In her hair her body again. I'm stuck and for the first time in  my life I'm flustered, until she smiles slightly and sticks her tounge out at me. All those thoughts of her die and leave me remembering how childish she is. 

Still watching her, she turns her body back to the stranger laughing and it warms a part of me I don’t want to think about, her chatter distracts me from her now pointing her finger at me and moving away pushing the stranger in my direction. For fuck sakes Maevis, wanna play? Let's play princess.

Maevis pov:

God he’s gorgeous, the white linen shirt he has on is open at the top and cuffed at his elbows showing off those tattoos but catching him staring at me is making me force my legs together from the warmth that is developing. ive pushed a very enthusiastic old lady towards him hoping to push his temper if it meant he’ll come find me and tell me off.

Walking away, weaving through the herds of people and reaching an outer corner to hide where the sun warms my skin and calms my mind. Until I hear my father, I love him but when I see him it's like a slap in the face. I want to scream at him and cry and ask the questions the child in me wants answers to but I can't so I turn and smile. 

“Darling, why are you here? Come, I have people for you to meet!” pulling me by my elbow to follow him to the gaggle of older men who make me feel sick with their stares. I'm used to it, it doesn't take a genius to work out why but god it still makes me feel ill. They start to speak to me asking all the questions that all have the same underlying meaning, which is that i've filled out in all the right places to be stared at like a prized doll in the shop window. Goosebumps begin to form along my arms as I try to control my tongue for my dad and not be snarky.

A warm hand slips around my waist and I jump whipping around to see Simon dead staring at the old men with a look that could kill a man.

“I’m sorry gents but I need to steal Maevis away, and I think your wives are wondering where you are.”

I sink into his touch on my hip, it's warm and soothing. His thumb makes circles, the creeping feeling between my legs starts again and I want to hide my blush but I'm frozen. He begins to pull me with him, staring at them and glancing at my father with what only could suggest annoyance and disappointment in the man. Whisking me away even when we are out their view, his hand still on my hip. His body bends his head to reach mine and moves his mouth to my ear whispering.

“Are you alright, love?” The kindness strikes me, so soothing yet shocking how the gruffness rasp of his voice holds the words and makes me melt.

“I’m fine, thank you Si “ I whisper back, catching his eyes as I turn. We are too close, so close I can see every etch in his skin and those pretty lips that I want to cover my skin with.

“Good. Now good luck,” he begins to smile as he twists my body back and pushes me back into the hoard of people.

Confusion only lasts a second when it clicks, I see about 5 ladies dressed like colourful birds smiling at me and calling me to go chat with me. Oh fuck, this is karma from before. Simon's warmth disappears from behind me and I feel my dark hair fall into my face. Positioning my hand to go tighten my ribbon I find it missing. It’s gone? I spin around checking the floor in despair. Did it fall out? But it's gone and I'm consumed by too much old lady perfume and loud chatter. 

“Maevis ? Gosh dear haven't you changed! Do you remember me dear, I'm your aunt?” one of them speaks holding me, she smells too strongly of perfume i cant breath, pulling me aware from finding the ribbon.

“Ah yes of course, how are you?” I respond too slowly because I  have zero clue who this lady is, i smile and hope it's believable and no one points it out.

The rest stare at me like a group of hawks and I don't know how to hold myself, these strangers who I'm related to and would persecute me if I mess up. 

“I'm fine sweety just at the point in my life where I move and pray I haven't pulled a muscle, it's such a shame we haven't seen you in such a long time, why is that ?” she inquires and the air in my lungs catches because the sentence in my head unravels  the second she ends her sentence.

“Oh um school and work became a priority and it was easier to stay with my mam” every word is a lie but no one is asking for the truth, they want to ask because i disappeared and i don't blame them, my heart hurted every day i couldn't see them but eventually i got used to it and time moves on enough that my brain couldn't remember their faces just the nostalgia.

“Ah such a shame but I understand darling it's okay just know that we’re here if you need us,” squeezing my arm just as much as my heart because I want to swallow up in my sadness, i feel like a traitor when I stand around this warmth. 

Simons pov:

If those fuckers look at her again I’m going to kill them, how could her father not see it? My grip on the ribbon in my hand tightens. No reasons come to my mind of why I took it from her hair other than a way to carry on our little war. 

Shoving it in my pocket panic sets in that my rage will break it also if I stare at it for too long my mind gets clouded by her and tightness in my trousers fills me with guilt. Her dad is quite literally the man I respect the most, he taught me everything I know. At the same time I see her I swear it's like she's the sun. It’s intoxicating to just be near her, the danger signs in my head go berserk like a reminder that I'm a war criminal. I've killed more people than I could count. I've got people killed, good people. I don't deserve that kind of happiness. Not in this lifetime. 

“Private riley!” my head whips around on instinct the station so far below me yet still my reaction is the same as the 17 year old kid who just joined the military. 

“Yes sir.”

“Ah shit its lieutenant now isn't it, come have a beer with me” her father calls me over to come sit with me and hands me a beer. fuck of all people to talk to me right now.

the cold bottle held in my hand feels like a fucking lifeline when he starts talking, blabbing drunkenly about how grateful his kid is back in his life, drilling into me that its his kid, she is nothing to me and gushing over her achievements at 25 fucking hell she is too young for me to want her like this im 37 christ i feel guilty. 

“It's a shame i couldn't see her with all her graduations but ah work came first, that's probably why i would never want her to end up with someone like you simon,” grabbing my shoulder kindly but my heart drops and I can't breathe. The words stick in my head painted in red, reminding me that I would only hurt her.

“Um yeah mate wouldn't want her with a bastard like me” I replied the words taste like bleach on my tongue.

“Exactly you get it kid, the shit we go through god it ruined my first marrage I was never home, not to fucking mention the PTSD from all that shit wouldnt want Maevis to be dragged down by all that shit people like us go through,” he carries on, every word is stabbing me and holds me accountable for even thinking of her as more than my ex captains kid. 

“Yeah definitely, will you excuse me sir? I need to check in on my task force," I mutter as I stand, I need to leave before he says any more shit.

“Yes go on son, thank you for listening”

“Of course sir,”  I mutter, quickly striding away from the conversation to the empty space from people by a pool.

I can breathe now that he isn't here, but the words are still dragging me into some pit. Gripping tightly the glass I drain all the alcohol the burn soothes me for a secon.The reflective lights of the pool let me reminisce about a calmer point in my life. And for a bit my solitude is comforting, I cannot hurt anyone if there is no one to hurt. Until I hear familiar footsteps moving towards me I instantly check, her ribbon is out of view and it's not, shit.

She needs to leave.

Maevis’ pov:

  Whatever my dad told Simon must have been bad from the way he so crutley left. Exiting the ladies I had searched for my ribbon where I was standing earlier, my hair is in my face and it's pissing me off, tickling my skin and making me sneeze when it brushes my nose. Walking directly into a view where I could see my dad and simon talk or more my dad yapping, and Simon gripping his glass. Just from the look he’s giving to my unbeknownst dad I think the glass was going to burst and his jaw locked, his eyes had diminished any light I had seen in them.

Staring at the two of them, I catch a glint of green in Simons front pocket, my fucking ribbon. that little shit. An deniable urge to beat him with my shoe till comes over me. Storming towards them in the most calm way a crazy lady could until my arm is caught by someone, urging me to come meet family members agin for the 50th fucking time. The old lady said how great it is that I’m finally around everyone, again. I look over my shoulder to check his glaring daggers, only to see Simon walking away from my father who is plastered in his chair.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Simon Riley give it back,:” rushing towards him, after searching the grounds to find him tucked away by an empty pool, standing alone just staring with an empty glare at nothing.

“I'm not in the mood.” he responds curtly, it's so cold, there is nothing in his voice not even wit. and all the warmth he has begun to make me feel starts to ebb away. What did my father say to him?

“Si? Are you being grumpy because of the little pranks today? “ laughing awkwardly because the coldness of him is making me panic. Did I go too far? my heart is my throat, the idea he may be so angry he won't speak to me again makes me panic and I don't know why but i step closer. His blonde hair in the sun glows saintly halo, I wish it didn't distract me.

“Why are you here? I don't even know you. We are strangers, you and I. Go talk with your family before you get seen with me,” again with the coldness that holds in my heart.

“Si….?” I question, confusion floods me. I step forward. 

“Stop. You don’t know me and I don't want to know you. You’re- you’re like some lost puppy leave me the fuck alone,” and like that those words are a spark to my anger and all the sadness and confusion is wrapped around my annoyance.

“You can say that shit but hand over my ribbon. I want it back,” my hands reach out. I step closer again, close enough I can smell his cologne and the hint of whiskey.

His hand quickly wraps around my wrist and twists me so I'm on the edge of the pool and away from his pocket. I’m too close to the edge, but the thumping in my ear as my blood rushes to my ears is because he is so close. 

“No,” he stares at me, he's so cold my heart feels like it has frostbite.

I see his eyes quickly dart to my lips, as I breathe in shallowly from my mouth. His eyes darken, it’s like I can read his mind but can he read mine. Images of me naked and him on top of me flash through my mind. Without thinking I go to kiss him I see his face turn into panic as I use all my weight to twist us back around. I try to shove him in. I’ll make him see what happens when he fucks with my feelings and steal my accessory to a kickass outfit fuck no you dont. only as his body moves to the water his hand is still on my wrist and forces me to topple into the water after him.

My head is spinning too much from the alcohol given to me all day to process the change from land to water. stress sets into my muscles and i try to swim up. 

A strong grip of rough hands does the job for me, pulling me through the water forcing my head up to the surface, gasping. I turn to Simon, his grip still on me.

“What the fuck Maevis.”

Turning to him I swim closer, my arm reaches for his shoulder to use, or so he thinks my mind reels still pissed at his change in mood and refusal to give me my stuff back. Trailing my arm down his torso now on show from the water making it see through, his abdomen twitches from the sudden touch. My eyes remain on his lips and watch as his chest rises and falls rapidly as my hand trails closer to his crotch. Leaning into his ear I hear his breathing stop completely as my hand lightly grazes his cock already growing hard. Turning so my lips are close to his ear I wait a second, my hand cupping him gently.

“Strangers huh Si?” I whisper, quickly moving my hand from him into the pocket where my ribbon is and grabbing it. Turning away, I swim to the exit. Leaving him barely breathing and dead staring at my back as I leave the pool and walk towards our room. 

Soaking wet I move through the villa to our room leaving a trail of water that I'm praying no old family member slips and cracks a hip on. 

I head straight for the shower, absence of Simon and the breeze causes me to shiver. All the fury is melting into something that warms my stomach and stirs something inside me. I need it out of my system, then I can go back to hating him.

Maevis’ pov:

I don’t wait to enter my part of the room to strip down. I’m unbearably cold and my nipples hurt from the friction of the wet dress. I hurry to the shower letting the water run till it’s scolding hot, hopefully hot enough to flush my feelings and thoughts. I scrub and scrub trying my hardest to forget him, forget how he grew harder as I straddled his hips. It felt amazing to feel his arms securely around me, that and the look on his face as he saw the opaque dress.

“Fucker.” I detest how much I need this relife. I lean my head back, closing my eyes as I imagine him kissing me, from my mouth to my tits. I slowly creep my hand down between my legs sighing in relief. I imagine him clearly on his knees slowly parting my legs and looking up at me through his eyelashes. Feeling his hands grip and travel up my thighs, and as he reaches my cunt he slowly circles my clit, teasingly. I begin to breathe heavier, the water blocking my nose causes me to open my mouth slightly and a moan escapes me. Dear god, I hope he isn’t back. I can feel my orgasm build up ever so slowly. I picture him, slipping his fingers between my pussy whispering, “keep your legs open for me princess. Like the good girl you are.” I push in my fingers, quickening the pace, the friction killing me. 

Simon’s pov:

In the bathroom I hear the shower running. That brat took her ribbon from me and thinks she can hide from me in the bathroom, pretending to shower? Right, not going to fool me. I storm over to the bathroom door cracking the door ajar pausing when I hear her moan. I shouldn’t. I really fucking shouldn’t, any gentleman wouldn’t peak but I’m anything but. I look in curiously and the sight before nearly makes me groan in desperation. There she is water running over her beautiful body, plastering her long hair to body. I follow the stream of water running from her head, down to her perfect tits, all the way to- 

Fuck me.

