#this incited another ten minutes of talking

[fingertipsmp3]

Just had the weirdest job interview in my life and now I’m eating a big cookie. How is everyone

[lovelyhan]

— 505 ⟢

i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck; or i did, last time i checked.

★ FEATURING; joshua x afab!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 3.4k words

★ TAGS; coworkers au, friends with benefits, typical gentleman in the streets sexual deviant in the sheets joshua, a hint of pining if you squint, slight angst?, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; this specific picture of shua is years old but it incited the most visceral reaction out of me anyway so here we are with another short oneshot that sidetracked me from the monster that i'm SUPPOSED to be writing :| this also turned out a bit more emotional(?) than i originally intended, so heads up on that i guess

★ SMUT TAGS; unprotected sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), choking, slight dumbification (i'm sorry, i normally have more dignity than this but i miss him so so dearly)

★ PERMANENT TAGLIST; @cheolhub - @pretty-trustme - @just-here-to-read-01 - @idkmelkro - @dejavernon - @venusrae - @jyiiscool - @jiniesclub - @junhui-recs - @bldelaine - @featmia - @fruitzcup - @hoeforhao - @candidupped - @billboard-singer - @caratochan - @novalpha - @dahliatopia - @0717luv - @shiveringgaze - @toruro - @mixling-blog - @minnie-mouser22 - @homerunhansol - @mirtaspace - @ti-red - @zzucculent - @woozarts - @rubyreduji - @mozellerra - @lllucere - @cheolzip - @jjjzzzz - @lissiesykes - @jeonride - @meowmeowminnie - @colored-confetti - @partiallyinfluencial - @speaknowlwt - @flwrshwa - @lilylikesthat - @aurorahongg - @whippedforjihoon - @todorokiskitten - @immabecreepin

★ JOSHUA TAGLIST; @yoonzinoooo - @scandal-in-bohemia - @lunaryoongie

Joshua arrives five minutes after the first clap of thunder and ten minutes after the rain started pouring outside.

You hear him before you see him. The automatic lock of the hotel room turns as he scans the spare keycard from outside — one that you made sure to leave with the receptionist in the lobby when he told you he'll be running a little late. When the door swings open, light spills from outside and he greets you with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle and your heart stutter.

It's the same look that makes your female coworkers swoon and giggle to themselves in the office pantry — talk about Joshua's adorable eye smile never straying too far from your ears.

If they knew what kind of person he was past the usual pleasantries, would they still engage in that kind of fanfare?

Joshua is soaked all over when he enters, having tracked rainwater all over the carpeted hallway and into the floor of Room 505. He doesn't seem all too fazed by it though — quickly shrugging off his coat before hanging it behind the flimsy plastic hooks screwed to the back of the door. He shuts it behind him with a kick, sighing through his teeth as he loosens the coil of a sushi-patterned necktie around his collar.

You got that one for him as an exchange gift for last year's Christmas party. Joshua uses it a lot more frequently than you expected him to. In fact, he always wears it during casual Fridays. You're not sure if he actually likes the stupid necktie or he's just trying to get a reaction out of you, but his choice to wear it isn't lost on you either way.

"Team dinners are really something else," Joshua chuckles as he tosses the flimsy material atop the complimentary dining table. He cards his fingers through his damp hair and you try not to think of how good he looks as he does it.

"You should've come with us. It's not often that you see Manager Yoon convince Jihoon to down a shot of soju. Oh, Seungkwan also got his ass handed to him at karaoke with the girls from sales. I had no idea Jihyo could hold her high notes like she means business."

You don't take a bite at his feeble attempt at small talk. He knows damn well why you don't show up to any of Jeonghan's team dinners, but you tell yourself that Joshua's just being polite — still thinking of the outcast of the marketing department despite the fact that you do not want anything to do with the people you work with.

...Although there are some exceptions here and there.

"Really? You're just going to give me the silent treatment all night?" Joshua sighs dramatically as he unbuttons his dress shirt — baring his rain-beaded chest to your unwitting gaze. "Well, if you need a bit more time, I'll go hop in the shower first. You're free to join me if you'd like."

He knows you won't, so you find it strange that he offers each and every time anyway.

You let your gaze wander to the full length mirror attached to the cabinets once the door to the bathroom clicks shut. There's nothing remotely special about your getup tonight. You're still donned in your work clothes — brick gray pencil skirt with a brick gray blazer to match. Apart from the heels sitting on the rack near the door, you're pretty much still in uniform.

You had half the mind to go home and change when Joshua said he's going to dinner and karaoke with your boss and some other colleagues, but that would mean you actually cared about what you looked like in front of him.

Which, for the record, you don't.

You can hear Joshua singing a familiar song in the bathroom — one that he always belts out in the most annoying way possible every time he showers. You wonder if he even knows any other song apart from that, but tell yourself you don't really have any business asking.

As the near-silence persists, however, your thoughts start to wander. Did he also sing this song when he was at karaoke earlier? Did he get to duet the high notes with Jihyo? You wouldn't put it past either of them to do so — being two of the company's renowned social butterflies.

That train of thought brings forth the same question you've been asking ever since the first night you shared this hotel room with Joshua and found him still lying beside you in the morning:

Why'd he choose you?

You're an in by nine and out by five unless there's paid overtime kind of employee. You never bothered establishing any worthwhile friendships in the workspace because you know better than to trust the backstabbing fiends in the corporate ladder. You're perfectly aware of what other people say about your individualistic behavior — how you're the worst team player in your department — but you never really cared.

Not until Joshua Hong inserted himself into your life.

To put it in the easiest way possible, he's the epitome of a perfect coworker. He's the guy that greets you every morning with an charming smile. The guy who drops by your cubicle to give you a coffee he made himself before saying you're doing a great job with that report you're putting together. The guy that everyone just adores simply because he's always been likable from the get-go.

That's the kind of person Joshua is — the exact opposite of you. Surely the jury won't condemn you for always questioning how you wound up spending your Friday nights fucking the man your entire department is basically in love with when you're so unlovable yourself.

Every time you try to recall how your transactional relationship with the company's unofficial sweetheart happened in the first place, your brain simply refuses to cooperate — memories muddled by a few pints of beer too many and an eye-crinkling smile that you're better off not rationalizing.

Besides, it's not like Joshua kisses and tells. Whatever happens in Room 505 stays in Room 505, and that's one of the many reasons why you haven't deigned to walk away from the setup altogether.

You meet up, he makes you feel good — makes you feel wanted — he cycles through whatever aftercare you might need, you fall a little more in love with him, then you both decide if you want to sleep in for a couple more hours or —

Wait.

Did you just admit you're in love with him?

"Hm? Didn't think you'd actually hop in with me today."

Joshua's voice is clearly laced with amusement as you shut the door to the bathroom — cheeks hot with both the steam billowing from the shower and the embarrassment cloying in your chest. You had the foresight to take off your uniform at least, leaving you in an unassuming set of cotton underwear that makes Joshua lick his lips with anticipation.

You make a show of stripping the rest of your clothing before him — nothing but the glass door to the shower separating the both of you. It's nothing sensual, nothing grandiose. You simply take off everything that's keeping your body hidden from your nighttime lover's hungry eyes.

When you step into the warm drizzle of the showerhead, Joshua hums before reaching for a bottle of shampoo — squeezing just the right amount into his palm as he lathers the product into your scalp.

The gentleness weighted into his actions startles you a little — not having expected him to do something so...domestic. You came in here with the full intention of getting fucked against the bathroom wall, but the way he massages your scalp so tenderly makes you reconsider your course of action.

But no matter how much of a gentleman he acts around you, not even Joshua can do anything about his own body's physiological reactions.

You feel the length of his cock nestled against your ass, hips rocking back and forth as he stimulates himself into full hardness. A soft moan tumbles out of your lips when he squeezes some of the hotel-provided body wash all over your chest — large hands lathering the soap across your body all while paying special attention to your tits.

"You finally snapped out of it, sweetheart?" Joshua sighs before latching his mouth onto the thrum of your pulse, biting down for only a moment to get your attention. "Ready to take my cock like a good girl?"

The way he murmurs those last few words along the column of your throat makes your legs feel like they'll disintegrate at any moment. Joshua continues to murmur sweet nothings into your ear, helping you clean up properly first before actually trying anything.

You're not sure if you should be pissed off or endeared by his stalling, but by the time he's finally rinsed out all the suds from your heated bodies, you're more or less ripe for the taking.

"Brace your palms against the wall, pretty girl. Yeah, just like that." Joshua chuckles softly as he presses a kiss to your nape, lips traveling down the length of your spine until he's eye-level with your sopping cunt.

"God, I'll never get tired of looking at this pretty pussy. Been thinking about sinking my cock into you all fucking week," he practically growls. "You really knew what you were doing with that cute maroon skirt you wore the other day, weren't you? The one that kept riding up your thighs when you reached for something from the high shelves? Little fucking minx."

You mewl helplessly when you feel Joshua's tongue prodding your soaked folds — forcing you to press your cheek against the cold tile as he massages your ass gingerly.

Joshua does his best to keep you anchored, making sure you won't accidentally slip as he laves at the slick between your thighs. He has no problem doing just that — driving you to near insanity with how his tongue sucks and slurps at your cunt like it's the first meal he's had in days.

"S-Shua," you whimper pathetically, pushing your ass out for more friction. "You're eating me so good..."

Had you not been so quickly drowned in this haze of arousal, you would've exercised more restraint. Joshua normally has a hard time getting you to be more vocal whenever he makes you feel good, but you suppose that there's just something in the air tonight that makes it so easy to just surrender yourself to him.

You can feel the vibrations of his laughter along the millions of nerve endings on your clit as he traces it with the tip of his tongue — further incapacitating you from coherent thought. When he slips in a finger into your awaiting heat, you all but gasp into the steamy air of the hotel bathroom.

"You're so cute when you start calling me that," he coos without halting his ministrations — that sinful tongue darting out to tease and lick and stimulate as he eases in another thick finger into your gummy walls. "Wanna eat you out underneath your desk someday... Would you act as cute as you're acting right now if I did that?"

The prospect of having sweet, gentlemanly Joshua Hong on his knees for you under your work desk makes you tighten conspicuously around his fingers. From the sordid chuckle that leaves his lips, you're fairly certain that he's noticed.

"You like that, huh? You like it when I put my mouth on you? Make you feel so good, you forget about everything else?" he chuckles darkly, rising back to his full height without taking his fingers out of your needy cunt. "But we both know this is hardly enough for you, right sweetheart?"

You hate how he knows you so well.

Joshua spends about one minute max towel drying both of your bodies before he quite literally sweeps you off your feet. You let out a surprised shriek as he princess-carries you onto the bed — gently laying you on the undisturbed sheets before crawling on top of you like a predator circling its next meal.

"Wanna tell me why you were so out of it earlier?" Joshua murmurs as he nips at your jaw, the words followed by a crackle of thunder in the distance. He chuckles when you jolt in surprise before peppering your face with a collection of kisses that ends at the tip of your nose. "It's not the weather, is it? I remember that I literally fucked you in the middle of a storm last month."

"Quit running your mouth and just fuck me," you mumble, lacing your fingers around his nape before grinding up against his leaking cock. "I've waited for you long enough."

"Ahhh," he drawls with resounding epiphany, as if he'd just figured out some ancient secret. "So you were sulking because I took too long to get here? Don't worry, sweet thing, it won't happen again."

When Joshua leans close to your ear, his hot breath fans against your flesh — making your toes curl with quiet anticipation.

"The next time we meet in this room, I'll have you mounted on my cock the moment you come through the door."

Joshua doesn't bother with foreplay or any sort of preamble. He simply guides his cock into the give of your entrance, sinking his length so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.

"Fuck," you whimper, fingernails seeking purchase across the rippling muscles of Joshua's back. He doesn't quite move yet — letting you get used to the stretch like he always does.

"Pretty pussy's so fucking tight around me," he groans. "Did you need me this badly? 'm sorry for making you wait so long, sweetheart. If I had known, I would've ditched karaoke and made you feel good as soon as I could."

Empty words uttered in the throes of passion — you're well aware that's all they are. Yet Joshua has no trouble making your heart flutter with the sentiment anyway.

"J-Joshua," you manage to gasp as you feel his girth throb inside you. "Please move... Need it. Need it so bad, please."

You're on the brink of tears with how desperate you are for mind-numbing release, but amidst your mounting delirium, Joshua sighs a little too endearingly before pressing a long, hard kiss on your lips.

"Anything for you, pretty girl."

He eases himself into you slowly at first — making sure you feel every ridge of his cock dragging along your tight walls. Joshua particularly feels smug when your eyes roll to the back of your head, addicted to the way his cock is splitting you open.

It's only when you start to loosen up that he picks up the pace, strong hands gripping your thighs as he pounds into you. The squelch of your arousal echoes within the walls secluding you from the rest of the world.

When Joshua hoists your hips higher before hooking the back of your knees across his shoulders, you knew it was all over for you.

Admittedly, you don't remember the first time you've had sex with him anymore. Or the second. Or the third. You've had each other so many times in so many ways that every instance kind of just blends into the next — painting a messy caricature of all the illicit meetings you've had with your nighttime lover.

But you don't care if it's messy. You don't care if it's strange. At the end of the day, you're comforted by the fact that all these experiences you shared with him are irrevocably yours.

Even if you can't really say the same for Joshua himself.

He stirs the pot of your arousal with practiced ease. Joshua stares at you like you're the most precious thing he's laid eyes on before letting one of your legs fall back on the mattress.

Your lover trades the depth of his thrusts for enough leeway to flatten his thick fingers across your throat — making you bleat with expectation as he presses down just enough to make you feel lightheaded. He hisses when he feels your velvet walls clamp tighter around his cock, further informing him that he's on the right track.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he laughs breathlessly — his gorgeous face the only thing you can see. "You'll let me do anything to you, won't you? All I gotta do is fuck you stupid and you'll take everything I give."

At this point, you're too far gone to even deny a word he says. "Mmmm... Your cock feels too good, Shua. 'M so close already. You'll finish inside me, won't you? Make both of us feel good?"

"Dumb little princess couldn't even answer my question," Joshua chuckles before making a particularly harsh thrust that jostles you further up the mattress. "Of course I'll finish inside this pretty pussy. It's all mine, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," you mewl as Joshua's fingers tighten around your throat again, making your toes curl with unadulterated glee. "My pussy's all yours, Joshua. All fucking yours."

He chuckles again, fingers climbing up to your jaw until Joshua is able to prod his thumb against your bottom lip. You respond in earnest, suckling at the digit as he rails you into the mattress. There's no longer any room for intelligible thoughts — lost in the sea of pleasure that Joshua choose to drown you in every time you come together like this.

"Close, close, close," you practically sob, thighs winding around his hips as you bring him impossibly closer to you. "Shua, I'm gonna cum. Please, I need to cum. I need you—"

"You already have me, sweetheart," he laughs breathlessly yet full of intent that you're too fucked out to notice.

"You'll always have me."

That's what does you in. That's what always does you in — his sweet words, his tender gaze.

As much as the pleasure he gives with each drive of his cock into your battered cunt sends you to cloud nine, nothing makes you fall apart harder than the thought that maybe Joshua Hong is capable of loving you back.

Because how can he stare at you with so much adoration in his eyes if he doesn't actually love you at all? How can he keep meeting you like this in secret if there's no hidden agenda behind it?

But when all's said and done, you come back to your senses. Your rose-tinted gaze fades back into the darkness of Room 505.

Joshua is still beaming at you like you're the only person that matters to him on this entire earth. But you know damn well that he'd never smile at you the same way once you're out of the four corners of this room.

That's just the way things are.

As you pick off your clothes from the floor of the bedroom and the bathroom alike, Joshua stirs from where he momentarily passed out on the mattress — bleary eyes observing your every move as his brows furrow together.

"You're leaving?" he murmurs sleepily. "But it's raining outside. We should stay until it stops at least."

Hesitating for a moment, you stare at the bundle of rumpled clothes in your arms as Joshua practically tells you to go back to bed.

You know it's for the best if you don't lay back down beside him. The distance keeps you grounded — anchored to the truth that beyond these weekly trysts you share together, you and Joshua are nothing but civil colleagues at most.

He isn't your lover. He isn't even your friend.

But a stubborn part of you believes that maybe if he breaks you apart and puts you back together again, you'll be a different person. Someone who can keep up with his outgoing lifestyle. Someone he'll have no problem showing off to his friends and fellow coworkers.

But, really, when have things ever turned up daisies when it comes to you and Joshua Hong?

"Fine," you mumble, dropping your clothes in a heap next to the sushi necktie that looks more worn out now that you're seeing it up close.

You make a mental note to buy him a few more once the Christmas sales start coming around again.

"You coming to cuddle before we sleep or what?"

Joshua stares at you sleepily and expectantly from the bed, even patting the vacant space between him for added effect. If only those girls swooning at him in the office pantry could see him now...

Too bad what happens in Room 505 stays in Room 505.

⟢ end notes: finished this at 3:05 am with zero proofreading dedicated to it <3 if you spot any mistakes, they're not really mistakes since they're all crucial contenders in the creation process <333

[she-karev]

The Night They Met (Andrew DeLuca x Alex Karev’s Sister Origin Chapter)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of One

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Ship: Andrew DeLuca x Amber Karev (Alex Karev’s Sister)

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 6

Summary: While DeLuca is under, he dreams about the first night he and Amber met and when he started to fall in love with her.

Words:

May 3rd, 2020

“Webber paged?” Teddy asks Owen as she enters the OR.

“Yeah, for me. DeLuca got stabbed.” Teddy sees DeLuca on the table under anesthesia to her shock, “He has a massive hemothorax and blood in the pericardium.”

“Sternotomy tray?”

“And Balfour. We treated a kid in Jordan who had shrapnel in the same area.”

Teddy remembers their patient from the army, “Right. Texas Hold 'Em guy.”

“And we sent him home in one piece.”

“Alright, let's do it again.” The surgeons get ready and start to cut into DeLuca who is passed out on the table. His mind takes him back to the past or it makes him dream his own version of the past. Either way it takes him away from what’s going on right here in the present where his life is on the line.

July 17th, 2017

Andrew DeLuca walks along the sidewalk of downtown searching for a bar to drink and relax after what just transpired at Joe’s Bar ten minutes ago. He was gonna talk to Jo Wilson about how he’s worried about Dr. Shepherd but she thought he was gonna confess his feelings for her again.

DeLuca learned from the first time he tried to confess his feelings for Jo that it would be for nothing. She interrupted him and told him that she doesn’t feel the same way. It hurt him but he learned to accept it and move on. But to have her outright tell him that despite everything she still loves Alex has him yearning for a buzz to kill the sour mood Jo incited in him. He left Joe’s so he doesn’t see Jo’s face as he drowns his sorrows and is on a quest for another bar to unwind in.

He spots a hole in the wall to his right called Screwdriver. The name itself tells him it’s not a high end cocktail bar and it most likely has college students and down on their luck drunks desperate for a drink. But at this point he’ll settle for a keg in a back alley instead of the usual spot for Grey Sloan staff to drink.

He pushes through the door and the smell of stale beer hits his nose, but he continues down the stairs. The walls are covered in old rock star posters, and he can hear Summer of 69 getting louder as he reaches his destination. There are tables and a stage for live entertainment in this room that could seat about 10 people. He sees a couple of men deep into their beers at one table and spots his destination.

The bar counter is tended by a large and hairy bartender who is already tending to another patron sitting on the stool with her back towards DeLuca. He can discern that it is a woman with long blonde wavy hair. She is wearing a gray sweatshirt with dark jeans and casual shoes. Andrew can guess it’s a college student trying to drink despite being below the age limit. He ignores it however and sits two stools away from the woman without glancing at her needing to be alone in his misery tonight.

“Can I get a beer and onion rings please?” Andrew asks the bartender who nods before grabbing a glass and going to the beer tap. He hears female laughter next to him which calls his attention and he looks to his left to see that his night just got worse.

It turns out the college student was actually the woman he accidentally assaulted this morning. He didn’t recognize her because instead of an expensive dress with a coffee stain and high heels she looks casual with her college sweatshirt that has Iowa State University at the front in yellow font. The sight of her here of all places on a crappy night like this has him widening his eyes at the unfortunate coincidence.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He says in disbelief over his misfortune causing the woman to look at him offended.

“What exactly do you have to be upset with me about?”

Andrew realizes what he said and wants to take it back and explain, “No that’s not what I meant I just-”

“Did I spill coffee on you or punch you in the face or picked up your tampons?” DeLuca’s face burns at this recap in front of the bartender who is taking this out of context, “Cause I’m a little lost on what you have against me.”

DeLuca glances at the bartender who looks mildly interested at this interaction but puts a beer in front of Andrew before walking back to the kitchen. The two of them are left alone with their respective drinks basking in the awkwardness of this chance meeting.

Andrew sighs and tries to fix his mistake, “Look it was an accident, I swear.”

It falls on deaf ears because the woman is still peeved by his presence and makes it known, “No, it was three accidents, five if you count each individual tampon.”

“I said I was sorry I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Nothing, in fact we don’t have to speak to each other ever again.” The woman tells him in an aggravated tone that makes him respond the same way due to his own crankiness.

“Oh, that’s too bad, I was really enjoying getting to know you.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

DeLuca rolls his eyes at that, “I was being sarcastic.”

The woman turns to him with a dark look, “I wasn’t.”

The two of them drink their alcohol in bitter silence once they made it clear they were not in the mood for idle chit chat. After he sips his beer he looks over at the woman who is drinking her scotch and soda.

DeLuca wants to go back to his drink and join the woman in her silent isolation but there’s something about her that intrigues him. Maybe it’s her being in a bad mood as well that has him curious about what made her want to unwind in alcohol too. Or maybe it’s because she’s unlike any other woman he met.

When he first met her this morning, she looked like she came straight from a fashion magazine. Now she looks dressed for a casual stroll instead of a night out in a bar. This change in persona has him intrigued on the angry woman next to him and for some reason a part of him wants to know her more and figure out what she’s really like beyond the clothes and bad attitude.

Andrew decides to ask a question, at this point he can’t piss her off more, “So, uh…what were you doing at the hospital anyway? Were you visiting a relative?”

The woman looks at him confused and he expects a sharp insult but instead he gets a medium respond, “No I was uh…there for an interview to become an intern.”

Andrew’s interest is piqued at the prospect of working with this beautiful woman, “Oh, what field?”

“Surgery.”

The coincidence wipes his sour mood and he looks at her impressed and surprised, “Oh that’s my field too, I’m a second-year resident.” The bartender puts the beer and onion rings out in front of Andrew who doesn’t notice as he continues talking to her, “How did it go? Did you make a good impression?”

He sees her signaling the bartender and pointing at her empty glass, “I think so I wasn’t socially inept as most doctors would be and they didn’t notice the coffee in boobs if that’s what your worried about.”

She gives him a mocking grin that would normally bother him but seeing it from her has him quietly chuckle to himself amused.

He shifts to where she’s coming from and makes an assumption based on her college shirt, “Are you visiting from Iowa?”

“No, I’m visiting from New York I went to Iowa undergrad.”

Andrew nods noting unlike most doctors he knows she went to state school, “That’s cool I hear Iowa State is a really great school for…aspiring doctors like you.” He admonishes himself for his stupid comment about a state he barely acknowledges let alone knows the information on universities there. Despite this she gives him a genuine grin amused by his verbal clumsiness and chuckles for the first time.

He joins her and notes her perfect smile before he continues, “Sorry I don’t really know what to say here.”

She faces him with a wide smile as the bartender hands her a new drink, “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Andrew smiles before moving on to a new question, “So, New York are you graduating from Columbia? Or maybe Cornell?” The blonde woman frowns at that with surprised eyes that are furrowed. Andrew asks her out of curiosity, “What?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing it’s just…people look at me and hear New York and immediately assume model or actress. Ivy league is the last guess they would make about me.”

Andrew shrugs, “Well maybe that’s because they didn’t run into you after you interviewed for a surgery job at one of the top hospitals in the nation, that could be a factor.”

“True. As for the question neither, I’m graduating from NYU in May after that Match Day and then the rest of my life starts…no pressure.”

Andrew knows the feeling too well as he was a stressed out med student not that long ago, “So how long are you in Seattle for?”

“Just until tomorrow, I go back to New York by then.”

He sees an opportunity for a clean slate and takes it moving closer so he’s sitting in a stool right next to her, “Well since it’s your last night in town and we might work together in the near future how about we make a fresh start by letting me buy you a drink?”

She raises an eyebrow at him holding the glass in her hand that he remembers is her second drink for the night so he tries again, “Okay how about I buy you a meal then? And you can reimburse me for the dry cleaning.”

The woman chuckles at him, “Oh I’m still gonna reimburse you buddy.”

