#the sheer blouse destroyed me

[sugurouge]

— playground : umemiya hajime x f!reader x endo yamato

summary: idk, i wanted them together, here we are. nothing more but a depraved lil drabble

wc: 1k

content warnings! nsfw, teasing, degradation, both are rather condescending here, hair pulling, threesome, blowjob, manhandling, petnames, rough sex, dumbification, asphyxiation, somewhat dacryphilia

“Don’t be selfish now,” Endo chides with a hint of irritation, gently grasping your chin to direct your attention back to him. “You wanted to share, yet you’re all over Ume.” His jealousy prompts you to shift slightly in Hajime's lap, to face the dark haired man instead and cradle his pretty face, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Yet Yamato can be greedy, too greedy whenever something tastes absolutely divine. His mouth now latches onto your neck, firm hands on your hips pull you onto his own lap, to grind your throbbing pussy against his cock, as his lips destroy your skin. Umemiya's chuckle fans over slightly damp neck as he busies himself with an exploration of your figure, his fingers run over the sheer fabric of your blouse, popping one button after another and exposing your bra to their hungry gazes.

The stark contrast between his cool touch and your heated skin sends shivers down your spine. However, Ume's teasing pales in comparison to Endo's urgent advances, guiding your hands to unfasten his belt as he deftly caresses the damp fabric of your panties before riding you of the useless scrap of fabric.

Of course, he fucks you first, guiding your ass to take a seat on his thighs as he helps you settle down on his overly excited cock. You’re pressed against his chest with big palms resting on your tummy and squeezing your tits.

The sight in front has Hajime question his sanity, never would he have expected to enjoy watching you get absolutely ruined by someone else. The blush on his cheeks nearly radiates as he has to keep his own excitement in check, fisting along his erection for some desperate measure of relief.

Teeth graze the nape of your neck while you part your lips and loll your tongue out to get a taste of Hajime's pre-cum. He drags the dripping head over your glossy lips, the mess he creates makes you even prettier.

But the devil behind your shoulder bounces your frame on his lap with ease, forcing you to welcome Ume in the back of your throat with no warning. You clench around Endo, nails scratching over Hajime's pecks and thighs for leverage as tears brim your eyes. You should have known that Endo is an impatient bastard. “Not so greedy, pretty girl” Ume groans, yet a big grin forces its way on his face, the satisfaction you present him with too good to feel bad for you.

Muffled cries of objection send tingles over Ume's skin, a mixture of your saliva and his arousal leaking from your mouth while he loses himself in bliss. “Fuck, you’re such a filthy little vixen, ain’t you?” Endo murmurs, sounding almost upset—yet intrigued, you definitely need to suck him off as well.

Moans escape you, vibrating around Hajime's cock, before it all gets a little too much. The stretch in the back of your throat causes a panic to stir in your mind. Yet the attempts of pulling back only push you further into Endo. He grins. “No, no, kitten, give him all you’ve got before you suck me like your favourite lolly,” Yamato murmurs in your ear, his hand tangling in your hair and pushing you further onto Ume's cock until your lips meet his pelvis. Your eyes roll back as desperate whimpers are lost in their fervent groans.

It's a game of push and pull, two pairs of hands all over your body to hold you in positions perfect for their own selfish desires.

“Up you go, pretty thing,” Endo drawls, large hands grasp your hips to hoist you off his lap and shove you further into Umemiya until you're on all fours. The latter ensures your lips remain around his cock, his blunt nails digging into your scalp as he revels in your choking sounds. The position is uncomfortable for you, effectively constricting your airway, causing your throat and cunt to clench around their cocks as their pace quickens. A calloused hand massages your cheek, before lacing around your throat, to make breathing just a tad bit more difficult. Your mind is spinning, ears ringing, yet both guys are too caught up in their needs to worry for you.

But you enjoy this. Sick girl. As your climax approaches, your fingers paw against Ume's thighs, overwhelmed by Endo's cock deep within your fluttering walls, you finally free yourself. “‘M cumming, please,” you mewl. Yet instead of having mercy, Yamato tugs on your hair, forcing you to meet steel blue eyes, Hajime's gaze is almost drowning in your fucked-out expression until Endo's movements slow to shallow thrusts.

“So you ruin my pleasure because you’re only thinking with your pussy?” Umemiya grumbles, his words and irritation catch you off guard. Your eyes wide in shock, since you've never heard him talk like that before. But the electrifying spank to your clit wales you from your shock. Endo's fingers rub lazy circles around your nub, pinching you offer no answer to Umemiya's complaint.

“I-I’m sorry, Haji, really sorry!” Your tear-streaked cheeks and sobbing voice draw a sigh from Umemiya. “Silly girl, time to turn around.” Their synchronised actions are intimidating; barely able to face Endo as he already pulls you towards his glistening cock while Umemiya's nails drag over the plush of your ass and back. “Take it all,” the dark haired man urges.

As you bend over to take Yamato's cock—your jaw deliberately slack—Ume positions himself between your legs. His hands push down on the small of your back, presenting your ass perfectly as your core drips down your inner thighs. With a swift, commanding thrust, he enters you deeply, his hips snapping fervently against you. Each powerful push drives him closer to his climax, his desperation fuelled by the sight of Endo finishing on your tongue.

You're too pretty to not have your face covered in cum, he thinks to himself.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[deviljayman]

Darksider - A Vampire Story: Prologue

Rain covered the village, putting out the flames set during the battle. Each home that had stood there for decades was destroyed, now just splinters and ash. The fight went into Second Night, the stars retreating and giving way to the moon’s gentle light. A vampire loomed over a dying man, blood slowly draining from him as he succumbed to his injuries. 

“Any last words?” the vampire asked.

The man looked up, his red eyes fading to gray. He coughed up blood as his lungs gurgled out something. “He’ll beat you.” the man said with a wheeze. 

The vampire stared coldly. “I doubt that.” he said, plunging a thin black blade through the man's heart. The man could only manage a sharp gasp before his eyes turned gray. After a long battle, the man was dead. Thunder sounded off as his body sank into the mud, the vampire turned his head up to the moon. He prided himself on his composer, but the fight made him break that. His pale orange hair had come undone from its usual braid, now sticking tightly to his almost white skin. The rest of him was soaked, his white frilled blouse and black trousers were ruined. His yellow eyes glowed in the moonlight, almost flickering due after exerting so much magic in his fight with the man. 

“Lord Nero!” A soldier called out.

As soon as his name was uttered, he composed himself. His staggered breath now leveled out into its usual rhythmic hum. Two other vampires approached, both wearing the uniform of the High Coven’s elite guard. 

Nero approached the two of them. “Have you found the boy?” He asked them. 

“Yes sir, we found him hiding in one of the nearby buildings. We’re apprehending him now.”

“Good, this night can finally be over…”

One of the guards for a moment looked past Nero and to the man, now laying dead in his own blood. He quickly looked back to his superior. “What kind of man was that? He took out one hundred of our soldiers on his own.”  

“His identity doesn’t matter, he’s been dealt with and that will be the end of it.” Quickly, Nero began to make his way to where the child was located. The soldiers were congregated around the house but none of them were going inside. 

“Be careful men!” One of the soldiers shouted. “His powers could go off at any moment!” The group readied their spears, waiting for any signs of danger. They wait a minute, then ten minutes, then twenty minutes. 

Nero was growing impatient. “You’ll get nowhere if you just stand here waiting.” He looked around and pointed to one of the soldiers “You there, go inside and retrieve the boy.” 

The soldier froze. “But sir! If he really is the one then he could be extremely dangerous.”

“He is but a boy, it should be simple for someone of your standing. You should be much more scared of me than you are of a mere child.” Nero’s composed gaze turned into a glare. A spark of magic lit the air, as Nero’s eyes glowed brightly for a moment. A sheer force ripped through the air and knocked into the soldier, knocking him off his feet. With a grunt and clang he hit the ground, his armor now covered in mud.

“Go now before you further test my patience.” Nero stated.

The man staggered to his feet, almost slipping back into the mud. His attention shifted from Nero to the house, still deathly quiet. Spear pointed forward, he approached and slowly threw the door open. The battalion readied themselves as if something would jump out and kill them all at once. But seemingly, nothing happened. The soldier froze once again but after a moment quickly went inside. The silence returned once more, each moment feeling like an eternity. However, a sudden noise broke out from inside.

“AHHHHH!” the soldier screamed in pain. On the outside, everyone was on guard, readying their spears once again to face whatever threat was inside. A loud crack and a tear were heard, the snapping of bone and the ripping of flesh, as the soldier stumbled backward out of the house, now with his left arm torn off. Two soldiers grabbed him, putting him behind the spear line to shield him from the danger. 

And the danger was felt by everyone. They couldn’t see what was inside, but they could feel it, all of them could. A wave of fear slammed into everyone, like the tide crashing into a boat. It rocked through the soldiers, they stumbled back, some even dropped their weapons. It was if they had just uncaged a den of Beasts, ones that wished to be undisturbed. Nero stood tall as ever, seemingly unaffected by this strange phenomenon. However, even if no soldier or onlooker could notice, Nero’s left heel had ever so slightly shifted backwards.

He turned to his men “Get a hold of yourselves! You’ve faced worse haven’t you?” He asked. “Or are you unfit to serve the High Coven?” 

The threat of that indignity was far greater than any enemy, and so the soldiers steeled themselves and retook their formation. They waited once again, holding the line for any sign of movement. Soon enough, they would see something, but it was not at all what they expected. From the incredible aura they felt, they imagined some kind of fearsome Beast. Instead however, a small hand crept on to the door, with a small child revealing himself. He was a tiny thing, he looked to be no older than five years old. His hair was a deep black, long and in a ponytail. His skin was pale, his eyes were a deep red and his mouth and fangs were stained with blood. The only thing he held was a small fox plush, it looked to be sewn by hand. The soldier's stance slacked, they were expecting a Beast but all they saw was a boy. The child was shaking with not just fear but rage as well, his eyes were filled with tears. He couldn’t make out any words, just a mix of sobs and what almost seemed like growls. 

Nero stepped forward. “Apprehend him.” he commanded. The men stepped forward as ordered. The boy stepped backward like a cornered animal. And just like a cornered animal, that is when he bites. The shadows in the house began to come to life, the sounds of snarls and gnashing teeth spilling out. Behind the boy, the glowing eyes of animals now ready to pounce on the soldiers. The army stumbled back once again, their fears confirmed as the shadows began to move closer. 

Nero’s eyes widened and he immediately went into action. He stepped forward, raising his hand and commanding the shadows around the child. They rose up, transforming into solid objects, chains that quickly wrapped around the boy. They restrained him, the animals he had conjured now fading back to simple shadows. The boy struggled, trying to find some way to break out. 

“Once again I must do everything myself.” Nero said. He looked to the soldiers. “Your pathetic performances today will be noted, such cowardice is an affront to what the High Coven stands for.” The men looked fearful once again, some trying their best to stand at attention while Nero spoke. He pointed to two of them “You two, stay with me. The rest of you leave us.” The troops compiled and left as two of their soldiers stayed behind. Nero picked the boy up by the scruff, raising him to look at him eye to eye.

“Of all the Incarnations I’ve met, you are certainly the most troublesome.” The boy tried to bite Nero but ended up with nothing more than air. “Can you speak or are you more of an animal than I think you are?” Nero asked. 

“My name is Arlin!” The boy growled. “Let me go!” 

“As much as I would love to be rid of you, my mission concerns you.” 

The child began to cry. “I don’t like you! I don’t want to be here, I want my-”

“Silence!” Nero yelled. He waved his free hand as darkness muted the child. “My mission requires you alive but it does not require you to be uninjured, you will quiet yourself or I will do that myself. Are we clear, boy?” Arlin sniffed back his crying, now hiccuping out of fear. 

“Good.” Nero stated. With another wave of his hands the darkness around Arlin’s mouth disappeared, he set the boy on the ground as well to begin. “I will only explain this once so be sure to listen closely. You are the Shade Lord, an eternally reincarnating soul that acts as the king of the Umbra Valley. Once you come of age, you will take the throne and lead Monsterkind to conquer the Kingdom of Man. I believe that should be clear enough.”

“What? But I’m a kid, I'm not a king!” Arlin yelled.

“You’re right, a Beast like you would make an improper king, that is why you will be taken in and trained to become a proper Shade Lord. I only wish we could have started sooner, now we must fix whatever you have become.” 

“I don’t want to do that! I’m just a kid, I don't want to be a king!” 

“Unfortunately your compliance is not a factor. This is the law of the land, and you do not have the will to change it.” Nero placed his hand on Arlin’s forehead and in an instant the child was now unconscious. The wild thrashing and biting now stopped as he fell into a deep sleep. 

“Sir.” One of the soldiers asked. “What do we do with him now?” 

Nero looked back. “He’s unfit for the capital, we’ll need to take him somewhere no one can reach him.” 

The other soldier stepped forward. “Sir, if you would allow me, may I speak freely?”

Nero sighed. “I’ve allowed more than enough today, good ahead.”

“Well it’s just, this boy is strange. Not just because he’s the Shade Lord. The place we found him, the man he was with, do you think he may be a-” 

“I suggest you don’t finish that sentence, I won’t entertain that idea.” 

“But sir, you have to admit the circumstances are strange enough as it is, don’t you think it’s at least slightly possible.”

“A possibly like this, even if it is ever so slight, is dangerous. You all should know how dangerous that knowledge would be if let out.”

“Then, do you believe it could be true?”

“I would hope not.” Nero fixed his hair, beginning to braid it once more. He looked to the moon, a supergiant mass that illuminated the Second Night sky. “If it is true, then it could lead to the end of the Umbra Valley as we know it.”

[anothergleekgirl]

Take a Mulligan

by: anothergleekgirl

SUMMARY: A/U Finchel. 6 YEARS AFTER THE TRAIN STATION Rachel's in a toxic relationship & engaged to abusive Brody. Self-loathing Finn left Lima for good & vanished from her life permanently. Will she go thru with wedding? Will Finn find his way back to her in time, maybe to save them both?

Rated M for language/sex/adult situations/violence. Trigger Warning: DOMESTIC ABUSE.

Rated: M - English - Angst/Romance Status: Complete Chapters: 8 Words: 45,749 Published: May 6, 2023 Cast: [Rachel B., Finn H.], Santana L., Brody W., Puck, Kurt, Blaine

: : : (Chapter 2 excerpt) : : :

“Finnegan me boy. What sorta ghosts ‘er yas tryin’ ta exorcise this fine eve? Seems ya’ve got a reason most nights - even if they’re usually bad reasons… “ the older man chuckled.

“OH Macky.. Nothing special tonight. Jus’.. celebrating. S’the anniversary of the day I destroyed my life and future happiness. Oh, and apparently, drove the only girl I ever loved and was s’posed to marry into the arms of another man, who I hear she’s planning to marry soon.. Apparently. Idn’t that super awesome?? CHEERS MACKY!” Finn raises his newly refilled tumbler high up over his head, then quickly gulps down half the liquid within.

“Always for the loss of a woman… D’ya wanna talk about it?” Macky asks while washing out some bar glasses.

Finn just looks at him, wishing daggers could actually be levitated and thrown his way. “No.”

“Well sunny boy-o, yer not gonna find any sage advice in the bottom o’ that scotch glass there, I can assure ya that much.”

“Never said I was seeking ‘sage advice’ Mack. You Irish jus’ like given’ it away for free. One of the reasons we’ve been talking at all is because we don’t talk about this.” Finn states dryly as he finishes his apparent last scotch on the rocks of the night.

“Well lemme ask ya this laddie.. If ya had it to do over, would ya’ve done differ’nt?”

He stares at the ice in the empty glass in front of him for a long time. It’s the same damn question he’s asked himself every damn day for 6 years. “I don’t know Mack. I had my reasons, they were solid at the time… But I’m hearing things now that maybe… maybe I..” Finn rubs a calloused hand repeatedly over the back of his neck as if willing to scrub a revelation out of it, and feeling like an asshole for ever opening the door of opportunity to another man. “Aw fuck. I just don't know. I don’t fucking KNOW.” He blows out a long frustrated breath.

“Was she a good lass?”

**I’m the only person in your life who knows you and accepts you for who you are, no matter what**

He lifts his glass to his lips, sucking up few ice cubes to chew on. “The best. Better than the best…. And there will never be another.” He trades the glass for his beer, quickly downing half of the stout ale and slams the bottle down on the bar, as if to put an exclamation point on the end of that statement.

**I’ll never break up with you**

A familiar voice is heard from the other end of the bar. “Hey Irish. Can I get some service down here? Been on the road a hella long time and I’m pretty damned thirsty. I wants to get my drink on. And trust me, you’re not solving HIS goddamned problems tonight, maybe not even in this lifetime.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Why is she here??? How in the hell….

She orders a classic old fashioned and walks down to the empty seat next to Finn. “Is this seat taken?” she coyly bats her lashes at him and does a little hip-shimmy for effect. The stunning Latina brunette in her black pencil skirt, fuck me 4 inch black heels and almost see-through sheer navy colored blouse could certainly garner attention from anyone with a pulse - male or female.

He doesn’t even look up. “Yes Santana. It’s taken, but you go right ahead, I was just leaving.”

::::READ FULL STORY ON FFN AND AO3::::

https://archiveofourown.org/.../47171899/chapters/118851874

[muncedes]

details

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Call You Mine

Summary - When Y/N meets Jensen on the set of Supernatural, her life takes an unexpected turn. Never in her wildest dreams, Y/N thought that their casual friendship will change into something sinful after they shoot a risqué scene together one night.

Pairing - Jensen x Y/N, Jensen x OFC!Millie

Warnings - Angst, infidelity, mentions of guilt and despair, explicit mention of extramarital affairs, SMUT 18+ minors DNI (p in v, fingering, dirty talk), slight mention of Dom!Jensen (it's very slight), fluff, a happy ending.

WC - 3052

Square Filled - Free Space ( @supernatural-jackles' Tell Me A Story Bingo); Song Based Fic ( @spnmixedbingo )

A/N 1 - This is a submission for @tvdspngirl314's challenge. My prompt was "I met a girl, we talked, it was epic."

Also this is a submission for @negans-lucille-tblr's "7Ks of the Week Challenge" (Congratulations on your 7k)

@deangirl93's 500 followers challenge (congrats on your 500). My prompt was the song "I Can't Quit You Baby". All prompts are in bold.

A/N 2 - This is a work of pure fiction and irl I absolutely do not support the act of cheating in a relationship. No hate towards the Ackles fam. I love Danneel and for the sake of the fic, Jensen is married to an OFC and not Dee.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thanks, hon <33)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I can't quit you baby

So I'm gonna put you down for awhile

I said I can't quit you baby

I guess I gotta put you down for awhile

“Jensen...” The name rolled off her tongue effortlessly as the man’s fingers danced across her bare skin, his electrifying touch leaving Y/N breathless, panting and begging for more. The very touch of his that had started it all.

Everyone always expressed how being in love was the most exhilarating feeling in the world, but no one ever spoke about the perils of being in love with a person who already belonged to someone else. The ring on Jensen's finger served as a wistful and painful reminder of that.

As soon as the doors had closed, the actor had backed up Y/N against the elevator, letting her see the need in his eyes. His hands had sneaked behind her, his fingers entangling with the strands of her hair, completely messing the hairstyle she had pulled off for the m&g panel in the evening. Her hands landed on his biceps, trying to steady herself. Their lips moulded together so perfectly as if they were made for each other, but it pained Y/N to think that she was nothing but his dirty mistress.

Their relationship, if she could even call it one, was all about clandestine meets, stolen stares and subtle touches. Jensen was like a drug for her and she was high on the thrill of being with him even if he was gone in the morning, leaving her behind with nothing but guilt.

Jensen had closed the door of the suite behind him as they stepped into Y/N’s room together. With lips swollen from their heavy makeout in the elevator, he wasted no time as she found herself pinned to the wall by the actor's strong hands. In the fairly lit room, she noticed his wedding band was now missing. Y/N knew Jensen and his wife's relationship was on the rocks even before she had started to work on the SPN set. Which was also the reason why few months ago, the hide-and-seek between them and the hungry paps with cameras had started.

Hands on her hips, Jensen had pulled her close on the set, more than the director demanded it. That night, he had found himself standing inside her trailer, after the fated shot. The heart wants what it wants and just as the saying went, they had given in to their burning desires. In a moment of weakness, Jensen had broken off every single one of his vows and destroyed any hope of salvaging his relationship with his estranged wife.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jensen ripped her blouse off, unhooking her bra quickly, barely containing his eagerness before stepping out of his own jacket. Y/N clutched at the ends of the counter, knocking off the magazines lying on top of it and draping her other arm around Jensen's firm body. He delicately cupped her face as his mouth devoured hers. She could taste the mint and coffee on his lips feeling his teeth graze roughly against her, making her moan into him. The actor pushed her legs apart with his knees and stood close between her thighs as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth.

In desperate need of air, they momentarily separated before Jensen dipped his head down again, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses down her neck. Y/N’s legs buckled under his hypnotic touch when his mouth found her pulse point and she supported herself against his body. Jensen's hands moved down to her breasts, kneading them. His fingers caressed her hard nipples before his mouth latched onto one sensitive bud.

“Jay, please-” Y/N could only form two words as Jensen flicked her nipple while his fingers worked on the other one, spurring her on. Words weren't quite necessary, cause the man knew exactly what she needed. He knew her every tic, her every emotion like the back of his hand and Y/N was aware of that fact as well. No one could ever worship her body like he did.

Jensen was still wearing the black polo shirt, his noticeable bulge painfully straining in his jeans. She felt her wetness dampening the fabric of her panties as she thrusted her hips forward in need of some friction, her heated core brushing against his bulge.

Pulling apart for a second, Jensen’s viridian eyes studied her as his hands sneaked under her skirt. He watched her intently as she sucked on her bottom lip, closing her eyes when his fingers grazed past her soakedpanties.

A moan escaped her wet lips when Jensen's fingers hooked themselves with the waistband and in one swift pull, got rid of the panties. It quickly glided down her legs, pooling at her feet. He teased her by flicking at her bundle of nerves, making her lean her head back against the wall.

Y/N swayed on her feet a little, her hold on his shoulders tightening as she finally felt her legs give away when his fingers rubbed circles on her clit.

“Fuck-” she panted as he pushed a single finger inside her.

“Have you been thinkin’ about me all day?” Jensen leaned towards her ears, his scruff grazing across her neck. Y/N nodded, not trusting her voice, eyes still squeezed shut in sheer ecstasy.

“Sweetheart, use your words.” He ordered as his finger curled inside her.

“Yeah-fuck, yes.” Jensen kissed below her ear, smirking against her skin when she obediently answered him.

“I have been thinkin’ about you too, counting down the hours till I could get you alone.” He whispered against her neck. She mewled at the feeling of him adding another finger, his thick digits stretching her out as they curled inside her. “That little dress wasn't helping either.”

“Uh-huh,” she could feel the coil inside her tightening as his finger worked their way inside her, his thumb rubbing at her folds and clit, edging her on.

“I have thinkin’ all day about you clenching around my fingers and then my cock-” his words had an immediate effect as she clenched around his fingers as he kept pumping into her, “you've thinkin’ about that too, huh?” Y/N nodded again.

“What did I say? Words.” His other hand travelled down her body, stopping at her stomach and he pinched at her waist. “Words, baby.”

“I-I have been thinki-” Y/N panted when she realised she was close to her climax. Jensen picked up his pace and pumped his fingers faster into her, brushing past her g-spot over and over again.

When you hear me moaning and groaning, baby,

You know it hurts me deep down inside

When you hear me moaning and groaning, baby,

You know it hurts me deep down inside

Oh, when you hear me, honey, baby,

You know you're my one desire

“Lemme say it, sweetheart. I know you've been thinking how I would make you come on my fingers, how my dick is gonna fill you up, make you come all over me. Don't lie.” Jensen's every assumption was right to the dot. She had been thinking of everything to the last detail since the moment she watched him get out of his car, right outside of the convention building. But there was another thought on her mind, the image of him pushing her against one of the counters of his empty brewery a few weeks ago with him buried deep inside her.

That was the last she had seen Jensen before the convention as he had gone back home to his wife.

His wife.

The one woman he had promised to be with in sickness and health, till death do them apart. Guilt clouded Y/N’s mind but all rational thoughts flew out of the window when he lowered his head, kissing the neck and the coil inside her finally snapped.

With a cry of his name, she came undone on his fingers, her legs finally giving away but Jensen's hold prevented her from toppling over. He pulled his fingers out as she whimpered at the feeling. His digits still covered in her juices, Jensen pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it somewhere in the room. Y/N panted, trying to come down from the high but she wanted more. She needed to feel him.

“Y/N-” Jensen rasped, looking right at her with lust blown eyes. Y/N smacked her lips at the sight of his freckled, toned body.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” He smirked as Y/N eagerly reached out for his belt buckle.

“Uh-huh.” She agreed. Jensen bit back a moan when she reached out to palm his bulge. He threw his head back at the feeling of her hand on his erection through his jeans.

“It has been weeks-” Jensen said, clearly hinting at their last time together at the brewery. He quickly unbuckled his belt, pushing down his jeans along with his boxers, his erection springing free from its confines.

“Baby, it has been weeks since I felt your tight pussy wrapped around me. Fuck.” Y/N looked at him with hooded eyes and wrapped her fingers around his length, running her palm along its shaft and her thumb rubbed the tip of his cock, already lined with beads of precum. Jensen hiked her skirt up, pushing her hands away and gave his hard cock a few slow strokes. He nudged her sensitive core with his swollen tip, all while pulling out sweet, sinful noises out of her.

“Jay,” he loved hearing her needy moans, her voice raspy when she called out his name. His hands grabbed her ass and picked her up. Hooking her legs and arms behind him, with her back still firmly pushed up against the wall, Jensen lined himself with at her entrance.

Grunting, he pushed himself into her and wrapped his arms around her body. Y/N’s mouth fell open with an inaudible moan at the feeling of his cock stretching her out. Jensen placed a chaste kiss on her lips as he let her adjust to his size before slowly pulling out of her, leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside, and pushed back in again, much deeper than before.

Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him close as she bucked up her hips to match his rhythm. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” Jensen grunted as he started to thrust faster.

Y/N whimpered, her eyes fluttering close as Jensen snapped his hips forward before slowly drawing them back. With every thrust, she inched closer to her release as their breathing became ragged. The actor’s skin was flushed, his cheeks turning a bright red with beads of sweat lining his forehead as he felt her clench around her. Her nails dug into his back as the coil inside her tightened.

“‘M so close,” she whispered, as he continued to mercilessly pound into her.

“Cum around my cock, baby. I wanna feel you all over me-” Jensen growled into her ears, tugging on her earlobes with his teeth and his breath tickled her neck, making her quiver. Jensen had an effect on her that no one ever had. Sometimes, she would say to herself that Millie was a really lucky woman who got to have Jensen all the time and not just on convention weekends and sneaky nights spent in his empty brewery or a trailer park.

