#yes i am going to write about the twisted fucked up bits of having gone through trauma ?

[themagnificentmx]

going to throw shade @ some criticism i got on my poetry

[em-harlsnow]

em idk if ur still doing those tiktok trend requests but my god the "can you watch my boyfriend real quick?" trend is making me SCREAM, i think you would have fun with that one! 💗

hello!!! yes i am still doing it whenever I see one I like. I love this trend, it’s so funny!

Ian may have tiktok, but he’s not very social media oriented in general. Mickey gets nervous when people post pictures of him online anyway because of the cartel, even though Ian’s like 90% sure they won’t see Carl’s twitter with 11 followers.

But then there’s a trend he sees, and he can’t not do it. He just has to try it on Mickey and if that means forcing him in front of a camera, so be it. It’s not like he’ll post it.

Mickey’s eating breakfast in the kitchen when Ian sees the trend and it’s the perfect opportunity. He clicks onto his camera app and starts recording, propping it up in front of Mickey on a candle and making sure he can see that it’s filming.

“Fuck is this?” Mickey asks with his mouth full.

Ian ignores him, instead speaking to his phone. “I need to go out for a bit, can you watch my husband?” He says, smirking, and tussles Mickey’s hair when he starts to leave.

Mickey waves his arms around, clearly confused. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Grocery shopping, don’t turn off the camera.” Ian calls back, half way out the door.

“Is this some kind of freaky role play?” He hears Mickey yell after him, but he’s already gone.

//

Mickey’s husband is an idiot.

Once he’s gone and has neither confirmed nor denied that this is a weird role play thing, Mickey glances suspiciously at the camera.

“What the fuck?” He mutters to the empty apartment. “He’s a fucking weirdo.”

He continues eating, finishing his cereal but it’s weird being watched by Ian’s stupid phone.

“Uh… I’m eating my niece’s Froot Loops.” He tells it, holding up his spoon to show the camera. “Ian says I eat like a twelve year old, but Ian eats like a 90 year old so he can’t fucking talk.”

The phone doesn’t reply, just records him silently.

Mickey sighs, tapping his fingers in the counter. “Why’s he always got me doing shit like this?”

He makes eye contact with the camera and glares at it. “This is stupid.” Blowing out a breath, he tries to figure out what Ian wants him to do with this. As he does, he twists his ring around his finger and it gives him an idea. Slipping it off, he presents it to the camera. “See this? This is our wedding ring. We got it engraved last year. Fuck, Ian’s gonna love that I’m talking about his stupid sappy shit. Mine has IG on the inside and his has MM, because he’s soft as fuck.” Even as Mickey mocks him, there’s a shining happiness in his eyes.

Something else catches his eye, and he gets up to grab the flower bouquet on the kitchen counter, bringing it over to the phone. “Look. I got the asshole these. Blue roses. I think they’re fake or they were painted or some shit, but still.”

He sighs again, wondering what else he can show the camera. “I’m tryna find out what he got me for my birthday. I figure he must have hidden it somewhere around here but i can’t find it. Ian won’t tell me.” Mickey leans in close then, whispering at the camera. “Between you and me, I think he’s got it stashed at Lip’s house. But I got it covered, I’ll find it. I got a plan-“

The sounds of keys turning in the lock interrupts him, and he looks to the door guiltily. When Ian comes in, they grin at each other and then Ian kisses Mickey’s head.

Addressing the camera, he says, “I hope he was well behaved.” And then stops recording, watching Mickey roll his eyes.

“What was the point in that, man?”

Ian shrugs, and looks forward to watching it back.

—> send me a tiktok trend and i’ll write a fic!

-> also let me know if you want ian’s reaction to the video

[azu1as]

HI TINN ITS ME PITTY 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

i was wondering if youre still open for prompts… and if u are can you write about pbss somehow tranported to current mount hua, and everyone is confused af and just watches pbss and divine dragon interact (and maybe argue) with each other

PITTY HELLO ♥✨♥✨♥ yes i'm always open to prompts !!! im literally rotating rotmhs in my head 24/7

this first half was actually born from another prompt by mei on discord but I want to build on it, so dumping it here 👍 HAHAHA

»—————————–✄

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint lets out a ragged breath, his vision rapidly fading. His sword falls from his hand and soon after his body follows.

"...Mount Hua..." he mumbles, aware that the only thing left that awaited him was the cold claim of death.

He dies. And in the next second, he blinks up to a clear sky, the dead bodies that surrounded him gone.

%%%

Dawn had barely broken when an incessant banging against Mount Hua's gates and shouting started and broke the tranquil silence, rousing several disciples.

"OPEN UP!" Someone barks out from the other side. "Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Open this gate right now!!"

Un Am frowns at the lack of manners and respect being shown by the source of the shouting. He reaches the gate and pulls it open. It takes Un Am a bit of effort to ensure that his voice sounded cordial, "Hello, we aren't accepting any visitors this ear—"

Un Am cuts himself off as he takes note of the state of the man in front of him. The man's robes and face were crusted with dried blood despite a lack of any visible injury. That is, if one ignore his lack of an arm.

It still didn't explain the amount of blood he had on his body that was free from any wounds and visible scars.

The man's eyes were bloodshot and trembling. Un Am, even from afar, could tell that there was something deeply wrong with this man. He seemed unconscious of the way he emanated a manic aura; there was a charged sort of energy surrounded him that made an instinctive part of Un Am grip his sword handle in response.

The most notable and unexplainable part of the man, however, was the blood-stained plum blossom embroidered on his chest.

"Who...?" Un Am finds himself unable to react to the man's speed and freezes in place as the man grabs him by the lapels of his robe. He pulls Un Am towards himself and grits out,

"What. Happened. To. My Sect."

%%%

Baek Cheon was quickly ushered into the Sect Leader's residence the moment he returned with a few others from their last excursion to Xi'an.

"What's going on?" He asks.

Elder Un Geom, for a lack of a better word, looked harried. His face twists into a grimace. "It's a bit complicated..."

Baek Cheon doesn't know how he should feel about that response.

Surely, it couldn't be too terrible. After all, their sect was still standing and they did leave Chung Myung behind to stay on Mount Hua as he and the other chosen second-class disciples only had to deliver some goods and tokens to their subsect. Their youngest wouldn't let anything dangerous happen on his watch.

Baek Cheon tries to probe more information. "Before you pulled me away, Baek Sang mentioned something about a guest...?"

"We aren't quite sure of the specifics either, I'm afraid. But the man claims to be one of our ancestors from over a hundred years ago."

"An ancestor? Was he able to verify the claims?"

Un Geom nods. "I've never seen someone weild our plum blossom technique with as much power as he did."

If that was the case, then maybe their supposed ancestor could help them develop and improve their sword techniques even further by teaching them more about the skills that have been lost through time.

"Isn't that a good thing then?"

"It should be, but Chung Myung..."

Ah. Hearing those last three trailing words did not promise anything good.

When they finally opened the door to the Sect Leader's residence, they were greeted to the sight of a soulless Hyun Jong slumped against the wall, a freaked-out Yoon Jong who seemed to be torn between jumping into the fray and throwing himself out the window, and—

"WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO BEAT UP OUR ANCESTOR, YOU BRAT?!"

Their ancestor and Chung Myung pause in their positions as they both turned eerily similar pink gazes towards the two new entrants.

Chung Myung had the end of their ancestor's ponytail pulled towards him and scrunched up in his fists. His knee pressed against the older man's chest and neck while his jaw was unhinged as he was clearly attempting to bite the man's single arm.

Their ancestor in turn had his one hand closed around half of Chung Myung's face, trying to push him away. His legs were wrapped around Chung Myung's lower half in an inescapable hold and he seemed to have been gearing up for a headbutt before Baek Cheon and Un Geom interrupted them.

"You want me to call this brat my ancestor?!" Chung Myung shouts out as he renewed his attempts to bite the man by roughly grabbing onto the base of his ponytail.

"I'm one hundred years older than you!" Their ancestor grits out as he unashamedly bites Chung Myung's arm. "You disrespectful descendant! Back in my time—"

"'Back in my time', my ass!"

"You...!"

Off to the side, their current sect leader lets out a pitiful moan of mental pain. Baek Cheon would comfort him if he didn't feel the same amount of psychic damage as he watches his youngest sajil and ancestor continue their childish scuffle, rolling on the floor and uncaringly biting into each other like they were both five-year olds.

Later on, after tempers have cooled and everyone (read: Chung Myung and their ancestor) had managed to settle down into a tenuous truce, Hyun Jong turns a tired, but respectful nod towards the bruised man, "May we know this ancestor's identity?"