He doesn’t back down however as he is more intrigued by her the longer he talks to her, “Then you can reimburse me for any emotional or physical trauma I unintentionally cause tonight, what do you say?”

The woman looks at him blankly for a moment before responding, “All right.” She turns to the bartender, “Can I get a double cheeseburger please with the largest side of fries you have.”

Andrew can sees where this is going and grins at her long and expensive order, “With buffalo wings and after I want two of your most expensive desserts to go.”

She grins at him and he responds with a sly grin of his own before taking out his wallet for what will surely be a hefty bill.

“Can I get a name? Since your probably gonna bankrupt me in one night?” Andrew asks causing the woman to hold her hand out and he shakes it.

“My name is Amber.”

“Amber.” Andrew tries the name out and it feels nice saying it, “So Amber is there anything else I can get for you? Caviar? Maybe a beamer?”

Amber smiles at that, “Well it is the least you owe me after the pain and humiliation this morning. And you should throw in a whole new wardrobe straight from Saks.”

“I think I’ll have to sell my kidneys to swing that kind of cash.” Andrew jokes, “You know I grew up in Wisconsin and it’s right on top of Iowa but beyond the cities I memorized for field trips I don’t know much about your state.”

“Well I know Wisconsin is known for its massive amounts of dairy and cheese, is that accurate?”

“Very.” Andrew says with a nostalgic smile, “My mom was really into cooking, and she would try any dish with cheese on it. I joined my high school cross country skiing team so I could lose some of that fat. And I looked into healthy recipes I could make with my mom, so we don’t have as much lard in our systems as the dairy aisle.”

Amber chuckles at that image, “Well where I’m from we Iowans are known for our vast agriculture. We lead production in corn, soybeans and pork, what we lack in culture we make up for in fiber.”

Andrew is intrigues by this, “I guess it’s safe to say your kitchen was bustling with healthy ingredients unlike mine growing up.”

“No.” Amber says with a laugh, “Nobody in my family can cook to save their lives unless there’s clear instructions on the box. Basically, our family dinners consisted of tv dinners and white rice, although on occasion we would have mac and cheese with a little extra in it.”

“Extra?” Andrew asks with furrows eyebrows.

“Yeah, my siblings and I figured out about 50 different things to add to macaroni and cheese to give it a little something for taste.” Amber sips her drink, “Let’s see hot sauce was my favorite, hot dog too and out of some sick curiosity there was also peanut butter in the mix.”

Andrew groans in disgust and smiles in amusement, “Oh god that sounds disgusting.”

Amber smiles in agreement, “Yeah well my brother could eat anything that wasn’t nailed down so he finished it for us both thank god. Not much has changed since then, about three nights a week I have cereal for dinner and other nights I swindle my money for a hot dog from a cart that’s ten steps away from the next one.”

Andrew chuckles, “Well I’m lucky if I have the energy to pour cereal and milk together after a nightmare shift so I think I have you beat there right now.”

“Did I mention my cereal has dehydrated marshmallows?”

“Okay that is a problem.” He teases Amber who chuckles with him before he asks another question, “So what made you decide you were gonna be a doctor? I decided after four years as an EMT plus my whole family are doctors so that was motivation too. Do you have a family of doctors too?”

Amber winces at that, “Um…sort of. My brother is a surgeon, but he wasn’t the reason I decided to get into medicine. I challenge myself because nobody thought I was smart enough or determined enough to do a minimal task let alone past the MCAT. So, I made it a point to hit the books, get a 3.8 GPA and graduate with honors. After that it became kind of like a habit of mine to succeed and be the best I can be at the hardest thing possible.”

Andrew nods understanding her more, “And what could be harder than cutting into people and sewing them back together?”

“Exactly.” Amber confirms with a smug grin, “I thought I wanted to be an engineer growing up, but I figured out quickly that me and machinery are like lighting a match at a dumpster fire. Plus, those reflective vests are ugly.”

“True and what’s more trending than scrubs?” Andrew is very impressed at the woman next to him and makes it known, “It’s admirable, you pushing yourself like that. Med school for me was filled with legacy kids who expect shortcuts so hearing how you worked hard to earn everything you got is refreshing.”

Amber grins flattered, “Well I like to think we live in a meritocracy where people rise and fall based on how hard they work.”

Andrew is taken back by her vocabulary, “I think this is the first time I’m hearing the word meritocracy. Was politician your career goal too?”

“No, I practically grew up in a library.” Amber elaborates further, “We had basic cable, and I didn’t have enough money for a bookstore so checking out books was my best and cheapest option.”

Hearing about how she’s a bookworm too has Andrew’s interest in this woman reach higher and his attraction to her grows, “What did you like to read?”

“Fantasy mostly, I’m a sucker for magical worlds that turn into big movie franchises.” Andrew grins as his previous perception of her fades the more he knows about her, “I also like horror, reading about scary situations is so much better than seeing it on the big screen and…” Amber sips the last of her drink telling Andrew she has an embarrassing secret that requires alcohol to tell, “I also like graphic novels.”

Andrew’s eyes widen at the image of her reading Superman or Batman in the back of a comic bookstore, “Wow, I did not peg you for a comic book nerd.”

“Graphic novels.” Amber corrects with a serious face, “If you’re gonna make fun of me at least do it right. And I’m not a nerd, I haven’t read every single graphic novel in the world, just the ones that pique my interest. I have specific tastes.”

Andrew sips his beer, “Like what?”

Amber thinks for a moment, “Like Punisher, Old Man Logan, The Walking Dead those are my favorites. I like the dark and gory stuff with tortured antiheroes set in apocalyptic worlds.”

Andrew smiles at this, “Well when you put it like that I might have to give one of those a read.”

Amber chuckles at that before she pauses as a new song plays, “God I love this song.”

Andrew listens to determine what the song is and figures out it’s Leather and Lace by Stevie Nicks, “You like Fleetwood Mac?” He asks Amber who he thinks is the coolest person he’s ever met right now.

“Doesn’t everybody?” Amber asks back with a smile that stops Andrew dead.

“As far as I know right now yeah.” Andrew says after his peds rotation that lets him know the latest trends among the youth, “But it’s mostly because of that new Guardians of the Galaxy movie that had that one song that was already-”

“Overrated to begin with? I know!” Andrew is surprised at this shared point of view, and he almost wants to pinch himself to see if he’s dreaming the perfect girl right now. However, he doesn’t as he listens intently while she continues venting.

“It’s like ‘there’s a whole album with so many songs that are so much catchier, go on your spotify now’ Also it’s not the band that makes the songs great it’s the singer. Stevie Nicks went solo after Mac but nobody put her masterpieces on the charts.”

“Exactly!” Andrew agrees full heartedly, “I mean they worked on Rumours while there was affairs and divorces and so many other things that make good bands breakup. They put all that drama into a great album and yet everyone is focused on that one song because it goes with one scene in that one movie. It’s just…” Andrew stops when he notices the furrowed eyebrows and her hand over her lips that tells him he’s elaborating too much, “Sorry, my mind goes somewhere else when Mac is involved.”

Amber moves her hand revealing a grin, “I get it, I’m passionate about that band too, mainly because of Stevie. I mostly got into it because my middle name is Stevie, but I learned to appreciate the artistry and the history of it.”

DeLuca raises an eyebrow at that weird fact, “Your parents named you after Stevie Nicks? Not Christine or Lindsey?”

“Shut up.” Amber chuckles at that question that makes Andrew grin, “My dad was really into blues music. But hey I’m lucky I didn’t get B.B. or Muddy.”

“Or Fats Domino.” Amber chuckles at that sipping her drink before she closes her eyes bopping her head at the song.

“Here comes my favorite part.” Andrew sees her tapping her fingers against the counter according to the rhythm and is struck by lightning at what he hears next, “Lovers forever, face to face”

Andrew hears Amber singing the chorus and he knows he isn’t doing anything because the sound of her bedroom voice singing one of his favorite songs has him frozen in place. He begins to understand that Italian phrase he heard growing up ‘colpo di fulmine’ in English translation its interpreted as either ‘love at first sight’ or ‘lightning strike’. He can guess the latter interprets it correctly because the second he heard this beautiful woman start to sing it’s like something struck him.

Something so powerful and intense he can’t comprehend it but he knows it’s because of this smart, beautiful and independent woman next to him that has his full attention while she sings perfectly in tune and harmony.

“My city, your mountains stay with me, stay” Amber doesn’t notice Andrew staring at her as she sings too enthralled by the song, “I need you to love me, I need you today. Give to me your leather take from me my lace”

When she finishes singing, she opens her eyes and notices the staring next to her that makes her blush as he sees a red hue across her cheeks. He stops his staring looking at the beer instead hoping he didn’t ruin this by leering. She clears her throat; he fully expects her to say good night and walk out of the bar, but her next words catch him off guard.

“Do you want to sit at a table? I’m getting a crick at my neck facing you at this angle so…”

Andrew nods, “Yeah sure a table is fine, lets go.” Andrew lets Amber stand first and pick out a table while he says a silent thank you to the lord for not screwing up his chance with this dream woman.

[sinner-as-saint]

we can’t stop, we’re enemies.

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader AU

Run-through: After the events of the last battle against Thanos, you teamed up with Sam and Bucky to carry on your superhero duties. You got along with Sam just fine, he was a really good friend to you. Bucky however, was not. From constant banters, to unnecessary hand-to-hand combat, to purposely getting each other in trouble during risky missions, to being the main cause of Sam’s migraines; it was safe to say that you and Bucky considered yourselves to be each other’s nemesis. Although that soon changes when, courtesy of your silly banters, a certain mission goes slightly wrong - one which involves strong chemicals which, unbeknownst to you, were designed to mess with the brain and hormones, thus encouraging the need to breed and procreate amongst all those who inhale it...

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, smut, sex pollen trope, dirty talk, swear words, fluff

“How is it going up there Sam, talk to me.” 

You spoke, waiting to hear from Sam through the ear piece. 

The three of you were on a mission on unfamiliar lands. Rumor had it that some shady organization was conducting illegal experiments. The whole location was spooky, and you needed to be thorough and quick. So Sam decided to get an aerial view along with Red Wing, and see if there are any threats coming your way while you and Bucky decided to check out the underground laboratories. 

The whole place was shadowy and old, it almost seemed like no one had been here in a long time. But still, these people were criminals so you had to gather every evidence you could which would lead you their way. 

And so far, after exploring the place for the past half an hour, you found nothing major. Just weird laboratory glassware filled with liquids and what not. 

“Sam?” you called out again into the ear piece, keeping your gun at the ready. “Say something damn it.” 

His reply came. “There’s something sketchy about the building at the back, I’m gonna go check it out. But you have to promise me you won’t kill each other by the time I get back.” 

You and Bucky sent death glares at each other in disgust. He was on the other side of the lab, flipping through files and papers, while you were searching the cabinets and drawers. The two of you were separated by a steel workstation. Dark leather jacket, metal arm exposed; you’d find him handsome if he wasn’t so annoying. 

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky mumbled, being his grumpy self. 

You frowned at him, “Dude, drop your fucking attitude.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sam roared through the ear piece, “Enough! Focus, you two are in the labs and we don’t know what’s in there. Just, maybe look out for each other. Okay? I’m going in.”

“Be careful, Sam.” You spoke, sending another dirty look at Bucky. 

“Yeah y-,” 

Sam got cut off. All you could hear was some static noises and then complete silence. 

“Sam? Can you hear us?” Bucky tried reaching out but neither of you could hear him. “This isn’t good.” 

“Damn it!” You cursed. “Maybe he flew out of range. Or maybe we’re too deep under.” 

For once in his life he nodded, agreeing with you. “Let’s just hurry up and see what we can find. We need to get out of here as fast as we can and get to the Jet.” He said, flipping through more and more files and papers, his metal arm glistening in the poorly lit room. 

You sassed in the same tone he used before, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And you earned yourself another glare from him. 

Fifteen minutes later and you two still had nothing to work with. 

“This is useless. There’s nothing here, this is just bullshit.” Bucky complained, slamming down a file on the workstation so hard that it made you jump. 

You were annoyed. You slammed a cabinet shut and turned to face him. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is work getting too tiring? Do you need a break? Hmm?” 

“Shut up, you’re the one who keeps whining all the time.” He wasn’t wrong. 

You stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the cold workstation. “Well maybe if you’d quit complaining and actually do your part of the job, then I wouldn’t have to whine about always doing everything on my own and you taking credit for it in front of Sam.” 

He leaned forward, his metal arm already denting his side of the edge of the workstation. “Maybe if you’d stop bitching about everything and everyone all the time then maybe we’d get along and actually get shit done.” 

You leaned in too. “Or maybe if just me and Sam teamed up, we’d work better. I still don’t know why he keeps you around. Take your metal arm away, what are you? Exactly, just a hundred year old, confused man.” 

He smirked. “And what are you? Just a spoilt, whiny brat who knows how to use a gun?” He knew just what to say to get the reaction he wanted out of you. 

In less than a few seconds you had your loaded gun out in front of you, aiming it at his forehead. “And guess what, she never misses a target.” You spat at him. 

You had done this before; aiming guns at each other until Sam comes to break the tension. But Sam wasn’t here this time. 

Bucky knew you would never pull the trigger on him so he gave you a handsome, arrogant smirk which only pissed you off even more. “Come on, shoot.” He provoked you. 

“Stop pissing me off.” You warned. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me for calling you a whiny, spoilt brat? See, that’s exactly what brats do.” 

“James, stop.” Oh he was getting on your nerves. You were agitated. 

He just smirked and went on. “I actually believe that that might be your superpower, destroying people by annoying them to death with how much of a brat you can actually be.” 

You glared at him, unmoving, furious. You placed your forefinger on the trigger. “Say brat one more time and I will blow your fucking head off and when Sam asks, I’ll make it seem like an accident.” 

He leaned closer, aligning his forehead to the barrel of your gun. He stared at you with his stormy, ocean blue eyes; inciting you to just pull the damn trigger. He watched you with mischief in his eyes. “Brat.” He mouthed, smirking right after and waiting for your reaction. 

You clenched your jaw and shifted your aim just a little so that the bullet misses him but still shoots right by his ear. You pulled the trigger without hesitation, shooting at the shelf filled with dark red and brown liquids behind Bucky. 

Bucky maintained his calm and composure despite the loud sound of the shattering glass falling on the tiles right behind him. “Brat.” He said again, out loud this time. 

“I hate you.” You lowered your gun but then noticed something behind Bucky. Smoke, or some sort of vapor oozing out of the broken flasks and test tubes. You froze for a second. “Bucky, look.” You walked around the workstation and joined him on the other side. 

The vapor quickly filled the room like thick fog, reducing visibility and making your throat burn a little. You coughed; once, twice. You looked beside you and Bucky was standing there with a look of horror on his face. 

The moment his supersoldier sense got a whiff of the vapor, something in him ignited. No… 

“We have to get out of here. Now.” You heard his voice, then felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrists as he tugged you along, making his way out of the lab. He tried to hold his breath but he couldn’t hold it very long. He tried to find the door to exit the room but that was hard too because neither of you could see properly. 

“This stuff,” you spoke in between coughs, “will probably kill us, won’t it?” You held on tightly to his arm. “You need to get us out of here now.” The vapor was reducing your visibility more and more. 

He felt the side of the wall, looking for the metal handle of the door through which you entered the lab. “It won’t kill us.” He growled as he looked beside him. You were standing close to him, so close, holding on to his arm tightly, a thin layer of sweat covered your face. 

It was almost funny how you had your gun aimed at him just a minute ago and now you were relying on him for protection. 

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what this stuff is?” You asked. 

He sighed. He knew. “I have a hunch, but let’s hope I’m wrong.” He felt warm. Deep inside something stirred in him. Animalistic, primal, feral. It was there, pressing and burning. Guess he wasn’t wrong. 

He finally found the door and he pushed it open, letting the two of you out and you took off running at once. You tried to reach Sam. A couple tries later, he finally responded. “I got some names, I think we got what we’re looking for. Where are you guys?” 

“We found…. uh, nothing. We’re on our way to the jet, meet us there.” Bucky responded, running beside you. 

You were confused out of your mind, not to mention you felt feverish. Hot, and you were sweating more than usual in places you’d rather not think about. Something in you was yearning to break free. You felt chained, you needed release. You felt like something had awakened inside of you; a deep hunger. Aroused, you felt aroused. Or was it just the adrenaline rush? 

By the time you tried to figure out what was actually going on with you, you both had made it to the Jet. 

“I feel sick.” you mumbled, stumbling on your way inside the jet. “I think… I think that smoke poisoned me.” You placed your palm against the side of the plane to hold on so you don’t fall. You felt like gravity wasn’t pulling you down anymore. You were a little out of breath. 

Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You grimaced as it only ignited the fire which you just found out had been burning inside you since you left the lab. 

“You’re not poisoned. You’re not sick, you’re gonna be okay. We just have to… we have to get home.” Bucky was worse than you were. His enhanced senses allowed him to feel everything you felt, times ten perhaps. 

His heart raced as he got a whiff of your fading perfume, mixed with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your natural, raw scent. He could feel your arousal from here, and it pulled him in so easily. All he wanted to do was to tear your suit off, pin you up against the side of the Jet and fuck the living hell out of you, stretch you out and just rail you until you could no longer take it. 

Fuck. 

You looked up at him; heart racing, palms sweating and even your mouth was salivating more than usual. “You know what that thing was, don’t you?” You asked, ignoring the way his cold hand upon your shoulder made you want to lean into his touch even more. “What was it?” 

You saw the look in his hooded eyes. Bucky sighed, pulling his hand away from you and the loss of contact made you whimper ever so quietly. You felt warmer and more and more breathless with each second that passed by. 

“They used to make those substances, long ago back when I was with HYDRA. I didn’t expect to find those here. They were used to… to try and see if they could get super soldiers to procreate naturally.” Bucky explained and waited for your reaction. 

“Sex pollen. Correct?” 

He nodded, “Yes.” 

You were a little shaken, but relieved knowing that at least it wasn’t poison and you wouldn’t be dying a painful death. “That’s… I mean, it could have been poison.” You didn’t know how to react after you pieced it all together. “How long before it wears off?” 

“Twenty-four hours unless...” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you fuck it out of your system well enough.”

That had you surprised. “Oh. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Fucking perfect. I’m screwed.” 

Bucky tried his hardest to refrain himself from leaning in and biting that sassy mouth of yours, shoving his tongue past your lips to shut you up, to hear you moan and gasp and cry out his name as he takes you however he wants to… 

“We.” He corrected you. “It’ll get worse every hour.” He replied. 

You sighed and moved away from him, unzipping your combat suit partly and removing the jacket because you couldn’t handle the heat. Bucky cursed as you stripped into just a tank top and tight pants, right in front of him. He felt his cock get harder. 

“Can you not?” He sounded pissed off again; frustrated. “This is all your doing. The least you can do is make this a little bit easier for both of us.” 

His words made you turn around and glare at him. “How is this my doing? I didn’t even know what was in that lab.” 

He stepped forward, instinctively. The sight of your exposed neck and your soft skin was making him think of unspeakable things that he wanted to do to you. As he advanced, you tried not to look down at his cock, straining against his zipper. Your heart raced as you took in the size of his bulge. Enhanced super soldier indeed. 

“Had you not been a spoiled brat who can’t take a joke, you wouldn’t have tried to shoot at me nor would you have shot those flasks!” He argued, feeling more and more warm as he got closer to you. 

You took a step forward as well, fueled by annoyance, lust and anger. “Who was it who provoked me into doing that because they couldn’t keep their fucking mouth shut, huh? That’s right, your annoying ass!” 

Bucky pushed you against the side of the Jet without a second thought. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with his hand while pressing his body into you, his metal arm circling around your waist and pressing you further into him. 

He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought about how your warm breath would feel against his skin, or how warm your body would be under his touch. You felt feverish, having him this close. His tall, large frame and his tight grip made your whimper under him. Your body reacted to him naturally. 

All you felt was warm, his body heat, his scent. The feeling of his cold leather jacket against your flushed skin. You wanted him. Or rather, your body did. 

“Don’t you provoke me now, you fucking whiny brat.” He whispered, menacingly into your ear. 

You tried to ignore the shivers his voice sent down your entire body. But he saw it. And you could feel his erection press against your crotch. Just to mess with him, you discreetly moved your hips against his, making him hiss loudly. 

“What are you gonna do about it, dipshit?” You sassed, knowing that given his intensified senses he must be feeling much worse than you. 

He groaned as you kept grinding against him, your pulsating core rubbing against the bulge in his pants. And that only made it worse for both of you. 

“Fuck…” Bucky swore, before quickly pulling away from you, but not releasing you yet. “You’re such a bitch.” His body was screaming for you, each nerve ending of his was on fire. A fire only you could douse. 

You were just the same, on the edge and wanting to reach out for him; knowing he would satiate your hunger better than anyone could. Your body was throbbing as you stared into his eyes, your gaze lowering down to his dog tags. How you wanted those dangling right above your face… 

You heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Bucky. 

“Something you two need to tell me? Or is this just your new way of trying to kill each other?” A deep voice asked from behind Bucky. 

“Sam! Are you okay?” You escaped Bucky’s grip and rushed to Sam. 

He seemed alright to you. He nodded. “Yeah, we just need to get home. I need to notify the team and see what we should do next. What was in those labs?” 

You glared at Bucky. His smug face alone was pissing you off, but God right now you wanted to ride that man until the sun came tomorrow morning. 

“Just a bunch of useless experiments. Nothing major.” He glared at you as he said the last bit to Sam. 

The ride back home was one of the most painful, annoying and frustrating situations you had ever undergone. Each time you felt like someone was watching you, you’d turn your head to the side and find Bucky staring; and his stares would make your body tremble in need. 

Meanwhile he was having a hard time too, in more ways than one. He could feel his blood rush south even at the brief sound of your voice whenever you sighed in annoyance or talked to Sam. Luckily the latter could not pick up on the thick, sexual tension. 

Once at the compound, you each hurried to your own rooms and that’s where you stayed until the evening. Sam found it weird that you both skipped dinner but he didn’t need another headache today so he went to bed, telling himself that he’d deal with you two tomorrow morning. 

Bucky was a mess. Even after an hour under the cold shower his body was still calling out for you. He tried taking care of his business on his own, but that wasn’t working. He was still so hard it was painful. Nothing could make this better, nothing could soothe the pain - nothing but you. He needed you so badly it was driving him insane, like he was an animal in heat being asked to suppress his feral desires towards his mate. Being away from you was painful. He couldn’t help but hate you for no reason at all usually, but he’d do what it takes to be inside you and make you scream his name right now. 

You were equally as troubled at the super soldier. You tried taking a warm bath and tried to think of other things you could focus on, but nothing worked. Your toys didn’t seem appealing tonight, you needed him, all of him. You shivered at the thought of his taut, virile body under yours, or above. His masculine scent, the sound of his moans, would he bite?… fuck. You could feel your arousal leak out of you every now and then, it was insane how aroused you were. You couldn’t look at him for long without getting unnecessarily annoyed, but you would do anything just to have him rearrange your guts right now. 

What made it worse was that neither of you could stand each other at all. Enemies, you called yourselves. But right now you couldn’t help but crave each other in the most salacious way possible. 

Fuck this. You couldn’t take this anymore. You decided to swallow your pride and make your way to his room and ask him if you two could come to an agreement on how to fight this thing because it would be impossible to go another twenty hours feeling like this. You were burning from the inside. This was unbearable. 

Just as you opened your bedroom door, you were slightly surprised to find Bucky standing right outside your door. His metal hand up midair, as though he was to knock on your door and you happened to open the door just in time. You almost drooled at the sight of him; sweatpants and a tight, white t-shirt. You swallowed and cleared your throat. 

“Hey.” You greeted him, not knowing how to deal with this situation. You felt so drawn to him in that moment, so damn restless and needy that it was hard to breathe right while looking at him. 

“I was, uh, about to knock…” He didn’t know how he got here, he didn’t remember. Maybe it was the chemicals messing with his brain and turning him into a hungry beast. He didn’t care that he was knocking on your door in the middle of the night, he wanted you. He was craving you and that’s all he knew. Also the oversized t-shirt, the only you were wearing at the time, was not helping at all. 

“Yeah, um…” you rambled then stopped talking the moment you found him staring into your eyes with a wild look in his eyes. 

That was it. 

You grabbed him by the waistband of his sweats and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Before Bucky could process anything, you had him pushed against your closed door and your mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. Your hands slowly slipped under his tight t-shirt and you lazily trailed your hands up and down his toned abs. 

His hands gripped your hips on either side as he kissed you back with just as much ardor as you did. His body ignited the moment he felt your lips and hands on him, yet the heat was weirdly satisfying; it stimulated him but calmed him down at the same time. It felt perfect. This was just what he needed, you. 