And Y/N was the one who was ruining their relationship. A home-wrecker. The tabloids would rightfully call her that if they ever found out about their twisted relationship.

“Jensen, fuck-” a cry of pure ecstasy left her lips as the coil inside her snapped once more and she felt herself coming undone for the second time that night. Jensen's thrust had become sloppy. He rocked his hips forward, thrusting a few more times. Burying his face in the crook of her neck a muffled scream of her name escaped his lips as he spilled into her, his white, hot seed coating her walls.

He lazily circled his hips a few times, his cock becoming soft inside her before he pulled out of her. His cum trickled down her leg, when he set her down, Y/N felt herself go weak in her knees when she tried to stand.

“Hi,” Jensen smiled, their eyes meeting, before he leaned forward.

“Hi.” Y/N whispered back. They stood together, holding each other closely with their foreheads touching. Guilt seeped into her and so did despair but she didn't regret any moment they spent together.

“Let me clean up the mess,” Jensen said.

“I'm gonna hop into the shower.” She said, holding out the hope that he would join her but he didn't.

“Alright.” It was all he said. Dejected, she pulled away from him and made her way towards the shower. All she wanted was to spend every single minute with him before he went back to his room to keep up the facade of his happily married life.

In the shower, Y/N thought about the day she had first met Jensen when she was a newbie on the set and reflected back on their rollercoaster of a relationship. There was an instant connection between them. Jensen was always such a gentleman. He truly cared for her, but love... she didn't know if even the idea of love existed between them or if she was just an affair.

She stepped out of the bathroom and saw that Jensen was now In his boxers. He gave her a nod and moved past her into the bathroom. A sad smile formed on her lips as she watched him walk away. She put on a comfortable pair of pjs and crawled into the bed, under the covers, waiting for the exact moment when Jensen stepped out of the bathroom and put on his clothes. And just like every other time, she would watch him leave after he kissed her forehead and told her he doesn't have a choice.

This time though, it was going to be different.

Y/N didn't want Jensen to leave, neither did she want to watch him go so she squeezed her eyes shut, adamant of not responding when he walked up to her.

She flinched when he heard the bathroom door shut. She counted down the minutes till the goodbye kiss but instead she felt the other side of the bed dip down with a familiar weight. Opening her eyes, she felt his hand wrapping around her waist. Jensen was in her bed. She turned to face him.

He was breathing slowly. His long lashes rested against his cheek and his freckled face reflected the look of absolute contentment.

Said you know I love you baby

My love for you I could never hide

Oh, you know I love you baby

My love for you I could never hide

Oh when I feel you near me little girl

I know you are my one desire

“You're staring.” He whispered.

“You're staying.” She replied back, making his beautiful eyes flutter open.

Pursing his lips together, he said, “Do you not want me to?”

“No-I mean, yes. Stay…But, what about Jared?”

“What about him?” He scrunched up his face in confusion.

“What if he finds out about us?” Y/N asked as she panicked. Hiding this relationship from Jared was the hardest task. He was like a brother to Jensen so he didn't want to lie to him but it was important to keep him in the shadows.

“Let him find out. I don't care anymore-”

“Jensen!” Y/N exclaimed. She didn't understand what was going on in his mind.

“It's okay, Y/N.” He said.

“How is it okay?”

“Millie and I are over. I finally ended it.”

Her mouth fell open in complete surprise. Of everything she had expected, this was the last thing she was anticipating to hear. “Our relationship was long dead anyway. We have separated. I'm filing for a divorce once I go back home this week.” Y/N would lie if she said that the thought of him choosing her over his wife had never crossed her mind.

“It's all because of me, isn't it-”

“No. No, sweetheart. We were already over even before I met you. I was just too scared to admit it to myself but then I met a girl, we talked. It was epic and the thought of losing her scared me more than anything else.” Jensen caressed her cheek, a gentle smile gracing his lips. He felt a burden being lifted from his shoulders. He could finally be with the woman he truly loved.

“Does this mean no more hiding?” She said, tears pooled in her eyes. Y/N needed to hear him say it now that she could shout it from the rooftops Jensen belonged to her, and she to him.

“Being with you made me realise what I was missing. All this while, I wasted my time trying to work on a dead relationship when I should have realised sooner that it was a lost case. That you are the one I want 'cause baby, I can't quit you. Millie and I would have never worked out no matter how many couple’s therapy we went to….I have never regretted a single moment I have spent with you. I love what we have. I love you.” Her breath hitched in her throat as she took in everything he said. Her mind was reeling from his sudden declaration. A single tear rolled down her cheek, as the corners of her lips tugged up, forming a smile but she was too overwhelmed to say anything, which Jensen took the wrong way and it scared him.

“Y/N-” his smile disappeared as his hand dropped from her cheeks, “I want you to be mine. Will you be mine?” Y/N immediately moved towards him. Her hands raked through his soft hair before she pulled him in for a longing kiss.

“I didn't even realise when I became yours but I know it happened at some point, Jay. I love you so much.” Y/N said. With smiles and their eyes sparkling with newfound happiness, they stayed in bed as Y/N nuzzled into his side. Jensen's warm hands were wrapped around her and she smiled against his chest. For the first time, the fear of losing Jensen didn't cross her mind because she knew he would stay with her that night and all that would follow. She was going to wake up with him by her side and didn't have to sneak behind anyone's back anymore.

She was happy and in love and so was Jensen.

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[sondepoch]

Lighter (3/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

MASTERLIST

There’s something demeaning about the outfit Childe has picked for you today. It’s nothing unlike what he had you wear when he last took you outside the apartment, when he brought you on a train to Xiangling’s restaurant, but the blouse and skirt he has you in today are looser than before, and skimpier, too. 

The thought confuses you until you realize that it’s because where you were previously dressed like a regular girl, in fairly modest clothes that were designed to shy away from attention, you’re now dressed like a slave once more: like a little sex toy that can only wear thin, loose clothes so her owner, alongside all her owner’s friends, can have easy access to the pretty tits and cunt beneath.

It should make you sick. 

Yet, as Childe slips his hand underneath your skirt to grip your thigh, the only thing that disgusts you is how easily you find yourself relaxing into his touch. 

“Angel,” Childe murmurs into your ear, voice hovering lowly under the quiet buzz of the van you both sit in. “Angel, I have a present for you.”

That catches your attention. You turn your head to your owner, eyebrows lifted in confusion, as Childe pulls a box from his pocket.

Immediately, you know what’s inside.

The first few gifts Childe gave you were all varied: the very first was, of course, the necklace he gave you in place of the ugly, metal collar all the other girls have to wear. The second was his jacket, too tattered for him to use anymore but literal paradise for someone like you, who had already grown used to spending every waking moment naked. Then, his presents began to come in the shape of services rather than material objects—the decision to allow you to sleep on a bed, the decision to let you eat better-quality meals, the decision to spare you from being sent to Scaramouche for a beating as punishment for a stupid blunder you once made—but after a certain period, Childe had granted you all the freedom he could give.

Then, his presents had to change.

He began gifting you jewels, all of them in different colors but always unfairly expensive, to make your collar sparkle.

You make no haste in opening the black, velvet box Childe gives you, eyes bright. You don’t think twice about how embarrassing it is that he’s conditioned you to associate these little gemstones (probably worth mere pennies to a man as wealthy as Childe) with happiness, but even you can’t keep the smile off your face as you snap open the box and see a blue twinkle staring back at you. 

“It’s a sapphire,” Childe explains, pulling the gemstone out by the short, silver chain it dangles from. “Since you told me that you like colorful stones.”

You remember saying that. It was true: being Childe’s favored toy meant that you were always by his side; it gave you no room for pastimes, and so you found that the most entertaining thing to do was toy with the shiny stones that dangled off your collar and angle them into the light to trace patterns into the ceiling. It’s an activity that works best with larger, colorful stones: the dainty diamonds Childe always used to gift you didn’t work half as well.

“Do you like it?” the man asks, staring down at you. “I thought you deserved a reward so behaving so well last time we went out. If you’re good this time as well, I’ll give you another one.”

I won’t be here for you to give me another one, you think. 

“I like it,” you say, ignoring how your heart instinctively speeds up with—is it fear? concern? hesitation?— when that thought runs through your mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

Childe grimaces.

“I mean, Ajax.”

Calling him by his name is still a hard habit to get into, but you find that the syllables roll off your tongue much smoother now. Alas, you shouldn’t need to worry about it too much longer. Not if today’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya goes as planned.

“Here, lean forward so I can put it on you.”

The way you arch your neck forward is familiar. You and Childe have been in this position countless times before, him always being the one to fasten his gifts to your collar, and it shows in how quick Childe’s fingers are in attaching the short chain of the sapphire to your necklace. Within seconds, you feel the task’s completion as you lean your head back and smile at your owner, the weight around your neck marginally heavier than when you both stepped inside this van.

“It looks good,” Childe says, squeezing your thigh gently. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say like a good little slave. Then, you decide to go the extra mile. “Ajax.”

The man doesn’t respond to that, opting to glance out the window as his driver speeds down the highway that’ll doubtlessly bring you both to the office Diluc and Kaeya share, but you can see the edges of his lips curling upward. It’s rare, after all, for you to address him by name. No matter how much he loves it, your tongue still says “sir” on instinct, a little crack in the homey picture Childe is building with you in his mind.

It’s not like it matters, you think, stopping yourself from thinking too much about your owner before you can begin to feel bad. If all goes well, I won’t ever have to see him again.

The thought instinctively brings a smile to your face, but it falls just as fast.

If.

Looking back, the message Diluc and Kaeya gave you was cryptic. ‘WE CAN HELP YOU’ provides no accurate timeline to place your hopes in. The second message, ‘COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU’ was of the same nature. Up til now, you’ve been vaguely interpreting their words to mean that they would free you immediately if you managed to go with Childe to this meeting. But the human trafficking world is so complicated, and you can’t help but think that things may be delayed even longer.

All you can do is hope for the best and pray that reality won’t disappoint.

“How much longer?” you ask your owner after the view outside the window has changed from a highway to a cityscape.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Childe chuckles. “We should be there any time soon. Keep an eye out. Their office is in one of the big buildings.”

That doesn’t tell you much, given that nearly every building this van drives past is over fifteen stories high. 

You’re in the middle of scoffing at Childe’s poor description of the office when the car finally stops: and only then do you understand that when he said “one of the big buildings,” he meant the biggest fucking building in the entire city.

You’re gawking like a fool as Childe helps you out of the car, mentally overwhelmed at the sheer size of what has to be the tallest office in Snezhnaya. 

“It’s…” 

Big doesn’t begin to describe the grandeur of this place. It’s nothing you’d expect from two men who are working undercover to free people from human trafficking: it's got to be the most eye-catching thing you've ever seen, one hundred stories high or taller, with every inch of the exterior covered in wall-to-wall windows. It looks like an upscale version of Childe’s own office, and if you thought his building was lavish, then this is full-on opulent.

Your owner has to forcibly pull you forward to get you to move. 

You almost forget to tuck your precious jacket—the one you so foolishly forgot when you last went out in public, the one Childe insisted you bring this time in case you have another episode—underneath your arm because you’re so busy marveling at the exterior of the building, though you thankfully remember to do so right before the van door closes. 

“It’s nothing impressive,” Childe grumbles as he pulls you past the professional double doors. “Diluc and Kaeya are only renting the top ten floors here. They’re not even rich enough to purchase them.”

“Ten whole floors?” you ask, eyes round as you stare at the inside of the ground floor. Childe tugs you towards the elevator, and you’re just barely able to slow him down so you can stare at the marble floors, the expensive-looking paintings on the wall, the embodiment of wealth unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “Why do they need ten—”

“They’re sex traffickers, angel,” Childe tells you when the elevator doors shut. (You have to force yourself to refrain from marveling at how even this elevator seems posh and refined.) “They use the top floor for their own operations. The other nine are where they run their prostitution rings.”

Your face darkens at that. It must be the exact same as Childe’s office, where he has you and his other favored prostitutes up at the top with him, and all the girls he doesn’t want to show favoritism to are forced into the life they were meant to follow when they were brought into the human trafficking world: either as unpaid sex workers that are sold by the hour from Childe to other equally-awful clients or as human trafickees to be shipped to someone else if they prove to be too much trouble.

But then, you remember Diluc and Kaeya’s message.

‘WE CAN HELP YOU,’ they said.

There’s no way that they’re running a sex trafficking front up here. Childe must be wrong. It’s probably just a lie they told him to gain his trust so that they could best help you escape this life.

“They’re so arrogant,” Childe grumbles, crossing his arms. “I bet they chose this office just to piss me off. It’s bad business, too. They’re losing out on money by choosing such a fancy place. Not even the Snezhnayan sex work model will boost their profits.”

“What’s the Snezhnayan sex work model?”

“The system we use in the Fatui. It’s supposed to be the best, money-wise. You hand-train the elite girls as prostitutes so that the best ones become magnets for high-caliber clients. You sell off girls who don’t show promise early on. And then there’s a handful of average-quality, compliant girls you keep for the low-caliber clients that want a good fuck but can’t pay as much.” Childe folds his arms as he leans back against the elevator wall. “It's the most profitable method, even if it means that the girls you sell will always be low-quality.”

“Wouldn’t I be an elite girl?” you ask, staring at your owner. “You trained me, but I never had to work as a prostitute. And I only sometimes have to meet your clients, and—”

“You’re different,” Childe says, avoiding your eyes.

Immediately, you want to ask what he means by that. Unfortunately for you, the elevator doors open at that precise moment, and Childe leads you forward by the hand into an office that, now that you think about it, definitely was designed to upstage Childe’s own place of work.

“Come on, you can do it, baby.” A low coo from the left side of the room draws your attention, and your eyes widen in a mix of confusion, concern, and finally, horror. 

“Ignore Kaeya. Focus on my fingers. Relax your throat, doll, yes, just like that…”

Even Childe stiffens when he sees the three men splayed out on a couch: Diluc and Kaeya sandwiching a youthful-looking boy between them as Diluc shoves his hand down the boy’s throat and Kaeya strokes the boy’s small cock. 

For a moment, you don’t understand why the boy looks so wrecked, his braided hair dampened with sweat and his face covered in tears, but when your eyes watch as a trickle of sweat trails from the boy’s neck to his stomach, joining a copious amount of white fluid you can only imagine to be the result of countless orgasms, it’s clear that Kaeya’s overstimulating him. Add that to the way Diluc’s entire hand is slotted down the poor boy’s throat, and how the redhead is still stubbornly trying to get more inside, and it becomes clear that whatever this boy is feeling is far from pleasant.

The picture makes it irrevocably clear that this boy is to Diluc and Kaeya what you are to Childe. 

Instinctively, you imagine how you would feel if you were in such a position. Your worst memory under Childe, after all, is from the time when you were handed over to four men who fucked into your G-spot so vigorously that you cried at any sensation for hours. Your second worst memory is from the time when a client forced a massive dildo so big you couldn’t breathe down your throat and left you like that until Childe intervened. 

The idea of those two memories being combined into one makes you want to vomit. 

“Fucking hell,” Childe grunts once he’s past processing the image before him. “Get your toy out of here. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya responds, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t stop stroking the boy’s cock. “You had your little angel out during our last meeting. Let us have a little fun now, alright?”

“Hell no. Even I don’t dabble in…” Childe sneers when he sees how young the boy seems to be. “Children.”

Diluc laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through the room. “He’s older than he looks. We’re not scummy enough to deal in children, either, Tartaglia.”

“You’re scummy enough to have to share,” Childe says, scoffing. “What, did you guys spend so much money paying for this building’s rent that you couldn’t afford more than one kid to suit both your needs? The two of you look pathetic, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic,” Kaeya offers. “It’s more like we know exactly what we want. And if we both want the same thing, we’re not going to waste our time with…” The man’s single eye skirts over your figure with purpose. “Cheap replacements.”

“Really, now?” You can sense Childe getting offended for you. “You think your little toy is better trained than my angel?”

“I don’t think it, Tartaglia. I know it.” Kaeya grins. He gives the boy’s cock another few strokes, going at the same pace, the small, red-flushed thing twitching furiously in response. “Just watch.”

Kaeya abruptly pulls back from the boy, lifting his hand in the air for dramatic effect, and one, two, three seconds pass where nothing happens. The little organ he’d been stroking still quivers, either from overstimulation or from desire, but the boy suppresses his orgasm, and you can see the desperate, shallow breaths he tries to take from around Diluc’s hand.

Then, it happens.

“Cum, Venti.”

On command, the boy keens, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips spasm and jerk up into nothing. Venti’s cock looks abused, a thought demonstrated by how little cum actually shoots into the air and onto his stomach, the substance looking more watery than it looks healthy.

You grimace when you understand how far Venti must have been pushed to reach this point. 

The boy practically melts into Kaeya’s hold after the orgasm has left his body, boneless after something so intense, and the final shreds of resistance he’d been offering Diluc’s hand disappear as the redhead’s wrist edges deeper into his throat.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?” Kaeya says, grinning as he strokes Venti’s hair, brushing the sweat-stained bangs from his forehead. “He’s ‘Luc’s favorite. We haven’t had any discipline issues from him in years. Same goes for the rest of our merchandise.”

Kaeya’s words are a shameless flex on Childe: a reminder that your owner’s girls are so often poorly-trained and that even you, the star of his trafficking business, are secretly planning on running away.

You don’t need to look up at your owner’s expression to see the raw annoyance plastered onto his face. 

“No discipline issues?” Childe grunts. “So if I bought him from you and ordered him to kill himself right now, he’d do it?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Whatever response Kaeya was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Finally, Diluc speaks up.

“Venti, much like your toy over there, isn’t for sale.” Diluc withdraws most of his hand from the boy’s mouth, leaving only the tips of his fingers in such that Venti cranes his neck forward to suckle at them. “But if you want him gone that much, it’s fine. He has to go to work now, anyway.”

You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at that. Kaeya watches your expression, and he laughs.

“Sorry, girlie. I know your master over there likes to exercise preferential treatment with his pets, but we don’t do that in Mondstadt.” Kaeya gently pushes Venti to his feet, holding his hand until the shake of the boy’s feet subsides. “All our toys have to work. Favoritism should only go so far in a world like this.”

With that, Kaeya pats Venti’s butt and sends the boy off, and you watch in a mix of awe and horror as he stumbles towards the elevator to “work.”

If it were real, you’d be mortified. 

Venti was overstimulated to tears, his legs wobbling the whole time as he stumbled past you, the apples of his fair cheeks flushed a feverish red. There was saliva dripping down his chin, cum still smeared on his stomach, and the reek of sweat and sex wafting off the entirety of his stumbling, nude form.

But you comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was all just an act. 

You close your eyes and hold your jacket closer to your body as the elevator releases a low ding, forcing yourself to remember the message Diluc and Kaeya left for you that filled your heart with so much hope. What happened with Venti just now looked bad, but you’re certain that it was all part of their master strategy to deceive Childe until you’re free from him.

(If there’s a sudden thump of a body hitting the ground and a low groan from behind the elevator doors as soon as they shut, you force yourself not to pay attention to it.)

“Fucking finally,” Childe mutters as soon as Venti is gone. He shuffles forward and flops down onto a couch, pulling you with him. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya mumbles, using a sanitized cloth to clean his hands before slipping his usual gloves back on. Next to him, Diluc does the same. “All we need to do is fix a transportation route for the merch, right?”

“Yeah,” Childe grunts. “I already have some ideas. I own a parent company that sells furniture. If we can legally frame our transactions under the branch of…”

You zone out as soon as they begin using human trafficking jargon you barely understand.

This meeting is much more civilized than the previous, if the whole incident with Venti can be forgotten. The jabs Diluc and Kaeya make towards Childe are much more subtle, popping up rarer, too, and Childe doesn’t openly taunt them with your body the way he did in the first meeting. 

It takes nearly an hour before your owner even remembers you, and even then, his touches remain somewhat innocent. He only ever ghosts his fingers against your thigh, oft going down to drum his fingers against your knee while he continues to work out the logistics of his business deal. The touches honestly end up keeping you on edge with how delicate they are, and it’s right when his fingers have finally flitted up to the innards of your thigh, right when you’re holding your breath, right when Diluc and Kaeya’s eyes are fixated on where his palm has crept beneath your skirt, that his phone rings.

Immediately, Childe’s hands are off you. 

“I have to take this,” he says, wrapping a protective arm over your shoulder as he beckons you to stand next to him. “In private.”

“Take the elevator down to the second floor if you want privacy,” Diluc offers. “It’s not being rented out, and there aren’t any cameras there.”

“Thanks,” your owner says, leading you towards the elevator. 

“Wait,” Kaeya calls, right as you’re about to step in behind Childe. You glance behind your shoulder to stare at him, and the devious expression on his face concerns you. 

Kaeya winks at you a second before Childe, too, turns to face him.

“Leave your girl here with us, will you? Give us a treat to nibble on to kill the time.”

Immediately, you think that Kaeya has said the wrong thing. Childe is a fiercely protective man, over you more than anything else. There’s no way he’d leave you in the hands of two men he barely even likes, and it’ll probably only cast suspicion in his mind to hear Kaeya ask for you so candidly.

You shut your eyes, instinctively preparing to hear Childe’s rejection.

Instead, his tone is light when he speaks, almost amused. “Finally seeing how high-quality she is, eh?” Your owner is smiling at Kaeya, not an ounce of irritation, anger, or protectiveness on his face. “Fine. This call will take a while anyway. Just make sure you don’t wreck her too much.”

With that, the redhead steps into the elevator and leaves you with nothing more than a featherlight kiss to the temple, and you’re standing there, dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds before you process what has happened.

Alone, you realize with a start. I'm finally alone with them. 

Immediately, you sprint forward, grabbing Kaeya’s hand in an attempt to tug him off the couch, not caring about how you dropped your jacket on the floor in your rush.

“Come on,” you say, eyes wide. “If—if you want to set me free, we have to go now while he’s busy!”

But Kaeya doesn’t move an inch off the couch, instead pulling you onto his lap with a strength you didn’t realize he had. 

“What are you—”

“Shh, baby. We have to put on a show in case Tartaglia comes back, yeah?” You feel Diluc shuffle behind you, and the redhead is quick to wrap his hands around your hips from behind. 

The slowness, the casualness, the feigned normalcy of their actions dumbfounds you.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” you whisper, hands going up to grip at the fabric of Kaeya’s suit. “You said you’d free me if I managed to come to this meeting, so—”

“Relax,” Diluc mumbles into your ear, gloved hands sliding beneath your blouse to grope at your breasts. “Freeing you isn’t something we can do at the drop of a hat. It’s not just about you being here.”

“Right,” Kaeya says, his fingers slowly undoing the zipper on your skirt. “We asked you to come to this meeting to first check if it would even be possible to free you. A test, if you will. We weren’t sure you’d pass it. But if Tartaglia is willing to give you enough freedom to wander around with him, we figure you should also have enough freedom to do what needs to be done for us to free you.”

“What?” you whisper, trying to force back the tears that are pooling in your eyes. This is everything you’d feared: that Diluc and Kaeya’s idea of freeing you would be more complicated than you’d realized and that the whole process would require more time. “What do you need me to do to be free?”

“Aw, don’t cry.” Kaeya tosses your skirt to the floor right before he goes up to wipe away the tears from your face. “It’s not hard. We just need you to get ahold of Tartaglia’s fake documents on you.”

“His...what?”

Confusion is ultimately what brings a halt to your tears, and you cock your head naively at Kaeya right as Diluc speaks up.

“Fake documents,” Diluc explains, beginning to rub the front of his pants against your naked arse. “Every human trafficker has a series of documents for their merchandise that they can use for transportation and claim purposes. We need to get yours from Tartaglia.”

“Why can’t you take me away without them?” you plead, still clinging to the hope that you might be able to go free today. “Why do I have to—”

“Because, depending on how smart Tartaglia is, he can use those documents to rightfully get you back, even if we set you free.”

“What?” you ask. “How?”

“Think. If he has you listed on those documents as a minor, then the State can only do so much to protect you. Especially if he has himself listed down as your guardian. Even if you try to speak out against him, the Snezhnayan police won’t care. They’ll send you straight back to him, and you can bet that whatever freedoms you have now will be forever lost to you the second time around.”

“B-but, if I can prove that I’m not the person in his fake documents—”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaeya interrupts. “If you’re lucky, Tartaglia’s fake documents would be low-quality. But if he was smart, which we both know he is, then his documents will be of a high-enough quality that people will believe them when they see them. And unless you happen to have your official documents on you, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself except steal the papers from Childe before he can use them.”

The annoyed, almost bored inflection of Kaeya’s voice shakes you to the core. They rattle this information off so quickly, so intuitively, so earnestly that you have no choice but to believe them.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll get the documents you want.”

“Do you know where he keeps them?” Diluc asks.

“I think so. He has a locked briefcase that he always keeps in his office. I don’t know the combination to open it, but I should be—”

“Good,” Kaeya interrupts. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, hesitant. The man’s words seemed like a compliment, but his tone felt much more derisive. “Um, is that all, or is there anything else I—”

“That’s all,” Diluc says. “Two weeks from now is when we’ll be ready to get you out of here. We’ll be staying in the hotel across from Tartaglia’s apartment. The two of us will be in rooms 213 and 214. Come find us at any time, and as long as you have the documents on you, we’ll be able to set you free.”

Your heart beats a little faster at that. 

“Really?” you whisper, almost not believing it. The goal you’ve been given is finally real: it’s tangible, so clear that you can already see yourself using something sharp to tear into Childe’s briefcase and retrieve your documents before you’ll finally be able to live a life you can be proud of.

Kaeya smiles when he sees the look on your face.

“Really,” he whispers, reaching a rough, gloved hand up to cup your cheek with infinite care. The kiss he coaxes you into is gentle, soft, and sweet. It’s everything he is, everything Childe isn’t. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. You don’t care about the fact that Diluc has unbuttoned and pulled off your blouse now, leaving you effectively nude as you embrace Kaeya, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers in response, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

The next minutes are marked by more peace than you’ve felt in months. Sandwiched between Diluc and Kaeya, you feel oddly safe. The roughness of their gloves stops bothering you, the silky brushes of their hair stop tickling you, and the closeness of their bodies, the warmth and the heat that radiates off them as naturally as light off the sun, only relaxes you in their arms.

When Kaeya begins playing with the jewels on your necklace, you don’t stop him.

“Tartaglia gave you this?” he asks, tugging gently at a diamond. 

“Yeah. They're all presents for being good.”

You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face as you say that: it’s like a reminder that you’re special, that you’re important, that even though you’re down in a world where your life isn’t even your own, you still have worth.

Behind you, Diluc’s fingers reach over your shoulder and begin lifting up individual stones to the light. “These are expensive,” he mutters, twisting a ruby among his leathered fingers. “More expensive than what someone would normally give to a slave.”