I feel the blood rush straight to my cock. Hardening instantly, at her fucking herself, moaning. her breathy gasps say something. “Simon.” Holy shit. I can’t think straight. I'm focused solely on how her hands work her to an orgasim. I envisage how magnificent she’d look as I look up at making her come with my mouth. 

“Yes, god fu-” she hitches shuddering under the steaming water. She pumps in and out a few more times and slumps down. 

It takes all the will power in me and years of training not to go in there and make her scream my name, not just say it. To not pick her up and rail her over the bathroom counter, gripping her hair so that she can see me pounding into her and see how her eyes tear in painful pleasure. 

I’m not helping my situation, I shake my head rubbing my eyes snapping me back. I head straight back out onto the balcony, I need a cig or twenty.

I knew she was going to be trouble.

[andreafmn]

I'm Not Afraid | Chapter 12

Word Count: 4.5K

Story Description: (Y/N) Argent arrived at Beacon Hills to put to rest her father’s sister, Kate Argent. For the first time, her family has decided to settle down and sustain a life in this interesting small town. After 17 years, (Y/N) has the opportunity to establish interpersonal relationships but will she be ready to face the complications that come with relating to her cousin’s, Allison, friends; especially, the infamous Derek Hale. She will face the adventure of being associated with the Derek and McCall pack, as well as being faced with the discovery of certain aspects of her life she never imagined.

A/N:  sorry this update took so long. It's sometimes hard to try an work around all the inconsistencies of the canon plot and it kills my inspo. But enjoy! 💖💖

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Outside the warehouse, (Y/N) could feel the loud music bustling its way through the walls. It made her pulse beat at time with the tempo. She could feel the bass of the music pumping inside her, building the nervous excitement that she already felt. She was ready to make herself nonexpendable to both Derek and her family. All she wanted was to prove just how great of an asset she could be.

Her parents had been training her for as long as she could remember. Using the “it's a tough world out there” excuse for it, they had submitted her to hours and hours of self-defense and weapon training. (Y/N) knew she was good enough to be put on the front lines of this war, even if no one believed in her.

It all made her miss her parents. For the longest time, they were the only constants in her life. The only people she could get close to without fearing that she would lose them. They had been her biggest supporters and she needed their vote of confidence now more than ever. She needed to feel like at least one person was in her corner.

(Y/N) saw Isaac and a disgruntled Erica, joining their side before they entered.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“Shouldn’t you already know?” Erica scoffs. “Although, I wonder which version you’re asking for. Our plan or your family’s?”

“Lay off, Erica,” Isaac grumbled. “All I know is that we need to find Jackson and stop him from getting his next victim.”

“And how exactly are you going to do that?” (Y/N) asked. “Last time I checked he has a paralyzing venom and superhuman strength.”

“Element of surprise?” the blond chuckled. “Look, we still need to meet up with Scott. It’s his plan after all.”

“Fine. Then let’s go.”

The three of them walked into the building. The stench of sweat and alcohol filled her nose, every one of her senses telling her to turn back around. But not even her fight-or-flight response would keep her from helping that night. She would be respected –one way or another.

(Y/N) followed Isaac and Erica into the rave, even as her limbs begged her to turn back. And maybe she should have listened. The flashing lights and the thumping bass strangled her but her mind had been made up. They would get Jackson that night, no matter what.

Their eyes followed the crowd, their heads in full alert. Everything they did could only end one of two ways –trapping Jackson or another death in their hands. And deep down. (Y/N) wanted to be the one to do it. It would be her only chance to show everyone what she was made of.

“(Y/N), why didn’t you tell me that Allison was going to be here?” Scott questioned as he joined the trio, worry evident in his eyes. “More than that, that your family is here?”

“I told Derek,” she defended herself. “I thought he would have told you too. I promise this wasn’t meant to be an ambush, Scott. Next time I’ll tell you myself.”

“No, it’s okay,” he sighed. “It’s just that seeing Allison here took me aback. I didn’t think I would have to worry about her tonight.”

“I am sorry, Scott. I thought after this morning you might have already known how big our family’s involvement had gotten.”

“Seriously, (Y/N), it’s okay,” he smiled reassuringly. “But I want to make sure things go on without a hitch. So, Isaac, I’m gonna need you to tranquilize Jackson.”

Scott pulled out a silver tranquilizer gun, presenting it to a surprised blond. “Why me?” he questioned, doubt clouding his eyes.

“Because I gotta make sure the Argents don’t completely ruin the plan. Okay, you better do it intravenously which means in the vein. When you find him, you pull back on this plunger right here. In the neck is probably going to be the easiest. So you find a vein, you jam it in there, and pull back on the trigger.”

“Don’t you think I’m the better choice here?” (Y/N) interjected, her hushed voice hiding her anger. “I’m the only one here that we know is immune to Jackson’s venom.”

“You also don’t heal like we do,” Scott responded. “It’s not that I don’t trust you with this, (Y/N). But the less people that get hurt, the better.”

The girl was sure her face was growing red, anger bubbling deep inside her. One more person to add to the people that did not believe in her. “Fine,” she said. “But I’m staying close by and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“That’s alright,” he smiled weakly. “Just be careful.”

“Oh, I doubt this will even slightly hurt him,” Isaac laughed, inspecting the small gun.

“No, I mean you,” Scott explained, his eyes trained on the blond. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Any of you.”

As the shaggy-haired boy left, Isaac followed him with his gaze. There was surprise in his blue eyes and a slight hint of confusion. “You okay?” (Y/N) asked her friend.

“Yeah, I just… he cares.”

“Of course he does,” she smiled. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know. I guess, I’m still not used to people caring,” he said sheepishly before slipping on his confident façade as Erica joined them. “Okay, so, me and Erica will distract him. I’ll tranquilize him and you make sure no one sees us carrying him out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Erica responded. “Too bad you’re missing out on the action, (Y/N).”

And where the Argent girl would have normally bitten back, she remained quiet because the blonde was right. She was missing out. Because her family didn’t trust her and neither did her friends. Even under the guise that they were just trying to protect her, she knew it was because they didn’t think she could do it. That she couldn’t pull her weight.

But instead of sulking, (Y/N) followed them to where Jackson was already prowling. The dance floor was packed with sweaty bodies, pushing against each other, leaving very little room to work around. They justled around, fists pumping and elated smiles on their faces. Too enthralled and oblivious to know what was happening right under their noses. These people were at a party with no knowledge that two killers walked amongst them.

Erica was the first to reach Jackson, snaking her hand around his neck to attract his attention in a sultry manner. Then, Isaac joined them, pretending to be just as interested in Erica as Jackson seemed to be. They were at a party, (Y/N) thought. That was what people did at parties.

They grind against one another, pretending there’s some sort of instant connection that could get them lucky that night. Call it pheromones or call it hornyness, most of the people in her vicinity were falling victim in that game. And it made her wonder, that maybe with the right person, she could also be one of those victims. She could imagine that she was just a normal teenager, enjoying a loud and flashy rave, waiting for the moment the guy she was with would kiss her.

But (Y/N) wasn’t there with anyone and she wasn’t normal. She hadn’t even been born into normal. No, she was there making sure Jackson didn’t turn into a bloodthirsty reptilian and off his master’s next victim before Isaac could knock him out. As Isaac and Erica closed the distance between their bodies and Jackson’s, the blond boy pulled out the tranq gun, ready to make his attack.

And Jackson noticed. He sported his Kanima nails and sunk them into the pair’s stomachs, muttering something she couldn’t quite decipher. Isaac and Erica twisted in pain, the gun falling from the boy’s hand as he groaned in discomfort and dropped to the floor.

(Y/N)’s eyes were focused on the silver gadget on the floor, close to being trampled by the moving bodies. That was her moment and she would take it. Rather than helping her friends, she dove for it, gliding through the crowd to get to it.

She heard Isaac telling her to stay back, but the adrenaline was already pumping through her veins. She was capable, she repeated to herself. (Y/N) needed to get the tranquilizer and stop Jackson from getting to his victim. Once in her hands, her palms trembled at how cold it was; heavier than she had thought too. But it was there, and she had the power to stop him.

(Y/N) stalked quietly toward him. His eyes were trained directly in front, too distracted to think that she could be right behind him. And she knew she had to be quick. One wrong move and everything would have been for nothing. Without another grueling thought, she pressed against him and sank the needle in his neck, pulling the trigger as she felt it disappear into his skin.

What she didn’t account for was his weight falling completely onto her. She tried her hardest to keep him up, but it wouldn’t take long before his body would bring them both to the ground.

“That was a very dumb thing you did, (Y/N),” Isaac said as he took Jackson in his arms.

“But I got it done,” she smirked. “Now, let’s get him out of here.”

Between him and Erica, they carried Jackson’s unconscious body out of the dance floor and into a small room where they were supposed to wait for Stiles and Scott. The tension inside was thick, choking to the point that it was almost unbearable. The Reyes girl was angry that she had failed to do her task and that (Y/N) had jumped in to save the day. Meanwhile, Isaac was angry that she had gotten herself into a dangerous situation.

“You can’t seriously be angry at me, Lahey,” she whispered to her friend. “I did what I had to do to get him here.”

“And what would you have done if you hadn’t?”

“Something we won’t know because I did, Isaac,” she retorted sternly. “Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of a lot more than any of you give me credit for. Even for a human.”

“The problem is you are a human, (Y/N). You can get hurt and there will be a time that we won’t be able to help you.”

“And that’s a risk I am willing to take. Just like all of you are.”

Before Isaac could answer, the door swung open, putting the two werewolves on high alert.

“Just me,” he said as he threw his hands up in front of him. “Don’t freak. Is he okay?”

“Well,” Isaac said, his eyes trained on (Y/N). “Let’s find out.”

His claws sprouted from his hand, ready to sink into Jackson as he had done to him minutes before. But he did not get the chance to enact his revenge. Even in his unconscious state, the Whittmore boy was still sentient. His arm flew up, stopping Isaac’s and bending it until he finally released it.

“Okay, no one does anything like that again,” (Y/N) called as Isaac fell back. “So much for not getting hurt?”

“Shut up,” he muttered toward her, inspecting the damage in his hand. “I thought the ketamine was supposed to knock him out.”

“I think this is as good as we’re gonna get,” Stiles said. “So let’s hope that whoever’s controlling him decided to show up tonight.”

“I’m here,” Jackson said, startling everyone in the room. His voice was chilling and devoid of any humanity. “I’m right here with you.”

“Jackson, is that you?” Stiles asked, crouching in front of Jackson’s seemingly tranced body.

“Us,” he responded. “We’re all here.”

“This is getting too ‘We are Legion,’” (Y/N) muttered. “Too biblical for my taste.”

Stiles shushed her before turning back to the knocked-out boy. “Are you the one killing people?”

“We are the ones killing murderers.”

Stiles continued his sleuthing into Jackson’s subconscious, and possibly into who was controlling him. He reiterated everything they already knew. They were killing killers. That much was certain. But they didn’t understand why. Who had they killed that had prompted so much bloodshed?

“They murdered me,” Jackson answered again. His head was trembling as his eyes turned red and yellow, his transformation into the Kanima slowly slipping in. “They murdered me!”

“Okay, more ketamine,” Stiles mumbled. “The man needs more ketamine.”

“It’s all gone,” Isaac answered.

“You used the whole bottle?” (Y/N) exclaimed. “And that didn’t even last.”

Then, Jackson stood snarling at the teens, his head convulsing rapidly as reptilian skin ate at his human one. They stammered out of the room, slamming the metal door behind them. But it wasn’t enough. It never would have been enough. They were dealing with a creature with unparalleled power and speed, and he had one thing to do. Jackson broke through the metal walls, disappearing into the club, and getting lost in the crowd. Everything they had done had been for nothing.

They moved toward the exit, getting trapped between the people that had already grown tired of the party and were leaving. It separated them into pairs. Stiles and (Y/N) were outside first, looking around for any sign that the murder had taken place and that someone else knew. But people milled out of the warehouse as though nothing had happened. As though no one had seen a thing.