Your movements were rapid and passionate, fiery. Hands roaming each other's body, touching and feeling and exploring; making each other moan like you were both touch-starved. 

You let out a soft moan when you felt his tongue slip past your lips, stroking the top of your mouth while his metal hand slipped under your shirt. Your body was tingling wherever he touched you. His touch made you feel way better than you had felt in the past few hours and you were grateful. Your moans sent his mind straight to the gutter and he couldn’t wait to be inside you. 

“I need you…” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away to catch your breath. “I need you to fuck me… right here, right now.” Your demands made him smirk as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes. 

“Oh?” he managed to still find the energy to be an ass to you. “Why don’t you go on and beg for it, then?” 

You scoffed, leaning in to lick his lips while you hand dipped into his pants. You grabbed his erected cock and gave it a little, gentle squeeze. He moaned like he hadn’t been touched in forever. Like he was desperate for one thing and one thing only; you. You whispered, “You need me too, Bucky. I’m not gonna beg you, I’m doing you a favor here.” You slid your closed fist up and down his length and made him moan some more before you let go and watched him groan and clench his jaw in annoyance. 

He looked down at you, panting in need just as you were. His hand slid into your hair and he gripped it, tugging on it just enough to make you gasp in pleasure and pain. “Still a fucking brat with that annoying attitude I see?” He leaned in to bite your exposed neck, making your cry out in pain before he licked the spot, soothing it. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you.” 

He let go of your hair but tightened his grip around your waist as he placed his mouth back on yours. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; biting your lip and bruising your already swollen mouth. He was wild, and you needed it and more. 

He pushed you down on your bed, and stood back to watch you for a moment. How did he never realize that you were so naturally beautiful? He looked down at you like a predator looking at his meal; fiercely, ready to ruin you and make you scream and beg and satiate his hunger. As well as yours. 

“Well, if you’re done staring…” you knelt on your bed and reached out for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him closer. “I want you in me. Now.” Your demanding tone riled him up. 

Bucky grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back again. “If you wanna get fucked, you’re gonna ask nicely. Understood?” 

You glared at him, shooting death glares right at him while your hand palmed him through his sweatpants. “I fucking hate you.” You spat at him, whimpering as he pushed you back down on the bed, quickly climbing on top of you this time. 

“I hate you too.” He knelt on your bed, straddling your waist as he tore your oversized shirt in half and off your body, throwing the pieces of fabric somewhere on your bedroom floor. You laid beneath him in just your underwear and he growled. 

“That was my favorite shirt, you fucking idiot.” You whispered, breathless, shivers dancing down your spine as he traced your mouth with his two fingers, slipping them past your lips once, then twice then trailing his now wet fingers down your neck, till your belly button. 

“You think I care?” he leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with his metal hand. The contrast of his warm mouth around one and his cold hand around the other was driving you crazy. He bit, and tugged and licked; making your back arch off the bed as you purred in pleasure. 

Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his erection again to try and alleviate the pain. You were desperate. Bucky pinched and rolled one of your nipples while he lightly grazed the other with his teeth, and you let out a loud moan. 

“Please… please, I need you. Please…” You muttered under your breath, knowing he could hear you. Bucky smirked as he pulled away from your chest, ignoring the way his cock throbbed. “What’s so fucking funny?” You grabbed him by the throat, pulling his face closer to yours. 

His metal arm reached down in between your legs and he ripped your underwear off. The fabric hurt just a little when it tore against your skin. “Just that it's the first time I heard you asking for something so politely. It’s not so hard after all, is it?” 

Now he was pissing you off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and flipped the two of you around. You got on top of him and straddled his waist, trapping him under you like he had you before. You had better control like this. 

You grabbed him by the jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips, fiercely. “Stop fucking playing, Barnes.” You whispered against his lips, grinding against his hard cock again. He closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as you kissed down to his neck, nibbling on his skin along his throat. 

He moaned, hands gripping your hips and guiding you as you rubbed your bare core against his clothed erection. “No? I thought brats liked games?” He mumbled. 

You pulled away from his neck and looked down at his smug face. “You are so fucking annoying.” You reached down in between your bodies and lowered his sweatpants all the way down until he kicked them off. You grabbed his cock and stroked him gently, agonizingly slow. He moaned shamelessly, and eventually caught on that you were just teasing him even more. 

“Don’t tease me…” he sounded just as breathless as you were. 

“Why? Not so fond of games anymore?” you sassed, rubbing your throbbing core against his thigh while you stroked him so gently that he felt like he was losing his mind. 

He growled as he grabbed you by the waist and flipped the two of you around, him being on top again. “Enough,” he growled in your ear, “Spread those legs for me.” He ordered, settling in between them as you spread your legs to accommodate him. He grabbed your thighs and parted your legs even more as he aligned the tip of his cock to your opening. “Now stay still, don’t move.” 

You braced yourself for him, but nothing could have prepared you for that. His length stretched you open until he was seated deep inside you, filling you up entirely to a point where you couldn’t even think of anything else other than him being balls deep inside you. 

You moaned as he removed himself entirely and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear, “Fuck….” you heard him moan; panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. He kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you over and over again, making your eyes tear up. The burning need subsided a little bit as his cock brushed against all the right spots inside you. “Buck… faster, please,” You whimpered. 

He chuckled into your ear, “Needy little brat…” he mumbled as he sped up into you, making you lose your ability to focus on anything else other than him and his body. He pulled away from your face to look down at you, his metal hand coming up to wrap itself around your throat. “This is what you wanted since we left that lab, huh? For me to fuck your greedy little cunt? Hmm?” He taunted as he stretched you out completely. You lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist; allowing him to thrust deeper into you. 

You felt tears escaping your eyes as he pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours fucking deeper into you. He was relentless; each moan which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough. 

You felt a pressure form in between your hips, your body begging for release. “Bucky… please.” You moaned, begging. For something, anything. You’d take anything at this point. But right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he pulled out. 

“Please what?” He surprised himself with how he was able to tease you in this situation when all he wanted was to make both of you cum over and over again. 

“I need to cum, Bucky please,” you cried, with tears in your eyes. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss your swollen lips, not minding the tears. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, and you nodded immediately, your body shaking with how bad you needed to cum. “Oh you do, do you?” 

You nodded again. “Please…please...” 

“Well since you asked nicely…” Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his muscular body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again. 

He rocked into you from behind. His hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm against your lower abdomen. He liked how he could feel himself deep inside you with each thrust. And he liked how that drove you insane, he could by the way your walls gripped his cock. 

“Feel that, little brat? That’s all you’re good for… to take my cock like a good little slut.” He whispered. 

You groaned at the sound of his raspy voice, his words making you milk him even harder. “You wish, you dipshit.” You moaned as he sped up when you least expected it. You whimpered, and he chuckled now that he had you at his mercy. 

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he choked you gently as he bent down to whisper in your ear, “I can assure you that no one is ever gonna fuck you this good,” he boasted as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “Fuck… please....” you cried. 

You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. “Cum for me. Now.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. You came undone, hard and fast; moaning his name as you did. Bucky came right after you. 

You collapsed onto your bed, sprawled unevenly and not even caring. Your eyes were shut in fatigue, your heart racing and you could feel Bucky’s body heat right next to you. He was catching his breath too, mumbling something under his breath which you couldn’t catch. 

For the first time in hours, you felt at ease. Your body wasn’t yearning anymore, but the hunger was still there. So when Bucky got up to leave, you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into bed with you. 

He smirked as he fell helplessly onto your bed again, right next to you. “You want more, you greedy little brat?” 

You punched his arm before getting up and getting on top of him again, sliding your body down his cock. He hissed as you did. 

“Just another round.” You whispered, loving the sight of him under you. His tan skin against your white sheets, him moaning as you slowly lifted up and sank back down on his cock. Oh fuck… 

You placed your hands on his muscular chest to hold yourself up as you sped up, riding him like you’ve been dreaming of this whole time. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you up and down his cock until you both found a pleasurable pace. 

You weren’t going to last too long, but you just needed to have him buried deep inside you again. His thick, girthy cock stretched you open as you took him as best you could, moaning and whimpering desperately as he groaned and gasped under you. 

Your walls gripping him and milking him like they had earlier, not even a few minutes ago. You felt the pressure forming nicely in between your hips again. You let out a loud moan as you felt his cock reach places it hadn’t before, turning you into a mess. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you down on his cock with force each time and thrusting upwards to fuck you deeper. “Cum for me.” He threw his head back, growling. “Cum for me again…” 

Your hand grabbed him by the jaw and you leaned in to press your lips against his, claiming his open mouth and muffling his animalistic growls as you came undone around him again. Your orgasm then triggered his. 

You fell limp on top of him right after and he instinctively cradled your head. “You okay?” 

You nodded, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other but neither of you minding it. “Yeah.” 

Bucky gently rolled to his side, letting you down on your side of the bed. You tried your best to calm your racing heart. Not to mention you felt much, much better than earlier. 

Bucky got up to leave again, and you grabbed his hand before he got completely out of your bed. He turned to face you with a smirk then groaned dramatically, “Woman please, I’m not a machine. The pain will subside now, I believe we’ve done pretty good at fucking it out of our systems. I can’t go all night, seriously.” 

You were in a haze so his words made you giggle. “You’re really leaving?” 

He looked down at you, sprawled on your bed. Your face was glowing, you looked ethereal. “You want me to stay?” He asked, wondering where the sassy brat in you went. 

You nodded. 

He smirked, getting back into bed next to you, “What, now you're obsessed with me?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m just saying since I might need you again in the morning, you might as well just sleep here.”  

He pretended to be hurt. “Wow.” He didn’t mind that at all. He got under the covers with you, “So… is it just the chemicals or are we…?” 

You snuggled closer to his side, he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. “Shh, I still hate you.” Your tired, soft voice reminded him of a sleepy kitten. 

He held you closer. “Of course.” He looked down at you and saw that you had already fallen asleep on his chest. He cracked a soft smile, whispering under his breath, “Brat.” 

[piecksz]

prove it | (m)

pairings: modern!jean kirstein x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, penetrative sex, saliva, fingering, finger sucking, handjob, slight mentions of breeding, explicit language

words: 3k+

summary: your jealousy sparks a bitter argument between you and jean, but he shows in more ways than one, that you’re the only person he’s infatuated with. 

a/n: as always, if you wanna fully immerse yourself in the smut hehe you can listen to the songs i looped incessantly while writing: girls need love too by summer walker and excitement by trippie redd and PARTYNEXTDOOR (you cannot tell me that jean wouldn’t listen to either he’s so sexy omg pls free me from my brainrot)

You gripped the fabric of your dress, hiking it up above your ankles to make sure the material didn’t get caught under the sharp heels of your shoes while you stormed into the house. Seething with outrage, you swung the front door shut behind you, savoring the few seconds of solitude you had before Jean trailed behind you clamorously.

“I already told you, and I’m telling you—again—I didn’t know she was going to be there!” Jean was insistent, his footfall demanding on your tail as he followed you into the kitchen. His fingers were carelessly twined in his hair, an overt demonstration of his stress.

You hastily tossed your purse onto the counter, paying no mind to the way it slid across the granite and almost toppled over its edge onto the floor. “Bullshit Jean. It was your fucking event, how did you not know she was gonna be there?” You spared him an irate glance, it was the first time you’d looked at him since the two of you left the venue.

The entire ride home, Jean had attempted to make conversation, asking you if you’d enjoyed yourself and trying to solicit your opinion on how he’d done coordinating his company’s milestone event. Following the successful closing of a large venture deal and the expansion of the corporation, his boss had entrusted him to organize a company soirée to celebrate, and if Jean’s event had managed to go off without a hitch, a possible promotion was in the cards for him. However, much to Jean’s confusion you were quiet in your responses, mainly giving one word answers and little praise.

After relentless prodding, you snapped, admitting you were irritated after seeing Jean talking to Mikasa, an old coworker and friend of his. You’d disappeared for only a moment to use the bathroom, but when you returned, the two were engrossed in what seemed like interesting chatter. Seeing the way Jean laughed after everything she said prompted the agitation in your lower stomach to boil up into your throat. Nothing was that funny.

“Maybe I overlooked her name on the guest list.” Jean’s fingers left his hair and wrapped around his tie, tugging to loosen it.

“Oh, you sure looked over her while you two were talking and laughing.” You stood on your toes to grab a mug from the cabinet before slamming its wooden door shut. “What was so funny? The fact that you used to fawn over her like an idiot?”

You shuffled back over to the sink, flipping the faucet and watching as the mug filled with water before bringing the cup to your lips to take a long drink. You sighed as the liquid quenched your dry throat, raw from yelling. You peered over the top of the mug at Jean, eyes following him as he made his way over to the selection of hard liquor against the kitchen wall.

“There you go. Name calling like a fucking child.” He poured himself a generous glass of booze, chuckling wryly and taking a sip.

You pulled the mug away from your mouth. “You—are so—,” you started, but your words disbanded into a loud and frustrated groan.

“I’m so what?” Jean swirled the auburn liquid around in his glass, pretending to look more interested in the way it moved than in the conversation you two were having.

“You don’t want me to finish that sentence, Jean. You really don’t.” You set your cup down loudly, so forcefully it might have shattered with just another ounce of force. “Stop acting like I’m overreacting. You know I’m not the jealous type, you fucking know that. I wouldn’t care, but you know you guys have history together.”

“Yeah, history means that it was in the past,” Jean retorted. “It was in the fucking past.”

You leaned forward on the counter, dipping your head low as if to question the validity of your boyfriend’s reply. “You’re telling me you’d be okay seeing me with an old flame?” You laughed humourlessly.  “You complained for ten minutes after a waiter called me sweetheart.”

Jean took another long sip, then exhaled. “Because he clearly couldn’t tell the difference between horny and hospitality. Now you’re blaming me because you couldn’t see that?”

You nodded sardonically, a disbelieving smile shadowing on your lips while you reached behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. “And how’s that any different from this?”

“Mikasa never liked me back, what’s the problem? Did you just pick a topic out of a hat to bitch about?” Jean downed the rest of his alcohol, and then returned the short glass to the display. He wiped at his lips with his thumb and started back toward the kitchen.

“Fuck you, Jean.”

He let out a low chuckle while he rounded the length of the counter, sauntering in long strides until he was behind you with his large hands planted on the curve of your hips. He dipped his head, letting his mouth ghost by your ear. “You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re mad.” His palms began roaming, first gliding across your stomach before moving to your backside and cupping your ass in the curve of his hand. “Especially in that dress. You look really fucking good, baby.”

You barely cracked a smile. “Yeah?”

Jean’s low voice rumbled against your back. “Hell yeah.”

You turned around to face him, gazing up at him from behind sultry lids. “Then how about…,” you started, teasing him by fiddling around with the loose buttons on his shirt. “You sleep dreaming about all the things you wish you could do to me tonight. Because you’re not getting any.” Your seductive expression fell, and you pushed him backwards so you could slide out of the space between his body and the counter.

As you retired into your bedroom, you heard Jean’s weary voice echo from outside. “You’re cold.”

“Good,” you responded back resoundingly. “Maybe Mikasa’s free.”

“Maybe she is!” he retaliated, and although he wasn’t in front of you, you could nearly see the way he rolled his eyes at your spiteful jab.

You rolled your eyes back. “Shitforbrains.”

You removed your earrings, throwing them onto the dresser with your necklace before slipping out of your heels and stepping out of your dress. You struggled to make haste, trying to get ready for bed as quickly as you could before Jean entered the bedroom and had a chance to say anything that would incite another feud. Lazy and clad in your undergarments, you hauled yourself into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror lethargically while you brushed your teeth and removed your makeup with halfhearted effort.

“Do I need to prove it to you?”

You removed the cold wipe from your lids, opening your eyes and watching as Jean wandered into the bathroom. He continued walking until he met you at the sink, and he wrapped his long arms around your frame again.

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into him until the space between your bodies waned. You gave him an unamused glare through your reflection in the mirror, and resumed rubbing away at your persistent eyeliner.

“Should I mark up that pretty neck of yours?” Jean nestled his face into the curve of your neck, pressing messy, carnal kisses along the side of your throat until his lips met the dip underneath your jawline. He lightly brushed over it, knowing it was your sweet spot. Every time he wanted to turn you into a frenzy of moans, that spot was the easiest way he knew how.

“Or maybe I should have you carry our child.” His hands were hot against your stomach, the soft pad of his finger drawing a delicate circle around your navel. You were glad it didn’t tickle enough to make you laugh.

“You’re pissing me off,” you said, simply.

Jean released a husky groan that vibrated against the hollow of your throat. “You’re turning me on.” He hummed. “You feel that?”

You did. Against your ass, you could feel the prominence of Jean’s hardened cock through his pants, digging eagerly into your backside, and he did nothing but continue to fuel his lust by rubbing his erection against you.

“You’re the only one that can get me hard like this,” he strained, grunting at the discomfort in his briefs.

“Look how pretty you are.” Jean took your chin in his hand and prompted you to look at yourself in the mirror. He hovered over your shoulder and looked on, like he was only spectating. “Do you think anyone compares to you?”

His eyebrows creased while amber eyes fixated on your skeptical face. After a lack of response, he jerked your chin, forcing your attention back to yourself. “Answer me.”

“No,” you said quickly.

“Exactly. Good answer.” Jean’s thumb swept gently across your chin while he withdrew his hand.

Your timid eyes drifted over to him, observing as he slid two digits into his mouth, glazing them generously with saliva before lolling his tongue and pulling his fingers out. A thick string of spit lingered until his hand dipped and slid itself into your underwear.

You choked back a desperate cry once you felt Jean part your folds, using his wet fingers to pet the sensitive swell of your clit. Instinctively, you wrapped a sweaty, tremulous hand around his wrist, but it did nothing to quell his painfully tender ministrations.

“Jean,” you murmured. Your voice was breathy, just barely above a whisper while you gave in and rolled your hips against his hand. “Fuck, wait—Jean—”

“I love the way you say my name.” He placed his free hand on your breast. His fingers hooked onto the delicate fabric of your bra and tugged the material down, freeing your nipple. “Say it louder.”

“Jean,” you mewled loudly as he began flicking the hardening peak of your chest with a ginger touch. His movements were delicate and sensual, as though he wanted to kindle an impatient desire within you.

Jean’s fingers continued to rub slow, tortured circles into your clit and he eased into you every few seconds to make sure he was keeping his fingers slick. Once he heard your whimpers begin to ebb, he would stop and switch the direction of his motion, sending you into another flurry of moans and taking pleasure in the filthy-wet mess he was creating in your panties. “Louder.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes until the darkness of your eyelids melted into white heat. The familiar torrent of quivers shook your body, and the surface of your skin tingled with the onset of your orgasm. You dug your nails into Jean’s forearm, and in the haze of your high you forgot about all of your concerns.  

“Jean!” You cried his name again, your wail echoing off of the bathroom walls while you writhed against his hold. You moved restlessly, looking for absolutely anything to cling to in an attempt to steady yourself until your climax subsided.

After you came to and regained your soundness, you scrutinized yourself in the mirror through misty tears, chagrined at how easily you’d submitted to him. You were situated limply in Jean’s arms, bottom lip swollen from persistent biting in your best efforts to veil how good he was truly making you feel, but from the sickeningly-smug simper on his face it was obvious that now Jean knew his fingers were more fruitful than an apology. Which meant this episode surely wouldn’t be the last of its kind.

He slotted his fingers into his mouth for the last time, sucking the silken coat of your arousal off of them before releasing them with a quiet pop, then Jean’s other hand crept up your neck until his thumb drove itself to part your closed lips, just wide enough so he could stick his lubricous fingers inside.

“Mhm,” he encouraged, nodding at the way you meekly looked to him for direction.

Jean’s fingers were warm and sloppy in your mouth as you sucked and he watched you intently, undoubtedly wishing that his cock could receive the same treatment. He sighed heavily as you wreathed your hot tongue around his knuckles.

“Good girl,” he breathed, pulling his digits from your jaws before his urge to stick them down your throat and watched as you gagged through tears became insatiable.

Jean worked one hand against his belt, unbuckling it skillfully before impatiently forgoing his buttons and tugging on his zipper instead. His breathing grew labored while you watched from the mirror as he shuffled behind you, and you canted yourself to the side to provide yourself with a clear view of Jean’s cock in the surface’s reflection.

His thick length pulsated, convulsing even without contact, and every time it did so, a fresh stream of precum dribbled from the swollen, red crown of his tip. With a light hand, Jean tapped his cock against the side of your thigh, prompting you to take him in your palm, and when you obeyed, it elicited a lengthy groan from him.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

You weighed his hot and heavy cock in your hand before beginning to move slowly, flicking your wrist and evoking the jerking of Jean’s hips when you did. His head hung forward and loose strands of his neatly tucked hair billowed around his face while he watched as your hand worked against his throbbing heat.

Jean delivered another set of kisses to your neck, kissing along your jawline until he stopped at the corner of your mouth to take a brief second to acknowledge his own pleasure. “Shit,” he grunted, his fleshly pants now becoming uncontrollable. “Okay, that’s enough.”

You loosened your grip around Jean’s cock while he curled his fingers around the cloth of your thin underwear, pulling it down until he stopped midway past your thighs, then his large hand settled between your shoulder blades to bend you over.

His palm collided with the pert curve of your ass, delivering a mild spank, and then he ghosted his touch over the stinging pain, blithely enjoying the way you whimpered his name ever so quietly. Jean positioned himself at your dripping entrance, prodding the tight hole with his tip over and over again just to taunt you until you glowered uncomfortably at him through the mirror.

“Stop it,” you heaved, your longing now turning into an unbearable itch.

Normally, you knew Jean would have loved to tease you, disregarding your begging and instead working even harder to rouse you, but you could tell by the sweat that beaded around his hairline that he needed relief too. So Jean spared you, grip tightening on your hips, and he pushed himself into you with a husky and guttural moan that overwhelmed your delicate whines.

He wasted no time and began moving, gradually picking up his pace until he decided on a moderate speed, not too rough, but just forceful enough that your breasts jounced and your body lurched against the sink whenever he thrusted into you.

“I always tell you how good you feel, do you need to hear it again?” Jean murmured, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and whenever he pulled back to rock his hips forward again, it glistened with a new layer of your arousal. “Your pretty pussy always takes me so well.”

He leaned into you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing his hand on your shoulder, holding you in place while he fucked himself into you, over and over again. You tugged at Jean from deep inside your well, tightening your walls around his cock and causing his jaw to go slack with bliss.

“The way you fucking milk me, I could cum right now.” His balls slapped ceaselessly against your skin, and the sound of two sweaty bodies married together saturated the thick sex-tainted air. You struggled to watch yourself in the mirror, mouth wide open and eyes bloodshot from your tiredness and tears. Jean’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear and sent a ripple of goosebumps down the expanse of your back.

“I wish I could take a picture of you right now and keep it for later.” He panted into your ear. “You’re the only thing I can think of when I jerk off, it would be nice to have a visual.” When you said nothing he smiled, tugging at the softness of your lobe with his teeth. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

You could only give a weak and disoriented nod, and when you felt Jean’s cock twitch inside you, coupled with the way his muscles tensed underneath his skin, you knew he was close. You wrapped your hands around the arm curved about your waist and nodded at him again, cueing that you wanted to feel his release inside you.

Jean arched an eyebrow, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but he made no efforts to slow his cadence. “Yeah, you’re gonna let me cum inside you?”

You nodded silently for a third time.

Jean delivered a few more generous jerks before the small of his back tightened and he came inside you, amply flooding your chafed walls with his hot seed until you overflowed, and the creamy, white liquid seeped past the girth of his cock and began dribbling down the inside of your thigh.

Jean pulled his now limp cock out, wiping his essence gently on your folds before pulling you into another doting embrace. His clinch was tight, warm cheeks pressed against each other while he looked at you in the mirror with complete and unadulterated adoration.

“I love you,” he affirmed before flipping you over in his arms to face him. He bent down to press a salty and clammy kiss to your mouth, his lips stalling for a few moments longer before he pulled away and then delivered another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, stupid?”

You bobbed your head briefly, now embarrassed at your earlier outburst. You sunk into Jean’s torso, head against his chest, and mumbled sheepishly. “I love you too.”

The two of you stood together, arms encircling each other until Jean carefully broke his caress and began tugging you in the direction of the shower.

“Come on baby.” He grinned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

[nev3rfound]

glass : b.b

after a messy breakup with your boyfriend, you can’t help but be a tad bit reckless during a mission leaving bucky to help pick up the pieces and learn why you’re acting the way you are. (2.5k) 

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, wounds, breakups 

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

also hi, we’re almost at 5k which is amazing and i’m planning a little giveaway! sorry if i’ve been quiet this week, i have been hooked with the ‘shatter me’ series and i can’t get enough lmao. but i do have more pieces in the works :)

Sitting in the Quinjet, you could barely register what Tony was saying as the words that were practically spat at you last night circulated your thoughts.