“I know,” you say. “It's because this is supposed to incentivize my good behavior, and—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, voice soft. “It’s supposed to manipulate you.”

Your voice catches at that, and you glance at Kaeya for confirmation because you doubt it can be true. Not when Childe always seems so sweet when he gifts you these presents. Not when you've come to look forward to them as the one light in your life in this dark, dark world. But when the blue-haired man’s face twists into sympathy, your heart falls.

“B-but...I like…”

“You’re supposed to like it,” Diluc’s voice, rich and deep, rumbles out into your ear. ”But you need to understand that it’s not a necklace, doll. It’s a collar.”

“I know that,” you say, now wrapping your fingers around the chain protectively. “But I don’t—I don’t want—”

Kaeya kisses you, bringing two hands to your cheeks to cradle your face in his fingers.

“We’re not going to take it away from you, baby.”

He kisses you again.

“Relax.”

Those words soothe you in a way you can’t quite explain; the idea of losing your necklace, even being told that your necklace was a ploy to manipulate you (though you already knew that, to some extent), was unsettling. You much prefer the notion that it’s an innocuous gift: mainly because you’ve grown far too attached to it for it to represent human trafficking and all the pain you’ve had to endure thus far.

But, right when you’ve calmed yourself and forcibly stopped yourself from panicking, you feel a sharp tug on your neck.

“What did you—”

“Nothing,” Diluc says, holding two gemstones—two diamonds, one blue and one pink—in his palm. They still have their chain attached to them, but that's it: there's nothing connecting the diamonds to your necklace, the chains having been ripped off.  You feel your expression change as you see what he's done. “Just—”

“What did you do?!” you blurt, panic beginning to overtake your heart. “Childe—Ajax—he’s going to notice! I—I’ll get in trouble, and—”

“Shh,” Kaeya whispers, trying to calm you down with a kiss, but you pull back before his lips can touch you. “It’s not—”

“Put it back. Put it back!”

You've turned around and are about to hit Diluc when the man grips both your wrists, holding you with such a force that it freezes you. The look in his eyes is fierce, fiery, red eyes shining brighter than the rubies dangling off your neck—and for a single second, you can’t help but think that the man looks furious. 

Then, the expression is masked, and you’re both left calmer for it.

“Tartaglia won’t notice. Unless he makes a habit of regularly counting what’s on your neck, only you’ll be able to feel the difference.” Right. That makes sense. Childe likes to look at your necklace, but you doubt that he’ll actually know how many presents he’s gifted you. Not when he barely touches the thing, dexterous fingers always reaching out to feel your body instead. 

“And besides,” Diluc says, easing you back into your earlier position with your back resting against his chest. “It’s a promise. The two diamonds.”

“A promise?”

In front of you, Kaeya smiles in understanding.

“Right. It’s a promise, baby. We’ll give you these two diamonds back once we’ve freed you, and until then, they’re our weight to bear so that every time we look at them, we remember that we’re waiting for you so we can set you free.”

“It...is?” you ask, hesitant. You haven’t been in the outside world in a while; is this how people do promises now?

“Yes,” Diluc mumbles, kissing your ear as he strokes your hair. Every brush of his fingers against your head instinctively relaxes you, until you’re almost as calm as you were before he took two stones off your necklace. “Do you trust us to return them to you?”

It’s a disguised question.

What Diluc is really asking is this: Do you trust us?

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s the only right answer.

Then, the two men go silent. They focus on relaxing you once more, running their gloved fingers up and down the sides of your body, almost massaging your skin as you sit between them. 

Unfortunately for you, all you can think about is your necklace.

It’s the first time you’ve had it be lighter than before: Childe only ever adds to it; he never takes. Now, right when you’d grown used to the weight of the sapphire he attached this morning, you’ve got the odd situation of it being even lighter than it had been when you woke up.

You know that you should feel freer now: less chained down to Childe and to the Fatui.

But deep down inside, you miss the weight.

Minutes later, when you’re a little less emotionally overwhelmed and a little more relaxed as the two men gently run their arms around your body, another thought surfaces.

“A-also,” you say, hesitant. “Um, everything you said at the beginning of this meeting…”

“All lies,” Diluc says, pulling you closer against his broad chest after you slink too deep into Kaeya’s embrace. “Tartaglia had a negative impression of us coming in, so we had to play to that. Everything we said was just for show.”

Your shoulders sag in relief at that, but another thought continues to poke at your brain.

“And Venti?” you finally manage to ask, remembering how ruined the boy had looked as he stumbled away from the two men holding you.

“He’s a masochist,” Kaeya blurts. “We asked him beforehand if he’d be okay with participating. Not sure he realized how all-out we were going to go, but I’m certain that he enjoyed himself.”

That...makes sense! You’ve heard before about masochists, and looking back, everything Diluc and Kaeya did to the boy really did seem to be for the sake of his pleasure. You’ve heard countless times about overstimulation being something sexy, something desired, something liked by the select few who could bear it. Similarly, the way Diluc had his hand down Venti’s mouth...that’s the equivalent of Childe having you suck on his fingers during sex, right? 

You laugh a little when you realize that everything you’d been scared about had an explanation. You should have known better than to doubt Diluc and Kaeya, two people who are saving you from hell itself. If anything, you should be on your knees thanking them instead of raising questions over what they had to say to be able to help you out.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” you confess, sheepish as Kaeya’s fingers begin toying with your breasts. “I’m just...really nervous. And a little scared.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kaeya asks, a tinkling laugh spilling from his lips. “We were the same way when we first came out here to save people from human trafficking.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes round. “Do you guys do this for a living? How many people do you save?”

“Uh...whoever we can, really. We use our covers as human traffickers to identify targets that would be easiest for us to free. You seemed like one. Before you, we helped that boytoy from Zhongli. Before him was some Khaenri'ahi girl, and…”

Zhongli? You ask yourself, trying to figure out where you know that name from. It’s familiar, so familiar, and…

“Wait!” You blurt, sitting up straight and nearly knocking Diluc backward in the process. “You guys were responsible for freeing Xiao? The one who’s always by Zhongli’s side?”

You remember the short little man, beautiful in his own right, from when Childe had a business meeting with Zhongli. That was the first time you learned of Xiao, the last time being just last week when you heard Scaramouche say that the green-haired boy had somehow disappeared. 

Hope blooms in your heart as soon as you realize what that disappearance was: the successful removal of one more slave from the human trafficking network, something you're next in line for.

Diluc lets out a light laugh when he sees how your entire face has brightened up now that you have genuine proof that these two men are for real, that they’ve helped people escape in the past and that they’ll help you escape in the near future. 

“Wait, if you guys freed Xiao, then were you also the ones responsible for setting, uhm…”

Your brain blanks out as you try to remember the second person Scaramouche mentioned when speaking to Childe. What was her name? Amine? you think, but that sounds off. Umino? Lumina? You continue to guess names in your head, brain fixating on Childe’s interaction with the other Fatui executive until finally, you remember her name.

“Lumine!” you declare with pride. “Were you the ones who set her free, too?”

Kaeya stares at you with a shocked expression. His lips part and his face freezes, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead, and you turn around to glance at Diluc, but the redhead is in a similar state.

“You’re telling me,” Kaeya begins, “That Lumine...”

He can’t bring himself to finish, and so Diluc steps in to complete the question: “Lumine belonged to Tartaglia?”

You glance back and forth between the two men, unsure of why they seem to be regarding this news with such shock.

“I think so?” you say, now beginning to doubt yourself. “I’m not sure. But Scaramouche said something like that to him, so I—”

You’re cut off by a sharp cackle of laughter from Kaeya. You stare at him in shock, and then behind you, Diluc has begun chuckling, and then Kaeya’s laughing even louder, and within seconds, both men are laughing their heads off at something you barely understand. 

“Oh my gods!” Kaeya blurts between fits of almost-hysterical giggles. “You’re telling me that Tartaglia? Fucking Tartaglia? Was the one to lose Lumine?” He laughs some more, loud and merry and cheerful. "So I was right when I called you a—a—" Kaeya stutters in his laughter. "A cheap replacement?"

You stare at the blue-haired man in confusion, not understanding a word of what he's saying nor why he seems to find it so hilarious that Childe and Lumine are connected. You want to open your mouth to ask why, but you have to stop yourself because it's at this precise moment that your owner returns; and this is the picture that Childe sees when the elevator dings with the announcement of his arrival: you, completely nude and squashed between the two Mondstadt business partners, Kaeya in front of you, laughing his ass off as if you’ve told the joke of the century, and Diluc behind you, the most stoic man in the room losing his composure in an equally graceless manner.

“What the fuck…” your owner mutters at the sight, but seeing Childe only makes the two men around you laugh harder.

It takes a full minute for them to calm down, and in that minute, you rise from their couch and move back towards Childe like an obedient slave, only wearing your clothes when Childe nods at you that it’s okay for you to do so.

“So,” Childe deadpans once Diluc and Kaeya have finally stopped laughing, though Kaeya still releases a giggle every now and then. “Did my girl tell a funny joke or something? You guys sounded like a bunch of dying hyenas.”

“Something like that,” Kaeya says, smiling at Childe, but you sense something deadly in his eyes. 

“Alright, well…” Childe awkwardly tries to steer the conversation back to what they’d been discussing before. “I guess the final details will have to be ironed out once I actually use this company as a cover to ship the girls to you, but is there anything else we need to talk about? Transportation-wise, we seem solid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya drawls, a strange smile on his face. “But, real quick, I want to talk about prices one more time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Childe grunts, annoyed. “We already agreed on five-hundred thousand mora per shipment. Don’t try to haggle with me again on this.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Diluc says, crossing his arms. “But we just learned some interesting information.”

Childe’s eye twitches in annoyance. “Right,” he blurts, leaning back. “What is it? Did you find out that I’m giving a better deal to someone else? Because that sucks, but that’s how this business works with new partners. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” Diluc interrupts, lifting a hand. “It’s moreso that before, we thought we were purchasing merchandise from a valued, respected dealer.”

Diluc’s lips quirk into a cruel grin. 

“Not from the infamous idiot trafficker who lost Lumine.”

You can hear the ice settle over the room before you feel it, the abrupt, chilling silence suddenly making every second feel like an hour. You’re almost scared to move, scared to pull your eyes to your owner who, for the first time since you met him, looks like the child his codename was assigned for.

Childe doesn’t try to speak, but his every thought is displayed in his eyes alone, the cerulean blues giving insight to a hurricane of emotions wilder than the sea. In his eyes is fear, horror, despair, and pain, so much pain. 

Something about the look on his face makes your heart break.

Diluc and Kaeya don’t care.

“I think charging five hundred thousand mora is a tad much for a douche who almost brought the entire industry down. Hell, you should be paying us for even being willing to deal with you, but…” Kaeya glances at Diluc, a single blue eye flitting down to where Diluc extends three fingers against his knee. “We’ll settle for a drop in the price instead. Three-hundred thousand mora per shipment. That good with you, Tartaglia?”

You’re expecting your owner to bargain, to argue, to scoff, to do something other than stare into the distance with those bright blue eyes that now look more blank than anything else. 

When you hear Childe mutter a meek “Okay,” you nearly recoil in shock.

Even Kaeya is surprised. “R-really? Damn. Actually, I think we should go even lower, y’know? Every trafficker in the world was scared for their life because of you, so maybe drop the price some more as reparations for that? Whaddya say, two hundred thousand? Per shipment?”

You stare at your owner, silently begging him to do something. Even you can tell that he’s being taken advantage of now, and that awful look in his eyes is something that even you’re unfamiliar with.

“Okay.”

“Fu...okay then? But also, you were kind of a dick to us last time, so how about you make it one hundred thousand? Seems more fair to me.”

“O—”

You grab your owner’s hand before he can agree, and the touch seems to snap Childe out of the awful fog that had been wrapped around his head. The look in his eyes is only less marginally troubled when he abruptly stands up, gripping your hand in a silent plea for you to move with him.

“I’m going,” Childe announces. 

He begins walking away so fast that you just barely have time to grab your jacket before you’re at his heels.

The man completely ignores Diluc and Kaeya as he waits for the elevator to open with a rigid posture, seeming to feel uncomfortable or fearful or panicked or a mix of all three. Kaeya begins laughing behind you both, and you almost want to tell him to stop: tell him that yes, Childe is an awful human trafficker and yes, you hate him as well—but the poor man looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack, and you know first-hand how awful a feeling that is. 

You’re grateful when the elevator finally opens, more grateful when the doors close and you and Childe are finally in isolation together. 

Only then, in the silence of the box as it moves you both down to the ground floor, do you hear Childe’s shaky breathing. It’s jagged, uneven. Then, you take note of the way his hands are clenched into fists, palms enclosed so tight that his arms are shaking—and despite everything he’s done to you, you feel some semblance of pity for him.

“Ajax,” you mumble, hoping that the name will calm him. “Relax.”

A moment of silence.

“I am relaxed,” he responds, and when you glance over at him, he’s completely back to normal: breathing even and palms loose.

His eyes, though, are just as pained as when the two of you were sitting upstairs on that couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re the one who let it slip that Lumine and Childe were connected. Even if you don’t understand the scope of what you said, it's clear that it had an impact. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t apologize.”

More silence. It feels heavy, unlike the usual, comfortable stretches of quiet that you and Childe like to bask in.

“What...were they talking about?” you ask quietly, still staring at your owner. “Diluc and Kaeya said that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A moment of silence.

It feels so heavy that it seems to crush you under its weight.

“Who is she? Lumine?”

More silence. 

This time, Childe is the one to break it. 

“The only girl I ever loved before you.”

That’s a lie, and you know it. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t be bringing you around to meetings, dressing you like a cheap slave, and handing you off to other men to flex how ‘high-quality’ you are. If Childe loved you, you would be long gone from the human trafficking circuit because he would have set you free. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t force you to stay by his side because he’s your abuser, your trafficker, the monster that haunts your life. 

Most importantly, if Childe loved you, he would have given you a proper answer to your question. Not some flimsy skirt-around that only furthers his attempts to manipulate you into loving him back.

Your eyebrows furrow the slightest as you feel the elevator hit the ground floor, brain still focused on everything Diluc and Kaeya said. Everything Childe didn’t want to talk about. Lumine.

Curiosity begs you to stick around and learn the truth.

Logic, reasoning, and the desire to lead a life of your own tell you that you’ll be long gone from Snezhnaya before that’ll ever happen. 

MASTERLIST

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

Word count: 7.9k

Notes: eyyyy i'm alive! i promise i never forgot about this fic, it's just that after i missed the original due date, my mind was just like 'eh, it's already late, what's a few more days?' and that's the story of how this is two months late. thank you to all the kind commenters from the last chapter - to the people who checked in on me, ily; to the people who sent me those wholesome asks on tumblr, ily ily; and to the people who made guesses on what would happen in future chapters - guess what :D you acc helped me shape this :3 i originally meant for lumine to be a passing thing mentioned once and never again, but she'll end up being important for chapter 4 ^^ so thank you to everyone who'll still be here after i disappeared for so long. hope you liked this chapter (lmk your thoughts!) and i can't wait to see you all in the finale <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/11

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

[candyopala]

Stuck in his ways, Chapter 9

Chapter summary: After that traumatic event, Y/N is forced to face things she has been avoiding for years and to visit someone from her past she neglected. Will she come into terms with her harsh reality or will she break all of the bonds she made so far?

Words: 3.3k

AO3

Sorry for the long one and for the wait. Writing this was truly an experience, I had been considering the lore for some time in my hiatus, I hope it paid off lol

Y/N and Obito enter into the whirlwind and instantly Y/N notices that they are inside a new location, they are on her house. Her mind is fuzzy, a million thoughts running through it, every single one of them laced with bad and bloody memories. She cannot breathe properly, she feels as if someone is holding her throat with force.

She escapes from Obito’s hold and crawls around on the floor, trying to find something to destroy. Y/N is trying to process what just happened but she is unable to. She screams in rage, her body in flames from such intense emotions.

“Y/N!” She hears Obito say across the room, but she ignores it, too focused now on ripping one of her sofa’s pillows apart, spreading bits of foam everywhere.

DESTROY!

RIP EVERYTHING APART!

IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT!

“Y/N!” He turns her around, holding her wrists to stop her destruction.

She looks into his eye, his sharingan is active and blood is trickling down from it, a small red stream of red going through his scars on his right side. Y/N tries to make him let go of her, too agitated to even think straight, her mind only focused on letting out everything she’s feeling right now. She then turns her face to the side, feeling too overwhelmed to look at him straight in the eye.

“Y/N, listen to my voice” He tries again as he grabs her face gently and turns her to him. “Can I help you calm down?”

Tears start feverishly rolling down her eyes, the whole situation overwhelming her senses. The sheer anger, anxiety and rage is unbearable to her, she cries in desperation.

LEAVE ME ALONE, I SHOULD BE ALONE!

“Y/N, listen. I can do something to help you calm down, but I’ll only do it with your permission. Can I?”

Under his hold and steady voice, she is able to hear his words with clarity. She feels even more anguished, the mess of thoughts and memories on her mind bothering her far too much. She accepts his help with a nod of her head.

“Stay still, look me in the eye, okay?.”

She does as she’s told. His red eye swirls into a different shape and once she stares at it, her mind goes blank. For a brief second, she forgets everything, even who she is, she feels nothing.

Then everything comes crashing back, all of her past and what just happened in a single punch, a brutal one. She feels sadness, but that is all. Her anxiety peak and anger are gone, she feels calmer and she is able to think properly, at least. She looks up, to see Obito holding his palm up to his eye, hissing in what seems to be pain.

“Obito!”

“I’m fine, I’ll recover in a couple of minutes. Are you better?”

“…Yes. Thank you.” She wipes her tears on her blouse, avoiding the blood stains and letting a breath out, feeling the calmness fulfill her lungs. “What did you do to me?”

“I forced you to calm down with the mangekyou sharingan.”

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Don’t worry. Are you hurt in any way?”

“No, I’m fine now.”

Silence takes over the room, Obito sits on the floor with her. He lets go of his eye, letting out a sigh and cleaning his bloody hand on his pants. He notices Y/N’s staring and throws her a comforting smile. Y/N’s heart tightens seeing it; she turns her gaze away from his.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him make hand signs; a clone pops right beside the Uchiha instantly.

“Inform the village’s intel division on what happened, right now.” His husky voice commands to the clone.

“Yes sir.” His own voice responds back, opening the nearby window and jumping out into the night.

She hears another sigh coming from her mentor while he lays back on a wall and closes his eye.

They sit in complete silence for the next hour, Y/N tries to recall in her mind everything that just took place. As much as she tries to convince herself that she must have misremembered what she saw, she is sure that the mark on Suneku’s neck was similar to… his.

Her trance is broken by Obito getting up on his feet with a contemplative look on his face.

“Y/N, I have to go see the Hokage right now. Are you feeling better?”

She takes a while to process what he just said, her mind somewhere else. After a couple of seconds, she manages to say:

“Yes. Yes, I’m better.”

He kneels down in front of her, his expression serious and grave.

“Promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

“Obito, I…”

“Promise me Y/N.”

“... I promise”

“I’ll be back soon.”

As his clone did, he jumps out of the window.

Y/N is left in the dimly lit room, the only light source coming from the moon outside her window. As the silence takes over, she becomes aware of the metallic scent coming from her clothes, covered in blood. Someone else’s blood.

Taken aback with an overwhelming sense of disgust, she takes everything out right in her living room and heads straight to her bathroom. Under the hot water from the shower, she washes off all of it.

This could have been Obito’s blood. This is what happens when you come close to someone.

She feels something warmer than the shower water touching her face, her own tears. She closes the water, dries herself, heads to her room, dresses up and collapses into her own bedroom. The silence of her home deafens her senses.

 ~”~

 Y/N is awaken by knocks on her door. She does not think to bother with taking off her pajamas. She opens it to find Obito, still dawning last night’s clothes and its stains. He looks tired, he tells her something but she cannot concentrate on what leaves his mouth. She locks in her gaze on the floor.

Whatever he proposed, she refused. Saying that she is fine and that they can talk later.

When she comes to herself again, the door is closed behind her and she is alone again.

Slowly, she regains the ability to think straight as the day goes. She tries to process the all the information from last night, but insistent memories keep on invading her mind. Memories that she has been trying to avoid, memories from a time where she was happy, happy with him.

She grabs her sword from the floor and looks at the symbol engraved in it. Guilt takes over her, once she realizes she have not visited him once since coming into Konoha, she just did not have enough strength to face him.

On impulse, she changes and heads out with the sword in hand, as the afternoon looms over Konoha.

Going through the outer parts of the village, she reaches the cemetery. The greens grass bends over her shoes while a cold breeze flows by. She looks through the slew of names on the graves littering the floor, trying to find the section where Nara clan members should be buried.

She walks by many unfamiliar names, until she locks into the one she has been looking for: Akio Nara. Just looking at his name takes her aback, struck with the realization that here, on this ground, lies what remains of him.

Y/N puts the sword on her lap, holding into it for dear life while she tries to compose herself.

Everyone you care about ends up like this.

Suddenly, a shiver goes through her spine. Someone is right behind her, she did not hear them approaching.

“Y/N.”

Hearing his husky voice calms her, at least it is not an enemy. She gets up and turns around to face Obito, who looks at her with concern stamped on his face and his arms crossed.

“Why are you here?”

“Maybe I should ask you the same question.”

She clicks her tongue and looks at the grass. It is no use trying to hide why she is here; he caught her right in front of his grave, with his name on it. It would take him very little to find it all out anyway.

“I came to visit my former husband”

His eye widens, but he composes himself seamlessly.

“I see.”

“Right.”

He uncrosses his arms, putting his hands on his pockets, also avoiding her eyes. A pout forms on his lips.

“Why did you follow me here, Obito?”

He closes in his gaze onto you again, filled with determination.

“I got worried. You didn’t seem to be feeling okay when I saw you earlier… I mean, you weren’t making any sense when you talked to you on your doorstep, I just didn’t feel ok leaving you alone, alright?”

Turning you back to him, she looks again at the name market on the grave. Controlling her voice as much as she could as to not display any sadness, she says:

“You shouldn’t, it’s my personal stuff and it doesn’t concern you.”

“Well… I… I care, Y/N.”

“You don’t need to” She lets out a mocking huff, then continues: “I assure you that my personal problems won’t affect you missions, sir.”

Obito stands still for a couple of seconds, but moves closer to her and stands right beside her, looking at the grave. He looks at her again, his intensity not bothered by her harsh words.

“Fuck the mission.”

She looks at him with a raised brow, confused. He always is so uptight about everything concerning their objectives; the change in behavior puts her off.

“I was wrong, you’re not an outsider, you’re not an invader, you’re not a burden. You saved me, you were there for me even though you barely knew me. I don’t want you to feel that you’re alone.” Y/N is not able to respond to his words, so he continues: “I know that something has been going through your mind, it’s obvious after your reaction to what happened yesterday. I don’t want to force you to say anything at all, I just want to help somehow.”

She feels as the world’s entire weight has been dropped on her shoulders. Obito’s words dig through her, she feels like a child being caught doing something wrong. She closes her eyes in order to think on what she is going to say next. Her brain pleads her to turn around and walk away, ask the Hokage for a different mentor and ignore Obito for the rest of her life.

Her heart, on the other hand, tells her something different, tells her to act on impulse and talk to him in honesty. This crosses so many of the boundaries she set for herself when she came to Konoha, all the barriers she put up to preserve her own feelings. 

What could go wrong? Just everything!

She gathers all her strength and starts, doing the most reckless thing she has done in years:

“Akio was my best friend. We met each other on the road. My parents had died when I was younger and I had nobody else, so I learned how to survive on my own and how to fight. I grew up to be lonely, until I found a small group of equally young people while traveling out of the Lightning Country; they were mostly runaways and outcasts from their villages, affected by the aftermath of the war. Took me a while to adjust but we grew up to be really close and we helped each other to survive in the wilderness. After sometime, Akio joined the group. Once he revealed to me that he had ran away from his clan from some petty fight with his mother, I convinced him to get back to Konoha, and so he did.”

“Right.”

“A couple of months later, he returned telling me that they had granted him with the highest honor a Nara could have: this sword.”

She shows the sword that Obito had previously asked her about.

“They gave it to him due to number of nukenim he caught while on the road with us. He told me he had come back to us because he felt that he needed to say something important. That was when he confessed his feelings about me”

She fondly smiles once she remembers his words to her back then.

“To sum things up, we stayed together for a couple of years until he proposed to me during one of our visits to his family. We were to be married on the next month when our group stumbled upon a strange building in the middle of the woods.”

She wipes the tears that started to prickle her eyes and continues:

“Akio and I were against entering it, so we stayed outside while the rest of the group scouted it. After a few hours, our friend Shiro came out all deformed and taken over by a strange force. He attacked us, so we had to fight him until I was able to kill him. A strange man emerged from the trees, so we had to abandon our friend’s body and run. A few miles later, Akio passed out.”

Obito nods his head.

“…He got so hurt that he ended bleeding out and… dying on my arms. After leaving all of my friends behind, I couldn’t just leave him there too. I had to, at least, take one of them to their home. I carried him back to Konoha and gave him to his family, for him to have a proper burial. They invited me to stay but I refused, I didn’t want to have to face them. They gave me his sword and promised me that I could come live in Konoha whenever I wanted, but I just left.”

“What made you change your mind and come here? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Well… His last words to me were for me to be happy. I spent a couple of years on the road wandering, trying to understand how could he talk about happiness if everyone I knew was no longer here, if I was alone. Then I started wondering about that “will of fire” he always talked about, that if I focused on something like that I would be of some use, I would have at least a purpose. So… I came to Konoha and asked if the clan’s proposition was still up. His parents had already passed away, but Shikaku Nara talked to the Hokage for me.”

“Okay, but what about the way you have been feeling right now? What happened?” Obito inquired.

“I came here to have a purpose, but I didn’t think about connecting with people on a personal level. I guess… I wasn’t ready for that.”

“Right… I don’t want to be even more intrusive than I’m already being, but… I can relate to how you feel about connecting. Do you mind me telling you something?”

“No… Go ahead.”

“Come here with me.”

The cemetery grows a little darker as the sun begins to set, Y/N follows Obito’s tall silhouette through the graves until they reach the specific one he was looking for. He looks at the headstone, back to Y/N, and then says:

“This was my teammate and my first love… Rin Nohara. We met when we were little and she was the only one who believed on me when even my own clan ignored me, the only one who truly believed in my dream to become Hokage. She was my only friend for a good while. We became shinobi and were on the same team with Kakashi, until the accident that gave me these scars happened and we were separated for some time since I was… stuck in a bad place.”

Y/N agrees with her head to let him go on.

“Well, I was able to escape there when I heard that she and Kakashi were in danger. I… arrived there too late and she ended up sacrificing herself to save the village.”