"Hm?" Said man absently rubs against the embroidered plum blossom on his new uniform. "Ah, I supposed you would know me as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint."

They would have expressed their shock and surpise, but they get easily distracted by Chung Myung's mocking scoff as he rolls his eyes in response.

[obsessedwithitall]

It's Embarrassing (Eddie Munson x reader) (Part 1)

I woke up this morning with this in my head and have been trying to write it all day. Also, I don't like smoking, I'm just going through a phase. Can you tell I've never smoked? I am the squarest.

Everyone is in their 20s, Eddie and reader have been in a secret relationshipish for a few months. Angst.

There is a part 2 I think. I just need to get the ending right. Feedback is welcome xx

Part 2 is here

***

You pulled your t-shirt over your naked body before you took the cigarette from Eddie, put it to your mouth and immediately started choking on the smoke.

He looked at you with concern. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you coughed, “super.”

“You have smoked before right?”

“Yeah.” You waited a second before shaking your head no. He gestured for you to give it to him and he took a long drag, not choking like you did.

“What?”

“That was hot.” You buried your face in his neck and he began to laugh. You in nothing but your t-shirt, Eddie in nothing but his boxers, yes, you could get used to this.

***

That morning was rushed as you and Eddie got up awfully late and then you had to go home for your uniform. The door to family video was already open when you got there, leaving your car quickly and running into the store.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry, I did the morning rush.” You rolled your eyes at Robin. There never was any morning rush.

***

The phone began to ring.

“Family video, how can I help you?”

“I can think of a few ways.”

A very recognisable voice came through the phone and made you drop your customer service demeanour. “Stop.”

“I can't help it. I missed you.”

“Its been like an hour.” You checked around for where Robin had gone but couldn’t find her so assumed she must have gone into the back.

“I'd say nearly 2.”

“An hour and 10 minutes is not nearly 2 hours.”

Eddie replied quieter than before. “2 whole hours I've been thinking about those cute little panties you left on my floor.” You blushed.

“I'm at work, you can't say that.”

“No one can hear though.”

“You should be at work.”

“I am.”

“Are you calling off the garage phone? Eddie, anyone could hear.” You tried to sound annoyed but somehow you weren't as mad as you wanted to be.

“No they won't. Its only me in now, everyone else had having an early lunch.” That relaxed you a little. “Anyway, you coming over again tonight?”

Your faced twisted a little, unsure if you should. “I don't know, I've gotta do laundry and I should probably clean my apartment.”

“I could always come help?”

“I don't know how helpful you’d be.”

“I could always help you with some of your clothes...”

The thought made you scrunch your face and attempt to hide a huge grin.

“Clean or dirt-”

Robin started her way back through the store to you, so you quickly cut him off.

“Thank you for calling madam. Goodbye.” Your voice quick and very dry, you slammed the phone down on the receiver quickly.

“What was that about?”

Hiding your blushed face by looking down you picked up a pile of videos and took them to the back of the store. “Erm... they were asking about Betamax.”

***

It had been a slow day. So slow that it seemed to go on forever. The sun had finally started setting when Eddie and Steve meandered into the store. Neither you nor Robin, who was sat on top of the front counter, greeted them when they came in, to busy staring into space and sucking on lollipops to notice them.

“What is that?”

Robin pushed the round top of her lollipop into your neck, just below your shirt collar.

“Robin, that's gross.” Your neck felt sticky now.

“That is gross. Who did that to you?” her faced pulled into a huge grin.

“Stop.” You pulled your collar down a bit and looked at your reflection in the tall windows. For fuck sake. You’d checked for marks this morning, clearly not well enough.

“Who was it? Did you stop over, oh is that why you were late this morning?”

“I wasn’t late.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“How did I not notice that sooner? Who was it?”

“Its noone.”

“Is it because those bozos are here?”

She eluded to Eddie and Steve hanging around the back of the store.

“No, its-“

Robin yelled across the room, “Munson, Harrington, get out.”

“Why?”

“She won't tell me who’s been attacking her neck because you two won't leave.”

If the ground would swallow you up now that would be wonderful. You could feel your face flushing bright red, and now not only Robin but Steve and Eddie were all staring at the purple stain on your neck. Steve with curiosity, Robin with disgust and Eddie with sick pride.

“I'm not going anywhere. I want to know who our dear friend has been slutty with.” Eddie sang. Why was he doing this to you?

“I'm not being slutty with anybody.”

“Who was it?” Robin asked again.

Then Eddie started with the rapid fired accusations.

“Was it Jason?”

“Ew.”

“Paul?”

“No.”

“Craig?”

“No.”

“Harrington?” Steve looked very confused and shook his head.

“Eddie-“

“Michael?”

“Stop it.”

You’d had enough. Storming away from the front counter you left your 3 friends behind and made a beeline for the employee bathroom, tears threatening to burst from your eyes. Robin pushed herself away from the counter to follow you but Eddie stopped her.

“I went too far. I’ll go.”

***

The bathroom stall door shook as someone knocked on the wood.

“Go away, Robin.”

“Not Robin.”

You opened the door and Eddie was stood far too close, blocking your exit. Pushing him out of the way you threw your hands against the sink to hold yourself up and stared into the mirror.

“I'm sorry, I went too far.”

“You think.”

“Why don't you tell them?”

“I can’t. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“A reputation?”

“And this,” The bruise on your neck seemed to grow under your gaze. Everyone would know. What would your parents say? What would everyone say? Even if you covered it with makeup, Robin and Steve knew so all your friends would know soon. You snapped. “This is embarrassing, Eddie.”

All you heard was the bang of the bathroom door as Eddie stormed out, not saying a word.

***

You knew your car was going to be much warmer than any welcome you got from Eddie but you hadn’t seen him in a week, so you needed to talk to him.

Wayne answered the door and your heart sank.

“Hey, sweetheart. He’s not here.”

“Oh, ok. Thank you. When he comes back, can you... ask him to call me? He’s got my number and everything so...”

You stepped back on the porch slightly, before thinking again.

“And if he’s needs to um, I know your line isn’t always good, so if he's got to use the phone down the street, can you give him these?”

You placed at least 2 dollars worth of quarters in Wayne’s hand and smiled a tight-lipped sad smile at him. He nodded and showed you the same.

Wayne watched you get into your car and drive off before he shut the door. Eddie stood in the kitchen pulling at his lip.

“You going to call her or what?”

***

Part 2 is here

Any feedback is welcome and encouraged. Thank you so much for reading 💜💜💜

[I only watched the first 7 episodes of season one of Stranger Things so I'm sorry if it feels wrong. I will not be watching anymore]

[stevebabey]

Hi hi hi!! Congratulations so much on your milestone! I haven’t been following for very long but you are one of my favorite Steve writers, bar none. Thanks for sharing your writing with the internet 💖

📽 If I may step behind the beaded curtain of Family Video…

Post-battle, one of the many you’ve shared with Steve, and you just want to stop thinking. Thinking hurts, especially when you think about the fact that you almost just lost each other!! Steve is being lovey and sweet and altogether way too nice while you make out so you bite his lip, ruck your hands through his hair, roll your hips a little harder. He lets you flip him underneath you, but it’s still not enough, so you’re pulling at his mouth and fisting his shirt in ur hands and avoiding eye contact bc if you cry that’s it, it’s over, he won’t fuck you like you want it. But of course he notices, and tries to soothe you, “baby baby honey. Please. Shhhh. Talk to me” with kisses on your cheeks and petting at your hair and worry creasing his brow. And godammit if he doesn’t make you talk to him like a healthy adult who processes their feelings 🙄 before eating you out while holding ur hands for comfort. And maybe he doesn’t fuck you like you want it, but definitely how you NEED it. He always knows 🥺

(I’m sorry if that’s too long I just got so excited to share this and talk with you and if it’s not your style I totally understand and congrats regardless!!!!)