“Y/n?” You flinch at the call of your name, breaking you from the trance-like state you were in.

Steve smiles warmly as he takes the seat beside you as prying eyes watch closely, noting the change in your mood the moment you boarded the jet.

��Sorry,” You mutter to Steve. “late night.”

Nodding in response, Steve glances over to a concerned Bucky whose brows remain knitted together. Usually, you would sit with Bucky, joke around with him and Sam about all sorts. Yet today, you boarded the jet and sat alone, closing your eyes and blocked everyone out.

“Tell me ‘bout it.” Steve playfully huffs, trying to incite some form of reaction, but you remain silent. “Listen, if you wanna talk,”

“Thanks, Steve.” You cut him off, forcing your lips upward. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

With that being his cue to leave you be, Steve shakes his head to Bucky as he wanders back toward Tony, organising the final details of the plan before you land.

“Okay team, descending now, arriving in less than ten.” Tony announces, ensuring he has everyone's attention- including yours. “So, Cap, you and Romanoff will head straight for the side entrance whilst Wilson and Barnes take the back. I want Y/L/N and Barton to head for the hostages.” Tony explains, watching as you all nod along.

“And what will you be doing, Tony?” Steve asks as he picks his shield up.

“I will be with Wanda,” Tony states as Wanda playfully salutes. “on standby in case something goes wrong.”

“Not that it will.” Wanda comments but quirks a brow to Sam who holds his hands up in defence.

“That was a one-time thing, witchy.” Sam retorts, causing Tony to roll his eyes once again at the team's antics.

“Anyway, get ready.” Tony finishes before retreating toward the pilot whilst everyone gathers their weapons.

Whilst grabbing your gun and placing it into your holster, you notice the small bruise forming on your wrist as your sleeve rises slightly. You quickly tug on it, thinking nothing of it as you reach for the set of knives you usually carry.

Yet Bucky noticed, it was impossible for Bucky to not notice the smallest of details about you. His heart ached at the sight. You’re known for being clumsy and would often laugh about the matter. If you got a bruise, you’d joke about it, explain how this one happened in another idiotic motion as opposed to hiding it.

“You ready for this one, Y/n?” Clint speaks up as he appears by your side, counting his arrows as you tighten your grip on your favourite knife, causing your knuckles to lighten in colour.

“As I’ll ever be.” You remark as the Quinjet door opens and you all walk out, splitting up into different directions.

*

It wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t prepared enough as a team for what you encountered inside the building.

You reached the hostages and quickly untied them. They thanked you senselessly whilst Clint remained on guard, keeping a close eye on the door as you helped them to their feet.

“Who are you?” One man speaks up, his voice hoarse as he grips your arms for dear life.

“We’re the Avengers.” You softly tell the man, watching as the fear in his expression lightens, and he starts to laugh maniacally in your face.

Trying to prise yourself from his grasp, his nails dig into your skin. “You made a mistake coming here.” He states, breaking his gaze from you momentarily, giving you a chance to slam your foot into his.

With the man's grip easing, you snap yourself from his embrace and hit him with the butt of your gun. He falls to the ground, and you raise your gun to everyone else in the room.

“Who else is a plant?” You ask, looking at all of the terrified faces staring back at you. “Who else?!” You repeat yourself, adrenaline rushing through you before you fire your gun into the ceiling as they all jump.

Clint whips his head around, evidently shocked having never seen you react this way before. “Y/n,” He speaks up, but you ignore him, keeping your attention fixated on the ‘hostages’ before you.

“No one, Ma’am.” A little girl announces as she releases her mother's hand, stepping toward you. She looks up at you with her bright brown eyes and holds her hand out. “Are you here to save us?” She questions.

Kneeling down in front of the girl, you smile softly, your cool exterior melting. “Yes, and you’re all going to be okay, I promise.” You tell her, breaking your gaze as you look around at everyone else.

“Y/n, now.” Clint states as you rise to your feet, holding your hand out to the little girl who gladly accepts.

“Okay, follow me, you’ll all be safe if you stay close.” You explain to the dozen hostages who huddle together, following behind you and Clint.

“Tony? We have them, there was a plant, tell the others.” Clint speaks through the comms as he walks ahead, his bow at the ready in case anyone else lingers in the corridors.

Glancing over your shoulder, you check to ensure the hostages are still with you. Whilst your head is turned, you hear Clint groan and fall to the ground with a thud.

“Clint?” You rush forward whilst the hostages remain still. Holding your gun up, you turn the corner, catching sight of a man stood with his gun aimed at Clint’s unconscious body. “Corridor seven, ground floor.” You speak up, hoping someone hears you through the comms.

The man before you smirks as his gun is now aimed at you whilst you mirror his actions, not daring to let your hands shake as his words ring through your ears.

“You really think that’s a wise move?” He asks, removing the safety from his gun.

“I’m not one to go down without a fight.” You state, hearing a collection of footsteps echo behind the man as a glint of metal flashes across your eyes.

The man's focus shifts to behind you, but his gun remains trained to you. “Ah, I see we have a friend.” He chuckles and you can feel your heart rate increasing as the little girl stands by your side.

“She has us.” The girl states, standing tall as the hostages emerge and gather behind you.

Sighing under his breath, the man clicks his tongue. “Well, this is sweet and all, but you’re not making it out of here alive.” He scoffs, lowering his gun to the little girl.

Everything plays too quickly for Bucky’s liking as he runs toward the man, his arms outstretched and fists clenched.

Upon watching the man pull back the trigger, you force the little girl back, feeling the impact of the bullet hit your stomach. Another shot rings through your ears, but you’re already down on the ground, curled up.

Bucky steps over the man's body, not caring to step in the blood that pools around his head as he rushes toward you.

“Hey, doll, stay awake for me, okay?” Bucky pleads, brushing your hair out of your face as he glances down, noticing your fingers are coated in crimson. “Sam, get Tony, now!” He yells, picking you up in his arms as both Steve and Natasha appear, taking in the sight before them.

Bucky looks over to Steve, and he doesn’t need to say anything. “Go, we’ll handle it.” Steve nods to Bucky as you hang in his arms, eyes barely open.

Rushing past the hostages who stare with wide eyes, Bucky keeps his on you. “Come on, Y/n,” Bucky mutters as the cool breeze hits his face, feeling you move in his arms and bury your face into his chest.

“I’m cold,” You mumble tiredly, barely able to keep your eyes open as they droop heavily. “just five minutes.”

“No, don’t you dare,” Bucky firmly tells you as the Quinjet comes into view, the sight of worry evident in Wanda’s expression as she meets Bucky halfway, guiding him into the jet.

“What happened?” Wanda asks as Bucky places you down on the ground, reaching for the medical supplies on board with urgency, ripping out various weapons and mechanical items until he finds some form of bandages.

“She tried to save a little girl,” Bucky sighs as Wanda cradles your head, her fingers hovering over your temples as a red glow forms whilst Bucky applies pressure to the wounds, watching as they soak instantly from your blood. “we, we have to go, now!” He yells to Wanda who barely flinches.

“Tony? Can you handle this?” Wanda questions through the comms.

“Just get Y/n back, we’ll sort this out.” Tony responds, trying to hide the fear in his tone for the younger Avenger, one he can’t help but view as a daughter in many respects.

“She wants to be strong,” Wanda whispers, hearing your thoughts as you drift further and further away from consciousness. “but she’s scared. I, I can hear his voice.” Wanda trails off as Bucky tenses up, knowing exactly who she means.

Bucky can feel his heartbreaking as the Quinjet flies through the air at an accelerated rate back to the compound.

“Oh Y/n, you’ve got so much coming for you,” Bucky takes one of your hands in his, gripping it tightly as he focuses on your face, the light disappearing from your complexion. “don’t go, not now, doll.”

*

Lying in your own bed, you remain in a deep sleep whilst Bucky hovers by your bedside. Ever since you were brought back and cleared, he insisted you’d feel more comfortable in your own room.

“Anything?” Wanda speaks up, peering in your doorway as your chest rises and falls rhythmically. Bucky shakes his head in response, aware of Wanda approaching your bed as she perches on the edge, her fingertips dancing over your head.

Wanda quickly pulls her hand away, the red wisps disappearing as she avoids Bucky’s cold gaze. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Wanda mutters, moving your hair out of your face. “but something happened before the mission, something to do with him.” Wanda sighs. “I just, I can’t tell what it was.” She explains as Bucky keeps a straight face, unable to take his eyes off the various bruises now exposed on your skin, the cuts and scars forming alongside them.

“She’s always been agile on missions, even if she’s clumsy.” Bucky breathes out, uncrossing his arms from his chest. “But she’s careful, she’s always careful.” He repeats to himself, wondering why you’d risk yourself like that when it could’ve been avoided.

“I had to,” You mumble, your eyes now beginning to open as you look up to your two friends, forcing your lips upwards. “did I miss much?”

A chuckle escapes Wanda as she looks over to Bucky, seeing the concern in his face refusing to ease. “I’m sure Bucky will fill you in.” Wanda tells you as she touches your hand before heading to the door. “It’s good to see you awake, Y/n/n.” She smiles at you whilst Bucky slowly moves closer to your bed, his legs leaning against the frame.

“So,” You sigh, still feeling your muscles burning beneath the covers on top of you. “is everyone safe?”

Trying to hold back the scoff building, Bucky simply nods.

“Good,” You nod to yourself, a sense of relief crossing your system. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Worked out?” Bucky snaps, noting your eyes widening as you struggle to sit upright without wincing. “No, don’t try and move,” His voice softens momentarily, forcing you to remain still. “Y/n, you think almost dying is a mission ‘working out', really?” He huffs loudly.

“Look, the hostages are safe, the team holding them was taken care of so yes, Bucky, I do think it worked out.” You bark back, your tone rising.

“God, you’re an idiot sometimes.” Bucky remarks, turning away from you as you look down at your lap.

“Max said that too,” You mumble.

Turning on his heels, Bucky focuses on you closely. “He said what?”

It was no secret Bucky wasn’t the fondest of your now ex-boyfriend, Max. He tolerated him for your sake, not wanting to lose your best friend in the midst of a relationship. But Max was never the most understanding, and this is just another reason Bucky mentally adds to his list of why Max was a lousy boyfriend.

“Forget it,” You brush it off, refusing to meet Bucky’s cold blue eyes. “it was nothing, I went to get the last of my things the other night and, and we had an argument.”

“What did he say to you, Y/n?” Bucky persists as he now sits down on your bed, his hands remaining in his own lap as you play with yours, fidgeting.

“He said I’m too fragile for my own good,” You admit, hearing his bitter words ringing through your head. “that I’m weak, and I shouldn’t even be an Avenger.”

Bucky can feel his blood boiling, the list in his mind becoming mere shreds of paper as he imagines what he’ll do to Max if he sees him again.

“And maybe I am, he said I’m broken goods,” You add, lifting the sheets from your body to reveal the stitching in your skin where the bullet was. “what difference does one more scar make?”

“You don’t believe him, do you doll?” Bucky asks sadly, afraid he already knows the answer.

Your prolonged silence only causes Bucky’s heart to sink further into his chest.

“Y/n,” Bucky speaks up, taking your hand in his. “you’re not broken goods, you’re not made of glass that shatters easily.” He explains, unable to meet your teary gaze. “You’re one of the strongest, most selfless people I’ve ever met, you’re not fragile, doll.” He rubs his thumb over the top of your hand, avoiding the fresh scuffs lacing your knuckles.

“You think so?” You whisper as tears fall down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Now catching your eyes, Bucky smiles softly. “I do, Y/n.” He admits, watching you struggle to shuffle in your bed as you force back a whimper.

Patting the spot beside you, Bucky raises a brow. “Will you stay, Bucky, please?” You whisper, too afraid of your own voice.

“As long as you know you’re worth so much more than him, Y/n, okay?” Bucky asks as he lifts his arm up, wrapping it around you as you curl up into his chest. “You deserve the world, doll.” He mutters, feeling your grip around his waist loosen as your breathing softens. “And I promise to show you someday.”

Bucky brushes his lips across your forehead as light snores leave your lips, unaware of the promise Bucky has made to you and intends to keep it.  

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[sweeethinny]

she was not expecting that - in a good way

So ... Yesterday @blvnk-art posted a drawing on her N$FW account, and it inspired me to write this one shot, completely dirty, no plot, just because I did not get out of my head (today I saw that she posted something about that he wasnt until the end, as I wrote in my fanfic, but I decided to post even so ahaha

AO3

-----------

Harry and Ginny were at an event, one of those where neither of them really wanted to be but were forced to go, and now they were counting down the minutes to get home.

Ginny was concentrating on the gossip the woman at the next table was telling her friend about Robert, a guy who worked with Ginny, who was cheating on his wife with his best friend.

Harry was trying to find a way to get his hand under Ginny's dress without anyone seeing it, just to tease her, forcing her to be silent as he worked his fingers into her. She'd teased him before they'd left the house, walking in front of him in that tight blue dress, making Harry bitterly regret having promised to go to that event.

She was wearing heels, which was a weakness for him. Harry wasn't too comfortable admitting that it turned him on, because it sounded kind of weird that he wanted to fuck his wife every time she wore high heels. But it was something he liked, and Ginny had already noticed that - never talked about it, though, even if they did talk about a lot of things they liked and didn't like.

His slight exhibitionism fetish was one of the points they had already discussed.

Harry wasn't fucking Ginny in front of a crowd, or anyone else, but the heat burning in him at the thought of making her come without anyone noticing was otherworldly.

And she liked it too, it was she who had incited it in him when they were still young, early in their post-war relationship, when Ginny had dared him to make her come without anyone in the Burrow knowing - and he couldn't use magic to muffle the noises.

Adrenaline excited them both, what could they do?

When he assured that everything was safe, he moved the hand that was resting on her thigh, inside her dress, slowly and always keeping his face as calm as possible, even as his balls ached with excitement. He'd been thinking about it for over ten minutes, it was torture that he hadn't just dragged her to the bathroom.

Ginny startled, but didn't say anything, just closing her eyes as he touched her panties and slowly pushed them away, already more than used to making sneaky movements that didn't let anyone know what he was doing. When he touched her clit, Ginny let out a moan, it wasn't absurdly loud in a way that everyone would find out, but it was louder than she could possibly do in that situation, so, just pretending to talk to her like it was any other comment, Harry muttered; ''Too loud,''

She took a sip of her wine, clearly not paying attention to anything other than the bubble he'd created around them, where his fingers danced in that long-known rhythm on her clit as he felt her clench her thighs and drink her wine like water in the desert.

Harry kept quiet, concentrating only on making his wife come there, in the middle of everyone, hoping that no one would come to interrupt them, because it would be too difficult to hide the wet fingers and the red that had taken over Ginny's cheeks and neck.

"Fuck," she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder as she had done several times that night, watching Robin say something in that boring, tiresome speech of his on stage. Her hand tightened on his thigh, probably to keep from moaning when Harry managed to penetrate her with his finger.

There were many years of experience in this, of course, they didn't do that all the time, but every now and then he needed to test his mobility, moving his wrist and fingers in ways he wouldn't normally do, given their position or location.

''I've been thinking about it for so long,'' he whispered to her, kissing his wife's hair as if it were just another show of affection. ''I can't wait for us to get home to fuck you,''

Harry wasn't much of a talker, Ginny had always made it clear that it didn't bother her at all, but sometimes he tried to put into words the fantasies he had, and after twenty years of marriage, he had started to get a little more experienced in how say it without being embarrassed or thinking that she would think he was crazy.

''What did you said before we left? That you wanted to tease me until my head exploded and I fuck you against the living room window?'' Ginny clenched her thighs again, this time her inner walls trapping his finger. Harry added one more, shifting in his chair so he could still touch her clit, but when that wasn't possible, he took his fingers from inside her, listening with immense pleasure as Ginny sighed in disgust. When he touched her clit, she laid her head down again, squeezing his thigh.

''I want to fuck you there, where anyone can see it,'' It wasn't possible, their house was protected so that you could never see what was inside the rooms through the window from the outside, if anyone passed by, they would see nothing but their own reflection, no matter how much light there was. But it didn't matter, because they knew it, but the idea was exciting. ''I want to fuck you until our brains explode,''

''Ah...'' Ginny covered her groan, looking up at him with a lust-filled gaze. ''Is because what I said earlier?''

''That we used to fuck out brains out?'' Harry arched a brow, amused to see her try to hide the pleasure. ''Yea. I told you I didn't like how you said 'used to'.''

No one said anything else, not only because he was totally focused on making her come, but because there was nothing more to say, Ginny might try to tease him back, as she did at home, but Harry - and she - knew that if she opened her mouth, everyone would know what he was doing.

Ginny was noisy.

It didn't take long for the grip on his thigh to tighten, her nails digging into his flesh almost painfully, her thighs pressing his hand even closer to her clit as Ginny tried for all that was most sacred not to show that she was coming. Her body trembling slightly and her face buried in the crook of Harry's neck, as if she was just resting there.

He was proud of himself. There were few things that Harry wasn't modest he was good at, and making his wife come with his fingers and/or mouth was one of those things.

''You're such a good girl,'' He smiled, slowly pulling his fingers away, trying not to show everyone what he'd just done.

''You'd better find an excuse for us to leave,'' Her husky voice made Harry shiver and thank Merlin for the robes he wore, always glad that wizards weren't adept at muggle-style pants.

''I'm doing this in five minutes. Unfortunately, Luna has a fever and James has disappeared with his girlfriend,'' Harry shrugged. ''What can I do if don't take us back home?'' Ginny laughed, still with her head on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh came up to his cock and she gave him a light squeeze.

''Yes, do it, your wife needs to be fucked against the window until she loses her mind.''

[lawluaficionado]

In a modern AU where Ace lives and Sabo didn't disappear, and Luffy still figuring out what he wants to do in life. I imagine they live with Garp still. In a pretty decent house too since Gramps can still be like a notorious detective or in charge of his own precinct.

Ace is a firefighter. Sabo is getting his degree in political science. Luffy is only going to school because Garp made him.

There were three instances in which Garp aged about ten years in stress.

Imagine the shit show and how pissed Garp is when Ace brings home Marco, his fiance. Not even 'hey meet my boyfriend'. Nope, it's "This is my fiance we've been dating for four years now". Garp has to take a breather for this shit, he's so confused. The age gap isn't helping. And then here comes Marco just all doctor-ly. Somehow by the end of the night Garp finds out Marco is his acquaintances' adopted son. In the end he blesses them, begrudgingly because Luffy convinces him they are great together.

Garp to Marco: I hope you make enough to feed him and do something about that sleeping habit of his.

Sabo, he doesn't bring home anyone for a long time. But his grandfather has seen him with a certain girl at protests and rallies when he has to 'arrest' him for disturbing the peace. Nothing's on record but it's formality. It's until one day where another unit goes to the protests...that's when Sabo actually gets charged with inciting violence and attacking a police officer. Rob Lucci isn't the nicest when he's getting stitches across his cheek and meets Garp for the first time. "Sabo do that?" he'd ask. To which he only gets a heated glare in return. You could hear Garp's laughter all the way down to the holding cell. So imagine his surprise when Lucci comes to his house NOT to arrest Sabo, but to take him out to dinner. Garp is so confused, until a minute later he just starts laughing again when Luffy punches the guy in the throat. "That's for when you pushed Robin at a rally!"

Garp to Lucci: You hurt him, he'll make sure you can't walk. I'd be careful.

Now the youngest one...no one liked the idea of Luffy ever dating. Hell no one even thought Luffy was interested in anyone. Or that he could be interested in a person. Whenever someone asked Garp what his life would be like, he always said his favorite grandson would be following in his footsteps. He'd force him if he had to.

That is until the car accident. It was a nightmare, both Ace and Luffy in the ER. He'd gotten the call late in the evening, he'd been so shocked. It was Sabo who had to drive them down to the hospital. Marco was there and even he wasn't allowed into the surgery unit.

Marco doesn't particularly like that it was Dr. Trafalgar whose group was always a little rambunctious. Ace was able to have visitors after a couple hours. Luffy was a different story. After two grueling days, they were finally able to move them into the same room.

There was his dear grandson, in a hospital bed, completely bandaged. And oh so drugged, he was talking complete nonsense. "I wanna lick him," he whispers when Dr. Trafalgar comes in to check his stitches.

Law keeps trying to hold Luffy still, the other freakishly flexible trying to get a hold of one of his arms

That wouldn't have been a problem. EXCEPT Luffy HAD gotten Dr Trafalgar's hand and licked one of his tattoos. To which he only said "That's really not sanitary Luffy-ya."

Marco was beyond shocked when Law didn't blow a fuse at Luffy's antics. Ace had to hold in his laughter, while Sabo didn't like this surgeon getting to comfortable with his baby brother.

"You should've seen the shit he did before we let you into the room," he shrugged.

"Yeah I'm still sorry on his behalf," Ace laments.

Garp doesn't know whether to laugh, cry or reprimand Luffy. His face completely encompasses that sentiment.

A month later while on a coffee run with his friends, Luffy stumbles (quite hard actually) into Law. While Luffy did manage to land on top of the surgeon, he doesn't get up that fast.

The surgeon only glares up at Luffy. "You better not lick me this time."

Lightbulb goes on in Luffy's head. "TORAO!"

Two years later Garp has to do a double take because he just got a wedding invitation. "You little shit! You live here! How did I not know before this!" This was he absolute worst way either of his three grandsons had introduced their significant others.

[let-me-write-shit]

Hey! Idk if u r taking requests hint if you are, can u do one where harry+y/n+bby paxton are out and about but all the sudden get swarmed by paps and then one of the cameras accidentally hit the baby and the clip goes viral and celebs and ex-1D members and stans all start coming to the defense and share stories about how awful the paps are? U don’t have to haha

A/N: Thank you so much, @gwen-and-harry, for this request! I’m sorry it took so long! Hope this is alright!

Word Count: 5,227

Requests are OPEN! If you have a request for a blurb, oneshot, imagine, whatever, Send me a message HERE!!!

To add yourself to my Taglist, click HERE

CLICK HERE TO READ OTHER COMPLETED STORIES

Friendly reminder to please like and/or reblog. It helps more than you think :)

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Paparazzi

The outpour of love and well-wishes after the announcement of the birth of their firstborn son was touching and comforting. Harry and Y/N were lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful people. Still, the eagerness of the public to get the first glimpse of the newborn and the new parents began to grow. No one had seen the couple out since before their son was born and Paxton was nearly three months old, now. People were becoming desperate.

There were more and more fans outside of their house as the days passed. Y/N and Harry had people running errands for them and luckily had the help of friends and family, as well, who would stick around for a few days at a time to give them little breaks and were more than happy to get some time with the happy baby. But as the sun stayed out longer and the temperature began to rise, the new family felt the yearning for a nice summer holiday.

They’d planned it for weeks, excited to take pictures and videos of Paxton’s first time at the beach. Harry had found a perfect house with a private beach off the coast of Italy and even decided to bring along security. And even though he didn’t do it often, he thought the circumstances warranted renting a private plane to take them to the beautiful country.

Harry and Y/N were very cautious in showing any images of their baby. No one, aside from close friends and family, even knew of his name. Having been the victims of stalking, they didn’t want their son to be subjected to that and tried everything in their power to protect their child. There were brief moments when it was typical for it to be vacant outside their home, so they planned their escape down to the minute; bags loaded in the car from the night before, and two security guards standing by to rush them to the car.

Paxton was already buckled into his infant car seat and kicking along, happily, as Y/N cooed at him, dangling toys and pinching his chubby legs while Harry peered out of the window, waiting until the coast was clear. She noticed her husband straighten up more just before the security guard said, “Let’s go.”

Harry hoisted the brown leather diaper bag further up his shoulders and tossed a muslin blanket over the top of the car seat to cover Paxton, just in case anyone happened to see them. He took hold of the car seat and carried his baby out to the car as swiftly as he could while Y/N followed closely behind him. It took two minutes for everyone to get settled in and pull out of the driveway before they felt like they could breathe a sigh of relief.

Y/N and Harry shared a look of burden. The lengths they had to take just to keep a bit of privacy and normalcy was insane. And still, they weren’t out of the woods yet. Although they were flying privately, they still needed to drive to the main airport where their plane would depart from a strip off to the side. Everything seemed to be alright, so far. Usually, Harry could tell if it were going to be crazy if there were cars of fans chasing them, and that was not the case, so he let his guard down.

But, as they approached the backup in the car queue through the airport terminals, they slowly came to realize that this wasn’t going to be as easy as they anticipated. They were at a standstill for over ten minutes, unmoving, with cars honking loudly around them. It seemed that there was roadwork on a few of the lanes ahead that caused a jam. Quickly, they had to make a decision that they didn’t miss check-in with their pilot.