He looks away, hiding his face. After some seconds, he looks back to Y/N, pain marking his features.

“I went mad. The mangekyou activated and I wasn’t myself for a while. When I finally came back to my senses, I thought about the village and I was angry, I was angry at this shinobi world and all the war in it, all the violence, all the killing. At first, I decided that I needed to destroy it and make a new one, made out of dreams. I later realized that even if I built something entirely new, it wouldn’t be real. The real Rin was gone for good and nothing could change that. What I had to do was change things while facing reality, while being true to what she and all the people that died for the village believed. I killed the man that kidnaped me and returned to Konoha a broken man, but with an objective.”

Y/N is bewitched by flames inside his dark black eyes, gleaming with determination again.

“For a long time I backed away from everyone, cut out all connections and focused on becoming the next Hokage. That was until Naruto was born. Kushina, his mother, invited me to visit him a couple of days after his birth, and I ended up going. When I first held him I knew that I would not be able of keeping my self away from everyone. I still find myself resisting their company, having some difficulty on opening up, but at least I don’t feel completely lonely. And don’t get me wrong, I still feel all the pain, it never goes away, but I was finally able to feel other things also. I might be a little resistant to the people in my life and I do know I can be very unpleasant to be around, but well, things take time. Even I find it hard to follow my own advice of opening up.”

Y/N stays in silence so he can continue.

“What I mean with all of this is… you shouldn’t deprive yourself of caring about people. It’s not that simple. You will end up caring about those around you, and denying yourself of rejoicing in their love won’t save you from hurting when they’re eventually gone. Even if I’m working on making this world better, I still have to admit that it’s natural for people to go away. Again, I suck at following my own advice, but there’s no use in closing yourself in like that.”

Y/N is no longer able to hold it all in, finally letting out all the tears she has been hiding all these years. Obito does have a point, she knows that deep down. Akio will not be back, her friends neither, she knows that this realization was always tucked away deep inside her all this time, but hearing someone say it like that just makes everything so clear.

Obito ungloves his hand and extends it to her, while a small sincere smile creeps onto his lips despite his clear effort to conceal it. Y/N grabs his warm and rough hands and pulls him into a tight hug, a hug she was meaning to give him some time ago. His bigger and strong frame comforts her, a sensation she has not felt in years: sincere trust and warmth. The Uchiha takes a while to reciprocate and carefully wrap his arms around her, letting go of his tense position little by little.

“I’m here, sewer boy cares, ok? Just don’t tell anyone.” He laughs a little while saying it.

They stay like that for some time, separating when small droplets of rain bring their attention back to reality.

“Uh… Let’s go, it’s starting to rain, Y/N.”

“Oh, right.” She says as she wipes away her tears and smiles while glancing at her partner, who reciprocates with a big goofy smile.

“Come, I’ll pay you a bowl of ramen, but just this time!”

Both run off back into the village, and as Y/N gives one last look into the cemetery through the gates, she promises Akio she will do her best to be happy.

[bubbletimestories]

Like a balm on frozen wounds (Bucky x Hydra nurse reader)

First of all, thank you @harlekin6 for the original idea. I'm sure it doesn't suits what you had in mind but I loved the idea of an HYDRA nurse taking care of Bucky so...thank you and lot of kisses.

Summary : What if you were an HYDRA nurse, taking care of Bucky as they try to turn him into a weapon ? What if you were his only spark of light and warmth in the painful darkness ?

Warning : maybe blood, pain, mention of torture, manipulation

Themes : hurt Bucky, HYDRA, healing, torture, comfort, love

*******************************

The ambient humidity makes the walls ooze, giving the impression that they are dripping with black, foul-smelling blood. The hour of glory is far away, the Führer is dead and they had to flee, hide far away in the mountains while waiting for less gloomy hours. In the stench of failed machinations and scientific manipulations, HYDRA continues its experiments in the hope of being ready for a new golden age. Screams tear the silence, an agony that never seems to end even though the person strapped to the table is more dead than alive. His forehead is dripping with sweat, his bones are burning, and his gaze is veiled and haggard like that of an ox at the slaughterhouse. Around him, men in soiled blouses talk, put away their instruments. It is still a failure, it will be necessary to do it again. The same scene seems to repeat itself over and over again and the progress is so slight ... With a weary gesture, a man asks guards to transport the patient to his room, they clean the fluids on the icy tiles, they drag the young man in his dark cell, the rusty door of which is slammed, not without a frail figure having slipped inside. The prisoner must be treated well or there will be no other experience.

The spectacle is more heartbreaking with each visit, the once-vigorous body slumped against the wall, silent and listless. Gently, you wipe the wet forehead, the drool on his chin and above all, you speak to him in a low voice, almost caressing like a lullaby. At first, he refused your presence, being cold and ironic in front of a HYDRA nurse. It took a while for him to accept that you were a prisoner too, refusing your attempts at treatment even though he had never gone too, never violent. You remain a woman and he a gentleman. At least he was. Now the electroshock has burned his humanity, destroyed his sanity even though he still happens to be himself again when calm returns, which he can think a bit. At such times, he repeats his registration number, random words or even first names: Steve, Rebecca... These moments are shorter and shorter, more and more rare but still present. You are now the only one who can hear James B. Barnes and not an empty shell.

"... er ... newspapers ... shoes ... shoes ..."

The prisoner rolls his eyes and mumbles in a broken voice, gradually regaining his foothold in reality after locking himself in to avoid the pain. You suppress a painful sigh as you help him change position. As delicately as possible, you heal his wounds, your eyes moist as every time you see him in this state. A gleam passes through the tired blue eyes and James waves his one arm, too weak to touch you.

- Y/N... Y/N...

- Yes, it's me, Mr. Barnes, it's me. Don't worry, you are safe for now.

A shiver runs through the young man as his face seems to express a little relief, he lets himself go against your hand as you heal his temples. You are not allowed to call him by his real name, you are forbidden to speak to him but whatever, you are not afraid of dying. All that matters to you is to stay close to him, to comfort him. You are the only glimmer of hope and life in the perpetual fog of his existence. Your hand stops for a moment on his unshaven cheek, under your fingers you can feel his face, emaciated by hunger and suffering.

"I'm gonna take care of you, James, I'm there. Don't worry, rest if you can. I won't leave."

No one will be looking for you for hours, you can stay hiding here with the patient, speak quietly to him to chase away the darkness a little. But first, he has to eat, even if it's an infamous cold porridge. With any luck, no rat will have had time to taste it. Making sure James is seated, you pick up the spoon and help him bring it to his mouth, guiding his heavy, aching hand. If they continue to be so violent, he will soon no longer be able to feed himself, you will have to help him. HYDRA doesn’t understand anything, it is just a bunch of brutal and cruel animals. Slowly, very slowly, Bucky comes to his senses a little, eats with more ease even if he remains leaning against you to enjoy your warmth. The idea of ​​kissing you crosses his mind but he still feels too weak right now. His stump hurts, it took all your energy to keep him from succumbing to the fever caused by the infection. You know the doctors have plans, they want to put a prosthesis on him, but as long as he's not a little more docile, it's impossible. One day he will crush them all under his fist.

- Dance... me...

- Promise, when you'll feel better. We'll go to dance.

Your voice shakes a bit, as always when he says he would like to dance with you. When he'll be free, he's gonna thank you, be a charming man like he used to be. Obviously, his thoughts are not that clear but it doesn't matter. Feelings remain. Exhausted, his eyes closed and he slowly falls on your lap to enjoy a little bit of peace, a few hours of rest. As always, you walk with the movement, a cool hand on his forehead as you part the long brown brands to clear his face. Sometimes you happen to hum to help him fall asleep, you love more than anything to see James's face relax as he sinks into unconsciousness and oblivion. In your arms he can taste a little peace and that's all that matters.

"Sleep, sweet soldier. You are safe with me."

He looks much younger when he is enveloped in sleep, sometimes you forget he's only in his twenties. All these tortures, these sessions of electroshock to break, it will end up killing him or turning him into a powerless vegetable. HYDRA scientists are fools, as if sheer violence can produce a result. You know that human beings need comfort, to feel safe. You have to be able to tame an animal other than with a whip. Governing by fear leads to rebellion sooner or later. But ruling from the heart is a more subtle game that pays bigger dividends.

"I'm gonna take care of you, don't worry ..."

Admittedly, James' enslavement produces faster results now that he is only a shadow of himself than if he had had all of his mental and physical faculties. The poor man is in so much pain that he is no longer able to think, not really. Slipping you next to him, caressing his bruised soul is extremely easy, your gentleness creates a flagrant contrast with the tortures of HYDRA, like a balm on burns. He may already whisper your name in his sleep, immediately relaxing upon contact with you. They want to break the soldier, you have already figured out how to reshape him into a more submissive being.

Footsteps are being heard outside, it is time for you to slip away so as not to arouse suspicion. You kiss tenderly the dry mouth of the young man and you feel him respond to your kiss, weakly but with a sigh of pleasure. Whatever they do with him, you know that what you have implanted is deeper, more undetectable. No violence, no key words or manual of instructions. So you come out of the cell with a smile, knowing full well that you will see him again soon. Day after day, you are there to comfort him, to rock him with sweet words by telling him that he is safe with you, that you are going to take care of him. Gratitude mixes with docile love, how could it be otherwise? You are his whole universe, his light in the frozen darkness.

As time goes by, HYDRA's haphazard method begins to bear fruit and they finally get the weapon they dreamed of. Of course, the Winter Soldier still gets startled, wants to attack his masters but he is gentle as a lamb under your hand, hugging you, kissing your lips devoutly, visiting your body like a sacred temple. It doesn't matter if they put him in a box while waiting for him to serve the interests of some madman, you know he will wake up just as amorous and docile and that you will be there to welcome him, whatever the time.

[savethelastdan]

Sesskagu

As the taste strokes my tongue

Thawed is the frozen past

Sweeping over me

Your scars a memory of my affection

The deeper the wound

The fonder my love

The “modern” time, Kagura decides, is boring as hell. 

All the same sins exist in this world - the suffering, the greed, and most of all that desperate clawing for power that paves the streets in blood - and yet, it’s as though someone’s wrung all the color out of it. A life of gray. 

It’s a life, at least, she sighs to herself, jumping from circle to circle of light that the streetlamps paint along the corridor. One that’s more my own than the last. 

Because though there’s a pocket-knife and taser in her purse instead of a fan, and she’s alone this time, having been abandoned by her parents at a temple; and there’s black ink shrouding every inch of skin that her past self would have worn the spider-mark on - 

With every thud of a new heart in her chest, Kagura knows that she’s the same as she ever was. 

She pauses to rest, wincing at the pinch of the too-small shoes against her heels. Her body in this round of living is weaker than the last, and she’s lost the power of flight. But even that is not as painful as the grief that sings within her when the wind runs itself through her hair, and she knows it is not her place to wield it anymore; still, she is not alone in that loss. With the variety of weapons at the humans’ disposal in these times, demons have all but been destroyed or chased away. Perhaps it is a blessing that she cannot locate demonic power inside this version of herself, or else Kagura would suffer again - simply through different means. 

With a sharp swear that echoes throughout the street, she starts walking again. Another figure on the opposite side of the road, just far enough that she can’t make out any of their features, slows as she approaches. Kagura’s hands fold into fists automatically, and she lifts her chin in a clear signal. Don’t fuck with me, pal. I’m not the girl to mess with. 

As they get closer to one another, a burst of cold air rushes past her. It twists her dress to send chills up both legs. She comes to a sharp stop, as the wind’s message rings in her ears. Clear as the lamp’s glow in the night: 

Look.  

The other figure stops too, both hands in their pockets, and twists to face her. Kagura’s heart shudders; for the first time in her new life, she is startled to be reminded of the organ’s presence. 

What on earth...

Night’s shadows pull away from the man’s face, and the rest of the world melts away with them. Kagura has the faint sense of her purse slipping from her shoulder, landing on the concrete with a solid thud. On the other side of the street, Sesshomaru stares back with no less surprise. 

He’s too far away for her to hear, but she sees his lips form her name. The shadows shift, and a pain rips through her chest at the splotches of purple and maroon on his face. 

It takes him only a second to fully turn in her direction. By that time, Kagura’s scooped her purse from the ground and taken off down the street, the heels of her shoes cutting deep into her ankles. 

-

It’s no surprise that he finds her; after all, she had no reason to think this life would be fair to her, either. 

That doesn’t mean that Kagura makes it easy for him. Leaping out the second-story window of the hostel and skinning both knees (and all of the screaming her stupid coworkers do over it) is worth the few days it gives her to mentally process the whole thing. By the time Sesshomaru finally hunts her down again (at the overhang in her favorite park, where she likes to go and people-watch some evenings) Kagura has any of those inconsequential feelings left over from before locked up nice and tight. 

Although, she’d only been able to prepare on the pretense that Sesshomaru is also the exact same as he always was. So, when he sits on the bench next to her and breathes her name in a tone that she never would have imagined was possible, it does catch Kagura a bit off guard. 

“I did not expect to see you again,” he states plainly. 

"Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.” Crossing both arms over her chest, she bites her tongue hard to hold back the litany of questions on her mind - does he still have the sword? Is he alone, and if so, how long has it been? What does he mean, that he didn’t expect it - in the obvious way, or in the way that means he’s wondered?

Gold eyes shift in her direction. “I never would have thought you’d run.” 

Pain - the ghost of a killing blow, one that time patched up but couldn’t undo - heats the skin beneath her blouse. “I didn’t know there were any demons in this time.” 

His jaw softens, and she’s horrifically confused because of course he had to have noticed - the body holding her soul is nothing like his own, her blood sapped of all power. She thought it was a bearable fate, but now...sitting here with someone whose aura still burns with an energy that Kagura recognizes a hundred years after the first time... 

She hunches, feeling sick with jealousy. 

At her obvious discomfort, Sesshomaru leans away an inch. After an excruciating few moments of silence, he speaks again. 

“Are you happier this time?” 

Sheer force of will prevents her from falling off the bench into the grass. “Why do you care?” 

He frowns, and the familiarity of it is a slight comfort, though his next words quickly send her heart back into fierce palpitations.

“Because I have always wondered.” 

“Oh.” She pretends to scratch one ear, trying to hide the stupid blush that this stupid human face wears much too easily. “Well, it’s okay, I guess. Some parts, anyway.” 

The response is a loosening of his shoulders so sharp that it makes her own back ache. 

“It’s a bit lonely, though,” she finds herself saying. “It’d be nice to catch up with someone from the old days.”  Idiot, idiot, idiot -

But Sesshomaru doesn’t look disgusted at the idea, not even when Kagura starts coughing in a manner that only poison could have wrought in her former demon self. Instead, he is almost too quick to agree to her suggestion that they go get something to drink. 

And, after several hours in a coffee shop filling in the gaps of between the past and the present, it’s his idea for him to walk her back to the shitty apartment where she’s staying. 

It’s him who grips her arms before they reach her door, with a balance of firmness and gentleness that should make her suspicious that he’s done this kind of thing before and yet she’s not really all that interested in hearing about it. 

“I am glad,” he says, as seriously as she can remember him saying anything, “that time has given you another chance.” 

And it’s so ridiculous, because Kagura knows that he’s wrong - she should be angry with time! Furious that it separated her from the wind, that it didn’t give her riches and endless comforts, that it sapped her power while allowing Sesshomaru to keep his even though it’s not like he even deserves it -

"I don’t know,” she retorts, gripping his jacket collar with both hands to keep him there. “I think I deserve more.” 

Crashing their mouths together hurts; not just because she maybe could have used a bit more finesse, but also because it brings everything rushing back. Just like when she first noticed him on the other side of the street, all of the past’s feelings reverberate through her in a breath-taking echo, reminding Kagura of centuries worth of yearning. 

Perhaps she’s been running from it. Perhaps he brought it here. Regardless, as Sesshomaru’s hands grip her waist and pull her closer, Kagura swears to herself that, human or not, she won’t accept less than she deserves ever again. 

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 05

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: drinking

A/N: mentions of absinthe. fun fact, my parents favourite drink is absinthe and it is just awful (take it from me, your friendly non-drinking friend who had to drink it once during a friend’s wedding tradition) however i do feel like bucky would enjoy it, idk why. hope you like this chapter, lemme know.  enjoy xx

Next Chapter >>

Hecate rushed with James to Groves of Persephone. These grounds stood in the Elysium, the better part of the Underworld and Hades’ gift to Persephone once she became his wife. It was a beautiful place but even James had to be stunned by, at the height of its beauty it always had various flowers and plants flourishing by and climbing up the white marbled columns of Persephone’s resting place. After Persephone and the original god of Death disappeared from the Cosmos, the Grove became part of James’ possessions as lord of the underworld.

It was where the noblest of souls laid rest and James’ himself could not believe that the Groves of Persephone were part of the Underworld due to the its sheer beauty. However, once he stepped in, the once bright, flourishing, green and colourful themes that gave that place the beauty it did was disappearing. Most of the flowers were dead and some wild plants were breaking through the marbled floors leading to where Persephone and Hades used to lead. 

      - What happened? - James turned to look at the goddess of sorcery, hoping she was playing a trick on him.

     - The Groves are dying. - Hecate pointed at the brown coloured plants. - Is this your doing?

     - Well, yes Hecate. I decided to destroy the only surviving thing from Persephone that gives Demeter some solace.

     - I know you’re joking but it sounds like something you’d do.

     - Call Demeter and everyone else who’s a god of plants. Anthousai, Chloris even Gaia if necessary. This has to be fixed. - James turned on his back not wanting to deal with that right now. Demeter didn’t personally hate him, he hadn’t kidnapped his daughter. However, she thoroughly missed his daughter and has such would visit her Groves every once in a while and gave him the job of protecting Persephone’s jewels. If he destroyed any of those, he’d have to hide forever from the goddess or probably would be turned into a plant. He returned to his office, picking a few books and dumping them on his desk, trying to find a way to figure out what had happened.

The Groves had been tended to by Persephone in the past, with some of Hades’ books even describing it as her regular past time and where the throne room once sat, however, after their disappearance from the universe and James taking the throne, it became tended by the underworld nymphs, the Lampades, which followed Hecate in her night-time reveals and hauntings. He knew them to be extremely loyal to Hecate, more to her than to him, he also knew Hecate to pay her respects to the long gone goddess of spring so that meant the Lampades wouldn’t stop caring for the Groves. 

He spent most of the days going through the books and those letters which Hades used to write to Demeter about his daughter but nothing spoke of any issues with the Groves. 

    - Hades. - he raised his head from the books to see Demeter at the door. Demeter was always one of James’ personal favourite goddesses, mostly due to her demeanour. She was a tall woman, always with sun kissed skin, dressed in green soft fabric dresses covered by ivy plants which contrasted with her always perfectly groomed red hair which always had a crown of wheat placed upon it. Hecate used to say that along with Persephone, Demeter was one of the biggest oponnents to Aphrodite’s beauty. However, with the loss of the daughter and the continuing, ever lasting grief of her lost daughter, gods said the immortal goddess had allowed time to take its toll on her. Nevertheless, Demeter was a kind, fair and mature goddess, knowing exactly what to do and  when to do it. - Hecate has filled me on the occurrences. 

   - Any chances the Lampades might’ve forgotten to care for the Groves?

   - The Nature is dying even with care. Not sure why exactly, I can try and come a few times to tend for the nature. 

   - Any chance Persephone would’ve spoken about anything wrong with the groves in the past?

   - My daughter never really spoke with me after she was forced to leave her husband every year. 

   - I’m sure Persephone shared no hatred towards you. However, the groves are part of the Elysium, we cannot permit any death in the Elysium.

   - I’ll work with my nymphs personally and see what we can do. 

Meanwhile, Y/N hadn’t sleep throughout the day. After James had dropped her off and Anne had returned to her home she just couldn’t sleep so she spent most of the day with a bowl of strawberries by her side, cashmere blanket wrapped around herself as she read her book with the TV on for background noise. It was the weekend, she had mostly nothing to do expect checking her phone every few hours to check for any teachers’ emails, but even them didn’t text them on Saturdays.

She would have ended up her Saturday by falling asleep on her coach if it hadn’t been for Anne climbing through the window by the fire escape. Y/N titled her head up to see Anne in a satin blue dress, her regular unruly locks held behind with some star shaped pins.

  - We’re going out. - she said pushing the cashmere blanket away from her.

  - I don’t wanna go out. - Y/N groaned, cuddling against a pillow.

  - We can only go out on Fridays and Saturdays, since you spent Friday with tall, dark, and handsome, you owe me this.

  - Fine. - she got up from her coach, walking to her room to grab something deemed for going out. She ended up with open toe dark boots, high waisted jeans and a white blouse whose lower fabric she wrapped around her waist.

Anne always went to the same bar. The same old beat up bar that Y/N was 100% sure was more of a spot for drug vending, weird rituals and gang meetings than a bar, however Anne was sure that was the best place to be. The two girls walked into the bar, a weird, unknown tune playing in the background. There weren’t too many people inside, only 5 maximum. However, Y/N’s eyes immediately set on a man sat by the bar. James. She could recognise him anywhere.

   - Anne, I think that’s James. - she casually whispered to her friend, who very unceremoniously turned to check. - Be more discreet will you?

   - You gotta go there. 

   - No, I don’t wanna bother him. He’s alone here by a reason.

   - Now, you listen to me, Y/N. - she unbuttoned two of her friend’s blouse. - You go over there and you ask him for his phone number and you’ll only return once you have his contact name on your phone. 

   - Stop it. - she slapped her hand off but her friend only pointed in his direction: Y/N mumbled a few curses under her breathe, trying to button up the blouse in a manner which wasn’t so bed inviting. As she was about to tap him on the shoulder, he noticed her first.

    - Y/N, I didn’t fancy you one to enjoy these parts. - he spoke in his raspy voice tone. He sounded tired and Y/N wondered if like her he couldn’t sleep. 

   - It’s Anne’s favourite place in town. - Y/N took a place next to him in one of the worn out high chairs. She noticed the fancy cup containing green liquid he was holding. - What are you drinking?

   - Absinthe. 

   - Doesn’t absinthe cause hallucinations? - she furrowed her brow, still mildly interested in how green the beverage was. 

   - Wish it did. - he gestured to the bartender who brought another fancy glass and a nice silver spoon. She watched him prepare something before sliding it over to her. - Give it a try. 

   - Will I hallucinate?

   - Promise you won’t. - he lifted his own glass, cheering it up to her. Y/N downed a bit of the drink, finding it sickeningly sweet, almost like licorish iced tea. Something she didn’t know what to feel about. - I see you don’t like it.

   - It’s too sweet.

   - Sweet people normally don’t like sweet things. - he almost mumbled it under his breathe, but Y/N could hear it which made a heat cripple over her cheeks. 

   - You know, we normally have quite a few outings in my friend group. If you’d gave me your number, I could tell you when. - Y/N didn’t know exactly how to ask him for his phone number. She didn’t want to sound desperate, or too forward.

   - I’m afraid I don’t have one of those, sweetness. - she gave him a nervous smile trying not to show how the small rejection. - However, if you give me yours I can try to get in touch.

   - How would you get in touch without a phone?

   - I could get one or could use a pay phone.

   - That’s old school, don’t you think? - she grabbed one of the small napkins, scribbling her phone number on it and sliding it to him.

   - I like old school, sweetness.

   - I should get back to my friend. - Y/N scratched the back of her neck, noticing Anne waiting for her. 

   - I’ll speak with you later, Y/N.

   - Later, Bucky.

[kayteewritessteve]

DT - Just Drunk 3/3

Description: It’s finally your first date night with Steve, and everything starts out great. But then things start to take a drastic turn for the worst, and you are both left helplessly watching as the night crashes and burns before your very eyes. Whoever said that having best friends was a good thing, clearly lied to all of us... Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 11,470 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG. Warnings: Curse words. Awkward moments. Shitty friends.

Requested: Nah, this is just the third and final part to this mini series.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

It’s finally here!! The final part of Drunk Twitter! And my entry to @justkending milestone celebration!! My prompt will be in bold and was: “Ever wanted to smack someone upside the head with a frying pan?” “Cause I’m getting that feeling right now.” CONGRATS TO YOU, LOVELY, ON YOUR 1000 FOLLOWERS MILESTONE! Here’s to many, many more followers to come for you! You deserve the whole damn world. Oh! And HAPPY BIRTHDAY BEAUTIFUL!! I hope you had a wonderful day, locked in your house lol ❤️❤️❤️

That was hands down the worst date that either you, or Steve, had ever been on, in your entire separate lives. And that was saying a lot, considering Steve was just over 100 years old, and you weren’t exactly a spry young chicken yourself. At least when it came to the dating world, you weren’t.

So why, exactly, was this date such a colossal disaster, you ask? Oh, well, let us show you it in its entirety, from start to finish. Then you’ll understand exactly why, and when, it all went to hell in a handbag.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

Tonight’s the night. After 5 days of intense mood swings, calling your friends crying and begging for pep talks, hardly getting any tasks done at work, issues with sleeping, and a few very large glasses of wine—read, just the straight bottle. No glasses were used, because we aren’t about that life here— It’s finally Friday night AKA your date night with Steve. And—oh fuck, nope, no, nu uh. You can’t do this. You just can’t!

You flop down onto the ridiculous pile of clothes that is now your bedroom floor and try to bury yourself within it. You can’t do this. You really can’t. So instead, you will just burrow into these clothes and they will become your home now. Lindsey and Tyler can drop off food once a week to sustain you, and if you get an extension cord, you could totally rig up your laptop in here.

Note to self: regardless of if you stay buried in these clothes or not, you really do need to get an extension cord. They are honestly useful as fuck.

But back to the main issue at hand here, which was agreeing to this ridiculous date. That was a horrible idea! Honestly, what were you even thinking?! You know you don’t take stress well, that you overthink and panic over even the smallest of upsets, but shit—wait, where was I going with this again? OH! Right! Who do you even think you are? Going on a damn date with thee Steve Rogers! The most gentlemanly, gentleman that ever gentlemaned! Shit!

And then there is you, a washed up journalist with hair that never cooperates, pores the size of Russia, and—you swear that—you walk with a limp, because you are positive that one leg is just slightly shorter than the other. You swear it! On your damn life!

Okay, so maaaaaybe you are overreaching here just a tad, again. But the point still stands. You aren’t special, or a superhero, or ya know, God's gift to the world. You are just you. Y/N Y/L/N. So how is it that you scored a date with thee sweetest, most down to earth, most handsome guy out there? Damn. Maybe good Karma really is a thing?—No, no. You shake your head, vehemently. Because in that case, you would have ended up getting shit on by a bird or something, instead of going on a date with Steve..

Alright, it’s decided. You aren’t going on this date. You don’t deserve to go on this date. You’ll just pick up your phone and call—no! Text! Facing him...err, ya know, what your voice? Shit, doesn’t matter, what does though is the fact that you having to cancel over the phone would just be way too hard, and far too heartbreaking. A text is super impersonal, but much easier. And—hey! Don’t judge us! We never claimed to be courageous! We are basically the damn cowardly lion in human form over here. So come to terms with that. Own it. It’s a part of who we are now.