“What is that?” (Y/N) questioned, pointing at the black dust that seemed to circle the building. “Planning on building a ring of fire if Jackson escapes?”

“It’s mountain ash,” Stiles whispered as they moved toward his Jeep, a safe distance away from the door. “Supposedly, it keeps supernaturals where they are.”

“How do you know they won’t cross it?”

“We’ll have to see.”

“Hopefully not too late,” she said. But her words died as Derek jogged toward them, a look of worry on his face. His eyes were on her quickly, trying to speak without any words. “Um, we sort of lost Jackson inside.”

“(Y/N)!” Stiles exclaimed at her blurting. “We did. But, uh…”

At that moment, Isaac and Erica walked out, their gaze falling on the black ash. It was as though they were staring at a ten-foot wall in front of them, with no way through. Whatever that powder was, it had worked. Too well.

“I did something!” Stiles celebrated.

“Look at us humans doing something,” (Y/N) smiled. “And still they underestimate us.”

“What did you do?” Derek questioned, turning his attention toward her. “I thought I told you to hang back.”

“You don’t tell me what to do, Derek,” she bit back. “And I did what I had to. Because last time I checked…” Before they could continue arguing, a loud growl broke through the air. (Y/N)’s head snapped toward the sound, somehow knowing who it belonged to. “Scott?” she whispered. “Is that Scott?”

“What?” Stiles questioned her as everyone’s gaze fell on her.

“Break it,” Derek directed. But Stiles refused.

 “Scott’s dying!”

“Wait, what?” Stiles asked her. “How do you know that?”

 “Oh, my god, Stiles,” Derek groaned. “Just do it!”

With a wave of his hands, Stiles broke the barrier and Derek ran right through. And before anyone could argue, (Y/N) followed. She didn’t understand why she had been able to hear Scott. All she knew was that she did and she could feel the pain and weakness in his call. He was begging for help and she had been able to listen.

“You should have stayed back,” the man beside her grumbled as they ran to where the growl had come from. “You could get seriously hurt.”

“I want to help, Derek. And I will,” she spoke through gritted teeth as they snaked through bodies in the room. “We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

“Fine,” he responded defeatedly as they reached a door at the back. “Just stay back.”

As he opened it, Scott’s weakened body was strewn on the floor. His face was toward the floor and, without the twitches he made, she would have sworn he was dead. Derek burst in first, swaying as soon as he did. 

Suddenly, a flash of red jumped from the darkness beside the door and lunged a knife directly into Derek’s back. Victoria struggled with him, waving the blade as they fought for dominance. Whatever was in the air had weakened him and was making her a worthy adversary.

“Get… Scott,” Derek managed to croak out as he fought the Argent woman, crashing into the wall behind them.

(Y/N) dropped beside the boy, thinking of a way she could carry him out of the room without his help. She started snaking her arms under him, pulling his torso toward her to drag him out. But the little headway she made was destroyed as Derek stumbled onto her, making her fall alongside Scott.

“What the hell?”

“She’s gone,” Derek whispered, his eyes falling to where he had just been fighting with the woman. “Sorry, there’s wolfsbane in the air. It’s making me weaker.”

“It’s fine,” (Y/N) mumbled. “Let’s just get him out of here.”

They draped one arm of his around their shoulders and dragged the boy back to (Y/N)’s car under her instruction. There was no other way they could transport two hurt werewolves any other way. Carefully, they rested his body on the passenger seat before (Y/N) buckled him in.

“Where’s your bike?” Derek mumbled, holding his left arm, and trying to conceal the blood that was rushing out.

 “I told Isaac to retrieve it from my uncle’s this afternoon,” she shrugged as she closed the car door behind her. “Something told me the SUV might have been the best bet tonight.”

“Well, I can…” he tried to speak quickly but a wince of pain killed his words. “I can drive. You should get your bike.”

“Isaac’s got it,” she said. “And I need to get the car back to the house somehow.”

“And you trust him with it?”

“As much as you would trust me with your own car,” she retorted. “Now, you’re hurt and clearly still a bit buzzed from the inhaled wolfsbane. So stop arguing.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Just don’t kill us before we get there.”

“Can’t make any promises,” she smirked. “Now get into the backseat, sour wolf.”

They drove in silence to the veterinary office, their eyes meeting in passing through the rear-view mirror. There were so many words unsaid between them but too many things had happened that overwhelmed them. One more talk at that very moment and they would probably say something one of them would regret. As much as (Y/N) wanted to talk to him, Derek looked too weak to withstand a screaming match with her.

All the anger she felt toward him dissipated as she saw his head fall back in pain, his wounds not healing as quickly as they should have. At that moment, (Y/N) wanted to comfort him. If it hadn’t been for Scott’s unconscious body on the seat next to her, she would have driven him to her home and taken care of the wounds herself.

Instead, she parked in front of the small veterinary office, where Deaton was waiting for them. He hurried to the passenger side, helping Derek carry Scott into the operating room in the back. They laid the boy on the metal examining table and allowed the doctor to do his work.

“Derek, I’ll get to you as soon as I am done with him,” Alan said. “I just have to make sure his healing starts before any real damage is done to his lungs.”

“I can help him,” (Y/N) offered. “I know enough about first aid to close a couple of cuts.”

“Oh, um, are you sure?” the doctor questioned. “I know he’s in pain, but it’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

“Let her,” Derek groaned. “Anything is better than keeping this wolfsbane inside.”

“Alright then,” the man conceded before handing (Y/N) a medicine cup filled with a black powder. “Make sure you place this directly on the wounds before you close them.”

Deaton handed (Y/N) a tray of supplies and a pair of gloves and showed them to his smaller check-up room as he tended to Scott. The two kept quiet during every step. As Derek removed his shirt and (Y/N) washed her hands, as she wiped away the blood that stuck to his skin and pressed the powder into the stab wounds, as she sutured the cuts and bandaged them. All quiet.

“Thank you,” Derek croaked as he broke the silence. “For everything you’ve done tonight.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well leave you guys to die because of my family,” she shrugged. “I’m doing what anyone would have done.”

 “I don’t think anyone else from the Argent clan would have saved us.”

“Well, they don’t count as anyone,” she chuckled. As he tried to join her in laughter a wince fell out of his mouth as he moved his arm too fast. “How bad does it hurt?”

“Better now,” he sighed, sinking into the chair he was in. “I want to apologize, (Y/N). When you called, I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t capable.”

“You don’t ha…”

“I do, (Y/N). You have to know that what I said was because I can’t see you get hurt. I spoke rashly and I need you to understand that I didn’t mean it. You’re more than able to do everything we can do, I just can’t bear if something happened to you because of it.”

“Sooner or later, everyone will just have to accept the fact that I am a part of this world and that I can help in ways others can’t,” she responded as she sat beside him. “I just want to feel like I am valuable to the pack and not just another human you need to protect. I know there are things I can bring to the table that no one else can.”

“Like how you were able to not only hear Scott’s howl but to know that he was hurt,” he said. “Or how you never crossed the mountain ash threshold.”

“What’re you talking about, Derek? I heard Scott’s howl because it was loud and I didn’t cross the line because I had no need to,” (Y/N) chuckled. “Nothing else is happening there.”

“I don’t think that’s true, (Y/N). You’re different somehow, and I’m sure there are other unexplainable things that have happened to you. I mean, you’re even immune to the Kanima’s venom for some reason.”

(Y/N) kept quiet because it was true. Just like she had felt that Deaton was more than he led on or how she simply knew that Scott was dying. It was something that had happened to her over the years. Sometimes, she just felt things. But she didn’t know how to explain it to Derek. She was probably different, but she didn’t know why or how.

“Don’t know what you want me to say, Derek,” she sighed. “If I am anything other than human, my parents have not told me and I haven’t found out. But I would rather talk about anything else. Please, no more unexplainable things.”

“Alright,” he smiled softly, the only thing he could muster with the pain. But his smile didn’t last long, his face falling into a worried frown. “Something happened tonight when I was struggling with your aunt.”

Her eyes fell on his, questioning the dread that befell on his face. “What happened, Derek?”

“I bit her as we fought,” he confessed, his gaze falling to his bandaged arm. “I-I… I thought it was the only way she would let me go and I simply did it.”

“Derek, you did what you had to do,” she replied, placing a hand on his arm. “Whatever happens next, it’s not your fault.”

The man sighed before he continued, roaming his eyes over her hand. “Do you know what hunters do when they are bit or scratched deep enough?” When she shook her head no, he continued. “They kill themselves. Rather than accepting the change, they choose death over becoming one of us.”

“And did you? Bite her deep enough?”

“I did,” he admitted. “I did and now…”

“It’s still not your fault,” she reassured. “My family is so scared of becoming a werewolf that they’ve become monsters themselves. To choose death over a life like this, I think it’s cowardice. And that’s on them.”

“Why do you think so differently? I don’t think I’ve ever met a hunter, let alone an Argent, that thinks like you.”

“My father. Something tells me my father cares more about werewolves than he lets on,” she smiled. “But he’s on your side just as much as I am. And if it’s ever necessary, he’d help you as much as I would.”

“Two Argent hunters choosing the supernatural side over their family. Never thought I would see the day,” he laughed, the tension leaving his shoulders with every chuckle. “How did it take this long for our paths to cross?”

(Y/N) smiled at him; grateful the conversation was finally shifting. “Well, I’ve been all over the country and there’s a couple of years of difference between us,” she stated teasingly. “I’m sure that’s why it took so long.”

“But you’re here now,” he said, his eyes falling to her lips for a second.

“I am,” she grinned, slowly leaning toward him. “I am right here, right now.”

“Good,” he smiled, inching closer and closer.  

But a knock rang through the room and their eyes snapped to the open door. Deaton stood by the doorway, a knowing smile on his face. “I wanted to let you know that Scott’s awake,” he said. “And I know you’re recovering, but I do have to wake up early in the morning.”

“Of course,” Derek responded. “Thank you.”

As soon as the doctor left, the pair broke into quiet laughter. The universe had stopped them once again and she didn’t know if fate was trying to keep them apart or make them work for it. It had also become cruel how many times they had been so close to kissing before they were interrupted.

“We could just get it out of the way,” she offered. Her head fell onto his shoulder. Looking at his face was temptation enough. “Maybe the next time no one will walk in; finally break this curse.”

“No, (Y/N),” he sighed with a smile. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing this right. Not rushed or just to get over it.”

“Fine,” she whined. “I guess you’re not going to jail tonight.”

“That’s good to know,” he chuckled. “But it is time for all of us to go home. Unfortunately, none of this is over yet.

Next ->

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[importantkidspyfarm]

To fanfic writers transitioning to writing their own romances here's a tip.

Tension.

Tension is what romances are built on. Sexual and romantic tension.

For example, "just one bed" is not a trope where two characters are forced to sleep in a bed and then have sex. It's a device to express how they feel about one another. Will they sleep in the bed together, or will one take the floor? Why? If they share the bed, how plagued are they with thoughts that they might touch? How badly does one of them want the other to break the agreement of "stay on your side"? If they wake up in one another's arms, how does person A feel about it? If nothing happens, why did nothing happen.

[octopiys]

A little bit of a one-shot I wrote on my ao3, and wanted to share here :)

Ghost and König fight over Soap. One-shot based on acidgrynn's tiktok

(Tw for violence, blood, gunshot wounds, cursing)

(Part 1?)

It was cold and rainy, two of the things Soap hated the most when he went on missions, practically alone. It was the dead of night, and the wind howled outside his hideout where he had hauled up, and waited for the enemy to pass.

To be fair, he was so numb from the elements that he practically hadn't felt the bullet pierce through the meaty part of his upper arm. It was only when he saw the blood mingling with the rainwater at his feet that he started to feel a little lightheaded. His flesh hadn't been as gnarled or mangled as he had thought it would be, as compared to other previous bullet holes, so he typically wasn't one to complain. The only thing that worried him was that he couldn't recall when his injury occured.

To make matters even worse, he had already completed his objective, and was heading out. The exfil truck was half a mile out of town, and one of the hostiles he thought he had killed had a little more fight left in him.

It wasn't a life threatening wound, believe him, he'd had those before, like when he fought that one bastard over in Afghanistan with the wicked looking knife that could've mirrored Ghost's.... He still had the scar on his stomach to prove it.