After much deliberation, they decided that the only solution would be that Harry, Y/N, and their baby would have to walk down the strip accompanied by one of the security guards while the other security guard continued with the car and would eventually meet them at the plane with all of their luggage. Y/N couldn’t stay stuck in traffic, her claustrophobia was already starting to make her panic. The fresh air would do them all some good, and besides, there weren’t an overwhelming amount of people walking along outside. Most people were in a rush to get in. They thought they’d be able to handle it.

Poor Paxton was fast asleep, but it was a pretty far distance to be lugging a heavy car seat while trying to walk as quickly and discreetly as possible down the sidewalk to reach the end where their terminal would be. At least by carrying him, if someone did recognize them, they’d be able to shield their son better.

Gently, Harry unfastened the buckles from Paxton’s car seat and slipped him out, passing him over to Y/N without waking him. It was warm out, but Y/N made sure to wrap Paxton loosely in the thin muslin cloth and cover his face enough so that he could breathe well against her chest, but his face couldn’t be seen. The couple made sure to wear their sunglasses and Harry took hold of the leather diaper bag before the security guard jumped out and opened the door for them.

Quickly, they started making their way down the sidewalk, heads down to not call attention to themselves, and following their security guard’s strides who was barely a step ahead of them. Horns blared and echoed around them, stuffy fumes from car engines congested the area. For a moment, Harry thought they might actually get through unrecognized. But that quickly came to prove wrong.

It always started as just a feeling of being watched before turning into a slightly louder buzzing as people, wondering if it was really him, began to mutter. This then turned into a few shouts and calls. He ignored the first few calls until he realized that too many people started to notice. He turned, smiled, and waved at them as he continued. This usually satisfied fans enough to not follow him. But then he saw it. The cluster of cameras. Paparazzi.

They looked shocked to see him, at first. He guessed they were likely here for someone else at first and he was just a bonus. Just his luck. The security guard tightened his gap and Y/N felt a hand on the middle of her back as Harry protectively pushed her along so they could keep moving faster. Still, they were already halfway there and it wasn’t more than they were used to.

However, more people became increasingly aware that not only was Harry Styles there, but also his wife and newborn baby. Harry always had a good relationship with the paparazzi, but the incitement to get the first look at their son was causing them to swarm the new parents.

“Harry, how does it feel to be a dad?”

“What’s your son’s name?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Harry, does he look just like you?”

“Can we see?”

The questions were never-ending and almost too hard to hear as everyone talked at once. Surrounded by not only paparazzi but also curious fans, it became harder to move. Their security guard did his best to keep everyone at bay and to keep moving forward, but it soon became too crowded to move. Y/N held her baby closer to her chest as he began to wriggle and squirm from all the noise, sharing a brief look of concern with Harry who tried his best to remain calm and friendly while also trying to make way for his family out of the ring of paps that surrounded them who became more aggressive with their questions, closing in on them.

Cameras started bumping together, voices became louder, and the paparazzi began to shove each other, fighting to get closer to the celeb. Some fans began to notice how reckless they were becoming and started to yell at paparazzi along with the security guard who was still trying to push through to make room for them, only inching their way forward now.

“Back up, they have a baby!” a few girls screams were muffled behind the shouts of the paps.

Paxton was wiggling more now and started to whimper as Y/N and her husband were being yelled at in all directions. Y/N could feel paps nudging her back, getting too close for comfort. When the security guard noticed, he’d yell at them, but there wasn’t much he could do. He was only one person against dozens of others. Her claustrophobia was in full swing and her heart began racing, breath becoming more of a pant. She felt a tug on her shirt followed by a deep voice beckoning, “Come on, let us get a look at the happy family.” They had gotten bolder in touching her purposefully.

Y/N spun around, “Please don’t touch me,” she yelped.

Lights started to flash in her face and she felt a hand tug at the muslin cloth that was protecting her son. Instinctively she swatted at the hand and pulled her son in tighter, shouting, “Don’t touch him!”

Harry turned, protectively shielding his wife and son, urging her in front of him, fans still yelling as another pap shoved his camera in between them so hard that he managed to whack the top of Paxton’s head with his flash attachment, causing the baby to flail and burst into wails, sobbing into Y/N’s chest at an ear-piercing level.

Before Y/N of the security guard could even react, Harry leaped at the pap, shoving him backward, and began screaming at him so ferociously that it created a momentary standstill. No one had ever seen Harry so angry before.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, eh?! That’s my baby, you fuckin’ dickhead!” Harry’s accent became thick with rage, shoving the startled man’s chest which made him back away.

“I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do anything!” the pap could be heard saying, shrinking away.

A few other paparazzi were taking the side of the pap and snapping pictures and videos of the incident while most yelled along with Harry as well as fans. Harry kept at him, screaming even louder and angrier, “You smashed my sons head with your fuckin’ piece of shit camera,” he yanked the camera out of the pap’s hands and chucked it to the ground, a few pieces breaking off and sliding every which way, continuing to shove the pap back while the security guard tried his hardest to contain the situation and get people to back off.

“Harry! Please!” Y/N cried, her heart pounding in panic and on the verge of tears.

Harry was seething, glaring at the pap who had backed away, nervously, before the awareness that Harry was surrounded by people, most with their phones out, started to sink in. The crowd had given them some more space now, and he looked back to see the concern on his wife’s face as she bounced and patted the back of their crying son in her arms in an attempt to console him.

With one last scowl at the offender, Harry hissed, “Don’t come near my family again.”

He picked up the brown leather diaper bag off of the ground; he must have dropped it during his fit. Hiking it back up his shoulders, he wrapped an arm around Y/N’s waist as the security guard led them away from the crowd, fans calling their support after them and continuing to yell at the paparazzi.

The rest of the walk was silent, still too rattled by the situation to find the words to say. By the time they reached and boarded the plane, Paxton had fallen back asleep and it didn’t take long for their other security guard to reach them.Should have just stayed in the car, Y/N thought, getting settled in a seat with her son, She loosened the muslin blanket around his face, but not too much to disturb his sleep. Harry stayed towards the front of the plane, barely out of earshot, to talk to the security after their belongings were loaded.

A few minutes in, Harry could be heard raising his voice at them, angry about how the situation was handled. Y/N winced, trying not to listen in as she kept her attention down at her son who was suckling on the inside of his cheeks as he slept. It was almost time to feed him, but Harry still had the diaper bag. She felt bad for the security, there wasn’t much they could do, and she knew Harry was only yelling because he was upset that his son was in danger. It wasn’t like Harry to take things out on other people, but he had become increasingly protective since becoming a dad.

Moments later, Harry and the two security guards made their way back, and although Harry still looked tense, Y/N could tell that they had talked things out and was willing to bet that Harry apologized to them, too. It still didn’t make her husband any less angry. He plopped in the seat beside his wife with an exaggerated sigh and leaned over to get a good look at his sin, gently pushing the muslin cloth away as he ran his hand over the baby’s soft, fuzzy head. A splotch of raised red skin could be seen forming from where the camera had hit him.

Y/N snapped her attention to her husband and saw the distress stretch across his face and with an overwhelmed frown he said, “I better take a picture of this. Just in case,” and he pulled his phone out from his pocket.

She knew what he meant. Just in case that pap wanted to press charges for destruction of property or assault. If he did decide to press charges, there’s no way he would win. There’s more than enough photographic and video evidence of the assault on their baby. But over the years they had learned that they could never be too careful.

He shoved his phone back in his pocket, and the pilot and flight attendant introduced themselves, checked ID, and went over safety procedures before the plane started down the runway. Harry stared down at his son the entire time, not letting go of his tiny hand that was wrapped around his middle finger. Y/N knew how worried he was feeling, and with an understanding smile, she carefully passed him their baby.

She grinned as Harry shushed him back to sleep when he began stirring, stroking his cheeks in total adoration of the little boy he held in his arms. His heart ached as he caressed the red splotch at the crown of the baby’s head, angry that grown adults would act in such a way, especially in the presence of a child.

“Do you think we should get a doctor to look at him?” he asked as their plane ascended.

Y/N nodded her head, “I think he’s fine but better safe than sorry. We’ll take care of it tomorrow. I think we all need to relax when we get there. It’s been a long morning.”

It wasn’t a long flight to Italy, but it wasn’t calming, either. Y/N fed Paxton while Harry fretted about the flurry of texts and missed calls he was bound to have by his managers, PR, and legal team, certain that videos and pictures will have been released by then. And just like he predicted, they landed to nearly thirty missed messages of all sorts, including links to articles titled, ‘Harry Styles Attacks Paparazzi Outside of London Airport’. They couldn’t bring themselves to open or read any of it, but Harry did spend a majority of their nearly thirty-minute car journey on a conference call with his team talking about the situation and discussing ways with which they could handle it.

Harry cut in after a while, saying, “Alright, listen. I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to be on holiday with my family. Can someone please make an appointment with a doctor out here to look at my son tomorrow and text me the details? We’ll talk about this another time.”

Harry wasn’t assertive a lot, but when he was, it always turned Y/N on. She kissed his cheek with a grin as he hung up the phone and squeezed his hand. His mom and sister were one of the many who had texted them after seeing the news and they made a quick FaceTime call to them, venting about the encounter and reassuring them that Paxton was fine, showing them the sweet baby’s face when they finally pulled up to the vacation rental and ended the call.

It was just after noon when they arrived at the house, and instead of unpacking, everyone left their luggage by the front door and took the food they had picked up from a drive-thru on the patio by the pool where they overlooked a beautiful, private beach lined with white sand and water the most beautiful shade of blue. Harry bounced a cooing baby on his lap while they ate. The couple silenced their phones, trying their hardest to avoid the onslaught of calls and messages they were bound to receive.

After lunch, everyone finally put their things away, got changed into their bathing suits, and headed to the pool for their first swim of the year. For just a few hours the coupe was able to forget about the inevitable problem they were facing and enjoyed their time together as a family.

Paxton seemed to enjoy the water once he warmed up to it, screeching joyfully and splashing at the surface while mummy and daddy took turns holding him and pushing him in the inflatable raft they brought. They laughed at the baby boy’s reaction to getting water droplets on his face and all the noises that escaped his tiny lips.

They stayed in the pool until nightfall when they wrapped themselves in towels and sat around the fire pit to keep warm while one of the security guards left to pick up dinner for everyone. Normally, Harry would feel bad for having someone else get him food, but given the circumstances, he felt it was for the best.

He looked over at his wife, her eyes red and irritated from the chlorine, and the high points of her face sunkissed from the warm, Italian sun. Her hair was slicked back, though that didn’t stop Paxton from getting a hold of a chunk of her hair and tugging as she fed him. Harry’s smile started to face into a frown when he noticed the red splotch on the crown of his son’s head was not tinged a blue-ish purple. It had started to bruise.

Y/N noticed her husband’s silence, and with an understanding and reassuring squeeze to his hand, she softly said, “He’s okay, Bub. Just a little sore when you touch it, but still a happy boy.”

“I know,” he nodded, “Still pisses me off that it even happened, though. I should go see if anyone was able to make an appointment for him, yet.”

He ambled off inside to find his phone that he left on the nightstand, ignoring all of his notifications and going right to his assistant’s texts to see the information of the doctor that was kind enough to agree to come to them tomorrow morning and take a look at Paxton. He did a quick background search on the doctor, pleased to find that she had come highly trained and recommended, and he sighed a breath of relief.

He then decided to take a look at some of these notifications, a little worried about the backlash he might have received. But, he was surprised to see the response of support and even shocked by some of the names that had reached out to him or spoke up about the fight.

The first people he noticed were his mom and sister who both made and shared an Instagram text post that read, ‘There is a lot that you have to deal with and compromise on when you have a fanbase or a following, and one of those things is privacy. It’s something so many of us take for granted, and so far, Harry and his lovely wife have taken it in stride, rarely complaining. They’re aware, just like the rest of us, that being a ‘celebrity’ and the lack of privacy in his line of work is an unfortunate given. However, when the safety and privacy of a newborn child are at risk, this type of behavior can become extremely dangerous. There is a time and place for paparazzi, and hurting a child to get a few snapshots is deplorable. Change needs to happen’. In the caption of the photo, there was a petition link that called for adjustments on laws when it came to paparazzi and children.

A lump formed in Harry’s throat as he read, reliving the moment his son had gotten hurt a mere few hours ago. There was so much running through his head. He felt like an idiot for losing his temper, he should have known not to lash out like that, especially when there were so many cameras out. He was pissed that the paparazzi put him in a situation where he felt like lashing out was his only option. He was upset that he couldn’t enjoy their first vacation as a family with their new baby because he was too worried that people might spot him. He was scared for the future of his son, worried that he’d have to look over his shoulder every step of the way to make sure his son could have even just a shot at living a semi-normal life. And he was grateful for the support of his family and for them speaking out and trying to invoke change.

As he scrolled through his notifications more, he saw that Lizzo had also posted a video to Instagram and tagged him in it. He played the video and chuckled, feeling comforted, when her face popped on the screen, shouting, “If y'all don’t leave my baby daddy, Harry, and my sister-wife, Y/N, alone! They had a baby with them! Like this child is basically straight out the womb, and y’all sick motherfuckers are out here grabbin’ on ‘em just to try and take a picture?! A picture?!” she looked disgusted as she shook her head, “These paparazzi are getting bolder every day. This shit needs to stop. I need each and every one of you to click the link on my bio. Things need to change. Yesterday.”

He went to her page and saw the same link that Gemma and his mom had posted to their story. And that wasn’t all. As he continued to go through his notifications, he saw that he had been tagged onto one of Niall’s tweets a ton. He opened the link to see what Niall had written.

‘Absolutely disgusted to see what happened to my friend @Harry_Styles, his lovely wife @Y/N, and their little lad today. Truly criminal that these paparazzi can do things like this with little to no repercussion. I’m so sorry the two of ya had to go through that. Absolutely fuming for ya.’

With a tight-lipped grin, Harry nodded and made a mental note to text Niall later and thank him. For now, he pocketed his phone and rejoined his wife outside who had just finished feeding Paxton and putting him in a portable rocker beside her to nap, her feet propped up by the edge of the fire, wiggling her toes in the warmth. He kissed her forehead before taking his seat on the other side of her, informing her of the response, so far, of the day’s events.

Throughout the week, more and more people had started to speak up. The doctor had come around to take a once-over of Baby Styles, deeming him healthy, just bruised, and leaving them to enjoy their vacation, utterly astonished by the number of people who had spoken out to condemn the paparazzi and share their experience.

Louis had called him shortly after the doctor had left while they were on the beach. Paxton was screeching on his tummy, holding his head up and beating his chubby fists into the sand. Harry watched his wife smiling and clacking at her baby, completely smitten by the two of them, as he and Louis caught up. The last time they talked was when Louis congratulated them on the birth of his son. This time, Louis called to make sure they were doing alright. Harry was still trending online and, being a father himself, he knew how upsetting it was when your kid was brought up in the media. Especially when they had to deal with the repercussions of the paparazzi.

“Man, it just blows my mind the shit these low-lives can get away with. Please tell me you’re gonna press charges, mate,” Louis seared.

Harry groaned, “I don’t think I can, mate. I broke his camera and shoved him. We’re pretty much even.”

“Even?” Louis repeated, “Mate, he hurt a baby. He’s done much worse than you did!”

“Not according to the law, man. Not really. Besides, he’s fine. Just a bruise, thank God. Was more worried about, Y/N, if I’m honest,” he whispered, trying not to let his wife hear, “You should have seen her. Thought she was going to have a panic attack because of her claustrophobia.”

Louis tutted and sighed, “Poor lass. She's alright now, though, yeah?”

“We’re on the beach, so she couldn’t be happier,” Harry laughed, watching as Paxton gazed in awe at the little sandcastle Y/N had just made.

They had received texts from friends, like Mitch and Sarah, who made sure that they and the baby were alright as well as posted a link to the petition. Big-name celebrities with kids, like Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, as well as Hilary Duff and Matthew Koma, had also come forward in light of the issue to share their experiences of being paparazzi’d with kids. He’d never had the pleasure of meeting them, but was sure to send them messages of thanks.

Ariana Grande had tweeted ‘Sending my love to the Styles Family. It’s scary when you can’t walk down the street with a newborn without being harassed. Please sign the petition to finally start holding those who cross the line accountable.’

Liam Payne texted Harry and mentioned it in one of his Instagram Live videos when asked by fans saying, “Yeah, I spoke to him. Apparently, the guy had bruised the poor baby’s head, but he’s doing alright. They’re a bit shaken by the whole thing, I don’t blame them. It’s-It’s just sad, you know? For all the years I’ve known Harry, he’s the last one to get rattled to the point of fighting someone I’ve met Y/N a few times and well and she was always kind and easy-going. But when you’re worried about the safety of your wife and child, I don’t think anyone could say they’d just sit back and take it. You’ve got to draw the line somewhere.”

James Corden dedicated a segment in his show talking about the dangers of paparazzi and his own experiences with being harassed, including the time he was out with his son, and Harry joined them.

“To see, very early on in his career, the amount of people that followed his every step- I mean, he was only with us for a couple of hours and it got so crazy that after thirty minutes I had to have Harry walk a bit ahead of us so that the paparazzi wouldn’t swarm my son. By the end of the day, we were exhausted. I can’t even imagine having to deal with that daily. I know how I felt about it at the time and my son was older. We were a bit more comfortable as parents. But these two have their first, brand new baby. The idea of leaving your house for the first time as new parents and being hounded by volatile people who have no care for anyone but themselves is terrifying. My heart goes out to him and his family,” he finished.

Dozens more came out of the gate to condemn careless paparazzi, but probably the most surprising of them all was Gigi Hadid.

It was no secret that Harry and the model had a strained relationship that dated back to the drama surrounding Zayn’s departure from One Direction. The two never really cared to get to know one another and there was always some unsaid animosity in between them for whatever reason. He never had anything against her. Still, it was there. So, when she spoke out in defense of Harry’s actions, it was in headlines everywhere.

Gigi was very vocal about it on all of her social media platforms, writing rants on Twitter, text posts on Instagram, and even making videos saying, “You know, it’s just disgusting how celebrities can be stalked and harassed every single day by people like these paparazzi and the response is always ‘well, that’s what you signed up for’. It never made sense to me. Like, why is it considered normal? Why does it have to ‘come with the territory?’ These celebrities didn’t sign up to have their lives picked through with a fine-tooth comb. Especially not their spouses or children. They don’t deserve to be harassed or stalked just because of who they fell in love with or made a family with. A lot of people forget that celebrities are just humans.

We’re normal people with abnormal jobs. My job is to model. Harry’s job is to sing. We shouldn’t be in fear to step out of our house that day, afraid of being stalked or our children being hit in the heads with fucking cameras. I’m no stranger to how dangerous and scary paps can be, and since becoming a mom myself, I’m even more cautious. We hardly leave our house. We have so much security it’s unreal. We shouldn’t have to live like this.

Having fans come up to us in the streets and saying hi or taking pictures with us is one thing, but to have these paps shoving their camera in a child’s face, blocking our way out, and endangering them is something else entirely. Paparazzi need to be held to a higher standard and they need to be held accountable. I really feel for them.”

By the end of their vacation, there was so much positive support from fans and other celebs that Harry and Y/N was feeling overwhelmed with love. They both reached out, personally and privately, to as many people as they could to thank them for speaking out and signing the petition. Their team decided that a simple response, in true Harry fashion, would be best. On Instagram, he posted a picture of Paxton’s sandy feet and captioned it,

‘All Is Well. Thank you. With Love, H.’

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

Taglist:

@odetostep @mylittleangel9403 @thurhomish @fallingfordolans @gwen-and-harry

[peralta-guaranteed]

can you write something base on this incorrect quote? https://burnonyou.tumblr.com (stealing anons idea)

Amy's questioning "Babe?" called into the dark, but definitely populated apartment (the randomly thrown shoes and leather jacket over the dining chair are a dead give away) is only answered by a deep groan from the bedroom, one that sounds muffled through pillows, so she's not surprised when she finds Jake face-down on the mattress.

What's confusing is that he's still fully dressed, and clearly not trying to get to sleep, his hands balling up the blanket underneath him in frustration as he barely lifts his head when she sits down next to him and starts sifting through his curls.

"What happened?" Amy asks, and he lets out another groan.

"I am the most embarassing person in the world."

"Sometimes, yes." She smiles, because she can tell despite all the signs that this isn't as much of an episode as it seems. She knows him by now - knows how to read his overplayed shock and drama from the actual hurt and sorrow he hides so well. "What did you do?"

"I ran into Holt at the coffee shop, and he was reading this book, and I recognised it from your nightstand, so I asked him about it." Jake still mumbles into the pillow, and Amy almost forgets to listen as she feels a jolt of excitement about the knowledge that she and the Captain are currently delving deep into the same philosophical treatise she's been devouring after work.

"That doesn't sound embarassing."

"No, but he was like, really getting into it. I thought I'd get a short comment with five words I don't understand like always, but he started explaining it and talking about the last chapter and stuff, and then I was sitting down with him with my coffee and he just kept talking."

"Babe, that all sounds nice." Amy busies herself with one of Jake's longer curls, ignoring the tiniest bit of jealousy that Jake got Holt to 'geek out' over a book she herself was reading, but she could remedy that easily by mentioning it during their next meeting or something. She'd get her moment too.

"It was. It was really nice. We had, like, a whole moment. I kinda got into the book too. Because he liked it so much. It was cool."

Jake sighs, deeply, and Amy feels him tense under her hand.

"And then I called him dad."

"You've done that before, it's not that bad. I think he finds it more funny than embarassing."

"No, but this was different." Jake finally turns around, curls into a little ball as he presses his face against her thigh, and she resumes scratching along his temple down to his neck. "It was like, really personal. Way too much. Like, there was this moment, and then I went and did the stupid emotional baggage thing, and it ruined it all."

Amy can only smile as she imagines her Golden Retriever boyfriend in all his excited, tail-wagging happiness intently listening to Holt explaining something, getting sucked into the story as much as he always does when someone is really passionate about something. She sees them in that coffee shop she knows so well - Holt always sits in the same corner, too - talking and nodding and spurning each other on, and something tells her that there's nothing embarassing or moment-ruining about Jake's word association blunder. Not that it really was one - the few ‘Dad’s that have escaped him before where more mindless than anything, but she knows well enough that they were all meant with the same feeling, even if Jake wouldn’t be too happy to admit it to himself or anyone else.

"I really don't think you messed up, Jake." She tries to gently calm him. "It sounds like it fit the moment, anyway."

Jake only groans again as he presses his face even harder against her jeans.

-*-

“Raymond?” Kevin asks with hesitation, having found no trace of his husband in the kitchen or the dining room, where he’d usually expect to find him at this hour of the evening. But he’s been enarmored with the book he’d recommended to him a week ago, and so it is not quite as surprising to find him in the reading room. What is surprising is that he is not reading, the mentioned tome lying on the desk beside him instead, Cheddar at his feet, and his face in a clear state of a very hard to read emotion.

“Are you alright?”

Holt’s initial reaction is to apologise, as he is won’t to do when he’s bothering someone with an emotional outburst, until he remembers that he’s facing his husband, the only person in the world who he’s not ashamed to be emotional in front of, so he only shakes his head.

“I am afraid you will find me quite a mess tonight, Kevin.”

“What happened?” Kevin kneels down to pet Cheddar, who has dutifully trodded over to him for greetings, but not taking his eyes off of Holt, who sighs.

“Peralta met me at the coffee shop today, during my usual after work coffee break before the drive home.”

“He didn’t upset you, did he?”

“No.” Holt shakes his head, then leans it against his palm, a thinking pose that is rare to see and never fails to incite just the lightest spark of desire in Kevin when he gets to witness his partner so vulnerable and attractive at the same time. “Quite the opposite. He asked me about the book you recommended.”

“He’s surely not reading it.”

“No, it seems that Santiago is.”

“Ah.” Kevin nods as he gets up again, Cheddar returning to his seat at Holt’s slippered feet. That makes far more sense - he’d thought it might interest the young detective, actually, and had been thinking about sending her a message about the book, but then considered that their relationship was not yet at the level where one could simply leave reading recommendations in the other’s email inbox.

“I tried to summarise the book for him in a way he would understand, too, but then-” Holt shakes his head with a huff, almost a smile, and Kevin can’t resist stepping closer to the chair until he can lean against its armrest. “I- I simply lost control, and began talking about it without pause. It is a wonderful read, really. Even Peralta seemed interested - despite my treatise being longer than ten minutes, it kept his attention span.”

“That’s remarkable.” Kevin scoffs only a little, still teetering on his like or dislike of the young man.