anon u came to the RIGHT place for some tender loving sex i am ALL for that shit!!! also hello!!!! i’m so very pleased to have u here!! u make me blush honey, and yes indeed come behind da beaded curtain hehe - also DAMN i do not know how to shut up apparently, i sat down to write this, fixed myself a g&t and clearly went a bit insane <3 hope u love! 18+ content below the cut MDNI

maybe it’s a bit too much of a close call this time, or it’s just that you’ve been here too many times but either way your nerves are frayed tonight— and the solution lies in steve’s arms. there’s something bout the skin-to-skin that soothes one part of you entirely while setting another part aflame- you love him and you nearly lost him tonight and it sets you about with a burning desire, nearly delirious in how his lips feel against yours, how he feels pressed against you when you grind in his lap and clutch at his shirt- you’re tugging at the fabric but don’t even pause your kisses for a moment, just try to tug it up and off. it’s the first sign to steve that tonight is different, that you’re needier than usual. he murmurs his assurances of love, soft and low, “it’s alright, honey,” he mumbles between the heated kisses, “we’re both alright, we made it out,” and he gives what you want, his shirt off and then your own

but he’s being soft, all delicate and caring with you and normally you adore that- the sweet lovebites scattered along your neck that’ll be gone by morning- tonight, instead it feels like you’re treated like glass, like in your mind maybe he’s still preparing to say goodbye in some twisted final way — so you use your hands to press him down, knees straddling his waist and try your best to let the message sink in; if he fucks you rough, it’s like none of the hurt of tonight happened, like the shit you went through didn’t happen at all. hands in his hair, hips rolling down sinfully and pulling groans from his throat, you reattach your mouths and desperation pours from your lips- you don’t want to slow down, to think about what you’ve both barely escaped and agonisingly, steve can tell — his hands grasp your face and halt your kisses but the moment you pause, you won’t look at him, can’t look at him. suddenly you’re embarrassed and steve is all quiet murmurs, “hey, hey, honey, what’s this? what’s going on with my girl?” and his nose nudges against yours, encouraging u to answer and your voice is smaller than ever as you give some pititful excuse, some line that usually riles him up, “just wanna feel you, stevie, just wanna fuck you,” and you grind down on him

steve knows you better than that though and though he hisses, pleasure spiking at the grind you give, he moves his hands to stop your hips- the movement they pause, his hands climb up and cradle your face as his features give away his worry. there’s a terrible furrow in his brown, eyes pooled with concern and he pulls you close, dozens of kisses against your cheeks, your nose, your forehead as he murmurs to you, “honey, please, talk to me,” and you do exactly what you’d been trying to avoid, fat tears welling in your eyes and shit, now you’re crying but it’s like it’s exactly what steve’s expecting — his arms are ready to hold every piece of you together while you cry shakily, whispered fears and confessions of love he’s already heard before and steve listens to it all- his kisses take your tears and when you calm, fear finally taking the back burner in your mind and breathing normal, he’s ready n waiting for you. “d’you want to just sleep?” he checks, lovingly and your shaking your head no quickly; you weren’t lying before, there’s an itch under your skin that can be sated only by his touch. steve doesn’t seem surprised but rolls the both of you over, kissing you with a bit more fervour now that he knows you’re truly alright - then he’s moving down the bed, kisses against your collarbones, down your sternum and when you voice your confusion steve’s raspy voice just says, “shh, it’s alright, lemme take care of my girl, yeah? you gonna let me take care of you?” his rough hands are already teasing the inside of your thighs so you can’t help but sigh out a yes

and he does take good care of you, one hand intertwined with yours as the heat of his mouth works your cunt, drawing whines and whimpers out- you’re clutching his hair and feeling hot in your skin, squeezing his hand as steve whispers his praise to you, “that’s it, so good f’me, doing so well,” until you’re spilling over the edge and quivering beneath his touch- but steve’s not done and he can tell you aren’t from the look in your eye. he’s somehow managed to melt away an extra layer of stress that you only notice in its absence so when he kisses back up your tummy and stretches you nice on his cock, you keen and melt into him, completely unwound— steve’s just as he was in the beginning, soft and sweet, all i love you’s scattered between the moans but you can tell know this is exactly what you need. you’re chest to chest and only trying to get closer, fingernails clawing at his back- you’d crawl into his skin if you could- and steve fucks you through it perfectly and you somehow come apart at how he just knows — he knows you, knows what you need and when to give it to you and that’s a kind of love you don’t think you’ll ever get used to- it’s a flurry of rushed kisses and sweet words, steve urging you with a rasp to cum with him, pleading and whimpering into your neck until you both come undone. you fall asleep in his arms to the ghost of a kiss in your hair

[blueberry-ovaries]

CHAPTER FOUR : BOLD FACED LIES AND CIGARETTES

A/N: Hello?! what’s this? a new chapter? that’s right chapter four of hiraeth!!

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warnings: mentions of war, injuries, bullying (?), strong language, horrible accent writing and probable OOC and historical inaccuracies

< previous chapter > - < next chapter >

The sun had started to set by the time a new person arrived at Winnie’s hiding spot. Ron had left a few minutes prior claiming he was needed for food service preparations. Winnie thought it was just because the man didn’t know how to talk to people

“Winnie?” The voice of Dick Winters called out “are you alright?”

Winnie huffs an unamused laugh

“I just bit and drew blood from one of the men” she mumbles

“I suppose you did” he counters “but, I was more worried about what caused that reaction”

Glancing up at the red headed Lieutenant, Winnie pursed her lips, before turning away from him

“I’m fine. Won’t happen again” she mutters

Dick let’s put a low sigh, folding his hands behind his back, nodding

“While that is appreciated, i am more concerned about why you were in such a panic” he sighs “what you did, while not best case scenario, was not against the rules”

Winnie picks at the grass, drawing shapes in the dirt.

“i talked to Lieutenant Sobel, convinced him that having you on latrine duty would serve as better punishment than removing you from the airbourne” He continues

Nodding silently Winnie stands, dusting off her shorts she bites her cheek

“Thank you Dick- Lieutenant Winters” she stumbles “that was not necessary, i would have taken my punishment for my wrong doing”

Dick sighs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“As i mentioned, there was no technical wrong doing” he glances back towards the Easy company barrack “Shifty is pretty worried about you, kid, at-least tell him you didn’t die a tragic death”

Winnie nods.

——

The crickets chirp all night long, Winnie discovered. After a quick shower to remove the lasting feeling of dried blood off her chin, and a short conversation with Shifty that yes, i am okay. no i don’t want to talk about it right now. thank you for caring. Winnie once again found herself sitting on the steps of the barrack.

Her dog tags jingle slightly as she twists them along the chain, rubbing her thumb over her name and number. That was all she was. a number. Not a person with a family, a person with dreams. A number to be used and moved like a marionette.

The crickets used to remind her of home, when she would stay awake on the farm until the early hours. Just her and the moon, talking. Now it just reminded her of what she lost. Her home, her family, friends and comrades. The crickets taunted her.

Next to her tags, a small necklace. A present from her parents before she left. Winnie was not religious. She did not believe in God or divine intervention. Many of the men wore crosses or stars, or some form of religious jewellery. Winnie wore a small handmade cow charm on a silver chain. Home.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting outside for, her face going numb in the cold. She didn’t even notice the creaking of the door or the groaning of the planks under someone else’s weight.

A warm hand on her shoulder causes her to jump, pulling her fist back instinctively.

“Fuck!” she hisses “you scared the shit outta me!”

“I’m real sorry, didn’t mean ta frighten you” Eugene apologised “called out to ya, didn’t respond, like you were caught in some trance”

“Oh. sorry” Winnie mumbles, rubbing her thumb over her dog tags as she looks out at the grass “must have been lost in thought”

The two soldier sit in silence, only disrupted by the occasional shouts of protest from inside the barracks, from the various games of poker they played. Winnie often wondered what her life would have been like had she of not joined the ANZAC’s. Had her dad gone and died in the mud jungles of new guinea when his knee wouldn’t allow him to climb the treacherous slopes. Had her mother saw her as she was leaving that morning and stopped her. Would she have finished school? worked the farm like her brothers?

She often fell into pits of self guilt. Blaming herself for events out of her control because of an event she could control. She wouldn’t be scarred and broken had she of not deluded herself into thinking her position in the military would make a change. That the efforts of one small, scrawny girl from a town no one had heard of playing dress up, would affect the war. Just like the boys back home who wanted to be soldiers for pride and glory, Winnie played soldier.

“You want to ask about it.” Winnie muttered “That’s why you’re here right?”

Eugene shrugs, lighting up a cigarette before offering the pack to Winnie, who takes one with a tip of her head in gratitude.

“Everyone wants to ask ‘bout it” he counters

Smoke fills the air as the two sit in silence. Winnie wanted Eugene to let it go. To not wonder about her story, her time in the army. Contradictory, she wanted someone to care. To care enough that they would listen to every detail, tell her how brave she was, hold her hand and make her feel like a person again. Not some rabid dog with tags around her neck.