"Oh shite-" He thought aloud, realizing the extent of his troubles. The one thing that the Lieutenant had said to him as he left base was that he needed to be more careful. It was an order. And Riley hated it when he disobeyed.

It seemed like Price was rubbing off on him more than anyone wanted it to. After all, how were they supposed to keep up his scary guard dog attitude if he actually started caring about the rest of the team?

That was a joke.

A bad one. But still.

They'd come a far way from their first meet, when Ghost had practically cussed him out on the spot, ignored him for days, pretending like he hadn't existed, and would've left him for dead without a second thought. Now, well, sometimes he was still ignored, but Ghost could carry a decent conversation every once in a while! But he acted like he felt sometimes. And he was a beast on the field. Not that- not that Johnny liked to watch, or anything.

He wondered what the Lieutenant would do in this situation.

He damn well wouldn't be hiding in a slowly-flooding alley, waiting for the threat to pass.

The Sergeant sighed heavily, checking the ammo he had left, and going over both options he had laid out for himself.

"Creepin' fuckin' Christ." He grumbled, before ducking beneath a half wall and peeking out into the main part of the road, suddenly wishing he had brought a jacket as the wind whipped around his face. Or at least a hat.

He flexed his arm experimentally, not failing to wince when it did actually hurt like he thought it would. This only caused blood to flow out faster, and he didn't have any bandages on him. Well, fuck.

One way in, one way out.

There was a group of hostiles at the end of the street, guns raised and looking for a fight. They were gonna sniff him out eventually, so he might as well welcome it with an open heart and a blazing barrel.

He dove out into the slick streets, firing round after round at their group.

The one-four-one's favorite rule? If you get attacked, you return it.

Tenfold.

None of them stood a chance by the time Johnny was finished, his weapon steaming in the rain. He was down a grenade, and he had no bullets left in the mag, so he dropped it uselessly out of his gun and reloaded his last one. This would be an emergency use only weapon, he thought to himself as he stuck it back on its clip and pulled out a knife.

He fought tooth and nail against KorTac soldiers and the elements to get to his shitty infil and exfil truck. In one point, he had actually accidentally judo-flipped a soldier before severing the main artery in his neck with the sharp blade of his knife.

The next he ran into was just around the corner, leaving one of his buddies to investigate a sound he thought he had heard. Briefly, Soap wondered if he had ever seen a horror movie. Because even he knew that you don't go anywhere alone, at any point in time. There was a shout as he was spotted, and the Sergeant quickly shot the man in the side as he approached, and shoved. KorTac 1's weapon clattered to the ground with him, and Soap put a bullet through his helmet, before he decided to run the other way.

Exfil was a little over half a mile away, off road in the trees on the outskirts of the town, hidden beneath a camo tarp he had placed over it.

In his truck was where he had left all his medical supplies, with enough stimshots and bandages to last him three days depending on how long the mission took. It wouldn't do much, nothing like a decent doctor would, but he had to manage with what he had brought.

It always starts out as an information run, until you actually get to the information, and it gets a hell of a lot harder to get out, and keep a hold on the flashdrive.

This hadn't been one where he was given an option. He was the best to fit the job as their pet demolitions expert, able to get in and out... in as fun(in his own definition) a way as possible. And Gaz was out with Price, dealing with something in Urzikstan. It had been difficult, that location, since Alex Keller's death, but Farah had needed help, and of course, they would oblige.

By the time he tore off the tarp, and poured himself into the truck, he tied himself a tourniquet using a strap from the seat belt aside him and a screwdriver that had lay forgotten in his utility belt, and drove himself the hours back to base.

On the way home, he had found himself thinking back to the beginning, when both KorTac and SpecGru arose from the ashes that Hassan Zyani's death left behind in his trail of destruction. Each side had a few that jumped ship, including a 6'10 hood-wearing platoon specialist that soon joined them.

Soap always wondered what belonged under the sniper fabric, the same that he did for the Lieutenant whenever his blue-hazel eyes got too close for platonic comfort.

He had already accepted defeat in his half lust for tall, mysterious, masked men that had higher ups on him. It would be an issue at some point, he was sure of it.

Never had he dared to mention this to anyone, though. Why would he? It would only cause problems....

After a few long, long hours of driving, low-on-gas warnings, and self deprecating humor trying to relieve himself of the stress he had created, Soap approached the lights of the front gate.

He only glared at whatever poor kid had been stationed there on the nightshift, waiting for the the gate to open any fucking faster, and he sped through.

It was a miracle he hadn't been followed, or even tracked, he thought to himself as he skidded on the gravel of the parking lot to a stop. He drew enough himself out of the car, leaving all his gear on the bloody passenger seat, approaching the main building. Briefly, he wondered if he would have to clean it, or if the truck was shitty enough that they could scrap it for material. Most of the lights were dimmed in the early morning, and he doubted anyone had expected him back this quickly. Or even in this state.

Johnny stumbled up the steps, noticing how his fingers were numb, a chill settling into his very bones, and he tried to push away the uncomfortable feeling of half-dried half-wet hair that stuck limply to the side of his face.

The first door he cleared without interruption. It was freezing in here, and he really didn't want to add hypothermia into the mix, much less even risk it. The lights were always on in the corridors, so it was just the other rooms that were dark, their occupants inside still sleeping.

Down the hallway, with his good hand planted firmly on the tourniquet, he elbowed open the next door to the common area.

He had been trying to make his way to the hospital wing, taking a shortcut through the larger half of the building when a welcome warmness hit him and spread and suddenly he wanted to wait in the cozy room, just sleep right there, up against the wall.

The fire was going in the stones of the fireplace, and two people had lounged on opposite ends of a chess table, seeming extremely engaged in whatever they were doing. Two large windows on either side of the fireplace showed the hilly landscape that their base had crested upon, and how the sun just began to peek over the horizon. He noticed then that the sky had cleared at some point, sending the freezing rain somewhere else for the time being. The fire had cast shadows across the room, drifting across the hardwood flooring, up the couch, moving as they did.

"Johnny?" Ghost asked with furrowed brows, the rest of his face hidden behind the familiar striped black and grey balaclava that the man dared to call comfort.

"'M back lads." He murmured his greeting as the world spun and he leaned against the thick wooden doorframe for support. He should've just kept going to the medical wing, but God it felt so warm in here and he was so, so cold from the pouring rain that he felt had frozen into shards of ice around him.

He would rather be stuck in here, than waiting outside Price's office to write a report. He fucking hated those. Suggested body cams instead, but then remembered the amount of war crimes the team had probably committed, and they all quickly kicked the idea to the curb soon after that.

König turned from his spot in the chair and gave him a friendly wave, missing how Ghost switched around one or two of the wooden pieces. He still wore his face covering, the faded red paint blending into the black background of the cloth. It had settled loosely, and he could barely see the long strands of strawberry blonde hair beneath it.

"Well done." Ghost complimented, looking back to König's move, further sending warmth into his very core, or maybe it was the blood loss. He didn't seem too entirely focused on Soap at the moment, that was left mostly up to König.

The tallest man's eyes looked him up and down scrutinizingly. "Are you alright, Sergeant?"

The Lieutenant finally looked up at his question, doing half a double take as Soap felt himself slide down his place at the wall. They both were up from their spots in a millisecond, and at his side quicker than that.

"Just got nicked on the way back is all..." Mactavish grumbled, not wanting to be babied right then, but also..... he didn't entirely loathe the feeling. He watched Ghost's hooded eyes rake up and down his appearance, and tried to put aside his enjoyment. He was bleeding out, you know.

But..... there was no way he'd get to medical by himself. Too far away now. If he hadn't stopped, he might've been able to make it on his own.

Yet they fretted over him.

"Need to be more careful." Ghost's low voice rumbled across from him, raising goosebumps up his skin out of reflex and the Lietenant crossed his arms, glaring without any real malice.

"Thanks, Si, I'll try to remember that next time." He said sarcastically, inching his way back up the cool gloss over the wooden support, watching as Ghost rolled his eyes.

Gentle fingers prodded the tourniquet on his arm, and Soap tried to hide the heat that pooled in his stomach at the soft touch, or the wince that jolted his system. For such a large man, König was.... surprisingly tender with his hands. He wondered what else they were good for. "Did you return the favor?"

Johnny half smirked, bathing himself in the feeling of home, yet trying to regain some perception of his own being. "Of course... tenfold."

"I'm proud, Sergeant." König murmured, close to his ear, but loud enough so that the other could hear it too.

Soap's eyes widened slightly as the sudden adrenaline pushed him back onto his feet and taking a step forward before he stumbled, like some dame waiting to be saved. But he was no dame, and he didn't need saving, actually, he was John fuckin' Mactavish and-

"I'll take him to medical." Strong arms pulled him back up and he recognized the familiar rough texture of Riley's skeleton gloves on his bare flesh.

"Oh, don't worry, I can do it." König said, looping his hands around his waist, dipping low.

The Austrian was a fucking tease, that's for sure.

"I said, 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘒ö𝘯𝘪𝘨." Ghost growled, locking eyes with the other hooded man.

He only narrowed his eyes into a stare, sharper and harsher than any dagger he'd ever seen, in response, and if Johnny could guess, he had his teeth bared behind the rumpled fabric. "Do you, 𝘓𝘪𝘦𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵?"

The words hung in the air like a challenge, for that's precisely what they were.

Soap could've cut the tension with a knife, the exact one that he had left in the passenger seat from his mission. As he glanced between them with a mixture of nervousness and... something a little more than just plain need, realization smacked him in the face.

These two apex soldiers were poised at each other's throats because of 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

Something a little more than need was... definitely an understatement.

And maybe he was mistaken, as the two held him tightly close, dragging him to medical, but Soap could've sworn he saw the sunken desire plunged in the deep pits of their eyes too. The only matter was who would fold first.

Who 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 fold first.

To hell with it, lay him down, he'd willingly bend to whatever either of them commanded.

Johnny may have been half delirious from blood loss, oh that much was true, but he was no idiot. His vision still worked, no matter how it tipped or blurred, or how he was sure he was half conscious by the time the sun fully came up.

Ghost and König had abandoned their verbal quarrel, retreating to a silent battle of scowling across his medical bed as the doctors fixed him up, visibly uncomfortable in the tension that had flooded the room, rolled off the two in waves. But no man was brave enough to interject, dare even ask them to leave the room so they would work it out.

They'd all resolve their.... issues later, and Soap wished he was there for it. Deep down, he knew he would be. He didn't think they would give him a choice.

And fuck me, he thought to himself, wouldn't that be a glorious thing?

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4861

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, mental illness, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

10. S'mores

It’s the “sex play” (God, that term is so cringe) thing being on the table that builds the tension in the apartment, all of them knowing about it but none of them talking about it. Mary sure as shit doesn’t have the guts to break that ice, and now Bucky’s always deep in thought and quiet around her. And Steve, well.

Steve is like a big, mopey golden retriever who knows its humans are upset but doesn’t know how to help besides headbutting things affectionately.

Mary’s feelings for him only grow when she realizes that he really hasn’t told Bucky about that night in the kitchen: the things she’d confided about the razor and her nightmares and sneaking out to the gym. Knowing that Steve’s stuck by his word like that makes her like him and trust him a whole heck of a lot more. 

But it doesn’t solve the underlying problem. 

There’s a court hearing in front of a judge next month to revisit the custody arrangement—Next month. And one afternoon while Bucky’s out of the apartment, Steve gently informs Mary that Dr. Linda is recommending the order be extended. Jesus fucking Christ. 

And then the results to that test Linda made her take, the “Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment”, arrive in the mail (addressed to Bucky, because of course they would be), and Mary gets her hands on them after Bucky and Steve read them, and she’s mortified at what it says about her.

Tendencies: Passive aggression (reactive aggression in lieu of submission), emotional outbursts, low self-esteem, impulsive sexual promiscuity, self-harm, alcohol use disorder, possible co-morbidity (OCD, EDNOS, BDD). Dynamic Preferences: single dominant authority figure, structured domestic routine, service, discipline, monogamous relationship, emotional bonding. Recommendations: Following assessment review, patient is most likely to benefit from continued domestic control in a consistent (24/7) environment. Transfer of custody not recommended. Continued therapy sessions and educational courses at CDP highly recommended. Most beneficial therapeutic modalities include limited corporal discipline, sex play, and reward-based service routine.