“It really was. It felt quite - connecting, in a way. I think people would describe it as ‘being a moment’ between us, if you understand.”

He nods, silently, because he can tell that the big reveal is yet to come, the story of emotions across Holt’s face moving to the finish line - his husband is a wonderful storyteller, but sometimes he does push the act to its limits.

“And then Peralta got lost in his reply to me, as well, and called me Dad.” Holt says in a much quieter voice than before, and Kevin can tell from the slight quiver of his lip that he’s fighting back tears.

“You’ve mentioned him calling you that before.” He tries to be gentle, to not upset him any further, knowing full well that those mentioned situations meant more to Holt than maybe he himself was willing to admit yet.

“Yes, but not- I think not in this way.” Holt presses a finger to his lips for a second, as if he’s searching for the right words. “Usually, it seems more like he is forgetting himself when he says it, simply substituting me as an authoritative person for a father figure. But this time, it felt quite... emotional. Like I had been bestowed the title properly.”

Kevin’s hand finds the top of his, laying flat on the armrest between them, and gives it a soft squeeze, barely appropriate now that they’re alone in their own home.

“He looks up to you, Raymond. I wouldn’t be surprised to know that you’ve gained that title quite a while ago.”

He feels his husband take in a sharp breath, and lets go of his hand immediately.

“And I think you’d suit the title quite well, too. For Jake.”

[crimsonrae]

Reckless Intent: Part Two

Summary: When the dance between Sherlock and Delia first began, learning the steps did not come smoothly. But then that would happen when affections haven’t been made clear and a murderer is on the loose.

SherlockXOFC

Rating: M

Warning: Some manhandling, allusions to nudity.

A/N: Set about ten years before the events in Enola. Sherlock has only been away from home for about three years. So this is more from Sherlock’s point of view and I had fun with this, because despite how intelligent he is, I think that he would still be lost to a woman’s way of thinking or reacting. Also there will be a part three. A culmination if you will of all my teasing : )

Reckless Intent: Part Two

It had taken more time than he would have liked to get the bestial efflux that had swarmed his blood to calm.  

Sherlock pulled a long-drawn breath through his nose as he silently counted the seconds until a certain menace in the shape of woman appeared by his side. Never had he met someone who could stir his anger so easily. She made him want to rage, to shake her until sense fell into that cob she called a mind. How she could incite him with just a few well-placed words was boggling.  

Yet, images of Delia on that stage danced before his eyes as he waited outside the club. The hint of cleavage through the feathers of her fan, the shapely curve of her thigh... Lust had seared his veins at the unexpected display of her womanly assets. His palms had itched with the need to cup her silky flesh, to leave his mark on her unblemished hide, and pull the most melodic notes of pleasure from her dainty throat. His manhood had hardened with a demand that only her tempting hole could satisfy.

And had they been alone?  

Had the ravenous stares and drunken jeering of the swine inside not been present... he would have taken her there on that staged. He would have answered her teasing seduction, shown her what happened when such a flag was waved before a bull.  

But they hadn’t been alone. He wasn’t the only one to gaze upon her bare flesh and that was unforgivable. Fury still spurned his veins, only the remembrance of their kiss tempered his lingering ire.

Sherlock bit back a groan as he tried to ignore the memory of the delightful contrast of her wired nest against her smooth skin and her heat... his fingers had been brushed by her desirous warmth, had felt the hint of her promising dewy depths. He marveled that he hadn’t sunk into her depths there and then. Her protest to his advances had been meek at best. There was no doubt in his mind that his Delia was a wanton... but she was his wanton. It was high time that he made his claim known.

He would not tolerate another incident such as this.

His fingers flexed and tightened over the head of his cane, releasing the frustrated bur that Delia so expertly pricked in him. It wouldn’t do to walk the streets with an erection like an adolescent boy. As if she knew his struggle, Delia appeared at his elbow only to add oil to his smoldering flame. Her frock covered little more of her chest than her stage attire.  

His nostrils flared with annoyance. Even her hair was still unrestrained, her curls falling loose about her shoulders, “That was longer than ten minutes.”

Delia arched a brow at him, unimpressed by his dour reproach, “Yet, you didn’t come back for me. You should be pleased.”

His glare was glacial, but she refused to simper –stubborn mule of a woman.  

Sherlock snatched her elbow before she had a chance to send another volley. The firm grip teetered on the edge of impropriety, but it was hardly the most improper act that either one of them had committed so far. He nudged her forward, refusing to speak further until they were away from this infernal club.

Luckily, Delia took the hint as she adjusted her arm in his grip and fell into step. It wasn’t lost on him that she had quickly masked the aggressive undertones of their current meeting. It no longer looked as if he were dragging an unruly woman through the street but had taken to escorting a potential paramour. Strangely, they fell somewhere in between the two paradigms.

They swept down the dimly lit streets with marked silence. He, still simmering, unwilling to vent his anger where it could be heard by the restless populace of London and she – he darted a glance to his companion – she was remarkably stoic. Her features serene as if nothing was amiss, but the darkened hue to her cheeks and the tense set to her jaw belied her discomfort... or perhaps her anticipation.  

Sherlock wasn’t sure which beset her and ignored the little voice in his ear that whispered it was the later. He had decided long before he had exited the club that his baser urges would be denied that night. Far more pressing concerns needed to be addressed before he conducted any further intimate explorations of her body.

As if she knew where his thoughts had led, Delia smirked dimly as he prodded her up the steps to his apartments. He wanted nothing more than to steal that smile from her face and it wasn’t until the door clicked firmly shut that he began his attack, “Have you lost your damn mind? Did you even for one minute think about what would happen to you in that place?”

“Sherlock -”

“No.” He continued as if he hadn't heard her, “You didn’t. You’re lucky I was there – that I even had an inkling to show up. Else wise you would’ve ended up like your friend or worse on your back -”

SMACK.

Fire laced up the side of his face as he felt the imprint of her palm reverberate through the bone of his cheek. Glowering he turned back to her and found Delia torn between shock at her actions and indignant.

Her breath came fast as she spat, “You are not my keeper, Sherlock Holmes. If you’re not going to discuss this case, say so now and I will take my leave.”

Sherlock smiled grimly, “Oh, I am taking the case, Delia. I’ve said as much already. And you’re right, I’m not your keeper. I’m far more than that and you will acknowledge it before the night is over.”

“How dare you!” Indignation seemed to have won out in his little menace as she hissed, “To make such assumptions based on one measly kiss... I would think such acts beneath you. Impervious king that you are.”

Volatile.  

Rash.  

Words that could be used to describe both of them in that moment, Sherlock noted distantly. He fought to keep a hold of his temper. He had pushed her tonight and she had already been walking a tightrope by going undercover in that club. He shouldn’t be surprised that the bewilderment and anger she had carefully kept under lock and key had been released now.  

However, he was sure that he had made his intentions clear long before his stolen kiss, in fact he was sure of it. A resounding crack echoed through the foyer, stunning both occupants as the head of Sherlock’s cane fell from its body. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been gripping the implement or even that he was still holding it.  

He cast the ruin staff aside with a barely contained growl, “One measly kiss?”

He prowled forward like a stalking jaguar, “Is that what you think I based my assumptions on?”

Delia, to her credit, did not cower from him as she lifted her chin defiantly, “I think you saw naked flesh and responded as all men do.”

Again, Sherlock wondered if she could read minds. Hadn’t his thoughts dwelled upon her wicked display before she had arrived at his side? But she was very mistaken if she thought that his reaction was merely a result of her dance... No, his interest in Delia Woodson had started long before this night.

“Blue myosotis.”  

Delia blinked, her confusion apparent by his pointed delineation, “Pardon?”

“Blue myosotis.” Sherlock repeated definitively, “Or more commonly – forget-me-nots. You pinned them to my lapel three months, one week, and two days ago. After that murdered child was found by the docks. I was upset, but you...you were the only one to notice. You saw through the impassivity that I had carefully cultivated to keep myself detached.”  

He refused to use the word impervious.

His voice grew soft, “You pinned the flower to my lapel and said, ‘It’s a small token, Mr. Holmes, but colorful – bright. You need a little of that I think.’ I knew I loved you then.... and the flower you chose? More than appropriate for that realization. I doubt you knew but forgot-me-not's represent true love.”  

Stricken with shock, Delia could only gape at the unexpected confession, “I - Sherlock.”

“So, yes, Delia. I am far more than your keeper.” He continued stoutly, daring her to interrupt, to protest his words, “And not yet your lover, but that state will be rectified soon enough I’d wager. And no, our kiss had little to do with your irreverent show, though I do wish it had been under different circumstances, I don’t regret it.”

He could see her floundering. By not hiding from the truth, nor ignoring his earlier actions he had stripped bare any defensive armor she had managed to cobble together in their brief time apart. And he had finally acknowledge the elephant that he had been alluding to all night. He didn’t need to hear the words reciprocated – he knew she felt the same, though she hadn’t realized it until he had accosted her in that club. He had seen the moment she comprehended where her affections laid.

His hand came up to grasp her chin as he made sure that he fully held her attention, “And such antics will not occur ever again. I won’t stand for it and your bottom won’t sit for it, should you attempt such an act.”

Her eyes widened at his pointed threat, knowing he was serious her defiance flickered at him. Sherlock nearly grumbled. Why did he have to fall in love with the most obtuse woman on the bloody planet?

“This...” She drew a calming breath and laced her delicate fingers over the top his that still grasped her chin, “This is not talk of the case.”

Dull amusement laced through him at her poor deflection, but he took his cue and drew back a step, “I garnered several leads while you were performing. I’ll be able to more thoroughly investigate tomorrow. I haven’t forgotten about your Margaret.”  

“What leads?”

Sherlock shook his head in the face of her hungry interest. She had taken far too many risks as it were for this case, “No. You want me to take this case and investigate? Then my price is that you stay out of it.”

“But -”

“You were reckless tonight.” Sherlock vented, his anger rising back to the top. She hadn’t seen the men that had watched her – followed her, but he had. Not all of her audience had been lustful brigands. His little menace had made no secret of her inquiry into her friend’s death, “Purposefully, I’m certain.”

Her lip jutted out temptingly and he nearly cracked a smile in the face of her pout, “She’s my friend, Sherlock. Surely, I deserve to know – to help.”    

“You will stay out of it. That’s my price – take it or leave it, Delia.” He stated resoundingly, unwilling to budge on this point. He would fill her in once he had solved the crime and the murderer was being carted off by Scotland Yard, but not a second before that occurred.

Delia huffed as she dared ask, “And if I refuse and continue to investigate on my own?”

Sherlock stiffened at her challenge as he raised an unimpressed brow and smiled thinly, “Oh, I dare you to try. You won’t make it out that door, I can promise you that.”

“I have to leave some time; I don’t live here.” She muttered lowly, after all he only had just started his investigation.

“Yet.” Sherlock returned arrogantly as he stepped towards the stairs, “Mrs. Hudson!”

The shadow of his housekeeper appeared at the top of the stairs within seconds. He had no doubt that she had heard every word passed between himself and Delia, but ever discreet the matronly woman had waited until he beckoned. Draped in her robe and bonnet, he felt a stirring of guilt for having disturbed her slumber with his return, but even still as she blandly met his stare – he couldn’t help the mischievous spark that entered his mien.

“Please ready the guestroom. Miss. Woodson will be staying here tonight.” Loathe as he was to have her out of his sight, Sherlock knew they needed space. Too much had occurred in a sort time span and to be perfectly frank he needed a moment away from the weight of her presence. He needed to recoup.  

“That’s not necessary.” Delia started softly.

Sherlock barely contained a weary sigh, “It’s late and I’m not in the mood to escort you back to Hoxton.”

She blinked, bemusement once again piercing her features, “How did you know - ?”

Sherlock didn’t deign to answer. To say he wasn’t thrilled that she lived in such a horrid area was a vast understatement, but he had to admit that it was a step above White Chapel and far better than Old Nichol. Another situation he would soon need to rectify.

“I’ll have warm water brought to your room.” He said instead, “Rest. We’ll speak more in the morning when calmer heads prevail.”

Delia stared at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher but found that the calm he had just manage to reclaim was rapidly deteriorating. His heart lurched and the familiar itch to his palms returned as she stepped back into his sphere.

“Delia...”

“You followed me. You accosted me. Kissed me. Protected me. Took a case that is boring just to make me happy -”

“Keep you out of trouble -”

“Told me that you love me.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken and soundly shut him up. 

Delia smiled then. A small smile, but so bright before she leant up on her toes and claimed a kiss so gentle that it stole his breath.

Unconsciously, his fingers latched into the folds of her gown as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. The supple swell of her lips felt like silk under the brush of his tongue. She tasted sweet, like honey and tea. She moaned lowly and a pleased growl rumbled through his chest at the sound.

They must have stood like that for only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.  

Delia, as tenderly as she had approached him, broke away again and started up the stairs. Sherlock could only watch after her dazed. 

She paused halfway up and glanced at him over her shoulder, “And you send me to the guestroom? You’re an odd man, Sherlock Holmes.”

She disappeared over the landing and Sherlock was left in stunned amusement. He had half a mind to go after her. Her teasing knew no bounds it seemed... but despite her words, he knew she was virginal, and he planned to take his time divesting her of that chaste state.

However, he should have known that Delia had no such patience...

Damn her.

Previous Chapter

[phoenixyfriend]

I’ve been trying to figure out the best obi wan ship. They all have one slightly problematic thing this way or that. I’ve landed on the idea of obi wan and an equal is pretty top tier. But then I saw a picture of Coran from voltron. Coran and Obiwan might be a disaster but also both are dad shaped, both are bad ass, both are ginger, both have an accent. I think it could work. But another part of me is like Coran is just obi and jarjar mashed together. At the very least they hooked up.

Hey I just had restaurant ramen and Starbucks and actually feel like a human being so let's do something unnecessary but funny. I'm taking this as a challenge, anon.

Also IMO Coran has more in common with C3P0 than with JarJar

So obviously, both of these happen in Big Space, but the difference appears to be density. We see about the same complexity of culture and species interactions, but Voltron covers more galaxies. It's vaguely implied that Earth, at least, is the only planet with sapient life in the Milky Way.

I think the way I want to play this out, culturally, is that the Voltron area of the universe covers a much wider, but much more sparsely populated area, while the SW-verse is just the one very densely populated (in part because apparently humans just went Literally Everywhere) galaxy, where they didn't necessarily bother with developing the tech to go to other galaxies (except Rishi, which only sort of counts) because they haven't really even charted out their own yet. It was never contacted by the Voltron side of things because [checks notecards full of excuses] it's really far away from Altea and all that, and the Force shielded the galaxy from Galra interests because Reasons.

All this to say that the two franchises didn't interact until after the Voltron plotline was already over. We'll say it went mostly canon, except Allura survived because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck that.

We'll say that this is mid-TCW, you know, before Obi-Wan is a bundle of repressed traumas and bad coping mechanisms that's lost almost everyone he's ever loved to the dark side through death or corruption. He's still (mostly) okay! Anakin's not dark (or at least, not as dark as he could be; Obi-Wan doesn't know about the Tuskens), and Ahsoka's still in good standing and most people are alive and--and okay the army is a massive ethical violation he hates with his very soul and he misses Qui-Gon and Anakin's keeping secrets and pulling away from him every day but He's Fine, Guys.

He's Fine.

In comes a ship from not Wild Space, but beyond that. Intergalactic visitors, from the direction of the deeply concerning Force bullshit they felt a few years ago. Translation tech is decent enough on both sides that they get to talking pretty quickly. The explorer is actually a member of the Blade of Marmora, who gets the absolute most basic info (approximately this many inhabited planets, approximately this many trillions of sapients in the recorded galaxy, basic structure of the government for the past however many years, most recent conflict, etc.)

BoM person is like "cool, okay so you guys are really well set-up so I'm just gonna head back and kick this up a few rungs of the coalition ladder because this is way above my paygrade, I'll make sure you get some diplomats who can maybe help out with the whole galactic civil war situation as neutral parties."

The Voltron Coalition does send a diplomat! They, uh, also send Coran, who isn't technically a diplomat, but he's high-level.

The thing is, okay, that Coran is mostly just... passably competent at things. He's a jack of all trades, master of none type. He knows a lot of things, actually, but his practical knowledge in high pressure situations tends to be up in the air. He knows how to fix the Castle Ship and various technologies, but all of that info is ten thousand years out of date. He was a competent fighter at one point but these days his back gives out. He's very knowledgeable regarding intergalactic politics but, again, that information is ten thousand years out of date. He's also a little prone to social gaffs in dicey situations (e.g. the inciting incident in the Voltron Show episode where he misses the single day with clear skies), but puts in so much goddamn effort to make things happen.

In this manner, he's like a warped mirror of what Obi-Wan is and could be.

THAT SAID

Coran is actually really good with teenagers, and specifically with training them.

And Obi-Wan... isn't.

Obi-Wan's snarky and snippy and sassy, and he's decent enough at teaching and he's great at being a jokey friend and all, but he's not necessarily very good at emotions. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, the teenagers he spends the most time with are Really Full Of Emotions. He tries, bless him, but he's just... he doesn't respond well to emotional conversations at the best of times.

His son-figure saying "You're like a father to me" leads to a response of... radio silence. Guys. That's not the mark of a man who knows how to talk about his feelings with the people he cares about.

In swans Coran with the various other diplomatic envoys of the visiting extragalactic community. The entire situation is really leading to a lull in the war because nobody wants to risk pissing off this clearly well-funded, well-powered third party. As a result, many of the High Generals can interact with the envoys, even if they spend quite a bit of time eyeing the Separatist representatives on the other side of the room, because clearly Everyone Needs A Seat At This Table.

It's a very tense situation.

Obviously, Coran is exactly the weird uncle that goes around telling plausibly-exaggerated stories about Weblums and Yalmors and Balmeras. I'm going to say at least one former Paladin is there, maybe Hunk. Hunk's fun, and also very willing to help Coran make friends and seem Amicable instead of Distant by correcting some of the exaggerations. There's a nice, calm atmosphere in a bubble around Coran and his nonsense, and it's a weird situation but arguably just... you know. It's good. He's good at making people feel safe around him.

Cue the hissed argument between Skywalker and Kenobi. The actual cause of said argument isn't important, just the fact that, in a dark corner where they're less likely to cause a PR issue, Anakin and Obi-Wan are having it out. Anakin's maybe twenty, still a lanky ragebaby, all that fun stuff. Obi-Wan is a the endpoint of every too-young brotherdad. He's thirty-six but feels like he's sixty-three. He's tired, but trying so damn hard to still connect with Anakin and just--just--

Obi-Wan gives himself a few minutes to calm down before following Anakin. He doesn't even remember what they were arguing about, really, but he has to mend the bridge before it frays even more than it already has. If Anakin goes to Palpatine for advice again, he's going to... do something. Obi-Wan isn't sure what, but he just has to fix this.

What he finds is... well, Anakin did end up going to vent to a man of an earlier generation who acts like a slightly eccentric older relative, but it's not Palpatine for once.

The goofy, slightly abrasive but mostly charming, brightly-colored representative of the Voltron Coalition is standing in the little balcony that Anakin's made it to, listening as Obi-Wan's recently-knighted padawan vents. The man nods and makes noises at the appropriate times, and then asks questions that are... maybe a little too accurate.

"You said that you view him as a father, that he raised you after you left your mother."

"Well, yeah, but he doesn't think I'm ready, or--"

"No parent ever does."

"...my mom thought I was ready to become a Jedi."

"I can't speak for your mother," the representative says, "but the princess of my people, Allura... I half-raised that girl from the beginning, and after the destruction of Altea, we were all the other had left. I watched her lead battles and bring life to planets, trying to rebuild a universe out of the ashes of what we'd left behind... I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and I still, every time, I worried for her."

"Why?"

"I worried that she'd be hurt, that she wasn't ready, that she'd make a decision she regretted. Often, she did, and I had to help her back up, and while she's always come back, stronger than before... she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter, and I will always worry for her. Every parent does. Do you think, perhaps, that your own Jedi Master, that you consider a father, may worry because he looks at you like a son? That it's not that he doesn't trust you, but that he doesn't trust the world around you?"

Obi-Wan feels his heart in his throat.

The conversation continues in that vein. While Obi-Wan can't say he likes the fact that this stranger is putting words in his mouth, if only as hypotheticals, he can't deny that there's a part of him that relaxes as Anakin does, as every frustrated fresh-knight question gets a measured elderly-steward response that's angled to consider the interpretation that favors Anakin and Obi-Wan in equal measure. Every word encourages Anakin to talk things out and lay boundaries and express his frustrations to Obi-Wan in the plainest words possible.

There's a story in there, more than one. The representative tends to go off on tangents, ones that Anakin sometimes finds interesting and sometimes just resigns himself to. Mostly, though, it goes well, and Obi-Wan... well, he's always been 'a nosy little bastard,' according to quite a few people.

(In his defense, the terms they'd used about Quinlan's 'investigative personality' had been quite a bit stronger.)

He eavesdrops to the end, and Anakin doesn't notice at all. Obi-Wan's not sure if he should try to address Anakin's lack of awareness of the world around him. He's not technically Anakin's master anymore. The comment may be taken as a criticism of his worth and capability, rather than a sincere desire to see his padawan not die.

He approaches the representative instead. He intends to introduce himself. Instead, the first words that tumble out of his mouth are:

"How do you do it?"

The man--older than he looks from a distance, more wrinkles than the bright hair would suggest, but not quite elderly yet--turns and lifts a brow. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, I'm--" Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young man you were just talking to is my former padawan, er, my former apprentice. I've been finding it harder and harder to speak with him over the past few years, and it seems that every interaction we have leads to an argument. How do you... manage that? I can't get him to listen to me at all."

"Ah, teenagers," the man sighs.

"He's twenty."

The representative pauses, and turns to him. "Are you the one he says raised him? The father?"

"Well... yes, I suppose that's one way to phrase it," Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to the side. He doesn't know how to explain the whole attachment situation to someone who barely knows what a Jedi is. He has even less of an idea of how to explain his own broken ability to speak of emotion, the parts of his mind that Bant clucks over and attributes to his own complicated relationship with Qui-Gon. "I had custody as his primary guardian from ages nine to nineteen and was the primary individual for handling his schooling, health, and general upbringing."

"That sounds to me like a very convoluted way of saying you were his father in all but name."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm not exactly old enough to be his father, and I wasn't exactly the person he was supposed to learn from; I was the... back-up option."

"It seems he cares for you very much."

"He didn't have much of a choice," Obi-Wan says, with the kind of helpless smile and awkward shrug he's long gotten used to sharing with people when they ask. "And I assure you he'd have been happier with the man that was meant to teach him."

"I'd say that the 'would have' in this situation is much less important than what is," the representative says. Obi-Wan probably should have paid more attention to his name. "I wasn't in a position to define my relation to Allura or her father in the way that truly suited our situation, by... oh, tradition, social norms, public relations, take your pick. I was a very well-regarded official, of course, but I wasn't royalty, not even nobility, and I certainly wasn't wasn't legally or publicly part of the family. But for all the limitations there, I was still able to find ways to tell her and her family what they meant to me, and they in return. Your apprentice cares for you very much, and I'm sure you care back, but I'd hazard quite the guess that you've no idea how to tell him that."

"I... I shouldn't," Obi-Wan says. "I'm fond of him, of course, but I've no wish to smother him, and to simply say it would be undignified. I imagine he'd laugh in my face."

The representative raises one eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.

"Master Kenobi," he says carefully. "Might I suggest you go find your young man, tell him you love him, and perhaps give him a hug?"

Obi-Wan's face flares red. It's been years since anyone short of Yoda has spoken to him like that.

"I'm not a child," he sniffs, trying to angle enough away that the blush isn't as noticeable. He's damnably prone to such things. "You're not that much older than me."

The man laughs, and Obi-Wan lifts his glass to his lips in a futile attempt to hid the embarrassment a little more. "Oh, not counting the stasis, I've well reached the age of six hundred and twenty-four, my boy!"

Obi-Wan chokes on his drink.

The man laughs a little more, but thumps him on the back until he's breathing normally again.

"Yes, most of the humans I've told have had quite the reaction!" the representative assures him. "But yes, even with the times adjusted to what any given local year is, I am significantly longer-lived than most species."

"No kidding," Obi-Wan manages. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over at the representative. He takes in the wrinkles and bright eyes, and says, "Well, I must say you look very well for a near-human of such an age. I can only name one person in that category that has managed better, and I haven't seen her since I was a child."

"I shall take that as the compliment it's intended to be," the representative says, twisting the edge of his mustache and beaming.