“What is it that everyone wants to know?” she sighs in defeat, a need to belong over taking her need to be distant.

“The scar” he scratches his cheek, the same place of Winnie’s scar.

With a huff, she flicks her cigarette to the ground, stamping it out. Maybe she didn’t want to belong that badly.

“Service wound.” she responds bluntly “I was on the front lines before coming here”

Eugene hums out in understanding, the only noise apart from the men inside, still playing cards.

“Where’d ya serve?” he drawls, taking a final drag of his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot

“Africa mainly, spent some time in New Guinea” Winnie picks at the skin around her nails.

Eugene nods along softly with the explanation, letting Winnie talk at her own pace.

“That don’t sound too fun, from what we get told about those places anyways” he settles on saying

Winnie let’s out a short scoff

“It definitely had its moments” she looks down at her hands, half expecting to see them coated a deep shade of red

“And the scar?” he asks feigning nonchalance

The memories of that night flood to her all at once. The german soldiers, the hot sand, the moon in the sky overhead. She can still feel the burning in her lungs some nights when it’s all to hard to breathe and her throat feels heavy under an imaginary weight of a forearm

“Africa” she mumbles

Nervously she fiddles with her fingers, the look Eugene gives her goes unnoticed

“Look. I just don’t want people to think of me differently” she mumbles “So if i tell you this, can you keep a secret?”

Eugene nods.

——

“That’s why I bit him.” Winnie concludes “I didn’t want to hurt him… I just… It’s been a long war and I got lost”

“That sounds awful… i’m sorry that happened to you Winnie” the cajun man drawls

“Not your fault” Winnie shrugs “you gotta keep that a secret. Or i will bite you on purpose.”

“Won’t tell a soul” Eugene smirks slightly at her threat

The door to the barracks slams open.

“Winnie! you gotta come play poker with me. I’m loosin’ real bad” Shifty complains “I’ll teach you how to play and everything”

Winnie raises an eyebrow, sending a skeptical look to Gene.

“You want me to play… even if you have to teach me?” she asks “How bad are you losin’?”

“Well I ain’t doing too good, that’s for sure” he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, a grimace on his face

“I don’t know Shifty I don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable” Winnie hesitates

“She’d love to play” Gene answers

“That’s great! I’ll see you in there!” Shifty grins, walking back into the barracks

Winnie hits Gene in the chest with an open hand

“Why the fuck would you say that” she grumbles “I don’t wanna play poker.”

“You gotta make friends with ‘em at some stage” He retorts

“You know. I’m starting to really hate you yanks” Winnie complains, still she stands and dusts off her pants

She stops infront of the door, turning to look back at Gene

“Thanks for not telling anyone” she mumbles, quickly entering the barracks

——

The hooting and hollering of the easy men come to a deafening silence. Judgemental eyes mixed with looks of skepticism sweep her up and down. Winnie stands in the doorway, fiddling with her fingers behind her back

“Well come on Winnie!” Shifty beams “You can’t be any worse than me at cards”

Shifty sits down on one of the crates, card game abandoned in the middle of the make shift table

“I’m not playing cards with the crazy broad who tried to bite Joe’s finger off” the man in the bed beside her argues… Bob? Maybe it was Bill. Bill sounded right

“He shouldn’t have put his fingers near her mouth then” one of the men countered, someone she hadn’t met yet

“The crazy broad has a name” Winnie raises an eyebrow

“yeah yeah” Bill waves his hand in the air “just hurry up will ya, got me some money to win”

Winnie shuffles over towards the makeshift poker table, pulling up a crate to sit next to shifty. Dealing out the cards, Bill gives Winnie and Shifty the one set of cards.

“What are the rules?” Winnie asks, staring at the cards in her hand

“It’s poker, you don’t know how to play poker?” one of the men ask, He was tall and had a scowl.

“i’m just wondering what the rules are” she mumbles

——

It was with a withering glare that Bill laid his cards down as he folded. Winnie bluffing that her cards were a straight flush instead of two sevens. Most of the men stopped playing after the third round were Winnie cleaned them out of smokes and cash. Bill persisted, claiming that he needed to win his money back.

—

Sitting on the front porch with her dad as he beats her round after round at poker. Chocolate chip cookies and various sweets used as bets, her father had a pile that seemed to be a mile high.

“how do you keep winning daddy?” a six year old Winnie asks. Her front two teeth had fallen out and she waited desperately for the tooth fairy.

“practice, and knowing how to play the game and the players” he responded, ruffling her hair

“play the players? you can’t play the players daddy that’s silly!” she giggled

“my sweet girl, poker is just as much playing the game as it is playing the players” he pulls her to sit on his lap “if you know how to lie and bluff than you can get away with lots of things, like having bad cards in poker”

—

“Did I win again?” Winnie tilts her head in confusion

“Yeah you fucking win again” Bill grumbles

The men jeer and punch him in the arm as he glares at the girl collecting her winnings. She wouldn’t need to worry about cigarettes for months!

“You lost to a broad Bill” Joe Toye slaps him on the chest

“I know I lost to a fucking broad” he hissed

Winnie piled her cigarettes into her crate and collected the money she won into her wallet with the help of Shifty, who was beaming

“Keep the pack” Winnie smiled and threw him two packs of cigarettes

“Boy you really showed them!” Shifty smiled “I didn’t know you could play!”

“Beginners luck?” Winnie smiled

“I ain’t ever seen a beginner play as good as you” he stated

“Guess i was real lucky” She shrugged

“Crazy beginners luck” Someone called out

“Maybe next time you’ll get some too” she smirked

The man made his way over to Shifty and Winnie with a troublesome grin

“George Luz, i believe you stole four of my cigarette packs” he introduced himself

“Well George Luz, I would apologise, but i wouldn’t mean it” Winnie shook his outstretched hand

“Say what happened to your face” George asked

Winnie defensively rolled her shoulders back and set a glare on her face

“It’s rude to ask people about their scars.” she muttered

“I meant your eyes, they’re… purple, d’ya get punched?”

“Oh… broke my nose last night, when Sobel made me run currahee” She blinked in shock, not expecting her broken nose to be a point of interest

“Fuckin’ Sobel” He muttered “Doc fix you up?”

“Hm? oh yeah, Gene set it back into place” she confirms

An awkward silence falls over the conversation before George is called over by a group of the other guys, one of which was Joe. He turned around with a goofy smile

“And, hey, don’t worry too much about the whole biting Joe thing, some of us won some real money off ya” he winked and walked over towards the loud bunch.

Dumbfounded Winnie stood at the end of her bunk, a pack of cigarettes in her hand, looking up at Shifty

“People bet money on me to win?” she spluttered

“Well sure, odds were stacked against ya, but some of us made some money” he replied in his usual soft spoken tone

She thought about his response, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest. Maybe she would fit in after all.

——

TAGS: @malarkgirlypop @mads-weasley @footprintsinthesxnd @bucky32557038ww2 @grumpy-liebgott @executethyself35

A/N: I really hope you guys are liking this fic! i’m really sorry it’s slow to start, i just want you guys to see Winnie’s struggles as a person before really getting into it, but please feel free to let me know what you think!

[lemoncrushh]

Too Far From Texas | Chapter Twenty-Three

STORY PAGE

Word Count: 5079

I caught the flicker of a smirk on Harry’s face when I came around the corner, joining him on the sofa. It had been my third trip to the bathroom in less than an hour. I pretended to watch whatever was on the television, but I was disinterested. My stomach was in knots. When I finally heard Harry giggle, I glared at him, his hands behind his head as he stretched.

“What?” I asked with knitted brows.

“You’re sitting like you have a pole up your ass.”

“Stop,” I swatted at him. “I can’t help it. You know I’m nervous.”

“I can tell. You’ve gone to the bathroom four times.”

“Three,” I corrected. “When I get nervous, I get dehydrated so I drink a lot of water. Therefore, I have to pee.”

“Therefore…” Harry mimicked, pulling me into his lap, “you’re so fucking adorable.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” I pouted in his arms.

“Make fun? I just said you’re adorable.”

Just then, I heard the ding of the doorbell. My eyes grew wide, and my face went pale.

“Help,” I mouthed as Harry chuckled again, giving me a kiss on the forehead.

“You’ll be great,” he whispered.

“Should I stay here?” I adjusted myself on the couch as Harry stood.

“If you want,” he shrugged.

I considered the idea of joining him at the door to greet his mother but thought better of it. “Yeah,” I nodded. “I’ll wait here.”

“‘kay,” he said sweetly, brushing a curl from my face and cupping my cheek.