There’s a ton of infuriating psycho babble bullshit packed into those results that she could get upset about, and she does, but Mary’s eyes track over that one, most-horrible phrase over and over again: 

“Transfer of custody not recommended.”

Fuck.

She loses sleep over it, sneaks out of the apartment in the middle of the night and does cardio at the gym until she’s exhausted enough to head back home and pass out. It pisses her off that this is such a thing now. She doesn’t want to be special needs, she should have the right to choose whether she even wants treatment or not! She resents the hell out of Bucky and Steve for having custody of her the way that they do. They’re clearly expecting her to blow up or something, after the news from Linda and the SSITA results come in. It’s so obvious that they’re walking on eggshells around her, Mary halfway wishes they’d just do something. One way or the other, it’d be better than this.

Linda claims that they’ve expressed “positive feelings” about a sexual dynamic, but if they have, they sure aren’t expressing it to Mary. She suspects that most of that positivity has come from Steve, and probably only because he’s a golden retriever in human form who just wants to do what’s right and good, not because he or Bucky are particularly attracted to her.

While she has managed to clean herself up quite a bit since moving in with them, Mary isn’t delusional: she realizes that Steve and Bucky are very attractive men, whereas she’s just average. She tries to tell herself she’s fine with that. She knows Bucky and Steve could probably get like, a supermodel to sleep with them if they really wanted to. Mary’s not in their league, and that’s okay. 

But if they’re not attracted to her that way then they should at least have the decency to just say so! At least then she could find someone else, get back on Tinder, or even sign up for one of those ProDoms that the CDP has. Darcy said Thor was good, so maybe Mary could request him? The way that Darcy had described the guy, he sounds like he's a hunka hunka burning Nordic god. Mary could go for that.

She brings it up casually over dinner, framing it lightheartedly, and Bucky literally crushes his water glass in his prosthetic hand. “What?” he snaps, frowning down at the mess he’s just made. “No.”

Mary huffs and goes to fetch the desserts while Steve gets the waste bin and begins scraping the broken pieces of glass into it like it’s just another Tuesday. “I don’t see why not,” Mary complains from over at the counter. She’s pulled the plates out from the fridge and grabs the butane torch for the meringue.

“Jesus,” Bucky exclaims when he sees the industrial sized torch she's wielding. “Where’d you get that?”

Mary purses her lips as she focuses on achieving the perfect amount of toastedness. “Hardware store,” she mutters. “So why can’t I go see one of the ProDom’s again?” She purposefully over-torches Bucky’s meringue, because she can tell that this isn’t going to go her way. “Sounds like a win-win. You don’t have to deal with me, I can meet new people, and insurance pays for it. What exactly is the problem?” She’s trying to force him to admit that he doesn’t want to Dom her sexually, trying to get him to see that something’s gotta give and he’ll have to let her use one of the ProDoms eventually if that’s what the severity of her “condition” requires (gigantic ‘Ew’). 

But frustratingly, he refuses to engage with her on the topic. “It’s a no, Mare,” he tells her sternly. “Pros are for people who have more experience. You don’t.”

Mary seriously doubts that. “Linda didn’t say that,” she argues, carrying the plates over to the table and handing the nice one to Steve and the burnt one to Bucky. 

He pulls it closer to himself and raises an eyebrow at it. “Linda’s being diplomatic,” he mutters. “I thought you said you were making s’mores?” 

Yesterday, Bucky had been talking with Steve about how much they both missed their old camping trips they used to take. The two of them must’ve waxed poetic over campfire s’mores for ten whole minutes. So Mary thought this would be an excellent way to butter them up. Apparently not.

She sniffs and picks up her fork. “They are s’mores. It’s a plated dessert, Bucky. An interpretation. It’s not literal.”

He grunts and peers at his portion, poking it dubiously with his fork. “What’s it made of?”

Mary heaves a sigh and snottily recites: “Honey Sablé, 70% Valrhona cremeux, cold-smoked Italian meringue, torched ‘mallow, Graham crumb streusel, and tempered chocolate stick for garnish." Both Bucky and Steve stop poking at their plates and just stare at her for a second. 

“Sounds good,” Steve chirps, and digs into his.

Mary stares Bucky down, until he too, deigns to eat the apparently too fancy for him version of a  s’more. “Oh, damn,” he says after the first bite, looking taken-aback. “I can taste the smoke.”

Mary preens, then asks again about the ProDom. “Well if I’m not getting it there then who the heck’s supposed to fuck me?” she winds up blurting out of frustration.

When that direct reference doesn’t elicit any response from Bucky besides a barrage of bossy instructions for after-dinner cleanup, Mary loses a bit of the hope she’d been holding onto that maybe Linda was right about them being attracted to her. She just gave him the perfect fucking opening, and he didn’t take it. She gets the kitchen cleaned up from dinner, resigning herself to another evening of platonic domination that doesn’t quite hit the spot. 

Nightly drops are nice. Not as nice as they were in the beginning, the effects having waned quite a bit from what they once were, but still better than no drops at all. 

Mary sits on her pillow on the floor, head on the couch cushion next to Bucky’s thigh, listening vaguely to the sound of the television while she enjoys the feeling of his fingers carding through her hair, lightly massaging her scalp. It’s been a while now, and she doesn’t think she’s going to get any deeper. It’s late, already they’ve watched two full episodes of their show, and Mary’s got work tomorrow. It’ll be bedtime soon. 

A big yawn works its way up in her throat, and Bucky chuckles when it finally breaks free. “Tired?” he asks.

“Mmhm.” She inhales deeply and sits up, sleepy and squinting. It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room and Bucky’s form sitting right in front of her. Wow, she’d been really close to him, hadn’t realized just how close. Had she been … hugging his shin? God, she hopes not. Not like she hasn’t spent whole evenings fantasizing about rubbing her face all over his thighs and his— Nope. Not gonna think about that when he’s sitting right there. She tears her eyes away and forces that train of thought to stop right in its metaphorical tracks. 

“You good, Hon?” Bucky asks, his soft voice drawing her attention back from her own head. She looks up and sees his fond expression, his relaxed posture. Wonders if he’s in Domspace at all. Probably not.

Then her eyes land on the line of his cock at the front of his pants. 

He’s hard. Not very, but some. Underneath his sweats his dick is chubbed up enough that it creates a slight bulge against the fabric. Mary freezes, staring for too long before she’s able to tear her eyes away. When she does, and she looks up, Bucky’s watching her with an inscrutable expression. Her breath catches and her mind goes absolutely dumb.

Does he want ..? Should she ..?

She looks back down at it, at the relaxed splay of his thighs. She wets her lips and thinks about reaching forward and sliding her hand over it, what it would feel like, if it would twitch, if Bucky would shiver or make a sound. She wants to touch it, and seriously considers doing so, but when she looks up at Bucky again, he doesn’t look like he’s excited, or anticipating her touching him. He looks … resigned. 

“Tired?” he asks kindly. "Do you maybe ... Do you need anything else tonight? From me?"

Mary's lips part, heart leaping at what that might mean ... but then Bucky looks over at Steve with visible yearning in his eyes, and the two of them share one of their silent conversations, brows pinched and expectant. 

Oh. Right. Bucky’s just horny and eager to get Steve into bed, wants to wrap this up. Mary wonders if he really can’t tell that she's not far down like she used to get. Maybe he thinks this is all she needs and he really isn’t going to take Linda’s advice seriously. Mary should be happy about that. After all, it’s what she wanted. Isn’t it?

She balls up the hand that she’d been imagining touching Bucky with and nods. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m tired. Think I’m gonna … go get ready for bed.”

She glances over at Steve, but he looks mopey and eager to get out of the room just like his husband does, cementing the notion in Mary’s mind that they don’t want to be with her that way. No doubt they will if push comes to shove, because Linda’s told them Mary needs a sexual dynamic, but it’s not something they’re excited about. Mary knows men: They’re not the sort to sit around and wait for a girl they like to make the first move. And certainly not a man like Bucky, of all people. 

She tries not to be hurt by it, but still gets a little weepy while brushing her teeth, the unintended rejection stinging more when she’s down in the tingly, vulnerable throes of subspace. She spits, rinses, flosses, rinses. Grabs the mouthwash that she hates to use but that Bucky has ordered her to always use after brushing her teeth at night. 

She says goodnight to Steve and Bucky through the safety of her closed bedroom door, and despite her voice being warbly, neither one of them knocks on the door to see what’s up. That drives the point home, and Mary tucks herself into bed with the mindset that she’ll let them know they don’t have to sleep with her just to be nice or to help her or whatever. She’ll just find a way to convince them that she really is fine with going to one of the ProDoms, and that it really is a better arrangement.

Better than a pity fuck, at least.

It’s disappointing to know that Mary prefers the ProDom, that she doesn’t want to make their relationship sexual, but Bucky gets it, and he knows that he shouldn’t be surprised. He’s not exactly an easy person to get along with, after all. He’s prickly as fuck, grumpy, bossy, selfish. And aside from her natural submission, Mary’s personality clashes with his horribly. Steve is essential, but he just isn’t enough to successfully buffer between the two of them—not enough to make her want them that way, at least. 

Bucky can see the profound disappointment in Steve’s eyes that night, as Mary doesn’t react the way they were both hoping, doesn’t take the offerings Bucky puts out.

They have to let it be her choice, of course, having planned it out and discussed it between just the two of them. It's all anybody ever talks about in the D/s community these days: making sure subs are the initiators at key moments like this, not letting domination creep in and become manipulation-so easy to do with how naturally vulnerable and people pleasing submissives are. Gone are the days when Doms like Bucky were encouraged to guide new partners in the "right" direction. That leads to too much trauma, too many subs in situations they don't really want. Mary has to be left to make the choice on her own, it's her right.

But it's still the hardest fucking thing for him to do, to just sit there and wait passively. And it still stings when she looks straight at his erection and declares that she’s ready for bed. Well, if it wasn’t clear before.

Steve looks like a friggin’ kicked puppy, as he stands outside of Mary’s closed bedroom door and bids her goodnight. Bucky nudges him in the direction of their own room and murmurs, “Come on, Sweetheart.” 

In their bedroom, they each get undressed. Steve continues to mope, so Bucky goes up to him and places a hand on his shoulder and rubs. “Hey. Don’t sulk. You’ve still got me.” Steve’s mouth twitches in a small smile and Bucky’s heart flares with fondness for him. “You wanna play a game?” he offers, leaning in and kissing him once on the lips. “Mm?” He looks down pointedly to both of their boners that haven’t completely lagged since tv time ended.

“Okay.” 

Bucky hums and turns, putting his left shoulder out. “Lend a guy a hand?” Steve obliges. He removes the prosthetic arm with practiced motions. Bucky moans quietly at how good it feels to get the heavy weight off. “Fuck.” He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck each way with a blissed out groan. “Yes.”

“You’ve been wearing it more than usual, lately,” Steve points out, going over to set it on the table at Bucky’s side of the bed. “Why?”

He already knows: Bucky can tell from the way he asks it. He grunts and looks away, refraining from answering. He normally only wears the arm to work and to the gym, skipping it around the house or when he’s just got simple errands to run. There’s a surprising amount he can do just fine without the use of two arms, and he’s been confident about being seen in public without it for a long time now, thanks to Steve and their friends at the V.A. Being self conscious about it again after all these years isn’t something Bucky wants to admit out loud or think about, but Steve isn’t stupid. He can put two and two together. 

“Babe,” he says softly, walking back over to stand behind him. He wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and noses into his neck. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Bucky inhales deeply. “I know. I’m not.” Steve makes a sound that clearly says he doesn’t believe that. But Bucky doesn’t want to talk about it, so he reaches back with the only arm he has to grab playfully at the side of Steve’s ass. “Go in the bathroom. Get the water going how I like.”

Steve groans and thunks his forehead against the back of Bucky’s neck. “Not that game,” he complains, though there’s no conviction to it. He slinks off towards the bathroom to go do as he’s been told. “I hate that game.”

“Fuck you. You love that game.” 