You groan, moving your arms around languidly over the insane pile of clothes beneath you, in search of your cellular communication device. The movement reminds you of making snow angels as a kid, so just for good measure you move your legs as well, and allow the random procrastinating train of thought to continue on for a few more minutes. Hoping it will calm your nerves even a little.

It obviously doesn’t, but it does cause you to giggle, and locate your phone, so that’s a win, you guess. You pick the phone up and bring it to above your face, your eyes instantly widening when you realize the time. 5:46pm. Shit! Steve is supposed to be here at 6! There is no way you can text and cancel now! You’re willing to bet he’ll be here at exactly 6, and he is probably driving as we speak, therefore he won’t even get your text till he is outside your apartment. And shit, cancelling at this point is just fucking mean. You have to go on this date now, you have no choice.

You groan loudly again as you barrel roll off the pile of clothes and awkwardly climb to your feet, heading over to the mirror to take a second look at the 15th outfit you’ve tried on tonight. But before you can give it a thorough re-looking over, your phone rings abruptly and you jump, almost chucking it across the room. Man, you are clearly far too jumpy tonight, and you always have this weird desperate need to involuntarily destroy your phone. Like what even is that? Your phone continues to ring, and you quickly answer it, not even checking who is calling. “H-hello?”

“Breathe. What are you wearing?”

Lindsey, it’s Lindsey. You glance down, “dark wash jeans, a black sheer blouse, and my black ankle boot heels.” You freeze, realization and then irrational fear taking hold, as you stare back at yourself in the mirror. “Oh shit, do you think I’m too underdressed? Oh crap! I am, aren’t I? I should have worn a dress! He’s from the damn 30’s! Oh fu—“

“Woman!” Lindsey cuts you off, “just breathe, babe, damn. You are overthinking this whole thing way too much. Your outfit is perfect, I bet you look like a freaking fox right now, and I know for a fact you will blow Steve away. So just simmer your shit a little, okay?”

You nod slowly to your reflection, realizing Lindsey can’t see the action you quickly mumble. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be okay, I look fine, I’m fine. I’m breathing now. Promise.”

“Very convincing,” Lindsey snarks and you can damn near hear her rolling her eyes at you.

You are about to snark back at her, but a few light knocks on your door halt the words in your throat. Shiiiiit! He’s here!

“Fuck! Linds!” You hiss. “He’s here! What do I do?!”

“Jesus,” she sighs, exasperated, “you get off the phone and answer the door! And then have a wonderful fucking night. It’s that simple.”

“Okay. Okay. You’re right, again, it sounds simple enough. I got this.” Yet the words don’t sound convincing at all. At least not to your ears.

“You do,” she reaffirms. “Now repeat after me, I look great. I will rock this damn date. I will blow him away with my looks and my interesting and funny conversation topics. Because I got this shit on lock.”

“Yes, I second everything you just said. But I have to go! Bye!” You pulled the phone from your ear and are just about to hang up, when you hear.

“Wait!!” Ring from the phone's speaker, and you halt from hanging up, putting the phone back to your ear.

“Yes?” You question in a rushed manner, needing to get off the phone so you can answer the door and not leave Steve Rogers standing idly in your hallway for all your neighbours to see.

“Call me as soon as the date ends!! Or there will be hell to pay!” She warns. “I want all the dirty details, so don’t forget a damn thing! And most of all, have fuuuuun!” She singsongs the last part.

“Will do! Bye!” You hang up quickly before she can say anything else. Was that rude? Probably. Do you care at the moment? Not in the slightest. You’ll make it up to her later.

You rush from your room, closing the door behind you so he can’t catch even a small glimpse of the chaos that has become your bedroom floor. Then you make your way to your front door, pulling on your heel booties and grabbing your jacket from the back of your dining room chair before pulling it on as well. With one last look at yourself in your entryway mirror, you pull open your door and your heart damn near leaps from your chest at just the sight of him alone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

Finding her address took way less time than he thought it would, and once he parks he realizes just how early he is. He couldn’t go up yet, could he? No, no, arriving too early is ‘bad form’, as Sam had put it, and ‘makes you look too eager,’ as Bucky had added. Both men were not being overly helpful, at all. But then Nat had piped up, and said to ignore both guys, and the true reason you don’t want to show up too early is because she probably won’t be ready, and it’s never good to rush a woman’s pre-date prepping process. So after Nat’s words of wisdom replay in his mind, he decides to wait it out, and head up closer to 6. Not wanting to rush you in any way, shape, or form.

But the second the clock clicks to 5:55, he is out of the car and halfway to your apartment's front door. He is just about to buzz your number, when another resident exits the door and sees him standing there. The residents eyes widen comically upon realization that Captain America is currently standing outside their apartment, and with a few stuttered words of praise and thanks, the resident steps aside, still holding the door, and allows Steve access to the apartments lobby.

With a sincere and rushed ‘Thank you’, Steve makes his way into the building and up to the 4rd floor to your apartment door. He glances down at his watch and sees that it’s now 5:59, right on time, he thinks. He quickly pats down his clothes, trying to smooth them out and eradicate the wrinkles from sitting in the car for so long. And just as the clock ticks over to 6:00, he takes a deep breath, and raises his hand, knocking loudly on the fake wood door.

His super soldier ears pick up the shuffled sounds of movement and the murmur of a soft voice through the door. Though he can’t make out the words, and yes, if he focused himself he probably could, but your privacy is still important to him. Even though he’s sort of taken it away from you once or twice in the past. Be it by looking at Tony’s file on you, or constantly creeping your social media accounts. Granted, social media is you putting it out there to the world, so it’s not exactly a breach of privacy. But yet, it still made Steve feel weird and creepy for doing it, so that sort of counts, at least in his mind it does—

The door abruptly opening cuts off Steve’s train of thought, and then the sight now before him causes his mind to just blank. With no hopes in it recovering anytime soon, because you are breathtaking. More beautiful than the last time he saw you, and that’s saying something because he was almost rendered speechless the first time. And this time, he is.

How the hell is he going to make it through this night, if he can’t even say a word from just the sight of you, alone?! Oh hell, he’s doomed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

A silent moment goes by, neither one of you uttering so much as a syllable. Just both standing there, staring at each other and speechless. Finally you find your voice and drag it back from its hiding place. “Uh, hi,” you wave awkwardly—And woooow, clearly you only dragged a part of it back. And also, a freaking wave?!? What are you, 12? You’d facepalm right now, if it weren’t for the tall blonde standing directly in front of you currently.

Steve gives you a shy smile, and an awkward wave in return, “Hi.”

Okay, so at least you aren’t the only awkward one. That’s good, you guess. “Shall we?” You ask, pointing past Steve at the empty hallway.

He nods quickly, “yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” And then he steps out of the doorway to allow you room to exit your apartment. You quickly do, turning to close and lock your door, and then you direct your attention back to the Adonis beside you, as you both begin to walk towards the stairwell door.

A silence looms over you both, you aren’t exactly sure what to say, and it would appear Steve has the same sentiments. You make your way down the stairs and out your apartment buildings front door, and then you freeze. Completely. You gape at the all black car, currently parked on the curb outside your building. “Is that,” you pause, your voice barely coming out above a whisper, so you clear your throat, “is that a Mclaren P1?” You turn to look back at Steve, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open.

He gives you a bashful look, “it is. I’m sorry, I was planning to bring my bike, but then Nat told me you might be wearing a dress, and that even if you weren’t, the helmet would just mess up your hair,” he trails off, glancing at the car and mumbling, “So Tony forced me into taking this ridiculous car.”

You chuckle softly and turn to look back at your dream car, sitting just 25 feet away. “Not ridiculous at all. If I ever won the lottery, that’s the first thing I’d buy,” you gesture to the car and then a cold sweat rips through you, and you quickly look down to inspect your clothes. Or rather, the ass of your jeans.

There is no way in hell you are getting in that car, until you are positive there isn’t a single thing on your jeans that could accidentally be transferred to the seats. You could NEVER afford to replace one of those seats, they are insanely expensive and your measly junior journalist pay would not cut it. You’d be back paying till you were old and grey. No! Longer than that, you’d have to leave your debt owing to Tony Stark in your damn Will. So that your poor children and grandchildren could continue to pay it off after you’re dead and gone. That’s how expensive they are.

A soft chuckle from behind you causes your eyes to flick up and realize that Steve is watching your every move. Including how you just checked your own ass out. Wonderful. Way to go, smart one!

“Ah, shall we?” You ask, yet again, as clearly that’s the only words you have in your repertoire tonight. Some journalist you are. Steve gives you a large grin, and nods, then he places his hand on your lower back and leads you towards your dream car. And if this wasn’t a first date, and that wasn’t Tony Stark's car, you’d have totally asked if you could drive it. But you refrain, this time.

Steve lifts up the passenger door for you,—yes, ‘lifts up’. Butterfly doors are just far too damn cool for words!— like the gentleman he is and you thank him quietly as you slip in. And the second the door is closed, your eyes excitedly bounce around the car's interior, taking in all of it as you may never get a chance to sit in a Mclaren again. And you don’t want to miss or forget a single detail about this damn car.

Steve slips into the driver's seat and clicks in his seatbelt, reminding you that you should probably do the same. So you quickly click yours in as well. Then he turns to you, “you like cars, I take it?”

“Something like that,” you chuckle as he pushes a button to start up the car and it roars to life. Which yeah, that causes your insides to do a little happy dance of excitement at just the sound of this beast alone. “My dad was a mechanic, and an avid supercar enthusiast. So I grew up around cars and at race tracks.”

Steve hums his acknowledgement of your words, as he pulls away from the curb. “I’m more of a bike guy, myself. But I can appreciate a beautiful car.”

You smile at him, happy that you’ve both managed to get over your initial awkwardness and settled on a topic you are comfortable and knowledgeable in. “I like bikes as well, though I’m nowhere near coordinated enough for two wheels, so I stick to four.”

He chuckles, and takes a second to glance over at you before focusing back on the road, “Well, I’ll have to take you out on my bike one day,” he pauses and then quickly adds, “If um, if you’d be interested in that?”

You nod enthusiastically, “I’d really like that.”

You see the hint of a smile form on the side of his lips, “okay. I can make that happen.”

Then what his words actually meant hits you, and you freeze up again. Because, wait, did he just ask you on a second date?! Did he just imply that he already knows he wants a second date? Even before this one has actually started? Shit, what are you supposed to do with that information?! Thank God your frazzled and slightly slow mind hadn’t clued into this until after you’d answered him. Or you could have just ended up not replying at all, and making the poor guy think you didn’t want to see him again. Or that you weren’t enjoying yourself so far. Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

You pull your head out of your ass, and decide to ignore your insecurities and fears, and just talk to Steve. So you start asking him simple questions about himself, nothing too deep, just surface stuff, and as the car ride continues on, you find yourself relaxing more and more.

You both just talk the entire way to the restaurant and before you know it, the car is coming to a stop and Steve is climbing out and handing the valet his keys. He quickly makes his way around to your side and opens up the door before you can even attempt to get it yourself, he offers you a hand and helps you out, and yeah, that makes you swoon a little more. But just a little.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

As he pulls open the restaurant's door for Y/N, and guides her inside, he starts to finally calm down. Thank God his implication of wanting a second date so soon into the first one, hadn’t scared her off. Bucky had told him to play it aloof, leave her wanting more. Sam had told him to be cool, and to think before he spoke. And Nat had told him, once again, to ignore the guys and just be himself. If he wanted to say something to her, to just freaking say it. Be open, and honest, and not some fabricated asshole or casanova. Because that wasn’t him, and girls could usually see right through that shit. So he’d once again decided to go with Nat’s advice, as hers seemed the least scary. And the most realistic.

But when the words had left his mouth, he’d almost groaned and banged his head against the steering wheel. Because who the hell brings up a second date, 5 minutes into the first? That was way too eager of him, to just assume she’d even be interested in the first place. But yet, it had worked out in his favour, because she’d replied instantly, and excitedly, that she’d really like that. So maybe just being himself, and saying what was in his head was the best option after all. It did score him a second date, so clearly this was going well. If he was any judge of things, that is.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

Your eyes land on the beautiful young woman standing behind a podium, and the moment her eyes flick up and locked on you both, a large grin forms on her lips. You honestly don’t know what to make of the smile, it’s not exactly one you’d have expected, and you can’t place why it makes you feel so awkward.

It’s odd for sure, but then she speaks and her voice is a polar opposite to her grin. It’s sweet and soft, and calming. “Good evening you two, do you have a reservation? Or just looking for a table?”

“We have a reservation, under Rogers,” Steve answers and you aren’t sure if he is getting the same odd vibes as you are, maybe he is used to people reacting weirdly to his presence. Or maybe, you are just finally going fully crazy, but one glance up at the large blonde, and seeing the slight furrow of his brow, tell you that this isn’t normal, or maybe he is picking up on the same weird vibes that you are. So you aren’t going crazy—at least not this time, you aren’t.

She nods quickly, then picks up two menus and asks you both to follow her. She leads you through the restaurant and to a back corner table. “Here you are,” she says as she places the menus down on the table. “Your waiter will be with you shortly,” she adds, and you are positive that she is trying not to laugh. But you have no idea why. So far, every moment you’ve spent in this restaurant has been so damn weird. But you put that thought out of your mind as she leaves you both alone and scurries off back to her podium.

Steve helps you out of your jacket hanging it on your chair, then he pulls the chair out for you, and you thank him as you sit. He moves to sit across from you, as your eyes flick back over to the woman at the podium, and you notice she is watching you both. Clearly trying to hide that fact, but it’s pretty damn obvious. Once Steve is settled, you snap your eyes back to him, “that was weird, wasn’t it?”

He peers over his shoulder and also glances at the hostess for a second, before turning back to you. “Yeah, that was odd.”

“Does that always happen to you? Do people react to you like that all the time?”

He shakes his head, “sometimes they react, but never like that. That was a first for me.”

You nod, chuckling quietly as you pick up your menu and open it, “okay, so I wasn’t the only one that thought that was weird.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

“No,” Steve chuckles as he opens his menu as well. “You weren’t.”

He has never had someone react to his presence like that, he’s had people cry, scream, and laugh uncontrollably. Hell, he’s even had a few people faint, but never has a stranger reacted like that to him before. He isn’t sure what to make of the grin she gave him, it was almost like she was in on something that he wasn’t. And he did not like that thought, not one bit. He pushes the thoughts from his mind, as they both take a few moments to peruse the menus quietly.

A shadow falls over the table and Steve assumes the waiter has arrived, he continues to look over the menu as they place two waters on the table and begin to speak. “Good evening, my name is,” there is a strange pause and then a very awkward sounding, “Will,” is added. “And I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you both off with something to drink?”

Steve furrows his brows, because he is sure he recognizes that voice. He is 100% positive that he’s heard it many, many times—You have got to be kidding him!? His eyes snap up and lock onto a very familiar set of brown eyes, and then his narrow into a glare. And even with very real looking facial hair, he could spot Sam from a damn mile away. What the fuck is Sam doing here? And as his waiter, no less. And just like that, the hostess’ reaction now makes perfect freaking sense.

Steve quickly glances at Y/N, hoping she hasn’t looked up just yet, seeing that she is still buried in her menu, then he flicks his eyes back to ‘Will’ and he narrows them. The aforementioned ‘waiter’ just gives him a cheeky grin in return. ‘What are you doing here?’ He mouths to his soon to be ex best friend.

‘Taking your drink orders,’ Sam mouths back with a ‘duh’ expression on his face, causing Steve's eyes to narrow even more in warning.

“I’ll just take an iced tea,” Y/N pipes up and Steve shakes his head before begrudgingly saying, “and I’ll take a beer, whatever’s on tap.”

“Excellent choices,” Sam says excitedly and shoots Steve one more cheeky grin before he damn near runs away from the table. Leaving Steve feeling super confused, very irritated and entirely nervous as to just what his friend—hold that thought, he quickly glances around the restaurant, and his eyes lock on a table on the other side with three men and a woman, all in horrible disguises and he instantly knows who they are. Bucky, Tony, Clint and Nat—what his friends, he corrects in his head, have planned. Seriously, what the hell are they doing?!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

After ordering your drink, you finally decide which meal you’d like and then you place your menu down and glance up at Steve, curious if he’s decided yet or not. But before you can ask, you notice that he looks super out of it now. Like he is lost in thought, and he is entirely focused on something at the other side of the room. You glance over and see that he is looking—read, glaring—at a table with a few people sitting at it. “Do you know them?” You ask quietly, as you just continue to stare at them as well.

“Hmm?” He questions, “who?”

You turn to look at him again, seeing that his focus is now back on his menu. And once again, you feel extremely weird. “The people at that table over there,” you tip your head in it’s direction.

He looks up at you for a second, silently, before he rubs the back of his neck and glances back down at his menu. “Ah, possibly. I just ah, I think I know them from somewhere, but I can’t really remember exactly where.” He shrugs, “probably from work.”

You nod, his answer seeming a little forced and awkward, but you decide to just drop it. “So, any ideas on what you’d like to eat?”

“I was thinking the steak. It sounds delicious.”

“That’s what I was thinking about getting as well,” you smile to yourself, realizing you both seem to enjoy the same foods. Clearly that’s another thing you both have in common. Score!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

His eyes continue to dart between the table with his so-called ‘friends’ and the beautiful woman across from him. He is furious at his team for crashing his date, and with each passing second he only becomes more and more angry. How could they do this to him? He was nervous enough about this date, and now they had to go and add more stress onto his already frazzled nerves.

It’s taking everything in him not to go over there and tell them all to leave. His eyes snap back to Y/N, and he wants to smack himself for barely paying any attention to the story she is midway through telling. Here he is supposed to be learning all about her, or at least learning about her first hand, instead of only going on the outside information he learned from Tony’s invasion of privacy folder.

And if barely paying any attention to his date, isn’t bad enough, he also lied to her about the occupants of that stupid table. He knows exactly who they are, but in a split second decision, he chooses to not inform Y/N of that. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel uncomfortable in any way. And his nosy friends crashing their date to spy on them, yeah, that makes him uncomfortable and he knows them. He can’t imagine how she’d react to this all, so he decided to keep their presence to himself. At least until he figures out exactly what they have planned, and why the hell they thought it was a good idea to crash his date.

He vows right then and there to tell her about his shitty friends once they leave the restaurant, and apologize for his white lie at that point. But that doesn’t really relieve his guilt over all of this, nor his stress.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

It’s not hard to tell Steve is distracted by something, and you’d have to be blind to not notice him constantly glancing over at that table. To his credit, he is doing a pretty good job at hiding his immense interest in the four occupants, but you still noticed.

And maybe that has something to do with the fact that you’ve been talking about Eggo waffles and Oreos for the last 5 minutes, having ran on a hunch that he wasn’t really paying attention to you, and that hunch having turned out to be correct.

So here you are, telling him all your favourite flavours of Oreo, and describing exactly how you eat them. You are curious just how long it will take him to clue in and question you on your current conversation topic. So far, the timer just passed 5 minutes and is still going strong.

You have no idea who the people at that table are, but you figured Steve would tell you if you had anything to worry about. And since he hadn’t yet, you were trying to ignore the small pang of fear that they were bad people, hell-bent on hurting him, you, or both. He did deal with lots of bad, bad people in his line of work though. Or rather, he pissed off a lot of them. So you could only imagine how many wanted to cause him harm, or the people around him—But we aren’t focusing on that at the moment. One issue at a time here.

The waiter returns to drop off your drinks and take your food orders, and you don’t miss the small glare Steve sends him, which yeah, that’s fucking odd as well. You have no idea what this waiter did to him, but you can only assume it probably has something to do with the table of four. Maybe the waiter is a baddy as well?—Shit, if that is the case, then they have you both surrounded.

And what if they poison the food? Oh God! Maybe you should fake a tummy ache and see if Steve will take you home early? Ya know, just to be safe—you shake your head gently. Don’t be silly, like you already thought, if anything was wrong or if you were in any danger, Steve would have told you. Or at least made sure to protect you, he was a freaking superhero after all—

“Oreos?” He asks finally, the cutest furrow in his brows at his confusion on the current topic. The one you’d picked right back up the second the waiter walked away.

And you chuckle, that only took him 10 minutes. Not bad. But not really great either, you guess. “I like Oreos,” you shrug, trying to act casual. “So tell me a little about yourself. What kinds of sweets does Steve like?”

He chuckles, “I guess Oreos are pretty good, I’m also a fan of them. But my all time favourite are Reese’s peanut butter cups.”

“Really?” You ask leaning forward on your hand with your elbows on the table, genuinely intrigued by his choice in chocolate.

“Yeah,” he chuckles again. “When I woke up from the ice, I was really surprised to see that Reese’s were still around. I remember when they first started selling them, or at least when I first started buying them, back in the early 30’s. Though they were sold individually back then, and at only 2 cents a piece,” he chuckles a little more, shaking his head as he does. “It still boggles my mind how much has changed since then, but yet, some things have stayed exactly the same.”

“I can’t even imagine,” you say honestly, “what else has stayed the same?” And just as he starts to tell you a few other things, your eyes catch movement behind him and you glance towards it. Seeing an older woman sitting at a table, one away from yours, and facing you. With what looks like an older man sitting across from her, but you can only see the back of his head. But then you notice that she is looking down at the phone in her hands, intently, as it’s raised up in the air, above her table. What is that woman even doing? Is she—is she taking freaking pictures of you!?

Your eyes focus in on the phone in question and—wait a fucking second! Is that a damn cat DJing a pizza, in space?! You audibly gasp, as your eyes snap back up to lock on the ‘old ladies’, who is now looking at you and then yours narrow, accusingly. And at least the woman has the good sense to avert her eyes, quickly, but the damage has been done. So you then assess the back of the ‘old mans’ head, and come to an unwavering realization.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmm?” You flick your eyes back to Steve’s. “Oh, yeah. Yep. I’m just dandy,” your eyes again lock on the stupid ‘old woman’. “I just have to use the ladies room, I’ll be right back.” You abruptly stand, barely getting the words out before you quickly run away from your table. You glance back to make sure Steve isn’t watching and then forcefully yank the ‘old’ woman and man from their spots and drag them to the bathrooms with you. Not giving them a moment to protest.

Then the moment the door shuts you whirl around on them, grabbing the woman’s grey hair and pulling on it, leaving you holding a wig in your hands and glaring daggers at your, so called, best friends. If you weren’t so angry right now, you’d have commented on this being a wig snatching great time. But you're furious. Fuming, even.

“I really shouldn’t be in here,” Tyler points out unhelpfully.

“Oh please,” you scoff, “I’m more likely to check out the women in this bathroom than you are.”

He presses his lips together, nodding in agreement but he is smart enough to keep his lips zipped. Your eyes move over to glare menacingly at Lindsey.

“Look, we can explain,” she puts her hands up in submission.

“I sure fucking hope so,” you scold, crossing your arms like a pissed off parent. “Well, let’s hear it then. Come on, out with it. What could have possibly possessed you both to crash my date? Hmm?”

“It was his idea,” Lindsey points to Tyler, at the same time he points to her, “it was her idea.”

They both gasp, scandalized, and glare at each other. “Liar!” They say in unison. Another gasp from both, “I am not!” and again, in unison.

You feel like they rehearsed this, they had to have. And if, by the off chance that they didn’t, then they clearly share the same wave link. And obviously a dumb one, at that.

“Okay, whoever’s idea it was aside,” you wave a dismissive hand around. “You both not only agreed to crash my date, but followed through with that stupid plan. So how I see it, you are both at fault here.” You sigh, some of the wind in your sails vanishing, “now, the real question is what the hell guys?” You shift your eyes between the two, “you both knew how excited and nervous I was for this date, how could you think this was a smart idea? The last thing I needed was more stress added into the mix. And the fear of Steve realizing you are both here, now that adds a lot of unnecessary stress onto me.”

“Sorry,” they both mumble with their heads down, like scolded children. And you believe you are getting through to these two knuckleheads. Buuuuuut then Tyler has to go and ruin it, “but it was actually Lindsey's idea, just to clarify.”

Linds jerks her head up and glares at him, “it was ‘our’ idea, traitor!” She hisses out. And just like that, they are back to bickering again.

You groan loudly and clench your eyes shut, taking a deep calming breath before you intervene, “okay, enough!” They both snap their mouths shut and turn to you. “I don’t have time to stand here and listen to you both argue. Unless you forgot, I’m sort of supposed to be on a date right now, and I’ve now been standing in the women’s bathroom for an entirely too long amount of time. Steve’s going to think I encountered a damn basilisk or something,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Do you think he’d even understand that reference?” Tyler asks the room, then turns to Lindsey, “do you think anyones shown him those movies yet?”

Lindsey gives him an odd look, “of course he’s seen them. They are a huge part of this generation, there is no way that no one in his life has shown him the Potter franchise yet.”

Tyler nods slowly, “unless his friends all suck, I guess.”

“Very valid point, Ty—“ Linds starts but you cut in.

“Not important at the moment, guys,” you say as you uncross your arms and point a menacing finger at them. “Now, I’d ask you both to leave, but I know you won’t listen to me. So instead, I’ll ask that since you both are hell-bent on crashing my date, the least you could do is not be so damn obvious about it. Please, no more photos, and for the love of God, do not let Steve know you both are here, got it?”

“Got it,” they both mumble. Then Tyler quietly says, you think mainly to himself, “but Harry Potter is always important.”

You ignore his comment and walk passed both of them and exit the bathroom, not having anything else to say to either of them. Because honestly, it would just be a waste of time, those two do exactly what they want, no matter what you say or how you reason with them. So there isn’t even a point in wasting the breath at the moment. They will stay and lurk on you and Steve either way. However, you honestly wouldn’t change either of them for the world. They may frustrate the hell out of you, but you get them back all the time. It’s a 50/50 thing, for sure.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

The moment she is up from the table and has walked off, he pulls out his phone and brings up the group chat to fire off a message. ‘What the hell are you guys doing here?’

His eyes flick up to watch his friends, as they each pull out their phones and read his text. Then they all look over at him and give him their best innocent smiles, and then his phone vibrates with a message and he glances down to see it’s from Tony. ‘We are just here for dinner, such a coincidence that we happened to pick the same restaurant as you two.’

Steve shoots Tony a glare before checking that Y/N isn’t in sight and standing up to stomp over to their table. “Oh yeah? Just getting dinner, hey? Then what’s with the get ups,” he flicks the obviously fake wig on Bucky’s head, causing the Jerk to swat his hand away just as he continues on to hiss out, “and why the hell is Sam our waiter?”