I watched his broad back muscles as he walked to the front door. I could feel my knees shake and my teeth chatter inside my mouth, and my palms went clammy. I tried my best not to eavesdrop as soon as I heard voices, but I couldn’t help but relax a little bit at the cheeriness in their muffled tones.

As soon as they turned the corner, I rose from my seat, wringing my hands. My eyes shifted from Harry’s face to his mother’s and back again. He gave me a reassuring nod just as Mrs. Twist stepped towards me.

“You must be Stacey,” she said both excitedly and calmly, if there is such a thing. Her smile, which mimicked Harry’s, was nothing short of spectacular.

“I am,” I nodded, catching myself before I slipped and called her ma’am.

“I’m so happy to meet you,” she conveyed, coming closer to me. It was then that I realized she wanted to embrace. Had it been anyone else’s mother, I might have hesitated. But this woman simply glowed from within, giving off an inviting aura that stated she was a hugger. And I was fine with that.

“Harry’s told me a lot about you,” she continued as she pulled me into a tight squeeze.

“Really?” I let slip before thinking. Why was I surprised?

“All good things, love,” she chuckled in my ear.

When she released me, my eyes locked with Harry’s again as he continued to grin with pride. For which woman, I was unsure, but I liked to think it was both.

“You two have a seat,” he suggested. “I’ll get us drinks.”

I was about to protest, seeing as I didn’t need anything else to make me go to the bathroom, but decided against it. Instead, I turned to Anne and asked how her flight was.

“Long,” she rolled her eyes, removing her sunglasses from the top of her head and running her fingers through her long, dark hair. “I slept for some of it.”

I was about to comment about my own flight from the UK, but wasn’t sure how much Harry had actually told her about me, and if that included our pre-Christmas vacation at the Marchburrough Inn.

“You must still be tired,” I said instead.

“Hmm, yes,” she nodded. Then she leaned over and patted my hand. “But I’m excited to meet you. Harry tells me you’re an author?”

I let out a breath, instantly feeling myself relax. “Yes,” I beamed. “My co-author and I are almost finished with our second novel.”

“That must be thrilling! So you write with someone else?”

“Yes. Well...for now. She’s my co-worker, and also my best friend. When we started writing together, it was just for fun. But we soon realized we had a great story that deserved to be published.”

Anne nodded with a smile. “I would love to read it myself.”

Harry returned with our drinks then, which I noticed were clear, but no doubt had alcohol in them. I watched Anne beam at her son as she took her glass, and I found myself mesmerized by her. She was radiant, even if she was jet-lagged.

“I almost bought a copy to read on the plane,” she continued before I realized she was still talking about the book. “But I reckoned that would seem like I was sizing up my son’s girlfriend before I’d even met her.”

“Mum,” Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s okay,” I waved my hand. “I probably would have done the same thing. But lucky for you, I brought you a copy. You can read it on the flight home.”

Anne grinned at me the same way Harry did when I’d said something he liked. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”

By the time our glasses were empty, I was feeling much more at ease. Anne was very easy to talk to, which I should have expected from her being Harry’s mother. I still sensed she was a bit skeptical of me, but I didn’t blame her. I caught her eyes when they watched Harry’s hand take mine or when he’d make a tiny gesture like pushing a curl behind my ear. She didn’t seem to be uncomfortable in any way, and in fact I caught her smiling a couple times when Harry or I would talk about the other. She laughed when we shared the story of how we met, coffee-stained blazer and all. And I definitely caught the motherly pride in her face when I spoke about my own children.

Soon enough, Anne announced that she was indeed ready for a nap, and that she would join us later for dinner. Harry took her bags to her room, returning with the cutest grin on his face.

“She loves you,” he mouthed.

“You think?” I giggled softly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, slipping his arms around my waist. “But honestly, who wouldn’t?”

I sucked in my lips as my hands traveled up his arms. “She’s very nice,” I whispered. “And very beautiful.”

“As are you.” He tapped his finger to my nose before placing a soft kiss on it. “I told you so, I didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I chuckled as he pushed my hair from my shoulder and his lips found my neck.

“Say it,” he murmured against my skin.

“Say what?”

“That I was right.”

I sighed as he continued his seduction, reaching my ear and keeping me from scoffing at his cockiness. “You love to be right, don’t you?”

“Just say it.”

“Fine. You were right.”

“Mmm,” he moaned, grinding his hips against me.

“Stop that,” I insisted, finally backing away from his mouth. “You’re mother is literally ten feet away.”

“What are we, sixteen?” he quipped.

“Might as well be,” I tilted my head. “She’s still your mom, and you’re still her son.”

Harry narrowed his eyes before dropping his shoulders in defeat. “Fine. You win.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave him my own cheeky smirk.

“But I’m still right,” he added, giving my butt a pinch before turning for the kitchen.

“Here, let me take that,” I insisted, reaching my hand out to take Anne’s dinner plate. “I’ll clean up since Harry made this delicious dinner.”

“Oh no, dear, you’re the guest,” she protested.

“So are you,” I chuckled.

“I’m not going to make my son’s girlfriend do the dishes.”

Though I liked the fact that she’d called me his girlfriend - twice - I was persistent on doing my share in the kitchen.

“Don’t be silly,” I turned to Harry, shooing them both out of the room. “Pour your mother some wine, sugar, and go visit with her.”

As I set the dirty dishes on the counter, I felt Harry come up behind me, his arms around my waist.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

I melted instantly, leaning back against his chest. “I love you, too. Now go.”

As I did the dishes, I could hear Harry and Anne chatting on the veranda. It made me smile. But it also made me miss my kids. So when I’d cleaned off the last of the countertops, I tiptoed outside and announced I was going upstairs to make a phone call.

“They’re probably already in bed, but not asleep yet,” I explained. “I’d just like to say goodnight.”

“Of course, darling,” smiled Anne.

With a smile of my own, I headed upstairs to Harry’s room to call Jasmine and Emery. My mom was staying with them at my place while I was away, so I pressed her number on my cell.

“I was wondering if you’d forgotten about us,” my mother criticized as soon as she answered.

“Sorry,” I apologized, not wanting to start a fight. “It’s been a busy day. Harry’s mother is here.”

“Oh. What’s she like?”

Nothing like you, I wanted to say but bit my tongue. “She’s really nice. I like her.”

“What’s his house look like?”

“Beautiful,” I sighed, lying back on the huge bed. “I love it here.”

“The girls miss you,” my mom remarked. “Jasmine and I were already in bed, playing games on my phone.

“Can I talk to her?”

I could hear Jaz’s happy sounds as I called them before she said, “Hi, Mommy.”

“Hello sweet girl. I miss you.”

I could hear my mother prompting her to say she missed me too.

“Are you having fun with Memaw?”

“Yes.”

“Are you getting sleepy?”

“Sleepy.”

I smiled, putting my hand over my heart. “I love you, and I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Love you.”

It wasn’t much of a conversation for most people, but for Jaz and me, it was more than enough. When my mom returned to the phone, she began to protest about having to get out of bed to hand the phone to Emery, but she quickly came to her senses and walked to her room. I could hear her instruct Em to bring the phone back when she was done.

“Mommy!” Emery cheered. “I miss you!”

“I miss you, too, baby girl. Whatcha been doing?”

“Just drawing on my iPad.”

“Of course. Is Memaw being nice to you?”

“Mostly.” I could detect the sarcasm in her tone and chuckled.

“Will you send me your artwork when you’re done? I wanna show Harry.”

I could hear her groan, her usual response to my asking to share her art. I never understood if she was embarrassed to show it, or if she was afraid it wasn’t good.

“Please?” I pressed. “I know he’d like to see it. You’re very good.”

“Okay,” she sighed.

“Just one.”

“Okay.”

“I love you, and I miss you.”

“I love you and miss you, too,” said Em. “Is Harry there near you?”

“No, baby, he’s downstairs with his mom.”

“Oh. Well tell him hi, and I love and miss him, too.”

I grinned widely and felt my heart leap in my chest. “I will do that,” I promised.

“I hope you marry him someday.” Em had mumbled it softly, and I almost wondered if I’d heard her correctly.

“What? You do?”

Emery made another sound like a groan, and I could tell she might’ve been regretting her words. “Yes,” she muttered.

“Why?” I could feel my heart beating in my throat then.

“Because he’s...really nice. And treats you good.”

“He is. And he does. But...what makes you say that, Em?”

“I dunno. I just like him.”

“I do too,” I agreed.

“Do you love him?”