Steve shoots him the finger from over his shoulder, but something about his naked body and tight little ass being on display strips the gesture of its animosity. He disappears into the bathroom and Bucky walks over to their bedroom dresser to grab a hair tie, still snickering. He sobers when he takes one from the valet tray and realizes that he’ll have to have Steve tie his hair back. That’s one thing he never could figure out how to do one handed. He stands there and looks in the mirror above the dresser, studying the left side of his body in a way that he rarely does anymore. 

He’s gotten so used to it: his life with Steve, whom he knows down to his bones accepts him unconditionally. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to be self conscious about his body. Bucky hasn’t known how to talk about it, and Mary hasn’t asked. She’s seen him with his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, or in tee shirts at the gym, but that’s all so far. Sometimes he’ll catch her looking, but he’s got no clue what she’s thinking. He considers his reflection, looks at the scars and puckered skin, the implanted base of the arm where his stump used to be. He doesn’t like the uncomfortability of being critical of his body again. In a way, he almost resents Mary for it, for making that feeling come back after all these years. Silly, he knows. 

“Babe?” Steve’s voice calls out from the bathroom. Bucky’s ears register the sound of rushing water. “You coming?” 

Bucky inhales deeply and decides it doesn’t matter anyway. Mary wants a ProDom, not them, so he doesn’t have to stress over what she thinks about any part of his body, let alone the one part he doesn’t have.

“Yeah.” He turns his back to the judgmental mirror and heads towards his very non-judgmental best guy.

“Okay. Stop clenching.”

Steve exhales shakily, but he does obey, body slumping back against the end of the tub as he relaxes his muscles. “Fuck,” he breathes, overwhelmed.

“Hand too, Baby.”

His hand abandons his dick in the bathwater. “Ungh.”

Bucky smiles lazily and rubs the side of his foot against Steve’s hip in praise. “Good boy.”

They’re in the bathtub together, opposite ends, legs tangled. Their combined bulk displaces the water all the way up to above their shoulders, but that’s part of the game: they’re not allowed to splash on the floor, so they can’t jerk off very hard or fast. First one to splash water on the floor is the automatic loser and has to bottom the next time they fuck (Bucky added that little caveat because he’s very good at not splashing, whereas Steve is hopelessly clumsy and overeager ). “How you doing, Sweetheart?” he asks, drinking in the sight of Steve with his lips parted, chest heaving, squirming. He’s pink from temple to tits, flushed from the bathwater and arousal both, and Bucky loves it. “You’re not close already, are you?” he tuts, grinning. “So sensitive.”

“Buck,” Steve croaks, heated eyes dragging over Bucky’s body at the other end of the tub where he’s still gently jerking himself off. “Please.”

Bucky affords himself another toe-curlingly good swipe over the head of his dick before he nods. “Okay. Slow. Just like me”

Steve huffs and wraps his hand back around himself, stroking his dick in slow, measured strokes, just like Bucky said. Bucky’s guts warm and another heady rush of dominance swirls low in his belly at watching Steve do exactly as he says. “You can start workin’ it again, too,” he says.

Steve moans gratefully. “Thank you. Fuck.” His abs start clenching, his body straining again with visible tension as he works the Aneros that’s seated up inside him. Under the water, his knees move in and out in that instinctive motion as he tries to rock it just right. But it’s hard to do it with the water so high, and more than once he catches himself and holds back at the sight of the bathwater sloshing precariously close to the lip of the tub. At one point he gasps and his eyes slam shut, and Bucky figures the toy must’ve shifted to press even more directly against his prostate. 

“Ooh, does that feel good, Stevie?”

Steve peeks his eyes open, glaring across the way at him. “You know it does.”

Bucky does, in fact, know exactly how good it feels—because he’s got another of the exact same toy inside of himself, right now. “I don’t know why you still agree to play this game,” he taunts, grunting from the effort of holding back his own moan as his prostate gets a firm prod from the head of the toy. “You—nngh—you always wind up losing.”

“Yeah, well …” Steve’s throat bobs as he swallows heavily. “Maybe I don’t mind you coming out on top, sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Bucky scoffs, but he’s breathing heavier than he was thirty minutes ago, his composure slipping the longer he works the toy inside himself and jerks himself off agonizingly slowly underneath the water. In fact, he’s not even sure it even counts as jerking off at this slow a pace.

Edging is something he’d introduced Steve to early on in their relationship, as soon as he’d realized how delightfully sensitive his new boyfriend was. And Steve, the big idiot, had worried Bucky wouldn’t like it, had actually thought of it as a negative! An absurd notion that Bucky promptly disabused him of. Watching his ungodly sexy blond behemoth of a husband whine and squirm and struggle to hold himself in check is one of the fucking hottest things Bucky’s ever seen—and he’s seen a lot. He’d been a bit of a manwhore back in his heyday, racking up the bodies as he fought to find himself as a Dom and accept the body an IED had left him with.

Steve, his overly-sensitive, glorious hunk of a then-boyfriend, had helped him to do both. And it’s times like this where Bucky remembers just how goddamn lucky he is. Having Steve to love and fuck around with feels like the best gift in the world. 

At the other end of the tub, the water sloshes as something he’s done to himself makes Steve’s breath hitch in another helpless moan. He tosses his head back for a moment, eyes clamped shut as his expression crumples beautifully and he whimpers. Bucky’s ass clenches down hard in arousal at the sight, which only makes the toy in his ass rub over his prostate that much better. His cock throbs as his pleasure flares dangerously high. Fuck, he wants to come. 

Licking his lips, he decides it's time to end this. His balls are pulled up too close to his body, taut and full and aching for release. Trying to school his breathing into something resembling nonchalance is a lost cause, and his face feels almost as flushed as Steve’s looks right now. Bucky decides to call it, because even though he’s the automatic favorite to win this game every time, he is capable of losing, if he gets too caught up in ogling Steve’s body and reactions and doesn’t focus enough on playing his cards right. “Okay,” he finally says, smirking when Steve’s head jerks back to attention, his irises visibly flaring in excitement. “Yeah, Baby. It’s time.”

“Fuck.”

“You ready for the home stretch?” He waggles his eyebrows and lets his head rest back against the tub, spreading his legs wider and keeping his eyes on Steve. “Gotta keep up,” he instructs, even though Steve already knows how this goes. When Bucky tightens his hand and speeds up the pace of how fast he’s jerking himself off, Steve copies him. That’s how it is at the end of this—totally-rigged-in-Bucky’s-favor—game. They both jerk off at the pace that Bucky sets, and the first one to splash water on the floor or come is the loser. It’s not very fair, but Bucky never claimed he was a fair guy. He is, in fact, selfish as fuck. 

Lucky for him, Steve’s into that.

“Fuck,” Steve pants from his end of the tub. He slides down lower, keeping more of his body under the water in an attempt to prevent splashing. It’s a futile effort, though, because he’s doomed to lose anyway with the faster pace that Bucky’s set. Already, he’s going lobster red in the face, brow pinched and desperate, knees knocking the sides of the tub as he compulsively works the toy in his ass. 

The arousal in Bucky’s gut coils tighter at the sight. “Watch my hand,” he warns, when he notices Steve slacking off. “Gotta match it, Baby.”

“I am.”

“Tighter,” he says, eyes gleaming. “And stop avoiding the head. I can see you cheatin’ over there, Punk.”

Steve whimpers, and Bucky knows that he really wasn’t going as tight as he is, because Steve’s hand changes its hold and he starts getting the head of his dick with the same intensity that Bucky is. Bucky grins open mouthed, panting. “Atta boy.”

“You should—ugn.” Steve grimaces. “Should get a penalty, for being cut. I should get an extra, nnnh, th-thirty seconds, at least.”

Bucky laughs, because trust Steve to think of a sportsman’s solution to the inequity of their dicks. Steve being uncut means that it takes less intense stimulation for him to come. They both know this, Bucky loves this, and again: he never claimed the game was fair. “No penalty,” he grunts, speeding up his pace even further. Steve’s eyes widen but he matches it. Bucky grits his teeth. He can hold out long enough. Steve’ll blow in seconds at this pace. 

And sure enough, it’s not even twenty seconds later when Steve is crying out, body tensing and muscles straining gorgeously as he seizes up and starts to come. “Agh!” His knees fling out hard and hit the sides of the tub, splashing water over the lip to the floor below. But he hasn’t even noticed, he’s so lost to his orgasm. His asshole is twitching, sucking on the Aneros as the contractions of his body pull the toy up against his prostate again and again, drawing the pleasure out. He shoves down hard in the water and shouts louder, as though he’s getting a second orgasm on top of the first. “Ohnfuck …” 

Bucky groans as he watches it happen: Steve’s gorgeous face and juddering hips, big hand wringing up hard underneath the head the whole way through. The fucking sounds he makes, Jesus wept. It’s leagues better than any porn Bucky’s ever seen. “Fuck, Baby,” he praises. “Yes. Fuck that’s so hot …” 

Steve’s hand keeps working the whole way through, only abandoning his cock once it’s fully spent and softening, the cloudy ribbons of his cum floating away in the bathwater. “Fuck,” he exhales hugely once it’s done, letting his body go lax and slump so far down that only his face is above the waterline.

Bucky grunts and spreads his legs wider, not heeding the splashing rule now that he’s already won. The water splashes precariously as he shoves his hips down and down and down, squeezing the shape of the toy inside so fucking perfectly. Fuck, it feels fucking good working over his spot like that. “Oghnnn,” he pants, grunting and groaning and jerking his cock hard. “Fuck, Baby. You’re so fucking pretty. Fuck. M’gonna cum …” 

Steve gives a sated hum from his end of the tub. Bucky can sense him shifting in the water, and then gasps when he feels the ball of Steve’s foot gently press up on his balls. His eyes fly open and he looks down. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Fuck, fuck.”

Steve grins and rubs his foot against him. And Bucky doesn’t have that fetish, but there’s something so fucking perverse about seeing Steve’s toes up against his balls that it turns his brain to mush anyway and pushes him right on over into orgasm. He shoots off beneath the water, stroking and thrusting and moaning—and probably splashing water all over the floor just as badly as Steve ever has.

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A quick turn of events, Part 6

Fem reader, some fluff, some angst, slight tension.

Tw: sexual tension, anger, slight violence, alcohol.

Part 5 <-

Hands off!

Two weeks has flown by like nothing. Y/n could've never imagined herself living such a lavish life, but here she is. In this huge mansion, living under the same roof as Lorenzo and his clones. Living in luxury. Being spoiled like a princess.

Sitting in the winter garden infront of a canvas she dreamed the time away as she painted. Inspired by the beautiful garden and the small creatures living there. She listened to soft music as she let the colours come to life with every brush stroke. Humming to the music in her own little bubble. She felt so at peace.

Lorenzo had been watching her from the top of the spiral staircase for a while. Leaning on the railing. He sighed quietly in content to himself. He hadn't changed out of his morning robe yet. It was still relatively early in the day. A soft flick of the wrist and he had a coffeecup in his hand. Warm and rich. He took a sip before he made his way down the stairs and towards Y/n. He could see how far away in her thoughts she was. As he gently put a hand on her shoulder he could feel her jump a little as her bubble burst. She didn't expect him to just appear next to her. His rough morning voice breaking their silence.

"So this is where you've been hiding all morning."

He took another sip from his coffee. With a smile she looked up at him and nodded. His dark beautiful eyes, the wild unruly hair and his morning stubble. He managed to look so effortlessly handsome. She got butterflies in her belly and felt so lucky that someone like him wanted her. Lorenzo couldn't help but give her a soft smile back. He ruffled her hair.

"Pretty girl."

A few minutes went buy before Antonio came walking in. He looked more serious than usual. He went straight up to Lorenzo. Y/n could see them talking, but why couldn't she hear them properly? They weren't even standing far away. She guessed it was some demon thing Lorenzo could do. She continued painting for a while as they conversed. Antonio informed Lorenzo about an important business partner who was coming to town. Lorenzo thought about it for a few seconds. He sent Antonio on his way to his club to get the VIP lounge ready for his business partners. He wanted to show them some good old-fashioned hospitality while they where in town to get a great deal out of it. Lorenzo turned back to his darling and leaned down to her ear.

"What do you say to a trip to the club with me tonight, hm? It's Saturday after all."