“Look, Steve,” Nat starts and his heated glare snaps to her, causing her to put her hands up in surrender. “I had no hand in this idiotic plan, it was entirely their idea,” she points at Bucky and Tony, causing the latter to gasp and the former to—well, to look pretty fucking guilty, if you ask Steve. But she just turns back to Steve and continues on, “I only chose to join them to make sure they didn’t fuck your date up too badly.” Then Clint pipes up, also putting his hands up in surrender, “and I’m just here for the food.”

“Traitors,” Tony accuses in a hissed whisper.

Clint just shrugs, and Nat looks at Tony and crosses her arms, “you can call me whatever you like, Tony. But I refuse to get on Steve’s bad side because of your stupid ideas. No fucking thank you, that’s a bullet I won’t take for you.”

Tony shoots her one last glare before correcting his features and turning to Steve, clearly trying to salvage the situation. “We just wanted to be here for moral support. In case you needed any backup. Isn’t that right, Manchurian Candidate,” he elbows Bucky for support, but the Jerk knows that no matter what they say, Steve will be pissed. So best to keep his mouth shut for now, which is blatantly obvious by the way he presses his lips together and refuses to look at Steve.

“Bullshit,” Steve says as he crosses his arms. “Your choice to be here has nothing to do with backing me up, but I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you. I’m supposed to be on a fucking date and I can barely focus on Y/N with you assholes sitting here. So eat your food and get out, we will talk when I get back to the tower,” he says that last part like a threat. They are so fucking in for it when he gets home, and he wants them all to know it. “And tell Sam to let a real waiter take over, I dunno who you all bribed to let you pull this shit, but if a real waiter isn’t the next person to approach my damn table, I’ll be even more pissed off,” then with that said, he spins on his heel and quickly makes his way back to the table. Glad that Y/N hasn’t come out of the bathroom just yet, so she didn’t see him scolding the table of assholes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

You quickly make your way back to the table, seeing Steve sitting by himself and feel like an asshole for taking so long, scolding your shit ass friends. You quickly retake your seat and feel the need to apologize. “Sorry that took so long,” you pause, because what the hell excuse are you supposed to use!? Shit, you should have thought about this before you sat back down! “Ah, just as I was washing my hands, my um, my mom called.” Shit, that was a horrible excuse. What is wrong with you?!

“Oh?” Steve asks hesitantly, “is everything okay?”

“Oh yes, yeah,” you nod quickly. Maybe too quickly but no taking it back now. “She just forgot I had a date tonight, I told her I’d call her back later.”

He seems to give you an odd look for a moment, before finally nodding and glancing around the restaurant. “Does it feel like the food is taking a really long time, or is it just me?”

You glance around as well, not seeing a single waiter or waitress in sight, “no, it’s not just you. I think we ordered like 30 minutes ago, maybe?”

He nods, “yeah, something like that.”

“I’m sure it won’t be much longer,” you comment, trying to be positive. “And it just means we get more time to talk.”

He smiles at you, “well, in that case, let’s hope the food never comes.”

And swooooon. You couldn’t not swoon over his words even if you tried. You give him a grin, and you know for a fact that it’s probably the biggest, goofiest thing he’s ever seen, but you can’t help it. “Fingers crossed,” you trail off from starting a new conversation as you see your, so called, friends doing the walk of shame from the bathroom and retaking their seats at their table. And before you can stop yourself, the words are already leaving your mouth, unfiltered. “Ever wanted to smack someone upside the head with a frying pan?” You abruptly ask, and then mumble out, “Cause I’m getting that feeling right about now.”

Steve snorts and you realize he was mid sip of his beer when you asked, and you watch as he quickly gulps down his mouthful, before his eyes flick over to the table of four for a second, then snap back to you. “All the time, actually.”

You give the table an inconspicuous side eye, and notice there are actually now five people sitting around it. So they have clearly gained another occupant, you see. And, that’s neat. Glad to see the baddies are growing in number. Excellent. Just freaking excellent. This night is not going to plan, not one fucking bit. And seriously, where the hell is your food!?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

He glances down at the watch on his wrist and sees that it’s now, 7:27. Their reservation had been for 6:30, and so they have now been waiting on their food for at least 40 minutes. He is willing to bet that his ‘friends’ have something to do with why their food is taking so long, just another thing he will scold them all for later.

And the longer the food takes, the more intense of a scolding they’ll get. Mark his words now, this will be the last time they ever pull a stunt like this on him or anyone, ever again. He’ll make sure of it.

“Sorry for the delay,” a new voice chimes in from about them, and Steve glances up to see his first unfamiliar face since the hostess. “Ah, Will had a um, an emergency, so my name is Kyle, I’ll be taking over for him.” He places two new drinks down to replace the now two empty ones. “These drinks are on the house, as an apology for the wait. But it shouldn’t be too much longer for your food to be ready.”

Y/N thanks the new—actual—waiter, and Steve just nods, a small triumphant smile on his face as he glances over at the table, to see Sam now sitting with the others. Good, at least they can still follow orders, that will win them some points with him tonight.

The new waiter—Kyle—scurries off back to the kitchen door and Steve turns his attention back to Y/N. “Did you have a better time at work, this week?” He asks, genuinely curious how this recent week went, since he was more than aware that her last week hadn’t been very fun for her. He’d been meaning to ask about how she was doing with the media and the new popularity all night, as he had worried all week about her.

And just as she started to tell him all about her week, he lifts up his fresh beer and takes a very generous gulp. Only for the fact that as a super soldier, Steve can’t get drunk. At least not off regular beer. Though he furrows his brows once the cold liquid slides down his throat, because—does this taste different than the last beer he had? Wouldn’t they give him the same one he’d ordered before?

He internally shrugs, maybe they just ran out of the other beer so they gave him this one instead. It’s no big deal, he really likes the taste of this new one, and it was free. If there is anything Steve’s learned since waking up from the ice in this new—and expensive—era, it’s that you should never ever pass up free things. So he’ll drink it either way, even if just for that simple fact alone.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

After a few more minutes of just talking about both of your weeks, the waiter returns and finally places your food on the table in front of you. And not a moment too late, you were seriously beginning to weigh the pros and cons of cannibalism—Okay, maybe you were going that extreme yet, but you were getting pretty dang hungry for sure.

You and Steve don’t waste a second, and both cease the conversations as you start to eat your respective meals, as the waiter scurries off to wherever waiters go while the patrons eat. Probably to check on the other customers. Your eyes drift back to the table of fo—five now, and you see them all eating their food now as well. So you allow yourself a moment to just breathe, and eat, and pretend like that table still isn’t worrying you. A lot.

After another few moments, and most of both your plates now empty, you see that Steve has finished his beer. But you only make that observation because he accidentally slams the glass down on the table, not breaking the glass, but the look he gives it after the loud clanking bang, leads you to believe he didn’t mean to be that forceful with it.

Your eyes flick up to his face, and you see he is a little flushed now, his eyes a little bloodshot and—wait, is he drunk?

“This food was amazing!” He damn near yells, and yep, yeah, you believe he is in fact drunk. Oh lordy, this should be fun..

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

Something isn’t right. He don’t feel ..right. He glances around the room, but quickly halts his eyes when he feels like the room is rocking. Spinning almost and that makes his stomach do somersaults. His eyes look down to his now empty glass, his brows furrowing, he can’t get drunk. But yet, he feels drunk. He feels just like he did that day Thor let him try the Asgardian mead—his eyes snap over to the table of his ‘friends’ and it instantly hits him—The beer didn’t taste weird because it was different, it tasted weird because they freaking spiked his drink.

Oh, they are so going to pay for this one. He huffs, as he attempts to glare holes in the sides of his ‘friends’ heads. They are all making a point to not look his way, they know they're in shit now. The fuckers—

“Who’s going to pay?”

Steve’s eyes widen as they flick back over to meet Y/N’s. Shit, did he say that out loud?! And before he can even attempt to come up with a quick cover up, his lips are moving and spilling the truth, much to his surprise and dismay. “My horrible friends,” he manages to get a hold of his lips before he says anything more, he presses them together in an effort to keep the rest of his words in. However, the adorable confused expression now on Y/N’s face makes him smile, and he is sure he looks like a crazy person at the moment. But honestly, he doesn’t really care at the moment. Maybe he will later, but not right now. “You’re adorable when you frown,” he chuckles.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

You were still trying to figure out what he meant by ‘his horrible friends with pay for this’, but then he has to go and say you’re adorable and that halted all your thoughts, immediately. Damn, who knew you were so weak to compliments. Once again, some journalist you are. Geesh—Focus woman! Your eyes drift back to the table of five, and you give them a more thorough looking over and—holy fuck, is that Bucky Barnes. Wait, wait, wait, and Tony Stark. AND Natasha Romanov. Oh shit, and Clint Barton. And freaking SAM WILSON! Hold up, Sam looks exactly like your last waiter, Will.

And oooooh, it all makes so much sense now. You burst out laughing at the realization that not just your shitty friends crashed this date, Steve’s did too. Oh God, this is just too damn good. “Steve?” You ask softly, bringing his attention back to you. He’d been inspecting the table, as if to make sure it was structurally sound.

“Yeah?” He asks, sounding slightly out of it.

“Question?—err, actually maybe two questions,” you hastily amend and he chuckles.

“Okay,” he nods, a little too quickly, and hiccups as he speaks his next words, “W-what are they?”

“Is that your team over there?” You nod with your head towards the table of five, but keep your eyes fixated on the large blonde.

He scrunches up his face and opens his mouth to speak, but then sighs deeply and lowers his eyes to the table, then mumbles “yeah, it is.” But then as if it just hit him in the face, he snaps his head up and starts speaking again, a little louder this time—read, damn near yelling again. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I had no idea they were going to be here—“

You cut him off with your laugh, and he furrows his brows, his mouth still open as he clearly tries to figure out what’s so funny. You try valiantly to reign in your laugh, but this is all just too damn hilarious. “Y/N?” He asks hesitantly, confusion in his voice.

And you realize you have to say something, anything, so between laboured breaths and chuckles to manage to spit out in a whisper, “see the old couple behind you, a table away?”

Steve’s lips form a frown and he glances over his shoulder, not even remotely in a graceful manner. Then his whips back around and nods at you, “yeah,” he says slowly.

“Those two ‘old people’,” you make quote signs with your fingers, “are my two idiot best friends in disguise. They also crashed our date,” and those words make you laugh all over again at this whole weird situation. Your words clearly take a second to sink in, but as if a light just lit up, Steve’s frown disappears and he starts to laugh with you. Louder than you, actually. And so loud that it draws the attention of everyone in the rest restaurant, including both tables of your date crashing friends. Every last one of them.

“You’re joking?” He manages to say between boisterous laughs. You shake your head as you say, “not even a little bit.”

He laughs a little more, shaking his head as well. “That is too funny.”

You nod, agreeing with him, “that it is. Looks like both our friends are,” you raise your voice so all the people in question can hear you clearly, “nosey assholes.” Though your words are more directed at your two best friends, but maybe also a little at Steve’s. And one quick glance at both tables, and the scandalized expressions around both causes you to burst out laughing again. After a few moments, you both manage to calm down a little, enough to speak again at least. You quickly rub the tears from your eyes, as Steve takes a few deep breaths. Then you think of something, “and here I thought my friends were invasive. At least they didn’t fake being our waiter,” you giggle.

Steve groans, then chuckles a little more, “were you really surprised they’d go to that length? They did sort of force you to goto that press conference.”

“Oh shit,” you chuckle a little more, “I didn’t even think of that!”

“Yeah,” Steve shakes his head, “they are always sticking their noses in other people's lives. It’s rather frustrating,” he mumbles the last part, and you believe more so to himself.

“Wait,” Steve abruptly says, “you said you had two questions?”

You grin, nodding slowly as your second question pops back up into your head. Though you’re going to amend it a little. You were going to ask if he was drunk, but you're positive now that he is. So your question is a little changed, “so I’m guessing they spiked your drink, which means you can’t drive?”

“Shit,” Steve mumbles as his face pales and all the humour leaves his features. “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I can call you a cab, if you want? I’ll pay for it.”

“No,” a sly grin works its way onto your lips. “I have a better idea.” You stand up from the table and Steve slowly stands as well. Though you can see his very evident wobble from the booze. “Come with me,” you gesture for him to join you, offer him your hand for what little support you can give him. Ya know, since he is much larger than yourself, and if he starts to go down, you won’t be able to save him. But the gesture is what matters, right?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Steve's POV

He is feeling the full effects of the mead as he stands, wobbling a little before quickly gaining his balance. If he falls flat on his face in front of her, he will be out for blood. She offers him her hand and he glances down at the outstretched appendage, then almost laughs. If he does go down, there is no way in hell she’ll be able to stop him, and he’ll just end up taking her down with him. But the chance to hold her hand, can’t be passed up, even in Steve’s mead muddled mind, he knows that fact clear as day.

He smiles and takes her hand, allowing her to lead the way and he quickly realizes where she is taking them. And the slightly panicked eyes of his friends makes him chuckle again. They reach the table of five, and Steve gives a curious look to Y/N, unsure where exactly she is going to take this. But he isn’t gonna lie, he’s excited to see what her master plan is.

“Avengers,” she nods in hello and smiles at each of them.

His friends all give each other strange, nervous looks before Tony speaks up, “Y/N,” he nods then looks at Steve. “Steve.” Before his eyes move back to the little woman holding Steve's hand tightly. “I see you’ve figured us out,” he chuckles awkwardly.

“That I have,” she giggles, “wasn’t too hard, once you spiked Steve’s drink.”

“That was Sam’s doing,” Tony quickly says, earning a gasp from the aforementioned.

“It might have been my doing, but it was Tony’s idea,” Sam quickly defends, pointing a menacing finger at the billionaire. Ugh, here we go again, Steve thinks.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Readers POV

Tony is just about to speak, but you cut in before he can. You aren’t interested in their bickering about who did what, and who’s behind this whole thing. You got enough of that from your own friends. “It’s okay, we aren’t mad,” you glance up at Steve, and see him about to refute your words, but one pointed look from you and he presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“We aren’t,” he mumbles, the words not sounding overly convincing but it’s the thought that counts.

You bite your lip to prevent the new laugh from escaping. “But,” you abruptly say, “there are conditions to us not being upset.”

And Tony clearly tries to fight the grin that wants to show through, as he narrows his eyes at you, “and those are?”

“Our bill still needs to be paid,” you say calmly, commandingly so that Tony is aware you mean he will be paying it. And as you speak you are fighting to not look too excited for your next words. Tony nods slowly, hesitantly, and says, “okay, and?”

Your grin breaks through, and you see Tony shiver from the smug smile. “Since Steve is unable to drive currently, I will be driving him home and will return your car to you in the morning—“. Tony cuts in, “what? No, no, that doesn’t seem—“. “Tony,” Steve cuts in this time, sternly, clearly trying not to laugh.

“You all were the ones who crashed our date and spiked his drink,” you say, “therefore, hindering him from being able to drive. So these are the consequences, I’ve driven supercars before, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Tony doesn’t seem convinced, at all, but everyone else at the table seems highly amused by all of this. “I think it’s only fair,” Nat pipes up, a smug grin on her face to match yours. “I agree with Nat,” Clint mumbles through his mouthful of food. Tony shoots them both a glare, then sighs, “fine, you can take the car for the night.”

And you are just about to squeal and jump up and down, when he abruptly adds, “but,” he points a finger at you then at Steve, “if there is so much as a single scratch on it tomorrow, Steve is covering the repair bill.”

Steve gives you a look, one that screams ‘now just wait one second, let’s talk about this a little first’ But you just ignore him, and nod at Tony, “Deal.” And before Steve can say a word, you begin to drag him away from the table, hearing Tony chuckle and say quietly, “I like that one,” to the others. Which only causes your smile to grow as you continue to pull Steve towards the front door of the restaurant.

As you both stand on the sidewalk, waiting for the valet to bring the car around and you are vibrating with excitement! This is your damn dream car and you GET TO DRIVE IT! Aaaaah! Shit!! Is this real life?!—A deep chuckle from beside you, causes you to come back to reality, and you glance up at the tall blonde. This day has been the weirdest one in your entire life, not only did you get to go on a date with thee Steve Rogers, but now you get to drive your dream car?! This is all just too much! Too damn much! But in all the best ways. “Sorry,” you smile bashfully up at him, as you tuck a few wayward strands of hair behind your ear, “I’m a little excited.”

“I can see that,” he nods, a glorious smile playing on his own lips. Just as you are about to speak, the beautiful sound of the supercars exhaust can be heard coming towards you, and before you know it, the Mclaren P1 is directly in front of you. In all it’s shiny black glory, and you are sure you’re dreaming. You have to be. Either that, or you’re drooling.

The valet goes to hand the keys to Steve, but you intervene and take them before he can, and then you get an idea. You quickly unlock the car and open up the door for Steve, who gives you an odd look, so you say with a shrug, “it’s my turn to be the gentleman.”

Which causes him to chuckle and hesitantly slip into the passenger seat then you close the door and make your way around to the driver's seat.

And before you know it, you are pulling up out front of the Avengers Tower. Steve had told you on the drive that he normally lives out at the compound now, but still has a room at the tower and stays there from time to time.

You shut the car off and quickly gesture for him to wait, receiving another odd look from the blonde. You quickly get out of the car and race around to open his door, you are determined to be the ‘gentleman’ this time. Steve deserves as much.

He chuckles again as he clues into what you’re doing, then climbs out of the car and you begin to walk him up to the tower's front doors.

Once you both reach the doors, you halt your steps and turn to him, he does the same but in reverse, halting and turning towards you.

“I had—“. “Thank you—“. You both speak at the same time and laugh, then he says, “I’m sorry, go ahead.”

“I just wanted to say I had a wonderful time tonight.”

“Even with our friends crashing the date?” He asks, one brow raised.

You giggle, “yes, even with that. It made for a very memorable first date.”

“That it did,” Steve nods. “And I just wanted to say thank you, for not only going out with me, but for putting up with my shitty friends.”

You wave it off, “they aren’t so bad. I think it was rather sweet that all of our friends crashed our date. Really shows how much they care, even in their own weird ways.”

He nods again, as he glances down at the ground, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, “would you be interested in doing this again sometime?”

You grin brightly, you couldn’t stop it even if you tried. “No, I wouldn’t be interested in doing this again.” Before you can finish your sentence, Steve's head snaps up and he gives you one of thee saddest looks you’ve ever seen in your life. “Just wait,” you giggle, putting your hands up to halt him, “let me finish. But yes, I’d love to go on another date with you, preferably one without our friends being present.”

His frown morphs into a brilliant grin, “yes, no friends on the next one for sure.”

“Okay, well I should get home,” you say reluctantly, “but I’ll call you in the morning before I head over to drop the car off, and maybe we can do coffee and a walk? Just the two of us?”

“I’d love that,” he nods. “And yes, just the two of us.”

“Perfect,” you smile, and lean up to plant a kiss on his check, but at the last second you change course and lightly place your lips upon his. And just as you are about to pull back, his arms move around your waist and pull you into him as he deepens the kiss.

Which yeah, you fucking swoon at that too, and if he were to let go of you right now, you’d melt into the sidewalk. You’d become a human puddle.

But luckily for you, he doesn’t release you right away and you both drown in each other for a few moments before you reluctantly pull back and he does that same. “Goodnight, Steve,” you say softly, breathlessly as you take a step back.

“Goodnight, Y/N. See you in the morning.”

You smile, “see ya then.” You turn and head back towards the car, a skip in your step that you know Steve can clearly see, but you don’t care. You are too happy right now, for a bunch of different reasons.

You glance towards him as you pull up the driver's door and see he is still standing there, watching you, and your tummy does flips. You wave, receiving one in return, then climb into the supercar and close the door.

The whole drive home you can’t wipe the grin off your lips, no matter how hard you try. So maybe you were a little over dramatic in the beginning of this story, maybe you made this night out to be a lot worse than it actually was. Because it wasn’t the worst date you’d ever been on, not by a long shot. It was actually the best, if you’re being honest.

This all started with you being a Drunk Twitter tweeter, and ended with Steve being, well, being Just Drunk honestly. But you wouldn’t change a damn thing, not one second, because even the bad moments all lead up to this glorious one. The start of something so, so special.

And now you have a coffee date with Steve in the morning, and—if you have any say in the matter—many, many more dates to come. This is just the beginning, and you can not wait to see where this all ends up. But something deep, deep down is telling you, that you’re going to love the journey to the end. More than anything, because you’ll get to make that journey beside Steve. And honestly, what more could a woman want than that? Nothing, that’s what.

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

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[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- I actually though this chapter wasn’t gonna happen. But I’m a procrastinator at heart here it is. The version of Crimson and Clover quoted is the original by Tommy James and the Shondells)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7

Warnings- Angst, sort of, I guess(?)

Chapter 8- Inescapable Bitterness

"Dad!" Y/n shrieked, everything blurring, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug as she stumbled to his path, in an effort to stop him from assaulting Keanu. Standing about a foot in front of him, with her arms outstretched defensively, she racked her brain for helpful words, quickly discarding the useless and desperately searching for anything that would make their situation better. Though, in the end, all she could come up with was a ridiculous, shaky, "This isn't what it looks like."

Vaguely, in the background, Y/n could hear Keanu's confused; "It's not?" But she quickly decided that that was an issue for much later. If there was even a later after everything was over.

"Yeah?" Roger folded his arms across his chest, his shoulders under his red and black flannel tightening and the veins at the side of his neck and on his forehead prominent, "So what the hell is it?" He gave her a couple minutes to scamper for an appropriate response. Though, when not as much as a peep left her mouth, he started moving around her to get to Keanu,  "Cause it looks like Keanu's been taking advantage of my kid."

Loudly, she scoffed in disbelief, grabbing Rogers's forearms to keep him here he was, "He's not taking advantage of me, I'm a grown woman, I can take care of myself."

"You're twenty-two," Roger managed, exasperated, shaking off Y/n's grip. Finally free, he approached Keanu and they stood head to head. Y/n could figure out if Keanu was just gonna take a punch or if they were going to have a full on fight, “And he’s fifty five. To him, you are a kid.”

“She’s not a kid,” Keanu managed through gritted teeth, standing tall. If he was phased by Roger, he was definitely good at hiding it.

“Yeah, you should know, right?” Neither of them made a move to get physical; her father was always more of a pacifist, getting loud if necessary but never violent, at least, not in any instance that she could recall. "You had no business."

"I didn't know she was your daughter-"

"It doesn't matter who's kid I am!" Y/n's hasty interjection was met with startled stares, "I'm an adult dad, and I'm gonna date whoever I want."

Before Y/n could speak again, Roger was interrupting, "You think I don't know that? But he's thirty years older than you. And you said it yourself; he doesn't want anything serious, so I'm not gonna stand back and let him hurt you."

She understood his point, well, she tried to; when you have kids, you want to protect them, make sure no harm came their way. But you also couldn't do it forever, there'd come a time when they'd have to make their own mistakes. And if Keanu was one of those mistakes, Y/n was willing to find out on her own. "I know," her tone softened empathically, "And I appreciate that dad, but I'm not sixteen anymore, you can't just yell at the guy I'm dating and ground me so we don't see each other again. I'm an adult and I can don’t need you to protect me all the time."

Tentatively, Keanu added, "She's right Rog-"

"No,” he turned, pointing warningly, his face still beet red with anger, “You stay out of this! God you’re-” Unable to find the words, Roger cut himself off, shaking his head, huffing so he could catch his breath. It was clear to Y/n that he was no longer willing to put up a verbal fight, though she knew that the next time they saw each other in private, all wouldn’t be as it typically was. She was definitely in for a lengthy lecture, the one she’d been duly avoiding. 

Sighing heavily, her father finally continued, his tone significantly softer that time, "Look, I get it, you're a grown up, you can do whatever you want," reluctantly, he shook his head, running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "I can't stop you. But," at that, he turned to face Keanu, his expression hardening once again, and his pointer finger jammed into Keanu’s chest, "If you hurt her, and I mean this, I will destroy you."

"I…."

Before either of them could respond, Roger was already headed for the door, the thuds of his boots heavy on the floor, not even looking back as Y/n called after him, scurrying slowly so she wouldn't actually have to grab him. "Come on. Dad," she tried one final, fruitless time, before he was pulling the door shut behind him, sound of it closing enough to bring a chilly finality to their interaction.

Y/n stood, rooted the floor, staring at the white painted double doors hopelessly. Her heart thumped erratically against her chest as panic swoll up slowly. Y/n hadn't seen her father mad at anyone like that since he'd left her mother. Just like he'd left her a few minutes ago. It was absolutely irrational, she was an adult, and the situation was completely different, but Y/n couldn't help but worry that it would end the same. That really, she was like Elane. First it was Luke, and now her own father. She hurt people too, just like her.

Her glassy eyes stung and there was a lump caught in her throat that couldn't be remedied in time to respond to Keanu's calls. Y/n's lips quivered, though she didn't have the slightest clue on if it was due to words unsaid or her sheer, though unwarranted panic. She had to fix things, she couldn't lose her father again. And it couldn't be her fault. 

"Y/n," Keanu called out to her again, that time, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Jumping slightly, a little gasp escaped her parted lips as she turned, and her paled cheeks were enough to exaggerate the emotion in her eyes. Even as she looked at him, even if he'd drawn her attention, Keanu's words seemed to have failed him and he simply stood there with her, his touch not as intimate as the ones they'd shared over the past two months, but his eyes were sympathetic and dim.

Keanu couldn't have recalled a worse time to be rendered speechless. He knew that he should have said something, anything, but nothing seemed right. He couldn't believe that he hadn't put the pieces together; her name and the things he'd heard from Roger in the past. Hell, it was probably plastered all over the fucking internet. But ignorance is bliss. 

Would he have been with her if he knew who she was? If they'd met a few years before, when he and her father were frequent poker buddies, playing rounds with a slew of other bachelors at Chateau Marmont on Thursday nights? 

Sometimes, over the summer, Roger would skip poker or whatever else they'd planned, telling everyone that he was headed to spend some time with his daughter. "She's great," he'd say, a haughty, proud smile plastered on his features as he slapped Keanu on the back, "I've gotta bring her out to meet everyone some time."

He'd never brought her.

And now, Keanu knew her. Better than any of those other men surrounding the green felt ever would. It was funny, Keanu thought, back then, he'd envy Roger, wishing that he'd have someone waiting to spend vacation with him. Someone he could spend hours talking about, being proud of. Someone he loved. Maybe a kid, maybe a wife, just anyone really. But shortly after that, he'd aged out of it, the tingle of jealousy turning into disinterest; his time for those things had passed, and all that was left were fleeting pleasures.

Reverting to the present, Keanu tired to blink the guilt away, refocusing his attention on Y/n, who still seemed tragically bewildered, "Y/n-"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she sunk into herself and Keanu couldn't help but be a little grateful. He didn't think he'd do a very good job at explaining things, and he could tell that their….. companionship had hit a new level of fragility, now easily shattered by whatever came next. 