I hesitated for a moment, only because Em and I hadn’t discussed those kinds of feelings yet. I hadn’t let her read the letter from Harry at Christmas, but she had seen my reaction to it. And she was such a sensitive and affectionate child. She knew what love was.

“I do,” I replied softly.

Emery giggled lightly. “I knew you did.”

“Yes, because you’re very observant,” I teased. “I’ve told you that before.”

“And ‘wise beyond my years’.”

“Yeah, that too. Silly goose.”

“I love you, Mommy. And Harry.”

“I love you, too. Sweet dreams.”

Harry and Anne were still outside when I came down the stairs, so I made my way to the bar to pour myself some wine and join them. As I grabbed my glass, however, I realized I could hear their words, and for a second I felt like I was eavesdropping on their conversation. Then I realized they were talking about me.

“I think she’s a lovely woman,” said Anne. “But that’s just it, Harry, she’s a woman. She’s already established her life.”

“I know that, Mum,” replied Harry. “And I’m glad I get to be a part of it now.”

“Now, yes,” Anne agreed. “But what about in the future?”

I stood still, waiting for Harry’s answer. This had been my very question, one I was trying to ask in England. But when Harry remained silent, Anne continued.

“She has baggage.”

“She has kids,” argued Harry. “They’re not baggage.”

“But don’t you think more comes along with that? Just liking her children isn’t enough, Harry. A woman like that wants commitment. She doesn’t want someone who may or may not decide later that it’s too much for him to handle.”

“I understand that,” Harry nodded.

“And what about your future? Kids of your own?”

“I’m...not ready to think about that now,” Harry admitted.

“Well, she’s probably thought about it a lot,” remarked Anne. “And she’s probably not going to wait too long.”

“I know that, Mum, okay?” Harry groaned, running his hand down his face.

I watched Anne place her hands in her lap before sitting up and leaning closer to her son.

“I’m not making your decisions for you, love,” she said so softly I had to crane my neck to listen. “I really do think she’s lovely. She might be good for you. And I can most certainly tell she cares about you. It’s written all over her face.”

“I love her,” Harry declared sincerely. I wanted to run out onto the veranda and scream I loved him too, but I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be listening.

“I know you do,” Anne smiled, placing her hand on Harry’s cheek. “It’s written all over your face, too. I’m just...giving you some things to consider - to think about. Because I can just about guarantee that Stacey is in this for the long run. Not temporarily. She’s not that kind of girl.”

Harry nodded as he sucked in his lips. Then Anne pulled him in for a hug. I took that as my cue to finally pour my wine. With a deep breath, I walked to the french doors and stepped outside.

“Mind if I join you?” I inquired.

“There you are, love, come sit,” gestured Anne.

A wide grin spread across Harry’s face as I took the chair beside him. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek before taking my wine-free hand and threading his fingers through mine.

“How are the girls?” he asked me.

“Perfect. Em says hi and that she loves and misses you.”

His dimples dipped deeper though I swore I noticed a hint of a tear in the corner of his eye.

“You okay?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t overheard their conversation.

“More than okay,” he said, lifting his glass. “To Stacey.”

“Hmm, that’s nice,” I smiled.

“Ah, yes,” Anne agreed, joining in the toast. “Hear, hear!”

“Thank you,” I clinked glasses with the both of them, slightly confused, a tiny bit sad, but still very much in love.

I laid on my left side facing the wall when a touch awoke me from a lucid dream. I could feel his palm resting on my hip before it slid down my thigh and back up again. He repeated the movement several times, finally deciding to pull me closer to his body. His breath blew against my neck as he slipped his hand inside my sleep shorts, continuing his seduction on my skin. My flesh prickled beneath his touch as he cupped my bottom, and I found myself pushing against his fingers, grinding my hips and chasing the sensation that was pooling between my legs. I must have made a sound then because Harry pressed his hand against my stomach so that I was flush against him, his erection apparent.

“Hi baby,” he whispered, his voice raspy with a hint of a whine as his fingers slipped down the front of my shorts. “You wanna fuck?”

I let out a tiny moan, his finger sliding teasingly across my clit. I could hear his breaths quicken as he pushed up against me. My fatigue still hovered over me like a fog though I was now awake. I felt desire rush throughout my body as his fingertip entered me, and I arched my back.

“Let me fuck you, baby,” he demanded this time, his other hand reaching between us to tug on my shorts.

“Harry…” I groaned. “Your mother’s downstairs.”

“And on the other end of the house completely,” he confirmed.

I raised a brow, turning my head to look at him the best I could in the moonlight. “She still might hear.”

“Not if you’re quiet,” he growled in my ear, determined to get my shorts off. Finally, he managed to slide them down my legs with his knee and I kicked them off the rest of the way.

Surrendering to his request, I let him lift my leg and enter me slowly from behind. We began to move as one, our breaths even and in time with each other. As Harry started to speed up his thrusts, however, I couldn’t help but let out a sound or two.

“Oh God,” I cried.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his lips on my neck.

“You’re just so...unnnngggg…”

“Quiet, baby,” he instructed, though I could tell it was more of a game to see how silent I could be.

His thrusts got faster and deeper. I grabbed the edge of the mattress, my face in my pillow to muffle my moans, but it was useless. Harry pulled down the front of my tank top and pinched my nipple, making me reach back to tug on his hair.

“Fuck...Harry…”

“Shhh my love,” he teased. “Are you almost there?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s see how quietly you can come.”

I bit my tongue as I tried to stifle my cries. There was just no way I could be completely quiet with Harry. Not when he was fucking me like that. Suddenly I felt his body tremble behind me, and he moaned in my ear.

“Ohhhh baby, I’m coming. Oh fuck.”

He bit my shoulder to keep from crying out just as I reached the edge. I threw my head back and gasped. Harry covered my mouth with his hand and I moaned into it, breathing out through my nose. His thrusts became more languid then as we rode out our orgasms until he stopped completely.

We laid in silence except for our heavy breaths for a good two or three minutes until Harry released me and fell onto his back. Then I rolled over to face him.

“I’m not sure how quiet that was,” I remarked.

Harry chuckled, his arm over his forehead as his other hand touched my cheek.

“You are one sexy woman,” he declared.

I tilted my head and smiled. “Well, thank you.”

“I mean it,” he shifted onto his side and leaned on his elbow. His finger traced my lips and my chin. “You really do it for me.”

“I’m glad,” I said, sliding closer and capturing his mouth with mine.

Harry pulled me on top of him then where we continued to kiss until I laid my head on his chest and fell asleep.

I played with the hem of my dress as I sat next to Anne in the back of the car. I had changed my mind half a dozen times on what to wear to brunch, first thinking the floral sundress I’d brought showed too much skin, but with the cardigan I looked like I was on my way to a PTA meeting. Then I’d considered wearing slacks, but the only shoes I’d brought to go with them were heels that I wore to work, and I felt like I had enough to worry about that I didn’t need to add my feet into the mix. I finally settled on a light green button-down dress and tan colored flats. I felt comfortable and pretty at the same time, but it still did nothing to calm my nerves.

Nor had Anne’s reassurance that I would like Glenne and the others. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t nervous about liking them, but rather them liking me.

We pulled into a driveway next to a small building, that had I not known better, I would have thought was a house. As we rounded the curve, I noticed the back porch with several umbrella-covered tables. When we climbed out of the car, I saw the sign that indicated it was a tea room and that they served brunch on Saturdays and Sundays.

“Have you been here before?” I asked Anne quietly as we ascended the front steps.

“I have not. Isn’t it quaint?”

A woman in a mauve suit greeted us at the front door and lead us straight through the restaurant to the back. I followed Anne, taking a moment to look around the room. It was small and cozy with a fireplace on one end. When we reached the open french doors, I heard the sound of more voices and greetings, my stomach once again deciding to do a dance.

Almost immediately after I crossed the threshold, a beautiful young woman said my name, took my hands, and introduced herself as Glenne. I smiled and thanked her for inviting me. Then Anne and I joined Glenne at the table where two other women sat. My heartbeat, I was positive, was nearly audible when I learned one of them was James Corden’s wife, Julia. I was nearly starstruck, being a fan of his and his show. Then it dawned on me he was likely to be at the party that evening. I tried to keep my cool, only to learn the other beautiful woman was Meredith Winston. Finally in my head, I was able to piece everything together, or connect the dots per say, of little things I’d learned about Harry so far.

I looked at the menu the waitress handed me, trying to decide what to order. Glenne insisted mimosas were the way to go, so I ordered a peach one along with eggs benedict served with salmon and fresh fruit.