She lit up at the idea. That sounded fun. She shot up from her seat and hugged Lorenzo. He laid an arm around her and looked down at her.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Later in the evening Lorenzo come up to Y/n's room. He's holding a dark green giftbox with a black ribbon on it. Y/n is in her bathroom getting ready. She was humming and finishing up her skincare routine as Lorenzo came up to her. He held out the box to her. She looked shocked. An expression that said he didn't need to get her anything. She took the lid of the box and looked inside. Gasping as she pulled the most beautiful dark red dress out. She spun around hugging it to herself. She couldn't believe her own eyes. He smirked watching her. Watching how excited she became by such a gesture. He loved spoiling his baby.

"I'll let you get ready pretty thing, we'll meet by the entré later."

Lorenzo disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared. Y/n was in awe at how this dress looked. She couldn't wait to put it on. She was giddy while finishing her hair and makeup. Excitingly she slid the dress on. It fit her perfectly. Enhancing her every feature beautifully. She went over to her closet and picked out a pair of heels that matched. Putting on some pretty jewellery before she took a final look in the mirror. Damn, she looked hot. Like someone would burn their finger if they touched her. She felt confident and ready for the night.

As she descended the stairs her eyes meet the sight of Lorenzo waiting for her. He had a matching dark pinstripe suit, with a black silk shirt underneath. No tie, just unbuttoned at the top. A gold chain around his neck. He looked like a dream. His gold tooth glisend in the light as his grin grew when he saw her. She took gentle steps. Carefully not to slip. Her knees felt weak seeing him watching her like that. Hungey eyes observing her. She felt a tingle in her body. The mood in the room shifted. Anticipation filled the air.

*whistle* "You look burning hot sugar."

Y/n blushed bright red and looked away. Flustered at the comment. She would probably never get used to this kind of attention. Looking back at him she answered him with a shy voice.

"So do you."

He walked towards her with his hands gesturing out towards her.

"Ain't I a lucky fella? Having this piece of candy by my side."

As if she thought she couldn't blush more. He certainly made it possible. His words worked like magic on her.

"You ready babydoll?"

He offered his arm to her.

"Yeah."

She answered, trying to sound as confident as she could. She put her arm around his as they walked out to the car. Antonio was driving. Valentino joined them as an extra bodyguard for the evening. Dominic stayed at home to watch over the mansion while they were away. Lorenzo kept his hands mostly to himself during the ride to the club. How he managed to have the discipline, when is little lady looked so delicious, nobody will ever know.

Once they arrived at the club everyone would move out of their way for them. Y/n felt like a celebrity. It was a weird feeling if she was honest. So many people staring. She held her head high and tried to look unbothered. Lorenzo couldn't have been prouder to show of his precious lady. They sat down in the centre booth on the main floor. Where they could view the whole club and the whole club could view them. Lorenzo guided Y/n to sit down.

"Stay here for a moment my dear. I have some business to attend. Valentino will stay here with you until I'm back."

Y/n smiled and nodded.

"Okay."

Lorenzo and Antonio walked of to meet a group of well dressed men. He showed them up to the VIP lounge. Y/n presumed they where the real reason they went to the club tonight. Not that she minded it to much. Valentino slumped down in the sofa across from where Y/n sat.

"So dollface, you like to party?"

He had a grin on his face. His arms where resting along the back of the sofa. He lifted one of his brows to express his question more.

"Well, I haven't really been partying so much to be honest. My first time going to a club was when I met Lorenzo actually."

Y/n blushed a little. She rubbed her arm and looked at Valentino. He had a slightly surprised look on his face. Then he started laughing.

"You hit the jackpot on the first try the then. Hell, your virgin trip to a club can't be topped by anyone else I can say that much."

Y/n didn't really know what to say except giggling at Valentino's statements. He was kinda right. She would have never imagined this being the outcome of her first outing. A few minutes goes by while they talked about parties and clubbing amongst others things. Valentino straightens up has Lorenzo approaches. He sits down in the middle so he has the view of the club in his front, Y/n to his left and Valentino to his right.

"Val, get us some drinks to start of this night won't you?"

Without hesitation Valentino gets up and heads to the bar. It doesn't take long before he is back with a vide variety of drinks. Y/n was amazed. She wasn't shocked since she knew Lorenzo owned the place, but it was still amazing to her. Lorenzo pulled her close to himself holding his arm around her and laying his hand on her thigh.

"You can pick anything you want princess."

She looked up at him with big doe eyes. Like she was asking him, really? He gestured his other hand towards the low table. Looking at all the drinks her eyes landed on one in particular. It was a bright pink drink in this beautiful glas with a strawberry stuck to the edge. She reached out for it and picked it up. The first taste felt like a strawberry dream. Like nothing she had ever tasted before. It went down so smooth and easy. They spent some time just drinking, talking and enjoying each other. Valentino stood just outside the booth so unwanted people wouldn't interfere with them.

As the night went on Y/n got a bit buzzed. Not drunk but enough to feel less tense. She felt brave enough to put a hand on Lorenzo's thigh and ever so slightly move it up a bit. She smirked oh so innocently at him.

"You're playing a dangerous game baby."

He smirked back at her. He leaned in closer to her. Within reach to kiss her but stopping just to tease her. He wouldn't mind unfolding her on the spot, but he was entertained by her little game. She leaned closer to him. Her mouth slightly opening like right before a kiss. The tension between them building. The heat rising. The air felt hotter. But instead of a kiss she started talking.

"I really feel like dancing."

Y/n gracefully stod up and walked out to the dance floor. She started to move with the rhythm. Dancing sensually and giving Lorenzo looks. He sighed as he sat back. She kept surprising him. He kept watching her every move. Every sway of the hip. Every place her hands caressed. He enjoyed every second. Even the hungry looks others gave her. She was like a forbidden fruit on the floor. The night was going smooth. That was until some creep snuck up on Y/n and started touching her. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed her. A fire was lit in Lorenzo's eyes. He saw how uncomfortable Y/n got. How she struggled. Enough was enough. Lorenzo stood up and made his way across the floor. Not in a hurry but with intent. Anger was visible on his face. Terrifyingly calm and concentrated anger. Lorenzo didn't really mind guys looking or even flirting with is girl. He was secure enough for that. But when it came to uncomfortable and forced touching a fuse lit inside him. Pure rage formed. People moved put of their way and a big circle form around the three people. Lorenzo tapped the guys shoulder to get him to turn around. The guy responded in a rude tone. He didn't even see to have noticed the crowd moving away.

"Buzz of dude, she's mine!"

As he turned to look around at who tapped his shoulder you could see his face become paler. Lorenzo grinned and spoke in a controlled manner.

"Hands of loverboy. I don’t think she appreciates your attention."

The man immediately let go of Y/n and backed off. His eyes lost hope. He started walking backwards as Lorenzo got closer.

"I think you and me are gonna have a talk, man to man."

Lorenzo gestured to Valentino to take care of Y/n for a minute. Y/n ran into Valentino's arms for comfort and they went over to the booth again. Lorenzo grabbed the guy by the neck and dragged him off into the back. The crowd soon went back to normal after they had disappeared. It was rare but not unexpectedthat Lorenzodeslt with ungrateful creepsin his club. Y/n felt so uneasy but Valentino helped her in his own way. They talked it out a bit while Lorenzo was gone.

In the back of the club Lorenzo held the guy by his neck. He could barely contain his anger. He almost lost control, but remembered he didn't want the police creeping around his club more than necessary. He let the guy run in the end after a traumatic lesson in consent and a lifetime ban from the club. He brushed of and fixed his attire before he headed back.

When he got back he went straight over to his little flower. Checking to see if she was hurt or bruised. He wanted to hesr what she had to say about the whole situation. He knew most of it already because of Valentino, but he felt that she could need the moment to process and talk about it. After she had gotten her time to speak Lorenzo gave her a serious look.

"That maggot will never be in your or any other girls vicinity ever again."

Y/n hugged Lorenzo tightly. He put his arms around her and stroked her back. Any other regular guest knew better than to start shit in Lorenzo's club. Everyone knew he took it seriously. He had made this place for people to enjoy themselves, not to take advantage of others. Everyone knew not to mess around, and especially not with Lorenzo's girl.

[sematarygirls]

banter and tension are hotter than any smut could ever be. argue with the wall

[urfavcvntx]

There was tension between us I felt it

[promptsblog]

The Big Damn Gesture.

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

Nights at the Circus- Part II

Read Part 1 HERE, or on my AO3. 

Summary: Being alone in Avengers Tower with Loki is getting on your last nerve, but it’s also striking a nerve of another kind, and you think a do-over may be in order, as long as your new housemate watches his step. 

Content Warning: Asshole Loki, Doctor Loki, covertly being watched, sexual tension, injury, swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

You couldn’t sleep that night, so you decided to try out that new gym Tony left you with.

As soon as you were brought in, most of the others could see almost immediately that you felt like a caged prisoner, and that it wasn’t at all your fault you needed to be kept under watch.  Tony had the idea that putting together a small training gym on the top floor and down the hall from your suite, equipped with all of the special work out tools a circus showgirl would use: tightropes, rings, poles, mats, and a trapeze dangling from the ceiling in the center of the room that would be accessed with a platform and ladder nearby. As an added feature, everything was flame retardant. Naturally, with his money and resources, the entire thing was assembled inside of three days. You were pleasantly surprised at the gift. Everyone (minus Loki) had been there for the grand opening.

Some of the Avengers had yet to make a decent impression, but Tony was all right by you.

Now that you were essentially alone in the Tower, you could finally really break the room in. After your odd encounter with Loki hours earlier, you were sure you wouldn’t see hide or hair of him as long as the others were out in Europe.

Unfortunately, you had no workout clothes, so leggings and a t-shirt tied at the waist would have to do. Ideally, you’d have something form-fitting, to prevent clothing from getting caught in any of the equipment. You tied your hair back and went down to the gym.

Tony had shown you how to turn on the music of your choice and adjust the lighting, and you created the optimal environment for practicing your trapeze swinging, which had been the last thing your boss had been teaching you before you were, well, kidnapped by The Avengers. Thus, you weren’t exactly great at it yet, but you were comfortable doing a few basic flips and turns.

You put an 80’s dance mix on the speakers, set it to ‘random,’ and smiled as Eurythmics began emitting from speakers in the upper corners of the room. You turned towards the floor-to-ceiling mirror wall on the far side, observing yourself for a moment, letting flames flicker up and down your hair before changing your mind and shaking them away.

“No fire, that’s what got you here in the first place,” you sighed.

You had done a little training with Steve and Nat in the week since you’d arrived. They weren’t worried too much about your power. Not as much as your ability to draw your flames back, anyway.

You weren’t the type to warm up before attempting something, as wise as such a practice was. Patience was never really your thing. Instead, letting the energy of the song’s base synch your heartbeat to it, you climbed the ladder that brought you level with the trapeze, not hesitating for a moment before leaping off and catching the bar effortlessly.

You liked how when you were in the air, nothing mattered but where your mind was. If you weren’t 100% focused in the moment, you could fall and snap your neck like a chicken bone. It was the easiest way to get rid of any annoying thoughts of chaos gods with long raven hair that were lingering from before, and it was surprisingly easy to do, at least to you. Even the music would blend into the atmosphere after a few good minutes, and there you’d be, swinging through haze and blur, no one in the world but yourself and gravity.

You let a few minutes of basic flips and swings go by before deciding to try a more complicated trick, one that you’d only landed twice in the four weeks you’d been practicing. Dangling from the bar by your knees, you pumped your body and created the inertia to bring your body up, twisting around twice after releasing your knees from their hold. You successfully completed the turns and let your legs catch the bar again.

“HOLY SHIT!” you yelled in spite of yourself, reacting to what a rush it was. “WHOA!”

The temporary lapse in concentration nearly took your balance, but you were able to quickly let go of the bar and fall safely on your feet below before anything worse happened.

Going over to a table along the wall and grabbing a swig of water from your bottle, you allowed yourself to bask in the moment, and as soon as the opportunity presented itself, sure enough, your mind wandered back to Loki.