"What do you want to do?" Desperately, Keanu needed her to tell him. He wanted to fix things for her, for them, but the situation was less than familiar, it wasn't everyday that he'd get caught with his hands up a friend's daughter's blouse, and really, Keanu didn't have the slightest clue on what would make things better. It would help if she'd let him in, but he'd learnt that Y/n wasn't the type of person that was quick to do something like that; he'd have to earn the privilege of hearing her thoughts. Though seeing her like that, so shaken and in need of comfort and an emotional band aid, he ached to do something, even if it meant she'd have to spell it out.

For a moment more, Y/n regarded him curiously, as if assessing to see whether or not his offer was a genuine one. "Have a drink with me," she finally determined, slipping out of his loose grasp and heading to the kitchen.

"Why don't we go out?" Keanu offered, he knew just the place he'd take her, it was secluded and not too popular, meaning that they wouldn't have been discovered, and they served almost every kind of liquor available. It was the perfect combination of trashy and classy. 

Her hand was already gripping the handle of the refrigerator, though, it wasn't open yet when she stopped to consider his offer. Going out would be good, at least she could forget the horridity of what had not too long ago happened. "For drinks?"

"Yeah," Keanu nodded slowly, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans, "If we leave soon, it shouldn't take us too long to get there."

A faint ghost of a smile brushed Y/n's lips, and she let her hand fall  to her side as she nodded, “Okay, let’s do it.”

Instead of taking the bike he’d gone to her place with, they’d taken Y/n’s car after she’d showered and changed into a simple pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with a loose, lace tank top on the inside. The drive had been an hour and a half longer than Y/n had expected it to be, and she and Keanu had spent most of it in tense silence. She couldn’t figure out if she was mad at him for not trying to break it off or if she wanted it to stay that way for a while. 

For the most part, she’d spent the ride propped on her arm, jammed against the passenger door, while Keanu manned the driver’s seat, maneuvering her sleek grey vehicle with ease; five fingers easily closed around the velvet wheel covering, his other hand stationed on his thigh, never reaching over console. At some point, she’d turned the stereo on, playing what she had saved there, but the soft hum of music wasn’t enough to cut the tension swirling around the enclosed vehicle, and at some point, Y/n had shifted her gaze, to out the window, staring blindly as glittering buildings grew sparse, replaced with houses, those eventually becoming infrequent too while periods where the headlights were the only source of light growing longer and longer. Desolate desert lined the street on both sides, and it was like that for a considerable chunk of the journey, until, out of nowhere really there a bar came into sight. 

It was at the helm of what looked like a small, scantily populated town and didn’t look very credible with beat up concrete walls and a gravel filled parking lot. When Keanu parked, her Tesla stood out impressively among the less eventful cars that were there, scattered about the large lot. There weren’t many though, and when Keanu led her through the door, Y/n found that there weren’t many patrons either. 

The nameless establishment was just as she suspected, a bit worn down from years of use; upholstery boasting hints of wear and tear while the heavy wooden interior constituting the lengthy bar, chair frames and floors told their age in surface scratches and a dulled color that was mostly hidden by the dim yellow lighting. A lone television hung over one end of the counter, the rerun of a football game on mute while rock music wafted softly from speakers stationed at the corners. It wasn’t at all the kind of place that Y/n usually ventured to, with her half a handful of friends; it had a sort of eighties biker feel that she found was charming. As far as she was concerned, the bar didn’t have a name, but it had one hell of a personality. 

With a gentle hand stationed at the center of her back, Keanu led Y/n to  a circled booth at one of the corners, leaving her for a handful of minutes to get them a couple of drinks- that definitely wasn't the kind of place with a wait staff. He returned not too long after, setting down a couple glasses of whiskey neat. “I figured you’d want something strong after…..”

“Yeah,” Y/n breathed, bringing the simple glass to her lips, wincing at the burn of the alcohol. It wasn’t as smooth as the ones she’d witnessed Keanu ordering before, he had exquisite taste when it came to spirits, but it was definitely from the top shelf. “That was…..” Embarrassing? Traumatizing? Confusing?

Even if she hadn’t finished, Keanu knew exactly what she was talking about. It really wasn’t up there with the moments of his life that he wanted on mental speed dial, but it was too late, forever, probably every time he saw that armchair at her place or wore that t-shirt, Keanu would remember, and probably cringe, at that memory. It was branded into his brain. “It was,” he followed suit when Y/n took another swing of her drink, quietly hissing at the tinge of the amber liquid

Y/n took several of those ‘almost’ breaths, the kind that people took before they said something important or asked a question that they weren’t too sure of. The type where you’d inhale, but only halfway and where your chest expanded, but not noticeably so. Those breaths. “How do you know him?” When Keanu glanced up at her, the darkness of his gaze was seemingly tripled by the shoddy lighting as dark strands curtained his ruggedness. He was so attractive, so sinfully perfect, it was hard to believe that he and her father could be the same age. Why’d he have to be so handsome? 

“Your dad?” He cleared his throat, staring at his drink, probably considering downing it in one go, before looking up at her again, “When I used to live at Chateau Marmont, about….” he thought on it for a minute, “Maybe twenty years ago, he’d stay there whenever he was in Los Angeles, we’d talk in passing but didn’t really know each other personally,” Y/n listened intently, her head tilted to the side, some of her loose hair cascading over her shoulder, her head propped up by her hand as she leaned into the lip of the table. She didn’t remember anything from the time Keanu was referring to, she couldn’t have been more than a couple years old anyway. “We only got to really know each other after I moved out,” he leaned into his side of the small booth, one fist still on the table, the other hand bringing his glass to his lips, moistening his lips before he continued, “I’d still go sometimes, and then Roger- your dad,” Keanu seemed unsure of how to refer him from them on, and Y/n was too intrigued to offer anything helpful, “He told me that he was living there, he and his wife were separated.”

Y/n gasped quietly; that must have been no more than a few months before her parents’, very messy,  divorce but definitely after he’d left their home. It wasn’t breaking news that he’d spent a few years at a hotel before finding himself the Malibu pad, but Y/n just hadn’t known what hotel he’d been living at. “That’s it?” Y/n probed, referring to Keanu's long pause.

He’d hoped it was enough to appease her, though Y/n could apparently see right through him, already knowing that he was holding back, “No,” he sighed heavily, “The two of us, and some of the other regulars started playing poker together on Thursday nights, drinking and whatever,” he waved it off, not going into much more detail. “He talked about you a lot,” Keanu quirked half smile, “How smart you are, how proud he was and how lucky he was to have such a great kid.”

Huffing quietly, Y/n took another sip of her whiskey, returning his faint smile. She always knew that her father was proud of her, Roger never made any attempt to hide it, but hearing it from someone else sparked a warmness in her chest. As upset as he’d been when he left her apartment that evening, Keanu’s words were enough to instill some level of reassurance, he was still her father, and he’d always love her. 

“Did you know?” Earlier, Y/n had heard Keanu tell her father, several times, that he didn’t know who she was, but Y/n had to hear it for herself. She needed the truth, desperately.

For the first time, since they’d left her building, Keanu reached out to touch her, easing her grip from the glass and taking hold of the tips of her fingers, “I promise you,” he leaned forward, his eyes pleading with hers to believe him, “I had no idea. I should have put together somehow. If I’d known……” Keanu let the words trail off, thinking better of hurting her like that.

But Y/n wasn’t so quick to let the issue go, “If you’d known?” Keanu just carried on with absently stroking her knuckles, turning his face towards the open space of the floor left for dancing. There was no one there, everyone seemed interested in drinking and quiet chatter, but nothing more. “If you’d known,” she repeated slowly, dragging his attention back to the moment, “What would you have done?”

He probably wouldn’t have fucked her.

Probably wouldn’t have cornered her in an empty pool.

He probably wouldn’t have asked her out, or whatever he’d done.

Keanu probably wouldn't have done a lot of things.

But he couldn’t tell her that and risk hurting her. Besides, that would have been a really awkward ride back. “Come on,” he polished off his drink, pulling Y/n off the seat, gently tugging her towards the makeshift dance floor. “Dance with me,” pretending to not hear her question, or rather, blatantly ignoring it was probably his safest, least emotionally taxing option. And Keanu was going to take it and run.

“I asked you a question,” Y/n urged, though, still letting Keanu pull her to his chest. An old song was playing, one from when he was a teenager, a slow rock ballad that had been covered several times since the original.

Ah, now I don’t hardly know her But I think I could love her.

"I know," Keanu held Y/n against him, looking down at her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle and hers looped his neck. They swayed slowly in one place, not really in time with the beat but, unless his eyes had betrayed him, Keanu didn't think the other patrons were paying them any mind anyway. 

My, my such a sweet thing I want to do everything  What a beautiful feeling

Y/n shifted her head, casting her gaze to the glittering bottles adoring the oak shelves behind the bar, fixed on the skewed reflection of their forms of the reflective glass behind the stocks, bodies in sync though minds gravely troubled. "Aren't you going to answer me?" Her words were void of any urgency, a mere, husky whisper barely heard above the hypnotizing mantra of Tommy James.

Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over Crimson and clover, over and over

"No," was all he offered, just as softly as her previous words, one of his hands sliding to the center of Y/n’s back. She didn’t look at him, apparently unaffected, but considering their position didn’t afford Keanu a ready view of her expression, he didn’t think he could actually determine anything. 

Keanu didn't need to tell her for either of them to know. He prided himself, well typically, on being the keeper of a strong moral compass. Infidelity wasn't something he took lightly, even if he'd proven himself wrong in recent months. But a friend's daughter? That was something else. 

Keanu didn't tell her, Y/n knew it anyway.

If he'd known, he'd have never slept with her. 

If he'd known, they wouldn't even be standing there.

It was a tumultuous thought. And the worst part? Neither of them knew if they'd preferred it that way or not.

********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana  @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi

[derireo]

Wilting Lotus / CH. 4

Present: And The Sun Shines Again

Izumi returns to Yunliong much earlier than expected and is met with an excitable Itaru and a soft Sakyo.

As the clock ticks, the conversation gets serious; and it seems Izumi is in need of some protection.

「 Read on AO3 here 」 「 3.9k words 」

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　-: ✧ :-゜・．

"I'm back!" A young woman with long, flowing brown hair shouted upon her arrival in Itaru's 'office', dropping her bags on the floor with glee as the men who escorted her closed the door and left only three people in the room.

Her smile was broad with excitement as the familiar feeling of being back home sent a wave of comfort to settle in her stomach. Things were the same as ever, with a messy desk that had a broken plaque of Itaru's name and a coffee table to the side with a clutter of Sakyo's papers.

She even noticed that they kept her little corner clean while she was away, her large beanbag chair sitting snug in the corner with her bookshelf all neat and tidy.

By the time she was finished glancing around the room to observe her surroundings, Itaru had dropped his own file of papers to the floor out of shock. His face turned a pale white as he couldn't believe who was standing inside the room and his heart beat wildly against his chest when he saw her eyes smile in his direction.

She was even wearing the clothes he sent her a few months ago, causing his fingers to twitch at how well it fit.

Even Sakyo, who was only mildly surprised at the sudden arrival was impressed.

Her white chiffon blouse was tucked into pleated pants in the colour of pale coral and her feet were cutely pointing inwards as she donned her usual boots, making her seem younger than she was already.

Too shocked to even stand, Itaru collapsed into his chair with a slacked jaw. Sure, three years apart is a long time, but Izumi showing up without warning was definitely something that was strong enough to destroy him.

Just the sight of his Little Bunny all grown up was nearly enough to have him burst into tears.

Izumi bounced happily when she saw Sakyo stand up from the sofa by the coffee table with an elated sigh and willed herself to calm down as he took light footed steps towards her, arms held wide open.

A quiet grunt was pushed out of the grown man when she immediately took residence in his embrace with a tackle and curled her arms around his neck as he wrapped around her waist, their heads lightly knocking together.

"Welcome home, Sweetheart." Sakyo mumbled affectionately, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. The brief contact tickled her and she laughed joyously when she pulled away to take a quick look at the man who should be turning thirty soon.

His hair was slicked back today, with a few loose strands falling in front of his face. He wore a black dress shirt that had a cravat; showing off the clean skin of his throat and collarbones. He wasn't wearing his glasses either, which was a nice surprise to come home to.

The contacts made his look of the day seem.. awfully dashing.

She mentally shook herself of the thought that popped in her head and smiled warmly towards the man who was staring at her with a faint glint of adoration reflecting in his eyes. She didn't remember ever seeing Sakyo with such a gentle expression and her heart stuttered in her chest when she was held hostage by the intense gaze he still had on her.

Thankfully, Itaru chose this moment to slam his palms onto his desk and startle both of them out of their little trance, causing them to snap their heads towards a wide-eyed and pouty man.

"Bunny!" He barked childishly, lifting his hand from the desk to beckon Izumi with a single finger. "Come here. Now."

His authoritative tone made Sakyo and Izumi take a quick glance at each other, but the older man only shrugged with a resigned sigh and gave Izumi a push forward before moving back to his seat on the sofa.

She bit the tip of her tongue anxiously as she smiled at the suddenly stoic Itaru who had his arms crossed over his chest and was leaning back in his chair. Seeing such a serious face coming from Itaru made her sulk, and her footsteps were heavy when she shuffled towards him with sad puppy eyes.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth due to the pitiful display and lifted his finger again to tell her 'closer'.

"Aru– Whoa!" She whined at the mean face, but was immediately cut off by a pair of arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her into the space between Itaru's legs. The sudden jerk of movement nearly had her toppling over, and she had to grip onto the back of his chair as her knee knocked into his thigh. Her small frame looming over the messy haired blond made him smile in satisfaction.

"Hi." He said simply, craning his neck to look up at Izumi. Her cheeks were dusted a pretty pink due to the compromising position and they were a little too close for comfort as Itaru's nose was nearing her chest, and her back was arched due to the strong grip he had on her waist.

Her flustered expression quickly switched into something akin to annoyance when he didn't let go and she reached down to pinch a cheek of his between her fingers, eliciting a boring reaction of Itaru only smiling while one of his eyes closed. Her small punishment wasn't enough to deter him and he hoisted Izumi even further into the chair with him until she was basically seated in his lap.

"Itaru!" She scolded him, even more agitated and embarrassed as she pushed her hands into his shoulders to put some space between them, turning her head to send Sakyo a look that told him she needed help.

The unflinching emotion on his face let Izumi know that he wasn't going to do anything to get her out of her predicament and she groaned in annoyance once Itaru had his face buried into the crook of her neck, blowing playful little raspberries onto her skin.

The childish behaviour was endearing for only a brief second and with a sweet voice, Izumi tried to coax Itaru into letting her go.

"Alright, Kitty-Kitty, time to let g– ow!" Her voice raised an octave right when Itaru sunk his teeth into her neck after one last raspberry, and she forced the man away from her by roughly pushing him by the shoulders, her hand flying up to cover the part he bit. "What the hell, Itaru!"

Her voice was slightly panicked as a blush rose to her cheeks and her pretty eyes widened causing Itaru to only smile dreamily and lick his lips.

"Sakyo!" Izumi complained loudly to avoid getting teased by Itaru for getting flustered, "He bit me!"

Not even looking up from his paperwork, the older man responded: "It's his way of saying he missed you."

Izumi's face twisted into something akin to disgust upon hearing the answer she did not want to hear and snapped her head back in Itaru's direction to glare at the dopey looking man, grabbing a fistful of his shirt as a threat while he only pulled her in closer.

"I'm gonna break your teeth, Its." She hissed quietly, not at all minding how she was straddling his lap anymore as Itaru responded by licking his teeth with a grin.

"Sakyo's already done that before. Come up with something else."

She threw her hands up in the air clearly annoyed with the blond. "You are impossible as always. Let go of me." She swatted at his arms, trying to make a move to get her feet back on the floor.

Itaru tutted, readjusting his grip on her so that she wouldn't slip away so easily. "Where's my 'please'?" He chided, forcing Izumi to pause in her movements with a pout.

"Please?" She clasped her hands together in a pleading motion and batted her eyelashes at the young man with a tilted head, trying to send him a nice smile to make it harder to say no.

Itaru paused. "No."

"I hate it here." Izumi hissed at a cheekily grinning Itaru and used sheer force to break away from the man's grip, an annoyed growl escaping her once he let go. She lifted up her hands to brush away the creases that formed in her clothing while standing back up on her feet to move to her beanbag chair in the corner and to get away from the clingy puppy.

Despite obviously being rejected by their favourite girl, Itaru was quick to ignore the files he dropped on the floor and instead propped his elbows up on his desk to rest his chin in his hands. His eyes were filled with love as he stared at Izumi from across the room and the woman shifted uncomfortably under the probing stare, her fingers fiddling with the soft fabric of her seat.

While slumping in her chair, Izumi's eyes slowly trailed towards Sakyo who was still looking over a few documents on his table, pinching his chin in thought. She sighed tiredly and sunk deeper into the beanbag.

"Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?" She inquired, getting bored of just sitting there as the two men worked.

Well. Sakyo was working.

The normally bespectacled blond glanced up from the documents laid out in front of him and dropped his pen haphazardly, falling back into the sofa elegantly as he crossed a leg over the other. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion as he actually nodded his head, much to Izumi's surprise.

When the girl was away, abroad, doing whatever she chose to, it was quite peaceful in Yunliong, but just a few days before today, they had finally seen some movement coming from Guo Dian's base at the edge of the city. Slowly but surely, some of his men were filing in. Sakyo and Itaru didn't have time to consider if this was because they knew Izumi was coming back earlier than expected, or if it was just a coincidence.

"A few days ago Guo Dian's men were seen slipping into the city," Sakyo sighed, lifting a hand to run through his already mussed up hair, "and I am now wondering if it has something to do with you."

At the mention of her ex boyfriend, Izumi's body straightened, her eyes wide.

"But I'm supposed to be dead." She whispered sharply, the look on her face telling the man that she thought his theory was ridiculous. Izumi disappeared for three years and never should have been able to be tracked down at any point. It had to be a coincidence, but it was just too much of one. Plus, it seemed odd to make the first move only after such a specific time period.

Sakyo sighed again, while Itaru was too busy fiddling around with his fancy pen to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

"It has to be a coincidence, Kyo. There's no answer clearer than that."

"Yes, well, even if we do have the answer, it doesn't help that there's a good chance Guo Dian will find out you're alive, and soon." He said, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm the bubbling emotions rising in him.

Itaru whistled softly, tapping away at his phone. It was like the words being thrown around were entering one ear and exiting out the other for him, but as he was finishing up whatever he was doing he smiled happily, setting down the device.

"Well, if we can't stop it from happening, we can just have someone help us avoid it for as long as possible, right?" The suggestion the lazy blond made was simple. It also wasn't the worst idea he had come up with and it actually had Izumi nodding along, much to Itaru's delight.

Obviously, Sakyo seemed to be reluctant to agree but it also seemed like he knew just who Itaru was talking about. And before he could open his mouth to express his doubt, a tall man entered the room without knocking, hand in his pocket as he kicked the door closed behind him.

The words in Sakyo's throat died down when he saw the slouching figure and could only release a gentle sigh of resignation.

It looked like the only thing Sakyo could do was sigh.

"What's with the text, Nerd?" The man's voice was gruff as he stared in boredom at Itaru who was in the middle of fixing his shades, free hand flipping his phone up in the air and catching it over and over again.

Izumi and Sakyo both looked at each other with blank expressions due to the unheard of nickname, but the girl was quick to get over her brief amusement to properly look at the new person that had just come in.

He wore a plain white hoodie underneath a large black denim jacket with a pair of black tapered trousers to match, a loose chain hanging from his belt loops. What he wore on his feet left Izumi a bit suspicious when she saw splotches and streaks of maroon on his white Polo sneakers, even managing to dirty up the white athletic crew socks he wore beneath.

He also wore a black beanie, probably to hide a nest of messy hair and when the man briefly turned his head to take a glance at the ogling Izumi, she noticed the long scar that ran down the side of his chin and how his brown eyes looked at her as if she was just a pile of rocks.

"Ohms! Came by faster than I expected." Itaru happily clapped his hands then motioned for the man to come closer to his desk, to which he took one step forward and that was it. The excitable blond smiled and quickly motioned towards the brunette while looking at Sakyo.

"Don't you think Omi's good for the job? Definitely strong enough to care for our Little Bunny."

The man, Omi, turned his head again to take another look at Izumi who was still slumped in her beanbag chair then jabbed a thumb in her direction with an unappreciative tone in his voice. "You're tellin' me I came all th'way up here just to be told I gotta care for this tiny thing?"

"Uh. Yeah." Itaru scoffed and rolled his eyes at the casually dressed young man who was now glaring daggers at him. "You've seen her before, Ohms. Carried her to the hospital room all those years ago, remember?"

And clearly, it seemed to Izumi, that Omi did not remember. Hell, even she had no clue how she made it to the hospital so she couldn't really blame him. Plus, she wasn't connected to him and he obviously had no interest in protecting her, so it felt that there wasn't much of an option here.

"Huh.. Girl was super fuckin' weak, though." He chuckled, nonchalant. He crossed his arms over his chest with a barely amused smile and turned around to face Izumi who had an apparent frown on her face. "Hope it ain't the same now."

The challenge hung in the air clear as day, and as much as Sakyo wanted to call out and tell Izumi not to fall for the bait, the girl was already standing up from her beanbag chair, loading up her stance as she held her fists up in front of her face in a defensive position. Her eyes had quickly turned from starry to steely as her eyebrows creased together, and right after she found her balance lifted her leg up to shoot her foot out into a heavy push kick.

She meant to aim for Omi's chin with the heel of her boot, but her ankle was quickly caught by the man's large hand before she could even reach him, letting out a startled gasp when he yanked her forward in a haphazard motion until the bottom of her boot was pressed against his sternum, his other hand snapping out to grab her by the arm of her blouse to keep her from falling over.

"I ain't too tall for you, am I?" He grinned mockingly, eyes smiling down at her as he pressed her boot further against his chest, fingers tight around her ankle as Izumi struggled to stay balanced. The panic on the woman's face was enough for Omi to feel a satisfied warmth drip down to his fingertips and his rough skin pulled at her shirt to keep her up. "Maybe try reaching for a spot you can reach next time, hm?"

And with that, Omi's smile vanished into thin air and the shine to his eyes died. He let go of Izumi's ankle, nearly throwing the girl into a spin if he hadn't been gripping onto her shirt with a fierce hold. Another smile made its way onto his face, but it was much more patronising, his hand lazily pulling Izumi forward with ease as she stumbled into his dirty chest.

He made sure she was looking at him and grabbed her face with a single hand, much like how Itaru did all those years ago when he first met her. Her neck craned as Omi forced her to tilt her head up with his brass rings digging into her cheeks, his voice a low rumble as he brought their faces closer until he was sure he could feel her stuttering breath against his lips.

"Tiny thing like you's gonna get crushed." He warned her quietly, their noses just barely touching. "I'll break ya in a second if I have to."

"Alright, that's enough. Let go of her, Omi." Sakyo murmured ominously once he saw Izumi's hands wrap around the arm of her new acquaintance. A low huff, full of mirth, escaped Omi's mouth when he slapped away the hands that tried to grab onto him and released the girl's face from his firm grip. Izumi stumbled a few steps away while she caught her shaking breath and planted her palms onto the edge of Itaru's desk with wide eyes staring at the smiling blond, her lips silently forming the word 'what the fuck?'.

"Dumbass over here probably texted you something about having a new task." Sakyo sighed again. How many times has he sighed today? Lightly brushing at an itch that appeared beneath his eye, the older man smiled ruefully and closed his eyelids to rest them, wondering why the hell Itaru decided to pick Omi over anyone else to look after her. The man wasn't really the nicest of the bunch and he didn't open up to people very well either.

The young man nodded his head as if it was gonna drop from his neck soon, eyes showing he had no particular interest in what the task was as he watched the back of Izumi's heaving shoulders, the corner of his mouth lifting up just the slightest when she made a certain hand gesture at Itaru. He politely motioned towards Izumi who was still whispering angrily at the other man while turning his head to look at Sakyo, lips pursed. "'N' that's my task, ain't it?"

"Precisely. Right now, I want you to escort her to her old apartment. There's a secret compartment located in her room, but she never told us how to open it before she left." He said calmly, rubbing one of his temples with the pads of his fingers as the bickering between Itaru and Izumi gradually grew louder.

"Ehh.." Omi frowned at the new task and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his weight on one foot as he got tired of standing. "Can't you two bring her yourselves? And why wait so long to open it?"

"We're busy with paperwork and running a city," Itaru groaned over the hissing of Izumi, swatting away at the girl who had suddenly gotten hold of the collar of his shirt, "you know. The bad guy stuff."

There was a look of disgust that quickly flashed across Omi's face when he was faced with the job to take care of this little girl, and he mentally punched Itaru in the face for making him do such a thing. He let his head drop back to release an annoyed grumble before snapping back to his proper form, taking lazy strides towards Izumi who had finally let go of her whining victim.

"Wha-- Hey!" The girl exclaimed in shock when Omi spun her around by the waist and easily lifted her onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The action was done so effortlessly that Izumi didn't have any time to react and when she could, Omi was already heading out of the office with her smallest, emptiest bag in hand, the fear of being purposely dropped by him weighing heavy in her stomach.

"See ya." Omi said behind his shoulder as Izumi went limp under his grip; not finding it worth the trouble to fight a man who could easily overpower her and break her neck. As much as she trained with Sakyo, Itaru, and a few others, the size difference between her and Omi threw all of that hard work down the drain. She huffed out an indignant sigh as she let the taller man carry her down the steps of the building, but winced when each step made his shoulder dig into her stomach.

"You can be a little nicer, you know. I don't bite." She griped unhappily to which Omi scoffed as he took the last step and brought them into the lobby, dropping Izumi onto her feet while readjusting his grip on her bag.

"But I do, so don't push yer luck with me, Pup." He said, roughly nudging her by the shoulder to turn the girl around so that she would start walking towards the exit of the building with him in tow, his large frame towering over her smaller one as he followed her out and went down whatever street she was going to take them.

His steps were much slower as she tried to stay in front of him with her own quick shuffling, but inevitably she got tired, and gently asked the man if they could walk even slower.

"Should've stayed close t'me anyways. Someone else can getcha if ya wander too far, and I ain't gonna save you."

"Mhm." At this point, with how set Omi was on keeping some sort of emotional detachment from her, Izumi just started to block out whatever nonsense he was trying to tell her to try and keep her away. Definitely, he seemed like an abrasive guy with how their first meeting went, but if they were going to have to deal with each other from now on, they were going to have to work on this strange relationship.

Using that reason as an excuse for her next action, Izumi casually sidled up to Omi, still looking ahead even when he stared down at her, perplexed.

"This is me staying close." She said as she took the man's arm and lifted it up, lazily latching herself onto his side while curling the limb around her shoulders until she was nicely tucked against him. The sudden decline of space between them caused Omi to take a sharp intake of breath, but he quickly covered it with another scoff, pretending not to be agitated at how her small hand managed to wrap around his middle finger to hold onto him.