The ladies chatted for a bit, sometimes asking me simple questions about myself. I was fine just sitting and listening to them, however, since they already knew each other and obviously led much more interesting lives. Just when I was feeling the nerves begin to shed away, however, my head popped up when I heard someone say, “there she is.”

I’d thought I’d heard someone mentioned the name Cindy. I even knew that Harry was friends with her because he’d told me. But I was finally putting two and two together. Cindy Crawford stood right in front of me.

Anne rose from her chair to embrace her, and I stood as well out of courtesy. I blinked several times, not wanting to give myself away, but it was all too surreal. Cindy had been a supermodel when I’d been a teenager. She’d been on the cover of every single magazine I’d bought, and then some. And she still looked the same, just...older. I felt my knees buckle at the sight of her.

It was Anne, bless her heart, who brought me out of my daydream. Her hand on my back, she graciously introduced me to Cindy.

“How do you do?” I nodded and extended my hand.

“Ah the infamous Stacey,” she grinned. “C’mere girl.”

Cindy pulled me in a surprising embrace. I hugged her back, feeling both awkward and comforted in a strange way.

“So glad to meet you,” she said.

“You too.”

“Please, sit,” she waved at the table. “Enjoy your meal. I’m fashionably late, as usual.”

The rest of the women laughed as Cindy took the empty seat between Anne and Julia. I nibbled on my food and sipped on my mimosa as I listened to the various conversations. As suspected however, the topic eventually came around to me.

“Stacey, I hear you’ve written a book?” inquired Meredith.

“Yes,” I smiled.

“You haven’t read it?” piped Cindy.

“No, you have?” Meredith made a face.

“Of course,” Cindy replied. “As soon as Harry told me about her, I bought it.” Then she looked at me. “It’s great, by the way. Couldn’t put it down.”

“Stalker!” quipped Glenne.

“You…” I swallowed hard, my hands folded on my chest, “you read my book?”

“Don’t look so surprised, hon,” Cindy grinned. “H is a good friend, and we visited one day. He had his own copy of the book with him. You should see all the notes and folded over corners. That’s when I knew something was up. I asked him what was so special about that book, and he said the writer.”

I sat still for a second, suddenly with the sensation that everything around me was far away. My ears felt like they had cotton in them though I could hear a couple “awws”. Then my chest began to rise and fall, my throat went dry, and that was when I knew the waterworks were coming. I leaned against the table, my elbow propping up my arm as I rested my head in my hand. My upper body trembled as I willed myself to control my emotions, but it was too late. Anne’s hand came to rub my back as the first couple of tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” Cindy said softly, reaching her hand out to me across the table. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“No,” I shook my head, wiping my eyes hastily. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool.”

“Oh, don’t my dear,” cooed Anne.

“He’s really smitten with you, you know,” offered Cindy.

“He definitely is,” Glenne agreed.

“He loves you,” Anne whispered so only I could hear.

I lifted my head to look at her. “I love him, too,” I mouthed.

“I know,” she nodded.

I gazed around the table at all the concerned eyes and the color rose in my cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to get so emotional. This is just...too much? Not...too much, like I don’t like it. Just…”

“It’s quite alright,” said Julia. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Listen,” voiced Glenne, “we all adore H. But one thing we all know, is that he’s a very private person. I think he told Jeffrey about you first. And then Cindy and Rande…”

Cindy nodded.

“But Jeff didn’t even tell me until Harry informed him you were coming to L.A., and he was buying your ticket. I knew then this was something serious, and I had to meet you. I hope this didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

I looked at Glenne’s pretty face and around to the others’.

“I admit I was nervous as hell,” I chuckled. “What must you think of me? But you’re all so kind. It’s no wonder Harry has you in his life.”

“We feel the same about you, love,” said Anne.

“So far,” Cindy winked.

We all laughed then, and I felt all my tension melt away. When we decided we’d had enough mimosas, we all hugged and said our goodbyes until that night.

“Thank you again,” I told Glenne. “For everything. It was so nice, and I’m glad I got to meet everyone before the party.”

“Now you can relax,” she agreed, holding onto my upper arms. “Have a good time tonight, and we’ll be there as your friends, not strangers.”

“I like that,” I smiled.

Maybe I’d been worried over nothing. Everything was going to be okay.

On the drive back to Harry’s house, I pulled my phone out of my bag, just to text him that we were on our way. That was when I noticed I had a text from Lorelei.

Wow, the paparazzi moves fast.

Underneath was a link which I tapped. It took me to a website with the headline:

HARRY STYLES’S MOM AND MYSTERY WOMAN OUT TOGETHER

There was a picture of Anne and me arriving at the tea room. Luckily, that was it; nothing from the back porch with the other women, for which I was grateful. But it was the photo below that surprised me most. It was of Harry and me at the Stevie Nicks concert in Houston, months before. Below it, the text read:

Harry’s mystery woman is seen again! This time with his own mother!

Again? So that photo had been posted before?

Suddenly, a delicate hand covered the screen and I looked up to see Anne’s face.

“Don’t look at that, love,” she shook her head. “You don’t want to get sucked into that nonsense.”

“But...how did they…”

“Doesn’t matter,” she interjected. “Best to ignore it. It’ll only drive you crazy.”

My instinct to call her ma’am again was adamant, but I bit my tongue and turned off my phone and dropped it in my bag.

“Have you decided what you’re wearing tonight?” Anne inquired.

I smiled at her, grateful for her persistence to change the subject and make me feel better in the process.

“Well, it’s nothing fancy,” I replied. “Just a black dress.”

“That’s perfect,” she beamed. “And I have no doubt you’ll look absolutely gorgeous.”

She patted my hand, once again making me like her even more. I covered hers with other my other hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

Yes, everything was going to be fine.

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK | PATREON

[iamthecomet]

Cowbell starts feeling like they are pointless to the band. They are on stage for maybe 3 minutes and Papa always makes a big deal of dismissing them. Zephyr who knows what if feels like to think your an outsider comforts them.

Bonus: maybe papa Terzo comes in and feels horrible that they ever thought that and reminds them that he loves them

You really love making me figure out characterizations for characters I never write don't you? It's ok. I GOT this. Maybe.

Cowbell thinks about leaving. About packing up the contents of their room and just walking away from the abbey. They could probably pass as a human most of the time. They've had enough practice with all of the touring. They wonder if anyone would even notice they were gone. Probably not.

The Ghost Project is gearing up for another tour, and Cowbell has been forced to sit through countless practices where they run through the same thing over and over. They're on stage for maybe thirty seconds. And then Terzo is waving them off, again and again. They know it's a bit. Something to make the crowd laugh. But is this really what they were summoned for? To play a fucking cowbell on stage for ten seconds? To be laughed at. What is the point of this? What is the point of them? How is this a great purpose? How is this serving Lucifer? They've been standing in the middle of their room for the last twenty minutes. Staring at the sparse decorations, unable to move. Band practice today was worse than usual. Terzo barely let them get two hits on the cowbell out before he was ushering them away. They're struck with images of an entire tour like that, barely able to shuffle out onto the stage before being sent back to the shadows. Cowbell sinks to the floor to press their face in their hands. They're not going to cry about this. They're not. None of this is worth crying over. As soon as they're telling themself they're not going to cry about it--they are. They don't hear the soft knock at the door or the twist of the knob. They're only aware that someone else is in the room when Zephyr touches their arm. "Hey, Bell, I came to get you for dinner but--"

Cowbell bats tears away from their eyes, sucks in a deep breath, and tries to play it off. They're pretending their face isn't still wet with tears. "I'm fine. Not hungry though. Thanks." Zephyr frowns. He shifts to sit next to them, shoulder to shoulder. "You want to talk about it?"

"No--yes--I don't know. I'm just--why the fuck am I here, Zeph?" "What are you talking about?"

"I'm useless."

"Is this about Terzo's bullshit today?"

Cowbell shakes their head. "Every day. Thirty seconds on stage. What am I even doing here?" Zephyr sighs. He shifts to put his arm around Cowbell's shoulders, pulling them in close. "You're part of our family." "I don't do anything."

"Yes you do. You tour with us, you make us laugh, and who gives a shit how long you're on stage? It doesn't matter."

"He doesn't even want me here--"

"Terzo doesn't really want any of us here, come on. It's the Papa Emeritus show up there. We're furniture. It doesn't matter, Bell. Really. You're pack. You're family." Cowbell tips their head to lean against Zephyr. They take a deep breath. They know he's right. The knot in their chest doesn't dissipate, but it loosens just a little. The next breath they take is a little easier. "And," Zephry adds, knocking his knee into Cowbells, "Do you really think Terzo would let you anywhere near the stage if he didn't like you a little? You're probably his favorite."