True, it was Loki who had tricked you into being caught (the bastard). True, he hadn’t exactly been kind to you since you’d arrived. But you weren’t exactly being a warm guest, letting your anger over being an unwilling Avenger (who wasn’t even out avenging things) get the better of your personality. Steve knew you the best only because in training, you were already letting off steam (or, rather, smoke), and it was easier to be honest around him when you were feeling a bit better. Also, it certainly wasn’t hard to let your guard down and laugh around Thor. And of course, you appreciated Tony for building your gym. But otherwise, you’d at best just kept to yourself, and at worst, been rude.

Loki was right about one thing: he wasn’t exactly here willingly himself. Well, perhaps he was, but only because he preferred life in Avengers Tower over a prison cell on Asgard. He and his brother were certainly getting along better, so you didn’t blame him for choosing at least some contentment. Maybe he had some ideas on how to stave off the boredom, as well as the feelings of inferiority that came from being locked up like a zoo animal.

Not to mention, him staring so seriously into your eyes, holding you up against the wall, the delicate tapping on your collarbone sending ripples down your chest…you couldn’t help but admit to yourself that Loki was hot.

Like, really hot.

Well, while thinking about Loki in that regard may have been a bit inappropriate (at least for now), you thought that the least you could do was make breakfast in the morning for him and call for a truce. It would at least make the rest of your time alone with one another pleasant.

Deciding to try for two successes in one night, you put your thoughts back inside and went to climb the ladder once more. You could talk to the attractively dominant God of Chaos in the morning, anyway.

-.-.-

Loki was an Asgardian, and Asgardians didn’t need nearly as much sleep as Midgardians. Therefore, he only slept about three hours a night, and usually spent the rest of the dark hours in the library. After all, what else could he do while everyone else was sleeping? It was a term of his probation that he could not use any magic unless under strict permission and supervision, so it wasn’t like he could practice.

Not to mention, everyone else was asleep, so night time was lonely for the God.

Thor slept more than Loki, because he frequently drank almost a gallon of beer before bed, giving him a drowsier humor. He’d still only sleep a few hours, but Thor’s schedule was more along the lines of 12am-6am sleeping shifts, so for the most part, Loki was still left to his own devices.

Tonight, he was thumbing through a Midgardian book about intrigue and ghosts at about 1:30 in the morning when he was startled by a sound from the floor above:

“Holy shit! Whoa!”

Startled, Loki’s attention and gaze left the page for the first time in hours.

“The only other person here is…” he mumbled to himself, getting to his feet and slowly making his way upstairs.

Loki made the decision in the stairwell to be a little softer with you. Maybe your psyche wasn’t use to these rather harsh surroundings, and you weren’t coping well. He couldn’t have been helping with that. Not to mention, you’d not really done anything to deserve the harsh treatment he was offering. What was your crime, other than having an enhancement?

Loki followed the hallway to the area that Tony Stark had blocked off to add gym equipment for the new arrival. He’d never bother to see it completed. Peeking in the doorway, Loki caught sight of you ascending the ladder and jumping off on the trapeze as Billy Squier’s ‘The Stroke’ began blasting out of the sound system wired throughout the room.

He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by your agility and seeming weightlessness. Even he couldn’t see how he could repeat your aerial stunts. In spite of himself, he found himself smiling and stepping into the room, forgetting why he was there. You were doing tricks more complicated than anything he’d seen last week at the circus where he’d first laid eyes on you, your hair in flame as you charmed the crowd in a way he couldn’t.

You prepared yourself for your big flip when you heard a call from below you:

“Well, look at you! You really are a Fire Bird—”

“—GAH!”

The unexpected interruption to your concentration broke your spell, making you miss catching the bar, sending you tumbling back to the ground with a heavy THUNK, right onto your side, your foot rolling one way while the rest of your leg rolled another. Your felt like you snapped your left foot clear off. The pain was awful and instant.

You shrieked as Loki ran over, bending down at your side.

“Norns, Y/N, I’m—”

“—just what the actual HELL did you think you were doing??” you hollered. Loki had clearly planned this trick and had hoped you’d be hurt, the asshole. “What is your problem with me? What did I ever do to YOU?” The adrenaline rushing through you, along with the agony of your quickly-swelling ankle, was making you instantly defensive and upset. You couldn’t believe he’d stoop this low. “You said you’d never bother me again!”

“Oh, will you stop moving?” Loki groaned, observing your injury as well as he could as your thrashed about.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted. Loki looked into your eyes, half upset, half irritated. His intense gaze made you shrink back.

“I can let you get to the infirmary on your own, then,” Loki quipped, getting to his feet quickly and beginning to leave the room. You began crying, but didn’t take too long before you attempted to shift your body over to the wall for support. As if you were going to call after him and ask for help!

Loki stopped just outside of the door and slowly turned upon hearing you struggle to stand on your own. “Norns, you are stubborn. But go on, I want to see you do it.”

You looked up at him as he leaned his hip against the doorway and folded his arms. You bit your lip and kept working against the pain, your hair lighting up with blue flames to punctuate your pride and frustration.

“Why are you doing this to me?” you asked in between struggling grunts and deep breaths attempting to hold back tears. Never let them see you cry, right?

“Do what? You won’t accept my help, Fire Bird. I’m only obeying orders,” he answered simply, smirking as you began to rise off the floor, your frame shaking.

There he was, lording himself over you again. You couldn’t let him win. Suddenly, something under your foot gave, and you slipped down the wall and fell back onto your ass again, the pain in your damaged ankle increasing exponentially. You cried out loud, not bothering to hide it from your lone audience member any more. The pain was just too much.

The battle was lost. You felt the painful, reluctant word rise in your throat and fall out between quiet breaths, barely a whisper. The flames in your hair petered out. “P…please?”

Instantly, you heard Loki’s boots race in your direction. You felt an arm tuck itself under your knees, and another slip itself under your back, followed by the sensation of being lifted off the ground. You could barely see through your tears, which you were still trying in vain to keep from flooding out. You could smell him, and he smelled delicious. His hair had the faint odor of mint, but the scent of nervous sweat was quickly mixing with it.

Loki didn’t wait to ask if you were okay to go before briskly walking down the stairs and towards the infirmary. He was graceful in his quickness. You felt like you were floating in his arms.

In no time at all, you were down several floors, and Loki had broken into the infirmary without even putting you down. In the dim light that turned on when the door opened, Loki looked around for where to put you. He looked off to his left, taking you over to a large chair and placing you in it. Then, he immediately bent down and gently began prodding your ankle with his fingertip. Your skin was tender to the touch.

“You came to your senses rather quickly,” he said softly. “Maybe it isn’t broken.”

“Um, I think this is a dentist chair, you imbecile.”

Loki glanced up at you and where he’d set you. You looked around the infirmary, and there were other, more suitable places to have set you nearby. Indeed, Loki had placed you in the chair used for dental surgery and eye exams (it seemed so pristine that it likely had yet to be used).

“I thought you’d learned you lesson, little girl,” Loki hissed, annoyed. He got up and began looking through drawers and cabinets in an attempt to find something to make into a splint. “I can put you on the floor if that’s what you prefer.”

You sighed. “Just…is it broken or not?”

“I can’t say, I’m not a physician,” Loki replied. “And until morning, there won’t be anyone who can help you.”

“What about 911?” you asked.

Loki paused. “We, uh, have a deal with them. They don’t like us very much. So that’s why we have everything here that we need without calling them.”

“Oh,” you whimpered, still in a lot of pain. “God damn, does this hurt. Guess I won’t be doing flips for a while.”

“You should be focusing on your fire, not your gymnastics,” Loki suggested, pulling a small vial out of a cabinet and looking at the bottle. “Do you know what lidocaine is?”

“Oh, I think so,” you said, trying to think through the pain. “I’m pretty sure it’s a local anesthetic. You inject it.”

“A pain reliever,” he affirmed. “Though I am not trained on intravenous medicine.”

“Oh please, just give me something if I have to spend all night with a broken foot!” you practically screamed, your face getting red. Loki looked at you with a pensiveness, as if he was considering something drastic, but was weighing the benefits of performing it.  

“Look, there is something I can do, but I could get in a lot of trouble with them if they found out I did this. So I must ask you,” he offered, coming back over to where you sat, bending down beside you and taking your hand in his. He looked up at you with intensity. You found the pain in your leg lessening as you became more distracted. “I must ask you to tell me whether or not you want me to do this. I can only do it if you are certain this is what you want.”

“Yes,” you moaned softly, leaning back in the chair. “Please just take the pain away.”

“Good girl,” Loki whispered, leaning up to brush a tendril of hair that had fallen over your face. “It’ll feel cold for a moment, then nothing at all,” he warned.

You looked up towards the ceiling as Loki’s gaze fell back to your injury. He took your ankle in his grip, and a blue glow rippled down his arms before wrapping itself around your leg, sending what felt like ice branches crawling up your shins.

“Ugh,” you groaned.

“It’s almost over,” Loki assured you. As promised, only another moment passed before the freezing sensation abated. Your ankle was suddenly no longer swollen or in any pain. “You should be able to walk as if it never sprained.”

You took a few steps around the room to assure yourself and Loki that he was right. While you felt a little unstable, that due more to your nerves that it was your leg. While, thanks to your own abilities, you knew magic was real, it was still a little frightening trusting the magic of Loki the Trickster to mend your body.

“Although it’s a little odd for me to perform, seeing as healing wasn’t exactly my concentration in study,” he started to explain, “Every Asgardian royal has some semblance of restorative magic. I hope mine is adequate.”

“Oh, yeah this is fine,” you said quickly.

Loki nodded. “I don’t think anywhere else is injured, unless--?”

You immediately shook your head.

“Alright, then in that case I may go to sleep, and you certainly should,” he prescribed. “I’ll take you to your room.”

You were still trying to spare yourself a little bit of dignity, though. “No, no, I think I’m really alright.”

Loki knitted his eyebrow. “It’s four floors of stairs.”

“And I’m an Avenger now,” you replied with stubborn pride. “If I can’t handle four flights of stairs, how can I handle whatever big bad terrorist organizations are out there?”

“I suppose.”

Nevertheless, when Loki offered his arm to you in the stairwell, you found yourself taking it reluctantly. His arm was sturdy and worthy of your trust. You felt safe as the pair of you ascended to the last floor before your penthouse apartment, where Loki’s quarters were.

“Are you certain you don’t need me to—”

“—I’m not a baby, Loki,” You groaned, letting yourself go from his arm and slowly but steadily making your way up several steps on your own. “Good night.”

“Y/N,” Loki called after you. You stopped and turned to face him standing below you on the landing. “I could get in trouble for what I’ve just done. More than even I’m good for.”

“Trouble, as in…?” you asked him to elaborate.

Loki sighed. “Violation of probation. Means I get extradited back to Asgard and probably executed.”

You gasped. “Then why did you even bother? You hate me!”

Loki chuckled and shook his head as if to say “oh you dumb human!”

“What?”

“If someone is in pain in front of me, I like to be the cause of it, one way or another,” he explained, following you up the few extra steps above him you were standing, until his eyes were level with yours. “And yes, that was meant to sound as kinky as it did.”

He winked at you before reaching out with his hand, but pulling it back as if to stop himself from doing something he may have come to regret. Instead, he watched and derived pleasure from your confused look before it hit you what he was talking about.

“I’d not expect any less from someone like you,” you replied.

“Oh, pet, there is one thing you need to understand if we are to ever become congenial with one another.”

“And that is?”

Loki leaned in to your ear, leaning his cheek against yours ever so slightly, whispering in your ear: “There is no one like me.”

With that, he lingered for an extra moment (was he sniffing your hair?!) before quickly regaining his composure and casually hopping back down the stairs, going to close the door to the corridor behind him. “Goodnight, Fire Bird.”

“Thank you! For helping me,” you added, causing him to pause again in the doorway.

“Y/N, you’re welcome. Any…any time.”

Without any further discourse, Loki gently closed the door behind him, and you turned to head back to your room, where you spend over an hour without sleep, standing on the balcony instead and looking out over the city, still alight with nightlife, and musing over how being ‘cared for’ by Loki of Asgard made you feel somehow renewed in more ways than one.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

@toozmanykids  @lokisninerealms

@lokisgoodgirl​ 

Thanks for being so interested in this! It was partially your enthusiasm that helped me decide to make a Part 2!