"Whatever." He muttered under his breath, trying to keep his annoyance to a bare minimum.

Today was probably gonna be a long day.

[newsiegirlscribbles]

There was no mistaking it, this was the watch of Emilianna Robinson.

 It was such a fine name for such an unkempt girl, and known by most of Londinium in curt, snapping words from neighbor to neighbor or in sighs over shaking teacups. Suffice to say, the well-to-do had looked much more favorably upon charity galas and the “poor, underprivileged children” eleven years, eleven months, and a day ago; now, the beneficiaries’ pocketbooks were used more often to swat the first pint-sized terror to get close enough more than anything else. What nobody seemed to realize, Millie thought, was that Emmy was right impossible, and became more so with every other social worker that was laid off with a government-funded check that said the job was important, and a bank statement that said they weren’t. Millie had worked at Robinson’s Foster Care long enough to realize that Emmy was more headstrong than anything else and wasn’t nearly as bad as she could have been. 

The seal that came issued on all the gingham skirts, faded blouses, and pressed blazers that couldn’t have been updated since the fifties or so had long since been mended and re-mended, torn off by thorns or hedges in pursuit of some rabbit to chase or tree to climb on all her clothes; her flats were scuffed and worn from much of the same activity. Her hair was curly, the colour of wheels that have traveled a long way on dirt roads, and tied back hastily in twin pigtails. No matter how presentable she was when she left, Emmy had a remarkable talent for acquiring scraped knees, freckles, and streaks of earth, blood, jams, or whatnot on her clothes with the declaration that she’d do it again.

 (“You should have seen the other bloke.” she had quipped once with a wince and a smile as Millie had swabbed the clip that would become the faint white scar on her shoulder with the last of the alchemist’s Essence of Kingsfoil.

The social worker raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you lose this fight?”

“‘S why you should have seen ‘im, the princely genetics and shiner I gave him would make him a right poster child for this place and really bring in the folks.“) 

By some chance of fate or fair fortune, the gentleman Decennium had taken a shine to her and requested her as his apprentice. Emmy’s face had lit up with a smile warmer than the sun, kicking her heels excitedly and shaking the timekeeper’s hand with vigor, and her enthusiasm was almost--almost--enough to excuse the fact that she had broken the Most Important Rule.

 In most of Sylvaria, those with stars in their blood had a talent for magic and were destined to protect and enrich the world; in Londinium, Emillianna was destined to destroy it. She was forbidden from tinkering with timepieces by the strictest of orders, never allowed to touch the gearwing menangery that fascinated the other children so, but somehow, she had slipped and caught the notice of one of the most esteemed positions in all Sylvaria. Millie could only breathe easily in the gratitude that the girl had been entrusted with the delicate waltz of time and mechanics and not thrown to the best judgement of the people like so many others long gone to the unwound future. The watch was a gift, a contract of sorts; as Emillianna accepted it, she placed her left hand over her heart and the clock’s face lit up with a soft glow, the gears inside ticking to place. 

She had loved the watch, and she had loved Decennium and chronomechanics and the silvery glow of fluid time as it clung to her fingers and stopped every clock she touched, capturing the essence again, and again, and again. 

Which was why, when Millie saw the pocketwatch all but smashed to bits by the edge of the clock tower, and felt the minutes torn from the bells and from her day as the residuum rippled ever so slightly, she knew that something had gone very, very, wrong. 

I. In which things go very, very wrong

Emmy ducked and slipped through the crowd into the marketplace as the starchly-dressed gentleman’s shouts came to an end; once she heard the distinctive click of an unsatisfied well-to-do person’s boots stalking off, she leaned against the archway and sighed with relief. 

Catching snap-dragons was a bother; they always managed to get loose once they spotted a rose garden, which wouldn’t have been so much of a problem had the well-to-do not been so fond of fences that she always got stuck in because of course she did. 

This was the fifth garden this month.

Drat.

As she gained a better view of the scene, she saw the market larger than she had initially imagined; hundreds of people bustled from stall to stall, passageways twisted through streets, and song and chatter rang through the air. If she could just get a smidge higher, she could see more of the area and make a clean escape….and the highest vantage point wasn’t far off. 

Emmy stopped one of the nearby marketgoers, a girl with short-cropped raven-black hair tucked beneath a lavender bonnet, her corduroy skirt and aegean blazer nearly close enough to indicate a fellow Robinson’s orphan--the silver buttons notwithstanding. There was a sparkle in her eyes, almost as if she were holding back a smile. 

“Pardon.” Emmy said, tapping her on the shoulder, “Would you know which way to the gallows?”

The girl laughed, evidently amused. “Are you expected?” 

“What? No!”

“Pity.” she sighed, “It’s been so long since we hanged a thief.” 

Emmy’s face blazed scarlet. “Are you always this horrid? I’m not a thief!” 

“Well, you sure weren’t dashing like a rabbit to see this.” the girl said with a wink, gesturing to the tavern hall. She leaned in, ever-so-slightly, in a softer voice, “‘less you were hoping one of these blokes would get so absent-minded they’d take you in.” Her playful laugh cut across the market like a dog’s bark; Emmy leveled a glare, and the girl grinned back, somewhere between the sort of adorable cheer that let you get away with murder and the self-assured smirk that let you commit it. 

It was a delight to see it knocked straight off her face.

The girl raised a hand to the mark, and before Emmy could raise her a second, a sharp clip stung the side of her jaw; light hands shoved her fiercely into the archway. There must have been a clock embedded in the stone above her--she wasn’t sure how that thought sprang to mind, but she could have sworn she felt microseconds being shaken from the timepiece as the girl’s knee was driven into her chest. 

The moment was dismissed; Emmy swung her leg under her opponent’s and threw her to the ground. A swift kick bloodied the girl’s cheek; a heel to her stomach would have settled the fight ultimately, but with agility she shouldn’t have had, she rolled to her side, out of the way, stood up, grabbed the orphan’s collar, and slammed her into the archway. A hairline fracture split the clock face; Emmy raised a hand to push back, but the silvery mists of the loose time clung to her fingers as they brushed the edge of the clock. 

And suddenly

The girl moved a little bit slower. 

II. 

Emmy grabbed the girl’s shoulders and tackled her to the ground. 

Beneath the thin shine of the silver filaments, her opponent made a move to catch Emmy’s ankle with her own, but the orphan sidestepped it easily, swinging her foot out of the way and onto the raven-haired girl’s ribs. 

“Ha!” she cheered, digging her heel in just for the sake of sheer cockiness, “Not quick enough, now!” 

“Shove off.” the girl muttered, moving to sit up. “‘Sn’t fair, you used magic.”

Moments from offering her hand, Emmy resisted the urge to slap the girl. 

“Do I look like a starblood to you?” she said, laughing humorlessly, “I’d really think I’d ought to have noticed, but pardon--suppose I forgot my robes and silver spoon today.” 

The raven-haired girl sighed, accepted her opponent’s hand reluctantly, and got to her feet. Once level with her, she took her by the shoulders and shook her. 

“Are you daft? Look at the clock! Look at the time!” 

Emmy shook her head, moved away. 

“You pushed me into it in the first place! What did you think would happen?”

The girl threw up her hands, frustrated. “Well, would asking that you didn’t do...whatever you did be enough?” 

Emmy scoffed, shoved the girl back. “What are you getting at?” 

“You’re...”

She fell silent; Emmy would nearly flatter herself enough to say awestruck. Behind her, a tall gentleman, resplendent in a pressed dark suit with an emerald blazer and tie, strode closer; a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, and all but slid off as he beamed. 

“A timekeeper.” he said warmly. 

Emmy’s eyes widened as she reflexively stepped back; by the look of the intricate elliptical badge on his blazer and the brass-lined goggles in his fair hair, he must have been one of Londinium’s timekeeping guild, all but a prince. Speak of the wrong person to cross….

She held her breath as he stepped back; his hand slowed as it neared the clock. 

“Let’s see here….there are only a few seconds missing from it that have since passed, so not much damage done there...though that fracture could cause a problem the next go-around. Can’t say I’ve ever seen that done by anything besides magic.” he remarked absently, withdrawing a tool somewhere between a wrench and a spyglass from his pocket. 

With his attention on the clock, she could probably dodge. There were enough people to cover, enough loose bricks in the alley walls to lift a foot on. Sure, it wouldn’t be proper, but there were scores of orphans in Londinium. The faeborn girl started the fight, she could finish it. 

….and her former opponent was gone. Stardust to ashes. That had been her plan. 

Before she could map out a better route, the gentleman caught her shoulder. 

“Ah--not so fast. I’m not cross, don’t worry; but magic of this sort is always best recognized by the caster. Would you like to give it a shot?” he said gently, offering the tool to her, “It’s a lenity, designed to counteract effects on tempered material.” 

She took it, glanced up at the clock warily, and extended one of the legs of it like a compass to enclose the fracture; immediately, thin tendrils of temporal energy twisted along it towards her hand. The gentleman nodded approvingly. 

“Now, just bring it together and press your hand against the fracture; it’ll help if you keep a more level head about this.” 

Emmy took a deep breath, but the temporal discharge only grew thicker around her fingers as she willed the fracture to mend, the time to recontinue; it strangled her from the inside, burning her fingers as her face grew hot. Hairline cracks spread outward from the fracture; by the most basic of Sylvarian survival instincts, she swept her foot in a protective half-circle behind her. 

Forcing her heart to slow, she drew her hand away lightly; slowly, the smaller fractures began to stitch back together, time began to resume course in the marketplace, and the silvered mists of time were drawn back towards the clock, yet the last glow of it never quite left her hand. The smallest crack, despite everything, still  remained. 

Her heart beat once, and again, andagainagainagainagain

And

A g a i n 

As the faintest, ever-so-slight shine of her own time stubbornly intertwined among the manipulative. 

That….wasn’t good. 

Emmy twisted her hand toward the presence of the clock as her heartbeat registered as if at the bottom of an ocean in her ears--

Until at last, fingers outsplayed and wrist outstretched towards the temporal charge, Emmillianna Robinson fainted. 

III.

“_ss R_ns_n? Miss Robinson, are you alright?”

There was a tight hold around her left wrist, and that more than the formality jolted her to attention. 

“I will remain silent until allowed a lawyer….” she said quickly, yanking her wrist roughly out of her holder’s grip, “As is required by...Londinium Code thirty--” 

The man’s shoulders relaxed in a sigh of relief; as his laughter broke the air in short, triumphant bursts, Emmy looked up and recognized him as a Timekeeper and cut off abruptly. Stardust to ashes, well, she was as good as done for if she’d botched it this poorly. With a clap of his hands and a boyish cheer, he swung her into a twirl.

“Brava, Miss Robinson” he chuckled, resting her back on her feet, “I dare say I’ve never seen such a display like that before.” 

She cocked her head in confusion, but as he gestured to the clock, she stepped closer. As if through the refracted glimpse of a pond, she remembered the lenity, the time as it twisted around her hands, and--

She must have fixed it. She couldn’t remember it, but she supposed that’s what happened, somehow, so a grin spread across her face. “Really?” 

The gentleman shook her hand enthusiastically. “Yours is a talent to behold. I’ve been looking for an apprentice for some time; if you don’t mind my presumption, would you be interested?”

Emmy pressed her hand to the faded Robinson’s seal on her blazer, beamed a lopsided smile with all the cheer in the world. 

“I accept.” 

[sunflowerstache]

I would like a sneak peak x

ask and you shall receive☺️

It was a car horn that initially took your attention off of the pavement, turning to look for who was in such a rush at 5:30am, but the hard torso smacking into her shoulder is what brought your attention back. Followed by the searing heat of your hot chocolate spilling down your front.

“Oh fuck!” you yelled, immediately dropping the paper cup and trying to pull your shirt away from your body to decrease the chance of a burn. There goes your chance to get home and drive right to work without any issue.

“Oh my god! Oh shit!” the man that had ran into you gasped, stopping in his tracks and grabbing onto your elbow to steady your wild movements.

Even though his words were quite loud on the empty street, his voice was still husky, almost like he wasn’t awake yet and still had some left over sleep in his throat. And when you turned to look at who had ruined your shirt, your own voice got stuck in your throat. He was tall, which made sense considering your head had bounced right off of his chest. He was wearing black basketball shorts with tall white socks and a light grey hoodie, which was pulled up to cover the dark grey beanie resting on his head. With one hand he was holding a water bottle with ease, while the other was frantically pulling the airpod from his ear. But apart from his sheer stature, you couldn’t ignore how beautiful this man was. How even the worry lines littering his face were perfectly accenting his features. Or how the green of his eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light of the Whole Foods you had been stopped in front of.

“I’m so sorry! Shit are you okay?” he quickly asked, shaking his head before you could even respond. “Obviously not, that was probably hot. Oh god I’m so sorry!”

Finally getting your bearings back, you couldn’t help but nod. “Yeah it was pretty hot.”

“Shit, I don’t even know how that happened. I must’ve taken my eyes off the pavement for one second. I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” You chuckled, bending down to pick up your now empty cup at your feet and tossing it in the bin by your side. “Don’t worry about it. Really it’s fine.”

“It’s not, I’ve ruined your shirt.” If the disappointment in his voice wasn’t evident enough, the small pout on his lips definitely was. He looked absolutely distraught at the sight of what he’d done. “Let me at least get you a new drink. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” You’d always known it was rude to speak to someone and not give them eye contact, it was something your father had drilled into you as a child, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Looking someone in the eyes meant seeing above their head, and that was an area you actively tried to avoid looking. But there was something about him that drew you in, and you couldn’t help glancing up at him quickly again. “I actually have to be getting to work. Thanks though.”

“Are you sure? I feel terrible.”

“Positive. Have a good morning.” Your touch was soft on his arm as you made your way past him, leaving the mystery man standing on the pavement staring as you walked towards your flat.

You didn’t mean to be so short with him, but it’s just how you’d grown accustomed to living life. It was the easiest way you found not to get close to many people, which meant less hurt in the end. And you’d been around enough hurt in your short twenty three years. It may be a lonely life, but you were happy with your cat, comically named Lucifer, and living a simple life. Sure, there were times you wished you could live the carefree life everyone around you got to experience, your only issues being stresses of work or relationship drama, but that wasn’t who you were. After living the life you did, there’d be no way you could live a normal life.

“Don’t give me that look, Luci.” you grumbled when walking through your front door, your cat perched on the dining table just watching as you moved through the living room, ripping your destroyed shirt from your body. “This wasn’t my fault.”

You’re sure that you looked like a crazy person if anyone was watching on, talking to your cat while walking around your flat in nothing but a pair of black slacks and a bra. But you didn’t care, because this was your normal. You ranted to her after a long day at work or a particularly draining day, and she always sat and listened. Mostly because she was a cat.

“He just ran right into me, like he literally couldn’t see me. How odd, right?” you stopped briefly while searching your closet for a new shirt. “God Luci, he was cute though. So cute. And tall.”

Just because you secluded yourself in the world didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy taking a peak at what it had to offer. It was the forming relationships that put you off, not because there was a level of uncertainty - nothing was uncertain to you - but because you always knew the timeline of said relationships. It was always the same. So why put yourself through it? But also, why not? What if that was just what you needed to make such a painful existence a little more bearable?

“I didn’t even get his name. Maybe I’ll see him around the cafe sometime.” you hummed, throwing the new peach colored blouse over your head and peeking your face out of the hole. “No. No Georgie, don’t go there. Who are we kidding, it’s not like anything could ever happen anyway.”

Lucifer meows loudly at your comment., making you turn around to glare at her. Obviously she didn’t know what was actually going on, but it was nice to entertain the idea of someone listening to your problems and helping you talk them out. You were a secluded young woman, not crazy.

“What? Like I’m wrong? It’s not something I’d be able to keep from a boyfriend forever. And It’s not like I’d be able to just flat out tell them.”

[thefandomlesbian]

“You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” From one of the Drabble lists. Pre-seven wonders. Foxxay :)

Thank you so much for the prompt! 

Read here on AO3! 

“I'd do anything for you

But it's too late and I know I'm making

A fool, a fool of myself

But I can't conceal the way that I feel.” -Fleetwood Mac, “The Way I Feel” 

Misty lifted her head as she crossed the yard from the greenhouse to the academy. She climbed the steps and slipped out of her shoes, leaving them on the porch so she wouldn’t track anything gross into the house. Miss Robichaux’s was by far the nicest building Misty had ever occupied, and the last thing she wanted to do was tarnish it. She had dirt up to her wrists and streaks all over her clothes. I gotta shower. Before, it never would’ve bothered her, but she had Cordelia to impress now--especially since Myrtle had given her new eyes. I really liked her the way she was… But I might like her even more, now. A blush ran up Misty’s neck. She couldn’t let herself think too much about it; otherwise, Cordelia would See her thoughts. 

Drumming her way up the stairs, Misty noted the silence of the house, the absence of other people. Is anybody else even home? she wondered. But she shrugged off the notion. She was used to being alone, even if the house frightened her more than any night in the woods ever had. She gathered up a towel and headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and then she stripped herself of her dirty clothes, dropping them in the hamper and cranking on the hot water of the shower. 

She had missed the showers of civilization during her days in the swamp. Everything else about society, she could live without--even electricity was optional for somebody who knew how to grow and wash vegetables and start a fire. But the goat soap she stole from the old lady a few miles up the road from her house just couldn’t touch the chemical smelly-good stuff the girls here liked to use, and the swamp water would never be as clean as the steaming hot flow from the shower tap. Stepping under the scalding stream, Misty shivered, relishing in the feeling of it reddening her skin. She liked to feel herself swell under the water. If it didn’t hurt, it wasn’t hot enough. 

She hadn’t felt that way before. But now, she could never truly shake the stench of the smoke and her own rotting, toasted flesh from her body, no matter how fresh her new skin. The odor haunted her and reared up when she least expected it. She tried to smother it with Madison’s perfumes and colognes and Zoe’s lotions, but it sprung back up, nothing wholly eliminating it. 

Scrubbing herself with a washcloth and vigorously scrubbing her scalp, Misty picked through her curls under the running water and washed the dirt from her leg hair where it had gotten caught and matted. It only took a few minutes for her to feel clean, the fruity and flowery scents of women’s soap surrounding her, and she stepped out, patting herself dry with a towel. She dug around under the cabinet. They’re gonna find out I’m stealing their stuff, eventually. She would handle that when they caught her. Pulling out a tube of Bath and Body Works, she opened the cap and smelled it. “Oh, yummy.” She didn’t even bother to read the bottle as she squeezed out a copious amount of it into her hands and began to rub it all over herself, anywhere she had patted dry, and let the lotion butter up her skin. As she absorbed the scents, she tilted her head back. Oh, she savored this feeling. 

Looking around, Misty surveyed the steamy room for her clean clothes, only to find they weren’t there. I must’ve forgot them. She wrapped her towel around herself and opened the door, stepping out into the hall, face-to-face with Cordelia. “Eep.” She peeped the quiet sound as she blinked at the older woman. Oh, boy. I’m naked. Her throat closed up. I’m naked in front of Cordelia. Trying to push her crush down inside her, she gulped. “Er--Miss Cordelia. Sorry, I just forgot my clothes… I didn’t think anybody was home.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened. “Oh--it’s just us. Don’t ask me where everybody else is, though. Nobody tells me anything. I was looking for you. I cooked dinner.” She smiled. Her odd eyes, the one blue and one brown, darted up and down Misty’s exposed body. I’m pretending I didn’t notice her just check me out. Misty flushed, clutching her towel tighter around herself so her knuckles blanched white. She couldn’t judge; after all, Cordelia had been blind when they met, and she had only seen Misty with her eyes a handful of times. “I suppose I should let you go get dressed.” 

Misty grinned. “Yeah, I might appreciate that.” 

Stepping out of the way, Cordelia let her pass. “You smell good.”

Misty beamed. “Thanks!” Her heart fluttered. She fumbled around with her bedroom door, sliding in and closing it behind her before she gave a gleeful, relieved sigh. 

In a few minutes, she clad herself in some fresh clothes--clothes which were probably altogether too dressy for her to be wearing around the house. She hadn’t been able to salvage much from her old life, mostly things she could steal and barter for at the Cajun markets where she trusted no one would recognize her. This left her choice of outfits somewhat barren. She wiggled her body into a dress she had borrowed from Madison, complete with tall boots, and she carefully picked through her hair so it looked neatly careless. 

Cordelia was at the end of the hall, staring down the staircase, a forlorn look on her face. Misty approached her from behind. She’s so pretty. Her caramel-colored hair matched the wood floors, and her white blouse let just a hint of her bra underneath appear through the sheer fabric. Her jeans were skin-tight. Cordelia hung her head. Misty frowned, touching a hand to the small of Cordelia’s back. Cordelia flinched away in surprise, a hand fluttering over her chest, as her eyes widened in fear. For a moment, Misty didn’t see herself reflected in Cordelia’s odd eyes, but someone else. “Oh--” Her voice was breathless. “Misty. You startled me.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. Are you alright? You’re looking a little downtrodden.” 

Nodding, Cordelia waved off her feelings. “I’m fine,” she assuaged. Misty wasn’t sure she believed her, but she gave a slight smile. “C’mon. I cooked.” As she headed down the stairs, Misty followed, and the first thing that met Misty’s nose was the smell of… cooked meat. Oh god. Misty chewed the inside of her cheek. Cordelia hadn’t told her she was planning on cooking. If she had, Misty would’ve given her a heads up. Maybe there’ll be a vegetable on the side. Something I can eat. 

There wasn’t. As Misty entered the kitchen, a large, beautiful lasagna awaited her. Can I, like, scrape the meat out of it? “This is beautiful, Miss Cordelia,” she complimented. No. Too many layers. She’d get suspicious. She didn’t want Cordelia to think she was ungrateful. Misty was from a place where she ate what was put in front of her or she didn’t get to eat, and while she doubted Cordelia would institute such strict rules, she feared a refusal to eat what was cooked would hurt her feelings. 

“Thank you.” 

Resigning herself to her fate, Misty cut the smallest piece of lasagna she could manage. I’m just going to have to be an adult and eat it. Was it dishonest for her to eat it without telling Cordelia? What if this started a trend? What if she and Cordelia fell in love and Misty started eating meat because she was afraid to tell her and ten years from now they were married and she finally confessed that she used to be a vegetarian and it destroyed Cordelia’s trust in her and they got a divorce? Okay, that’s taking it a little far. Licking her lips, Misty got a bottle of water and sat down at the table across from Cordelia, staring down at the lasagna. 

Cordelia sat, as well. “So…” Misty looked up at her. “How are you liking things here?” 

Misty hurried to cut the lasagna into pieces with her fork, hoping it would make it look like less. I haven’t even tasted it yet. It may be fine. Maybe I can just eat it and then tell her that I don’t eat meat afterward, for future reference. “I, um… Well, it’s a lot better than getting shot at in the swamp in the middle of the night and running around in the slime wearing a nighty.”

Giving a soft chuckle, Cordelia shook her head. “You’re funny.” Her eyes kept darting back up to Misty, like she didn’t want to look away, and Misty felt her face warming at the notion of Cordelia staring at her. “I--I’m glad you’re here. I like having some company in the greenhouse.” Nobody was using it when I got here. “And now, for dinner.” 

“It’s better than boiling vegetables with swamp water over an open flame.” At least I can eat those vegetables. Misty would not complain. She was hungry, but she could always sneak back downstairs later and eat some buttered toast or some tomatoes. “I really like being with you, Miss Cordelia.” 

Cordelia tilted her head. “But?” 

Blinking, Misty shrugged. “But?” she asked. “That’s it. It was a complete sentence.”

Cordelia looked just as astonished as Misty felt. “Usually when someone says something nice about me, they follow it up with a but.” 

“Well, I’m not,” she reassured. Cordelia had an odd look on her face, heartfelt, tender. “I don’t know if I fit in well with everybody else.” She blinked down at her lasagna. She couldn’t take a bite while Cordelia was looking at her, just in case it made her gag. The smell of cooked meat alone made her stomach turn. “But I love being with you.” 

“Thank you, Misty. That’s very sweet of you to say.” Cordelia hesitated, looking down at her own food. “I enjoy your company a lot, as well.” Now, while she’s not looking! Misty took a small nibble of the lasagna. Oh, shit, spit it out discreetly, hurry! Cordelia looked back up at her, and Misty forced herself to swallow with a dry gulp, praying she didn’t turn as green as she felt on the inside. “Are you alright? You haven’t even touched your food. What’s going on?” 

Misty made a quiet, “Ahem,” wondering if she should tell the truth or try to lie on the spot. “I, um… I’m a vegetarian,” she confessed. She wasn’t a very good liar. Cordelia’s eyes widened with shock as Misty spoke the soft words, and desperate to keep from offending her, Misty decided to ramble instead. “My mama made me help cook the Thanksgiving turkey when I was twelve, and when I stuck my arm up its butt, it came to life and it chased me and Mama all over the house, and now whenever I eat meat, it makes me afraid it’s gonna come back to life, which I know is crazy if it’s already been chopped up and cooked, but I still have nightmares about turkey guts splattering all over the house, but I didn’t want to say anything because I really like you and what if it offended you and then we wouldn’t be married in ten years but then I thought what if we are married in ten years and you still don’t know that I’m a vegetarian and I’ve spent ten years going behind your back trying to eat raw broccoli when I’m alone and I’m basically cheating on you with kale, which is a sin all of its own?” 

One could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Misty closed her eyes tightly. “I’m just realizing I probably should’ve stopped talking after I told the Thanksgiving story.” 

Cordelia laughed. Misty dared to open one eye at her, and she, too, had turned as red as the marinara sauce on the lasagna. She covered her mouth as she laughed, but the crinkles around her eyes were mirthful and filled with delight. Misty was afraid to move. “Misty--I made this meal so I could talk to you about going somewhere with me tomorrow. But, for the record… I don’t think you can cheat on me with kale.” She giggled.

“Somewhere like where?” Misty didn’t quite understand. 

“Somewhere like anywhere?”

“Oh, somewhere like a date. Well, shoot, yeah, as long as there aren’t any turkey carcasses!” How did this work out in my favor? 

Cordelia took the bowl of lasagna away from her. “There’s a vegan restaurant a few blocks off from Bourbon Street,” she offered, “if you’d like to go.” Misty nodded vigorously. “And we could go shopping afterward.”

“You want to go shopping with me?” 

“You’re wearing Madison’s look at my legs dress.”

As she stood, Misty looked down at it. It did, indeed, leave very little to the imagination. “Well, I reckon I am. I didn’t know it had a name.” She left the kitchen table and took the plate from Cordelia. “Let me. It’s my mess.” As she passed, Cordelia’s hand brushed down the small of her back and then just a little lower, sending lovely tingles over her entire body. Yep, it’s my mess.