The man is... well, goofy, really, and quite a bit older than Obi-Wan had thought, but he's quite the charmer. Obi-Wan faintly compares him to a few different people in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fits. For all that the man is quite the jokester and--going by some things he'd seen from the corner of his eye in the main party--a master of physical comedy, the representative is actually more competent than he looks, and for all his visible age, not bad to look at. He is also, seemingly, an expert in dealing with teenagers and young adults, something Obi-Wan himself is... decidedly not.

He really should go speak with Anakin.

And there's a war to fight.

He doesn't really have much time, even with the recent lull.

He's in no place to be looking at the clean-shaven jaw and wondering what it would feel like under his lips, or to let himself consider whether this man would be the kind to have an hours-long discussion as to the narrative forms common in other galaxies, and whether they have anything paralleled to those in Obi-Wan's own, or if this man would show the same enthusiasm over teas that he'd shown over the hors d'oeuvres inside.

He should... really go find Anakin.

"I suppose it's time to find my padawan," he says, more to fill the air than anything. "Er... thank you, both for speaking with him, and for speaking with me."

"Not a problem at all, Master Kenobi!" the representative says, and Obi-Wan realizes that there's one last thing he may have... forgotten.

"This is terribly embarrassing, but I don't believe I caught your name?" Obi-Wan says.

"Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service!" the man says, with a sweeping bow. "As you can imagine, most simply call me Coran."

"Then I insist you call me Obi-Wan," he says, and before he can stop himself, "Might I bother you with an invitation to a shared tea time? You seem a knowledgeable fellow, and I'd appreciate the chance to... eh, pick your brain, shall we say."

It's not the smoothest come on he's ever put out there, or the most easily interpreted, but... well. Perhaps it's for the best. He's rather often found his tastes going in irresponsible directions, and it'll be much easier to brush this off without diplomatic incident if there's room for Coran to politely ignore the less platonic options.

Obi-Wan hopes he doesn't.

It's very selfish of him, but a dalliance with an older gentleman... well. He does, perhaps, make such irresponsible decisions, even now.

"I do believe I'd enjoy such a thing!" Coran enthuses, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and shaking it in large, effusive movements.

Oh, this is a terrible idea, Obi-Wan thinks, even as he exchanges comm numbers and says goodbye.

Still.

He likes the idea of having at least a little fun, sedate or less so, while they have some time to themselves.

[cryingwriter]

This is the text post version of all twenty parts in my Writing Exercises post. Hopefully this will be easier for all kinds of writers to read and more helpful for those with a screen-reader! Happy writing!

One

Start with a genre

Pick one thing (or more) that you’d like to write about. (Example: zombies, magic, etc.)

Think if one plot point that will impact the story

Or brainstorm the Inciting Incident

Two

Write the backstory for your main character or write about their daily life

Do the same for the antagonist

Now make them meet

Three

Pick a sentence starter prompt

Write a short story using it as a first line

Write another short story using it as a last line

Here’s some to get you started

The attack was over in seconds

No one would believe me/her/him

How hard could it be?

The summer seemed to last forever

What’s that sound?

Four

Pick a tv show or movie you’ve never seen

Watch the first fifteen minutes and guess what’s going to happen next

Are you right or wrong? If you’re right, write about something unpredictable that could’ve happened instead

If wrong, change the storyline. Take it in a completely different direction based on what led up to the point of the movie you’re at.

Five

Pick a song you like or even one you’ve never heard

Find the story within

Write a short story about it

John Wayne by Lady Gaga

Three AM, mustang speeding (setting/location description)

Two lovers, headed for a dead end (characters and foreshadowing)

Two fast, hold tight, he laughs (description and characterization)

Running through the red lights (conflict)

Six

Change the font you’re writing in

Change the color of the text or the background

Change the formatting or chapter headings

(Making your manuscript feel new again can help you unstick yourself from where you’re stuck)

Seven

Try the “and suddenly” method

“And suddenly there were robots”

“And suddenly a car crash occurred”

Come up with something totally random or bizarre that could happen in the scene you’re working on. Let your mind have a break and allow yourself to write some nonsense.

Eight

Choose a video game, movie, urban legend, poem or song (a story told in a different format than what you’re currently writing)

Re-write it in your favored format

Turn a movie into a poem or a song into a short story. I’d personally love to see someone write a story based on their favorite video game.

Nine

Write a totally nonsense scene

Two enemies randomly decide to kiss

Your protagonist finds a secret bunker in their parents house

Your secondary characters animal companion starts talking to them

Ten

Make a family tree for your characters

Write a holiday scene/short story that no one will ever see

Borrow a character from a writer friend and write from their point of view

Our minds often lose creativity or momentum when working on a longer project. Sometimes you need to goof off or take a break. You have permission to do just that.

Eleven

Write a song

Write a poem

Write a short story

The catch? They all have to have the same theme or the same character or the same plot line. They must fit together and compliment each other.

Twelve

Change the setting of an existing scene in your manuscript

Change the weather of an existing scene

Add or take away a character in an existing scene and see how it changes

Thirteen

Turn all the text to white so you can’t see what you’re typing

Every fifty words change the font to Wingdings or symbols

Turn or tilt your screen so you can’t see what you’re typing

(Change everything back to normal after your writing session)

Fourteen

Take a break from writing while on an exciting scene so you have something fun to come back to

Write only dialogue to get through a scene faster and fill the rest in later

Utilize brackets and other placeholders to write quicker. If you don’t know something, slap a placeholder in there and move on!

Don't use other tabs or applications during the first half of your writing session but use them as a reward once you’ve written most of your word count

Fifteen

Write a scene you’ve been dying to write since the beginning

Or write the ending

Or try writing a scene you’ve already written but from another character's perspective

Sixteen

Put your writing playlist on shuffle and see how many song lyrics you can put into the story that make sense

Shuffle again and write a new scene based on the lyrics of that song

Find a song directed toward someone (example: Jolene by Dolly Parton) and write from the receiving person’s perspective

Seventeen

Stuck in the middle of a scene? Stop and journal your thoughts, where you think the scene is going and the possible outcomes

Or skip to the next thing you know for sure will happen and fill in the blank later

Or write through the problem/block. Writing through it can help you see where you might’ve gone wrong or what you need to fix

Eighteen

Read what you have out loud or have a friend or automated reader read it for you. You can catch a lot of errors this way.

Act out or read aloud dialogue scenes to check if they feel natural

Nineteen

Take a break and do something else creative

Look at Pinterest to find scene description or character inspiration

Make a story playlist

Draw character art

Make a manip or book cover

Twenty

Play the “what if” game with your story

What if something else had happened in the first chapter

What if a major side character had died instead of lived or vice versa

What if your characters chose a different path at any point in the existing story

What if half the story was all a dream

Come up with your own “what if’s” and answer them!

Please let me know if there’s anything I can change or do to make this even better for everyone :) And thank you all for so many reblogs and likes on the original post. Happy writing!! xx

[stxrrywildflower]

can’t help falling in love (one)

pairing - george weasley x reader

summary - you ask george to be your date to your sisters wedding

warnings - mentions of family/home issues

word count - 2.6k

series masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

george always valued family and friendship more than anything.

he grew up with multitudes of siblings and being a twin himself, those bonds were something taught to him at a very young age. even harry, when introduced to the family, slowly turned from just ‘ron’s friend’ to another little brother.

you, on the other hand, you were something different to george.

you had met the weasley’s when you were only ten.

it was the summer before you were set to start at hogwarts. your grandmother had taken you to diagon alley to get your materials for the school year; robes, books, and your wand being some of the most notable items.

you owed your grandmother the credit for your magical abilities. you were muggle-born, having two muggle parents and you inheriting your abilities from your grandmother.

while shopping, your grandmother had bumped into an old friend, none other than molly weasley. while the two had talked on and on, you shyly drifted away from your grandmother.

you found herself lingering around eeylops owl emporium, looking at the different birds and the other products they carried.

“one day we’re going to own a shop here! and you’re the first one to hear it.”

the two ginger boys who were previously hiding behind their mum had drifted just like you. “really? what kind of shop?” you asked.

“one for pranks!” one of them spoke. “yeah and gag products too!” the other one added.

you wanted to continue the conversation, but at the same time you still didn’t know who you were really talking to other than the fact they were molly’s kids.

“i’m fred,” the first one waved after realizing he should probably introduce himself. “and i’m george,” the other one greeted.

you nodded with a small smile. “y/n.”

from that day on, an instant friendship was formed.

just in that day alone, you got both your robes and wands together and even lunch. when the day was over, the twins had left with wide grins, waves, and the promise for you to all sit on the train together.

it took a bit for you to distinguish the twins apart but after being pointed out their subtle differences, a day didn’t go by where you mixed them up.

you did everything together without even realizing the future you had ahead of you. ten year old you didn’t even think about the boys you would be getting your first wands with would turn into your best friends.

the sorting ceremony was what really sealed it.

you were absolutely terrified walking into the great hall. between the stares of the students at their house tables and the teachers, you were a bundle of nerves.

fred and george were sent up before you, fred going first up to the sorting hat followed by george. it was no doubt where they would end up.

when your name was called, you nearly froze. however, fred and george at the gryffindor table had given you a reassuring thumbs-up with a smile. sure it was simple but it had given you a boost of confidence.

“y/n y/l/n?” professor mcgonagall had called.

you headed up to the front, taking a seat on the stool as the sorting hat was placed on your head.

it took a few minutes, with some random chatter from the sorting hat, before your house was given to you.

“gryffindor!” the sorting hat announced.

fred and george met you at the table with a strong hug, the three of you more than overjoyed you were sorted together.

molly and your grandmother were equally as excited. the first opportunity you had, you sent a letter home telling her all about your arrival and finally your house. fred and george did the same, though their sorting wasn’t exactly a surprise.

you went home with the weasley’s during your first christmas break. your grandmother was going to be traveling and your parents and sister, well your parents and your sister were a different story.

the weasley’s welcomed you with opened arms. you, fred, and george were already close. percy was at hogwarts with you as well. you met ron, ginny, bill, and charlie.

your friendship only grew as you went up in the years. just like they had mentioned when you first met, fred and george started working on different prank products the second they had the access to the right materials. you assisted, of course, but honestly, you were the least rebellious of your group.

but like most friend groups, there were always two that were closer than the others. that fell to you and george. you were still close with fred, of course, but there was something about the bond you and george had that went beyond anything.

the twins still knew almost everything about you. but you always tried to block one thing from them; your family issues.

they never questioned when you changed the subject of it when it was brought up and never once complained when you stayed at their home over going to yours.

but with the recent events and arrival of your invitation, it was something both boys couldn’t ignore.

↓

george couldn’t find you until later that afternoon.

since you had rushed out of class after getting a letter, no one had seen you, harry, or hermione.

ron was on the lookout as well. his friends had failed to show in in the great hall for lunch or even just in the hallways.

“fred! george!” ron called to his brothers. “have you seen harry and hermione?”

george shrugged. “i know they’re with y/n but that’s about it. haven’t seen her since she rushed out of transfiguration.”

“you think they’re back in the common room?” fred questioned.

“it’s worth a try.”

the three brothers arrived at the gryffindor corridor after a few moments. judging by the scarce amount of students and few first years scurrying out of the portrait entrance, there was no doubt you were inside.

ron took the initiate to repeat the passcode. even from the outside they would hear what sounded like arguing.

“y/n you have to do what makes you comfortable.”

“yeah but then-” you stopped your response to hermione’s words the second you noticed the others enter the room. “oh hey guys.”

“what’s going on? we haven’t seen you for hours,” george immediately rushed out.

the twins and ron finally took a minute to examine the room, eyes darting around to see where everyone was situated.

harry was leaning against the wall under the window, arms crossed with a concerned look on his face. hermione was more calm, taking a seat on one of the chairs though her expression did mirror harry’s.

you, on the other hand, took a seat from your previous pacing just as the other group entered.

“it’s nothing guys,” you mumbled.

“y/n,” fred started as he sat criss-crossed in front of you. george did the same, though he tapped your knee twice. it was a simple gesture, though it did gain your attention. “you can talk to us, you know that,” george finished.

“i got my sisters wedding invitation today. it’s this saturday,” you spoke. “and i don’t like talking about it but uh, i don’t really get along well with her.”

it took a lot for you to even get that out. you were more than thankful no one pushed the subject further.

“do you not want to go?”

you shook you head. “i mean not really. but i feel like i have to. if not i don’t really know how i would feel as a person.”

“well whatever you decide, just know we’re all here for you, okay?”

you nodded. “thank you guys, it really means a lot.”

the group in the common room slowly started to disperse after that. you declined any invitations to go get food or explore the school but instead took a seat back down in front of fire.

one thing you failed to mention; you needed a date.

↓

you asked george wednesday night.

“george,” you interrupted, already shooting an apologetic look to the others at the table. “can i talk to you for a second?”

you ignored the chorus of ‘oooh’s’ from the others at the table as george stood up. “georgie’s in trouble,” fred spoke in a sing-song tone.

“i’ll see you all later,” george spoke to the table.

he followed you out of the great hall. as you were heading down one of the hallways, george leaned down to interlock your hands, swinging them back and forth in front of you.

you had to admit, it did incite a laugh out of you. george always knew how to cheer you up, even if it meant just little gesture as silly as that.

you finally pulled george down one of the corridors, situating yourself in one of the corners behind the walls. you could actually talk to him without having to worry about prying eyes.

“so you know how i have to go home for my sisters wedding this weekend?” you asked.

george nodded as he crossed his arms. “yes?”

“i need a date to go with me. it says so on the invitation,” you fiddled with the sleeve of your robe, unable to meet george’s eyes. “could you maybe come with me? you totally don’t have to if you don’t want and i know i’m a muggle-born so a lot of my family doesn’t really know magic and that’s a lot different the your-”

george cut off your rambling with a grab of your hands. “hey hey hey, you really think i wouldn’t go because your a muggle-born?” george asked, his tone being one of almost hurt.

you shrugged, hiding your face once more. “you see how some people treat us. besides, it’s a muggle wedding. no offense but i know you don’t know how a lot of things in the muggle world work. i wasn’t sure if you would want to go for that reason.”

“y/n i would love to go,” george smiled.

you let out a sigh of relief. “but if you don’t mind me asking, why me?” george questioned.

“well you’re my best friend. fred is cool and all but i just feel a lot more comfortable going with you.”

george’s confidence grew ten times from your words. was he proud you chose him over fred? absolutely. but honestly, he was really really happy to be invited.

“i know you mentioned it before but i wanted to reassure something to you. i know your family relationship is rocky but i promise, i’ll support you with whatever it is. if you want to go home at any point during the trip, just say the word and we’ll go. okay?”

you bit your lip to hold back the tears already welling in your eyes. “is george weasley going soft on me?”

his cheeks flushed a shade of red at your comment. “maybe,” he mumbled. you reached up to place your hand on his cheek. “i don’t mind, it’s sweet.”

george smiled back down at you, squeezing your hand as you brought it back down.

“mcgonagall wanted to see me and whoever i decided to take tomorrow night to go over some things. thank you can meet me after dinner?” you asked.

“of course, though you may have to remind me,” george grinned.

you matched his expression. “i’ll see you then.”

↓

suprisingly, george did in fact remember your appointment.

he met you outside of the great hall. “ready to go see mcgonagall?” george questioned. you nodded, “yeah let’s go.”

mcgonagall’s office didn’t take long to reach, just down a few hallways and then though a password protected doors. you were guests and given a temporary code to use.

“professor mcgonagall?” you called.

“come in!”

you stepped in first, motioning for george to wait a moment before he followed. “ah hello y/n, i assume you’re here for your trip this weekend.”

“and you’re bringing mr. weasley?” her tone changed to one of more questioning at the end once george made an appearance.

“if that’s okay of course.”

mcgonagall hummed to herself. “we just have to go over a few things and then i’ll let you go. it’s all just standard procedures.”

“of course.”

“first off how are you looking on assignments?”

“i’m finished,” you spoke. mcgonagall turned to george. “and you mr. weasley?”

“i made him get ahead,” you piped in. “we’ve been working a lot to get everything done over the past few days.”

mcgonagall quirked an eyebrow at that, more george being done over you.

“now for travel, you two will take the floo to your home tomorrow afternoon and then be back in time for classes monday,” mcgonagall explained. “and remember, no magic outside of hogwarts!”

you nodded, “of course not.”

“oh dear it’s not you on worried about, it’s him,” she singled george out with a narrow of her eyes before turning to you. “you had to chose him of all people? our most notorious troublemaker?”

you shook your head with a grin. “what can i say, i guess i have good taste.”

george gaped slightly at your words, a bright blush crossing over his cheeks before he could even think to hide his face.

“well if you’re sure, then that’s all. here is your designated amount of floo powder. just one pinch in the gryffindor fireplace with a shout of your address and you should be good to go. that’s all i have, you two are dismissed.”

“thank you professor mcgonagall,” you smiled.

george followed you out of the room, allowing for you to exit first. you had a bit of a way to go to get back to the dorms, a much longer walk from the office to the dorms.

“well tomorrow’s the day,” george spoke in an attempt to start a conversation.

you hummed, wrapping your arms a little tighter around yourself as you walked. “yeah it is.”

“i haven’t taken the floo in forever. i hope i don’t blow up or something.”

you attempted to hide your giggle at his poor attempt of a joke behind your sleeve but it still broke though, bouncing off the empty corridor. george smiled too, clearly glad he was able to make you laugh.

the two of you reaching the gryffindor common room just moments later. it was entirely empty, most people either in their rooms already or still out studying.

george stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the girls dormitories. he couldn’t go up, for obvious reasons, and besides, he was pretty tired too.

“well goodnight y/n.”

you smiled up at him, reaching out to squeeze his hand gently as a silent ‘thank you.’

“goodnight george.”

↓

classes ended early on friday allowing for you and george to actually floo home at a good time.

after lunch, you headed back to the gryffindor common room. your bags were already packed, you just had to grab them from your dorms.

the room was pretty much empty when you and george headed back down the stairs. since everyone had the afternoon off, most students were either going to hogsmeade or occupying somewhere else on the school grounds.

however, harry, ron, hermione, and fred remained behind to see you go and make sure nothing went wrong.

“alright we’re heading out. we’ll be back sunday afternoon around four,” you announced.

“stay safe,” hermione piped up. “and try and have some fun.”

you smiled at her. she was someone you found yourself going to,despite your small age gap, to talk about your issues with.

george hauled up your suitcase onto his shoulder before making his way over to the fireplace. you stepped in right after him.

you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the short trip you were about to be taking. “ready?” george asked as he nudged you with his elbow. “ready,” you confirmed.

the floo powder felt heavy in your hand. george took some too, shifting it back and forth between his fingers before turning to you. “let’s go.”

you spoke out your home address in your loudest and most clear voice before tossing the powder down.

and in one large crackle of the fire, you and george were gone.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

tagging: @goldenxreid @wilburxpancakes @blakeprentiss @criminaly-supernatural @blakes-dictionxry @mrs-dr-reid @weasleytwinsfav

[dontcallmecarrie]

you mentioned Loki as a potential ship originally and now i’m curious. if it isn’t too spoilery, can you talk a little about how he’s going to play into this au? is the invasion going to change much?

Honestly? I was thinking of having a different inciting incident entirely.

Partly because for all I love the first Avengers movie, even now despite everything— from a writer's perspective, it is very very obvious the plot was meant for something cinematic rather than practical.

I mean, the big final battle in New York? Exquisite in terms of fight scenes and banter and whatnot, really great way to show team dynamics [...for the few minutes we had them *cries*]— but having all of the enemy coming from a single conveniently-located chokepoint that can be easily destroyed, with no backups?

I'm pretty sure others have mentioned this before, but long story short: if Loki had been seriously trying, he would've fought a lot, lot smarter.

So here, we'd be scrapping that part. Also because that way Loki has a way easier time of things, because the in canon the New York battle was framed to have a lot of parallels with 9/11 and that means just about everyone in the country's out for his blood and that way lies a headache if I were to try and slap a fixit on this so might as well just avoid that situation entirely.

So.

In this AU, Loki shows up later, and we have a different reason for the Avengers to assemble. Or, maybe he still shows up, but he's a lot smarter about this, and the only people chasing after him is SHIELD because he stole their shiny Tesseract and nobody's entirely sure what it does but they really, really want it back and partway through, Loki breaks free of Thanos' mind control and decides he's going to do his own thing.

I...honestly don't know, this wasn't something I've thought about much.

What I do know is that in this AU, Loki ends up joining Cabal for the express purpose of messing with Thor and giving his little friends a headache and hey, turns out there's already a club with that goal!

So now Cabal has a master magician in their ranks, an expert illusionist and it's a really good thing he just wants to mess with Thor because if he'd wanted to, he could do some serious damage.

As it is, Victor von Doom keeps pestering him for anything involving magic and Justin keeps telling him to ease up with the questions, let the resident alien breathe and Ivan's just shaking his head and turning back to his latest blueprints and the Winter Soldier pops in to say hi before going back to chasing another lead on the latest HYDRA offshoot trying to make itself a nuisance.

aka you know how everyone wanted the Avengers to have good team dynamics? Well, here Cabal's way ahead of the curve. Yay, unintentional team-as-family feels!

Loki's mostly just trying to settle in and deal with his own personal issues, and Justin, as the unintentional founder of Cabal, ends up spending a lot of time with him.

Showing him around Earth, maybe giving him a cover via hiring a disguised version of him as a PA or bodyguard— you get the picture. Justin is Loki's tour guide, basically, and ends up helping him a lot just by being an outsider willing to lend an ear as Loki vents to someone who isn't constantly going "your father cares about you, he just doesn't show it" or "you need to see it from his perspective" or any other sort of well-meaning but ultimately incredibly invalidating platitudes.

Just...listens, and nods along, and offers self-help books if he ever needs it. And therapy. And food, and...

...a lot of resources, actually, now that Loki thinks about it.

At first, Loki was wary, because this random stranger introduced himself with a polite smile and treated him with a respect that makes him incredibly uncomfortable but... for the longest time, Loki couldn't quite put his finger on why?

it's what happens when you're treated with basic human decency after a lifetime of not experiencing such thing, is what it is; not that Loki'd notice until way, way later.

So at first that's the main dynamic going on, lots of suspicion and "okay, what's the catch, why are you being so nice" and it takes a while for him to accept that Justin is just Like That— and that's right around the time that things start shifting as Loki lowers his guard and truly starts enjoying himself.

He has friends, now: people that care about him for him, and not his connection to Thor. He does what he wants, and doesn't have to worry about anyone's disapproval, or how this reflects on Asgard, or... well, you get the idea. Loki's in a much better place, now.

Now his pranks on Thor stop being as dangerous. No less annoying, mind, but...way less "I have turned every single pigeon in New York City into [insert x inconvenient and potentially hazardous creature here]" and more "I have just discovered what rickrolls are, prepare for the next ten hours of your friends' internet to be nothing but remixes of Caramelldansen".

Still same net result, but the stakes are different.

And all the while, Justin's a constant.

He's charming, polite, kind. He pushes the people around him to be the best versions of themselves, no matter what that is.

For the longest time, Loki can't quite wrap his head around it— especially when he gets wind of Justin's childhood, finds out what his family's like.

What his father is like.

And just like that, Loki has a new mystery to poke at, in between brainstorming ideas to mess with the Avengers, or drafting lesson plans so Victor stops bothering him about that latest array.

Justin acts very, very differently, compared to the people who should have influenced him, and... Loki is curious as to why.

.

Cue added incentive to get to know Justin better, and ta-da! You have Loki's train of thought for this AU.

On Justin's end, there's not a lot of people he'd feel comfortable getting together with: first because when he was younger, everyone his physical age got automatically younger-sibling-zoned [because past life influence], and later because they had to be as emotionally mature as he was to feel comfortable even thinking about having a relationship.

Loki, however? As the centuries-old alien god who's Seen Some Shit, there's a lot he can bring to the table.

Ta-da! My train of thought for how this ship would work, if we went this route.

[willadisastercry]

When the dust clears and you almost wish it hadn’t...

tw: emetophobia warning (brief but there), depictions of being trapped/pinned, broken bone, head injury, blood, threat of being crushed, threat of drowning.

The paladins respond to a distress signal on a foreign planet and make quick work of getting its civilians to safety, but on their last sweep surface side, shit hits the fan. Pidge and Lance are hurt but Shiro is trapped and can’t help them. On top of that, the conditions they’re stuck in are only getting worse. With no access to the coms and no tools to help them, the trio is forced to get creative and make some sacrifices.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Dust rained down in a continuous sheet, the tiny particles lit up in beams where the brightness of the day outside peaked through the mottled roof of debris now sheltering them. It seeped through their shattered visors and cacked their lungs making whatever ragged breaths they took after they realized they’d finally stopped falling harsh and desperate.

Shiro was the only one who hadn’t been knocked out after the initial collapse, more just dazed in momentary shock from the suddenness of it all, his visor most in tact and his com emitting static output that would catch a few garbled words every now and then.

The planet they were on had sent out a distress signal when the galra outpost stationed in their solar system had somehow managed to pull their moons out of alignment, and like on earth, their moons had significant influence over their tides.

Before they arrived, the land had only been hit by minor floods but as soon as voltron and the castleship entered their atmosphere, the unruly currents ramped up tenfold and small tremors could be felt from somewhere deep underground.

The abnormal weather phenomena hadn’t yet delved into anything seismic, just tidal, but they’d only been planet-side for ten minutes before alarms started blaring and the locals emerged from their homes frantic and scared.

Evacuation via lion had actually gone relatively smoothly, the paladins able to relocate the citizens before the trembles of the shifting plates became truly dangerous.

It had started off pretty tame, the rumblings far between and only enough to shake the windows and trees. But they steadily amplified the longer the evacuation went on until shaking became shuddering and soon trees were swaying and buildings were groaning.

After everyone was loaded onto the castle outside of the planets orbit Pidge flew the green lion flew back down to the surface stowing Lance and a lionless Shiro. They were in charge of carrying out the final sweep to check for stragglers, though the only thing they’d actually found was themselves caught in the height of a particularly large quake.

They were in the city center attempting to make it back to Green who was stationed at the beginning of the tree line on the outskirts of the city, antsy and waiting. But they would never get there because the intense trembling brought them to the knees before they’d even caught sight of the lion.

It would’ve been alright if the solid ground they thought they were on was truly as solid as it appeared, but it wasn’t, because the cracks splitting the pavilion open splintered towards them before they could even cry out and then the last thing they could hear was a roar almost as deafening as the sound of the planet ripping apart beneath their feet.

The fall wasn’t long or else they wouldn’t be alive to choke on the sheer amount of crap in the air, their helmets not surviving the broken bits of sediment that accosted them on the decent, cracking their visors and damaging their com systems.

Though cumbersome and clunky, their paladin armor was also sturdy and could withstand the weight of the rubble they were more or less sandwiched in. Their suits were ultimately what saved their lives in the initial collapse but it beat their human bodies to hell in the process.

Their senses returned with the panic of not being able to breathe, the moment they realized the ground beneath them was rough with rubble and uneven uprooted earth that wasn’t quite earth audible, marked by disoriented cries of surprise at the debris still falling while the quake that brought them down tapered out.

Pidge and Shiro came back to themselves first, raucous coughs pulling each other to reality over their ringing ears as they worked to clear the soot from their mouths and lungs. It was hard work. The air was dense with all kinds of minuscule specks of ruin that silenced them for a good minute while they struggled against the dryness in their throats.

It was Pidge who tried to move first. She was slumped over a chunk of what used to be a stone pillar from the building that was sucked into the chasm of non-earth along with them, her legs tucked awkwardly beneath her. She stopped abruptly to let out a strangled wail when she went to push herself up.

She hadn’t felt much of anything when she first woke up, just incredibly dazed as she fought to open her eyes under the layer of dust encrusting them. But when she put pressure on her arms she discovered that something was seriously wrong with one of them, collapsing back onto the jagged piece of stone to writhe as pain shot through to her shoulder and seized her back.

“Pidge?”

She barely registered the crackle of a low voice from somewhere nearby, her mind entirely consumed by panicking over the pain she was in as well as the unknown regarding the extent of the injury.

“Pidge is that you? Are you okay?”

It clicked then that it was Shiro speaking but she didn’t have air in her lungs to produce any answer other than a panicked whimper, too afraid to lift herself off of the injured limb to see the damage and incite another wave of agony. She didn’t have enough air to handle that again, sucking down what she could in too large of quantities for such a limited supply.

Shiro was going through a similar mental battle, though the first thing dawning on him as he registered his new surroundings was that Pidge needed help, not his own physical wellbeing. So naturally, he’d tried to get up as soon as he heard her call out only to discover he couldn’t move much because he was sprawled on his back amongst an ever growing pile of debris, his prosthetic arm likely crushed to shit under a sizable slab of stone with smaller chunks pressing against his chest and legs.

He was sufficiently stuck, pinned in place and unable to get to her but forced to listen as her anguished sounds continued.

“Pidge I’m trapped, I can’t—shit, I can’t get to you. And I don’t have visual confirmation from Lance yet so you’re gonna have to work with me here... talk to me, where are you hurt? How bad does it look?”

The sound she contrived then was like the ones before, except not for her own misery, not entirely at least. Because that meant there was still no sign of life from Lance which meant there was a very real concern that there wouldn’t be which left Pidge having to pull herself together and search for him since Shiro was otherwise incapacitated.

This would be sucky and not ideal at all, but necessary.

”Pidge?!”

Logic told her that bones mend and that pain was fleeting. That agony would be temporary, fear too, and once she found Lance it would be better, bearable at least.

And so with that resolve she willed her breathing to slow enough to form a coherent statement.

“It’s my arm,” she huffed quickly, the shrillness in her voice evidence of the severity of the injury.

“Okay, can you move? Is there something on top of you?” Shiro asked calmly, his voice level and sympathetic.

“No, I’m on top of it... if-if I move again—“

“Take a breath, it’s probably broken.”

Clearly, but Pidge was already ten steps ahead, her brain grappling with the notion of whether stabbing pain meant safe compounded fracture or gruesome and bloody and open fracture that would make her sick if she even caught sight of her own arm like that.

She shuddered violently at the thought and bit back a gasp when it jostled whatever lay beneath her.

“You’re okay, just breathe... are you sitting or laying down?”

Still so calm, somehow. So incredibly practical and disarming. It was almost unnerving how well he could do that, compartmentalize everything.

“S-sitting, sort of.”

“How?”

Awkwardly, Shiro. The man might be terrifyingly apt at rationalizing the impossible but seemed utterly incompetent in predicting the obvious.

“Folded over a rock and using it as my pillow... all my weight is on it—on my arm,” she ammended with a gulp.

Shiro took his precious time turning this information over in his head and the radio silence almost had Pidge worrying he’d passed out until his voice came back somehow even more blunt and pragmatic than before.

“That’s better actually. What I need you to do is hold your arm in place with your good hand, press it to your chest and use your shoulder to lean on as you sit back again. It should be less agitating that way—“

Shiro’s gentle instruction was cut off by Pidge’s cry as she sat up and away from the slab of stone like he recommended, her vision whiting as she cradled her arm against herself.

When she could see properly again she found her curiousity too overwhelming and spared a look at the mangled limb.

It was both better and worse than she had imagined. The forearm component of her armor was hanging on in pieces and clearly displayed the horrifying mess that lay under what remained. No skin was broken, but the tip of her bone was very visibly poking the already swelling flesh where the middle of her forearm sported a new joint.

The sight was overwhelming and her breaths soon came in short pants, the threat of passing out suddenly very real.

“Good Pidge, that was great. Take a couple deep breaths for me while you adjust,” he asked gently, his voice taking on a more solemn tone now.

She already knew what was coming next and began rearranging her legs beneath her, several deep breaths required to clear the black dotting her vision before she was confident she could stand testing their strength without them turning jelly.

“I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but you need to find Lance... I’m not mobile and I haven’t heard him yet.”

“Already... on it,” she panted as she leaned on her knees before coming to a shakey stance.

The lighting was sparse in the pocket of nothing that the pavilion collapsed into after the fissure opened, barely enough to make out the terrain in front of her and then some. So she made her way slowly, toeing rocks and larger slabs before proceeding, checking for stability with every step as she slinked across the unnatural landscape.

“Follow my voice... I can hear you now... watch out for the crap still falling...”

Finding Shiro wasn’t difficult when his voice carried so well through the wreckage, even despite the shifting fauna and bits still crashing down and settling.

There hadn’t been another quake in the time that they’d woken up, but that only made finding Lance that much more important. If he hadn’t responded yet then it was more than likely he was pretty hurt, which would be even more dangerous for him to be alone if the rubble decided to rearrange itself.

“Hey...” Shiro laughed pitifully as she ducked under a slanted piece of stone to get to him.

Pidge saw his predicament immediately, he was looking at her from where he was propped up one elbow, his metal arm wedged underneath a piece of stone bigger than he was.

“Well, that’s not good,” she stated before coming down hard on one knee, clutching her arm extra close as she lowered herself to the floor for a better look.

“Let me see your arm,” he ordered in his leader voice, a futile attempt to deflect from his own issues.

“My arm is snapped, let me see if you still have one,” she countered expertly, pushing away his searching hand after once he’d laid back down try and examine the disfigured appendage now securely in her lap.

He sighed in defeat. Pidge had too many years of experience dodging brotherly coddling with Matt to concede to Shiro’s fretting and let him distract from her own triage efforts.

“How bad? Can’t really tell from this angle...”

“I’m not seeing much but there is quite a bit of space between the floor and the rock still so that’s kind of promising for the integrity of the prosthetic... let me get this crap off though—“

“No, you’re hurt don’t push yourself, it’s fine.”

But Pidge acted as if she hadn’t heard him and began to remove the rocks, turning over the more meager pieces of broken stone from his chest with her good hand.

“Pidge, it’s okay. I’m not hurt and you need to save your energy to look for—“

“Wait! Shut up...”

“Excuse me?!”

“Shhhh!”

Pidge held her hand up to Shiro’s face as she closed her eyes and listened for something. Shiro only heard a faint whooshing and a steady trickle until it happened again. A very guttural but human moan.

“Lance! Shit.”

“Go, he’s gotta be close, he was just beside me when we fell...”

Pidge moved swiftly, more nimble than she could’ve thought possible as she maneuvered around the rubble with only one arm to steady her.

“Lance, call out!”

Every time she moved her arm throbbed horribly, but slowing down was not an option, not when another quake was due and could occur at any moment.

“If you can hear me I need you to make a sound, throw something, anything!”

Her repeated shouts are what in the end got him to groan again, the sound of her pointed words coming closer making the pressure in his skull swell exponentially.

“That’s it, keep making noise...!”

As he tried to wake up and open his eyes he only succeeded in making himself more disoriented, the world seeming to spin even with his eyes squeezed shut.

It dawned on him then that closing his eyes when he had absolutely no idea what sort of life threatening situation he may or may not be in was a sort of really bad idea. He had no clue how he was oriented, no grasp of what was up or down, how his body was positioned, if he was hurt or not. He wasn’t even entirely sure he was alive but the second heart beat on the side of his head seemed to eventually convince him he was.

“Lance?!”

But then again the agony swirling around in his brain didn’t seem to care if it was stupid to close his eyes, nor did the intensity of the light above him that burned his retinas when he attempted to open them.

“Call out!”

Uh, no I will not, thank you very much.

Whoever was screaming in his face needed to learn some manners and stop. The sound pierced his ears like a thousand needles and traveled to the center of the heartbeat in his skull, another pathetic moan escaping his lips as he tried to reach for the spot.

“Oh, no—no, don’t do that.”

He was sprawled on his side, limbs askew and otherwise undamaged aside from his armor appearing nearly shredded in some places with how roughly he’d been tossed around in the fray. His helmet was missing and it took Pidge a few moments to locate it, almost wishing she hadn’t once she did.

The left side was dented, the visor cracked so severely that there was nothing but a few jagged shards left of it.

“You’re okay, I’m here Lance, it’s Pidge.”

Lance didn’t care that it was Pidge, she was screaming at him and it was making him nauseous. He couldn’t understand why she insisted on being so loud when he had such a bad headache or why she held his wrist so tightly.

“You’ve got a pretty nice gash there—” she muttered, her restricting hand releasing him to turn his head to the side “—a nice few gashes, actually.”

He must have made a protesting sound at the movement because she stopped and cupped his cheek instead, using the top of her thumb to wipe the tears making their way to his chin.

“Hey, you’re gonna be alright. Can you open you’re eyes at all?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Can you try? Only for a second, I just need to see something. C’monnnn, don’t you want to see my pretty face?”

He made a softer sound then and his eyelids began to flutter as he tried to pry them open, wincing at how painful even the dim lighting was once he did.

“Good, that’s good. Okay, I’m just gonna help you out here, don’t be scared...” she said as she moved her thumb and pointer finger to prop open one eyelid at a time and keep them still so she could get a good look.

His pupils were blown which was probably why opening them hurt so bad, more light was coming in than should be which couldn’t feel nice for his clearly rattled brain.

“Kay, all done... I think you have a concussion, but nothing else seems to be wrong aside from the still gushing head and facial wounds. Can you keep your hand there do you think? ” she asked as she brought it to where the bleeding was worst and pressed down, illiciting a hiss but no other resistance as he held it place.

“Great, you’re doing so great. I know you probably feel really out of it but we need to get you over to where Shiro is... and my arms kinda busted so I can only give you one hand...”

His groaning halted for a moment to let loose a low whine as he tried to open his eyes long enough to look at what she meant, his face scrunching up with concern when he finally managed to.

“You-your arm... s’hurt...” he choked out, more a restatement than a question, his tongue unwilling and his energy spent as he tried to form something coherent.

“Yeah, as I said, busted. But don’t worry about that now, just give me your hand.”

Lance seemed a bit confused at her command so she took up the hand that was limp at his side and moved it to his lap where she could reposition her own at his elbow.

“This is gonna be a tad tricky so just work with me, okay?”

He grunted a sort of ‘uh huh’ and returned with his own grip on her upper arm.

“I’m gonna stand up and lean back, when I do you’re gonna lean forward and stand with me...” Pidge detailed as she moved his legs so that they were bent towards his chest and in front of him.

It wasn’t that he was immobile. The rest of his body was free of visible injuries but his brain and his limbs seemed to be on different frequencies for the time being, the channels of communication disconnected and not taking signals from one another making his movements sluggish and sloppy.

“Okay, ready? Alright, up we go...”

What happened next was anything other than graceful. As soon as Lance was upright he lilted into Pidge who fixed her stance as he stumbled to keep standing, his grip tight on her arm and his weight almost entirely on her hip as he held his throbbing head.

“You good? Here, arm around my neck, just don’t touch my arm... there ya go. We’ll go slow, it’s not far,” she assured as she began to walk forward, Lance following in his own sort of zigzag next to her.

They made their way excruciatingly slow. Pidge moved with care, constantly analyzing the most doable path to lead Lance into, stepping on top of and over boulder sized bits of stone as he continued on whatever even ground she could find.

It was only when she was tapping her toe behind his knee to get it to buckle that he was aware they’d made it. He hadn’t heard Pidge asking him to sit, didn’t even register her hand on his face as he fought with the terrible heat on the side of his head that threatened to make his stomach act on how unsettled it was.

He let out a breathless ‘oh’ as his butt connected with the ground, a layer of recently upturned dust rising after him. Once he was safely seated Shiro removed his hand from his back from where he’d been assisting the transition.

“Shiroo...!?!” he gushed, the word sloshing in his mouth.

“Hey, Lance.”

Though he knew his friend’s demeanor was the result of a pretty gnarly head injury, Shiro couldn’t help but let a fond smile appear at his almost childlike vocalization.

“How ya feeling?”

“Oh, not good I think, right Pidge?—yeah, really not good...”

“Concussion, I checked,” Pidge provided after Shiro took Lance’s bloody hand away from the source of the bleeding to check the damage out for himself.

“That looks painful,” Shiro sympathized before returning his hand to the spot as gently as he could.

Lance processed that his hand had made contact again about ten seconds after which seemed to send his head realing because the next moment he was choking back a gag.

“Crap, it’s alright if you need to throw up. Just get it out, don’t hold it in,” Shiro ushered, his hand moving to Lance’s arm as he doubled over himself, his throat clenching against the bile rising and he sputtered.

He was sufficiently out of sorts and could hardly hold on to a coherent thought but he knew that he did not want to throw up. Not here in front of his friends, especially Shiro.

But the wave of nausea that was making his stomach cramp and his head throb was overshadowed by the sound of something crashing, like a stack of precariously placed objects falling over abruptly except much louder and followed by a sustained gush.

“Shiro..?”

The trepidation in Pidge’s voice made her sound so much younger, like how she did before Shiro left for Kerberos.

At the same time that fear erupted in his friend’s chests, saliva welled up in Lance’s mouth and he let out a pitiful sound, the new commotion having him seeing stars with how angrily his head pulsed from it.

“It’s probably just rubble settling, can you see anything?”

Pidge moved towards the biggest source of light from where the surface above them split apart, the scene hazy through clouds of dust and substantially obscured by larger breakages of sediment. She lifted herself onto her toes to try and makes sense of the destruction around them.

“No...”

Pidge couldn’t see much through the chalky blackness, just hints of structures here and there.

“There’s nothing there—oh.”

The gushing sound seemed to pull to the forefront of the concerning noises then, like a geyser of something had erupted and was emptying itself out into the chasm that had opened up beneath them and swallowed them down. This was concerning for a lot of reasons.

“Yeah, never mind we are so fucked.”

Lance wasn’t even trying to follow the progression of events going on around him, listening intently enough to make sense of a single sentence worsening the pressure behind his eyes while he stomach continued to flip.

The acid taste coming up his throat was putrid, but mixed with a grating layer of dust irritating the back of his throat, the presence of it while already massively disoriented was overwhelming.

“What is it?-crap Lance. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Shiro soothed, his hand secure on the other boy’s back while his frame shook from retching so hard.

“Pipe must’ve burst, well I guess not a pipe, more like a main...”

“A main? As in a water main?”

“Yes,” Pidge deadpanned, using her good hand to steady herself against a taller shred of stone as she continued evaluating just how fucked they were.

Shiro gulped, convinced he could actually feel the tons of weight on top of his foreign prosthetic growing heavier the longer he remained wedged under it.

“How much is coming in?”

He could hear it clearer now, like the rumble in your ears when wind rushed past them.

“Too much...”

With a hiccoughing whine, Lance pitched forward, nearly collapsing into the puddle of his own sick as he continued to gag.

“Woah, okay! You’re alright, I’ve got you... just do what you have to do bud.”

Shiro’s free hand on the center of Lance’s chest was the only thing keeping him upright as he worked through the rolling waves of dizzying nausea.

Pidge spared a cursory glance towards her friend, watching how his shoulders worked as he heaved for a moment before returning back to her internal spiral.

“Coms are wrecked but they’re out of range so it’s not like that really matters anyway... the air is pretty thin already, but the longer we’re down here the less viable o2 there’s going to be... and the crater we’re in is flooding so the more pressing issue is—”

“Pidge,” Shiro drawled slowly, his tone placating as he watched her pace back and forth, images of Matt doing the same thing surfacing in his mind as she did.

She might resemble her brother in appearance but their personalities for the most part could not be more opposite. Though during his time in the castle of lions Shiro had found that they actually share a lot of the same nervous mannerisms.

He knew Pidge probably had no idea how similar their actions are and he’s sort of glad only he does, suspecting the knowledge would only make her sad.

The only issue with this discovery is the fact that even though her reaction isn’t new to Shiro, dealing with it was, and once Pidge’s mind started working it was hard to get it to stop.

Lance was winding down then. His breaths still heavy and uneven, the stream of blood down his neck and front steady as ever, but he wasn’t gagging anymore.

“You’re arm is... fucked, my arm is fucked, and Lance’s head! Oh god, this is—“

“Calm down, we can figure this out.”

She spun on him abruptly enough that Shiro was scared for a second she might’ve given herself whiplash.

“Calm down?! How do you expect me to do that when we’re going to be underwater in an hour, hell maybe even a couple of minutes?!”

Lance’s shoulders seemed to slump somehow further from the volume of her voice and Shiro took a second before launching into his response to help him sit back on his heels and away from the vomit.

“No, I’m going to be underwater. You and Lance are going to start walking, climbing, whatever it is you have to do to get to higher ground—“

“Yeah okay, fuck that. We’re not leaving you—uh buh bah, save whatever case you were gonna make because I’ll promptly stop listening.”

The visage of Matt retreated entirely with Pidge’s indiscretion, her words seeding with irritation as she shut Shiro down.

“Pidge!”

“I’m so very sorry for my attitude but you really did just pitch us leaving you to drown, are you really that surprised?”

Shiro took a practiced breath, the kind he uses to ground himself because the pit in his chest was expanding and the last thing they needed was him devolving into panic.

He eyed the way Lance swayed as he sat with his legs splayed on either side of him, his hands limp in his lap and coated in blood from the gash on his head.

“You can’t stay here, not when Lance is hurt like this.”

“Okay.”

“Huh? Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. If you want to waste your energy trying to convince me to let you die, then that’s whatever because the reality is that you’re the one stuck under a rock and I’m the only one whose mobile. This is very much my call. Sorry big guy, but we’re sticking around.”

Shiro actually laughed.

He couldn’t ignore the way that his heart filled with admiration at Pidge’s defiance but it was overwhelmed by the burden of the fact that no matter how much pride he had in her for stepping up, he was still trapped and they were still going to watch him die.

He shuddered and Lance hummed at the movement, wondering vaguely if Shiro was hurt at all before the thought disappeared and the only thing he could remember was how insanely painful the knot on the side of his head was and how heavy his aching body felt.

“M’tired... think I’m gonna... mmmh, gonna lay down,” he managed with some concentration and put his hands on the ground to brace himself but didn’t make any further moves, his face scrunching up in confusion as he struggled to figure out how to maneuver himself down when his arms were so difficult to control and his head pulsed blindingly any time he moved.

“You can’t go to sleep yet, dude. Just sit with Shiro for now, I need you to keep an eye on him for me anyway,” Pidge instructed with a grin.

Shiro huffed and narrowed his eyes but it only made her smirk widen.

“W-why? Is Shiro hurt?” Lance asked worriedly, forgetting himself entirely and attempting to twist around to see.

The gravity of the action caught up with him a beat later, the groan that bubbled in his chest ungodly.

“Easy there, hot shot, I’m okay. Just a little stuck,” Shiro assured, stilling him with a firm hand on his shoulder when the surge of pain had him tipping nearly over.

“Kay... s’good,” he noted through clenched teeth before his eyes fluttered shut and his head began to lower to his chest.

A sharp pain from where Shiro flicked the side of his cheek that wasn’t cut up and coated in blood roused Lance from his attempt to rest.

“Ow. Rude.”

“Not rude, necessary. There’s no napping on the job.”

“I’m so tired though... just wanna sleep... you guys are so mean... why can’t I just—“

“Nope. You’ve gotta keep your eyes open for me bud,” Shiro chided, shaking his shoulder gruffly enough to have his bloodshot eyes shooting open.

“But why?” he slurred, the exasperation in his whine sort of heartbreaking, “I could just nap through... the worst of this, it’d be... it’d be so nice... wouldn’t hurt so much...”

“Since when are you all about what’s easy, you’re like the most stubborn human I know?”Shiro asked, his voice full of fondness.

“And you get enough beauty rest as it is, lover boy, you’ll live if you miss a few hours.”

The rushing water filled the ambient silence while Pidge made her way back to her friends from her watch post amongst the rubble.

“Are... we?”

Lance’s voice was a broken whisper, the gravel in it a painful attribution to the stress his throat had been put under between the abuse of the acid in the bile and coarse texture of the dust.

“Are we what, Lance?”

“Live... are we gonna live?”

The gush of moving water rose up in Shiro’s ears like roaring wind again but stronger this time, effectively tunneling his attention on those words, the innocence of them.

“Of course we are—“

“I want it on the record that I, Pidge Gunderson, am making no such promises.”

“PIDGE!”

“So loud... please... shhh...” Lance cried desperately, his hands almost comically slow to rise and cover his ears.

“WHAT?! I’m being honest!”

“You’re being negative!”

“Coming from the guy who just told me to leave him for dead!”

The fire in both paladins eyes was burning so brightly Lance could’ve sworn there was an actual glow with how horribly his head was beginning to hurt from listening to them.

“Alright, I might’ve had a moment of doubt, but we can’t—“

“Stop shaking me Shiro...” Lance whimpered as he drew his knees up to his chest carefully “—it hurts... please quit it...”

This broke the two out of their heated argument.

“I’m not touching you, Lance...”

“Then t-tell whoever is... to fucking stop!”

His chest hitched pitifully when punctuating the last bit with a pleading whine had his head swimming in vengeance. If it weren’t for the stability of hugging his propped up legs so tightly he would’ve fallen over with how dizzy he was.

Pidge looked at Shiro as if he’d know any better than her what the hell he was talking about.

Unfortunately for the both of them, he did not.

“Deep breaths, Lance. You’re probably just disoriented, it’s normal for head injuries to mess with your sense of balance and equilibrium—“

“Shiro...?”

He was beginning to hate hearing his name being called when it was almost always followed by something he really wouldn’t enjoy hearing.

“Yeah, Pidge?”

But she didn’t have to continue because he felt it then.

A steady thrumming from somewhere below.

A rumble.

“Quiznak...”