Cowbell huffs out something that could almost be a laugh.

"C'mon, Bell. Let's go eat. The pack misses you." Zephyr stands and offers Cowbell his hand. They hesitate. What if Zephyr's wrong? What if-- Zephyr grabs them by the bicep and pulls until their forced to stand. "You're coming even if I have to drag you." Cowbell reaches for Zephyr's hand, squeezing it once their fingers are laced together. "Thanks, Zeph." "Anytime, Bell."

[wordymcnerdy]

Attn Warrior Nun fandom writers! I was fleshing out some post-season 2 headcanons for a one-shot last week and accidentally stumbled into the set up for a whole other fic I can’t stop thinking about but am never going to write myself, so Ima just go ahead and drop it here in the frailest hope that some lovely, talented soul might be inspired to run with it and make my dreams come true:

So here it goes. 

We begin with Lilith. By the end of the season she's effectively burned all of her bridges in service of a master who was eviscerated in front of her, and in the immediate aftermath she seems to be experiencing some capital R Remorse about that - helping Bea to save Ava, watching Avatrice say goodbye, hoping when she and Bea meet next they'll be back on the same side, etc. Where does she go from there? I like to imagine she goes full Angel (in the Buffyverse way, not in the religious way) and takes her penance to the streets. In a cruelly ironic twist, she's now effectively performing the duties of the halo-bearer - utilizing her truesight along with her OCS training to track down the remaining wraith demons and punch them out of the possessed and straight back to hell - except of course that it doesn't feel remotely like fulfilling a lifelong destiny. There's no honor in it, she's just flailing desperately to try and make up for some of what she's done, and to finally do right by Ava. So there she is, out punching the shit out of some wraith demons, when who should wander into her path all full of wraith demon in need of punching?

Bitch, you know it's ya girl SHOTGUN MOTHAFUCKIN MARYYYY!

(Come on, y'all, duh she's alive. Vincent told Lilith Mary's dead like 10 whole minutes after telling her she was alive to save his ass and manipulate her into a trap, and now we're gonna take the fucker at his word? Sure, Jan.) (Yes, I'm aware of the BTS stuff at play, and maybe Toya never wants to go back, I'm just saying, the WN team could not have left that door open wider for her in case she ever does. No body, no proof, no details, just the word of one lying, manipulative sack o' dicks? Be serious now.)

So Lilith frees Mary of her demon and then takes care of her while she recovers. Mary's done some shit while she was possessed and has some guilt of her own to work through, so they trauma-bond, and now it’s really on because we’ve got us a kick-ass demon-fighting duo. Neither of them feels right about returning to the church - especially not with Father Sack-o-Dicks back wandering the Cradle like he didn’t fully murder Shannon, spend the entire first season gaslighting them about it, and then proceed to spend the whole next season attacking, endangering and otherwise fucking with them - but they're sure as shit not gonna stop fighting.

Smash!Cut to that final shot in the epilogue of the finale. Beatrice smiles as she walks away from the OCS, presumably to do what Ava told her and go live her life. I've seen a lot of different theories on what flavor of fluffy lil Eat Pray Love travel/adventure/vacation she's headed off on, and those are all super fun, but for me, man... I feel like that's what Ava would do, not what Beatrice would do. Ava’s loosened her up at bit, sure, but she's still Bea, or at least I still want her to 😏 Bea. (I'm SO sorry about that, I swear it just snuck up on me) We clearly see Beatrice struggling internally all season, and I actually don't think that has anything to do with her feelings for Ava. I think Adriel and Vincent took a fucking wrecking ball to the whole foundation of this mission Beatrice had dedicated her life to. If anything, Ava coming along when she does makes things easier, because it gives Bea something clear and tangible to fight for, but now with her gone, she has to finally reckon with what it is she's doing with her life. Again, there are good arguments to be made for any number of directions that reckoning could take, but I'd like to believe that when the dust settles she's going to find that she hasn't actually lost any of her faith, or her dedication to the fight. She’s still our Bea. She just needs to break from the constraints of these institutions she's at best begun to question and perhaps even become disillusioned with. She needs autonomy, and a new path. And I mean, you’re starting to see where I'm going with this, right? Beatrice can't contain her smile as she exits the Cradle, not because of what she's leaving, but because of what she's running toward - freedom, and her sisters.

TL;DR - in the aftermath of season two, an elite team of tactical former-nuns comes together to fight against evil and for each other.

Lilith

Mary

Beatrice

They are

Birds of Pray

Please please please somebody write it I'm so serious about this!

PS How psyched is Ava gonna be to join them when she gets back?

PPS Obviously I want Camila in here too. But also I’m kind of into the potential for conflict with her taking on more responsibility within the OCS but also feeling hurt/abandoned when she find out everyone’s hanging out without her?

PPS Just spitballing here but hey maybe Jillian Salvius would be interested in employing their services to take down Kristian or undo some of the harm he did with her money or whatever, and ya know, if that were to lead to her joining the team in an Oracle-esque capacity? That could be cool. And if perhaps in time she wanted to work on getting field-trained as well... idunno, maybe Lilith specifically would be interested in training her... (hey! stop looking at me like that! those two had an *energy*, okay? I cannot be the only one who noticed!)

[forestwhisper3]

Plans to watch MM tomorrow, so I'll finally be able to come back to Tumblr and not worry about spoilers. Just popping in for a moment because while I have been able to do some writing for my fics, I was also goofing around a bit with a random idea that wriggled into my brain while at work, and I thought I'd share it. It's an MCU/Rottmt crossover.

Basically, the premise is that the mystic stuff going on during the fight with Shredder was strong enough for Loki to sense from Asgard, and he gets curious since, as far as he's aware, Midgard shouldn't have anything like that anymore. As he was already looking for a reason to take a break since Thor and the others were getting unbearable with talks of the Coronation becoming more serious, he decided to sneak out for a while to investigate. Yada yada, stuff happens, he meets the boys and somehow finds himself absorbed into their collective as an uncle figure/third dad. He doesn't really fight it.

However, someone decides to take advantage of his absence, and everything leading up to the Avengers movie still ends up happening. Needless to say, he's not happy to have to deal with that during his day out with the boys.

This is all pre-Krang, by the way, so having to face this first invasion would definitely affect how they act during the movie. Am I aware the timelines (as in the years that these events take place in their respective universes) don't match up at all? Yes. Yes, I am. However, I am choosing to purposefully not think about that and just let myself have fun with this. Now, here's a little segment I wrote. Enjoy. :D

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You will all fall before me."

"I highly doubt that," a smooth, familiar voice cut in.

Tony froze- an idle part of his mind noting how the hand gripping his face seemed to do so as well -and his eyes widened as he saw another Loki standing there. Unlike the one with the staff, however, this Loki was dressed much more casually in comparison- worn jeans, a T-shirt, and his hair tied back in a low ponytail.

And he did not look happy.

"You," staff Loki hissed, although curiously enough, Tony could see a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"Me," casual Loki drawled before his arms uncrossed and he walked towards them, steps measured and purposeful.

"I was gone for one year," he began, voice irritated in the way only one who constantly had to deal with the stupidity of others could be. "One. Year! Practically nothing for Asgardians, and everything falls apart. All I wanted was a break, a bit of time for myself, but noooo. Clearly, even that was asking for too much."

He blinked. That…was not what he was expecting to hear.

"Uh…who are you?"

"How dare-!" staff Loki started before he was immediately up in the air, bound together by some invisible ropes or something and unable to speak.

Now free, Tony worked his jaw as he watched this crazy turn of events. Hey, the longer things stalled, the more time the others had to do what they needed.

"Quiet, you half-rate magician!" Casual Loki snarled before walking over and picking up the staff where it had fallen to the ground. "I don't even know what I'm more upset about- the fact that you dared to impersonate me in my absence or that no one sensed anything was amiss!"

Judging by how his expression darkened at the last bit, Tony was willing to bet which one bothered him more, and damn if he didn't feel a bit bad for the guy. Yeah, this was all confusing as fuck, but he knew what it was like to feel like no one cared enough to notice the important things.

Casual Loki studied the staff in his hands for a second before his eyes widened and he turned to glare at the…fake? Was that really what was happening here? This was seriously the kind of twist he'd expect out of a cheesy b-movie, not real life.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" was the sneered response.

In a remarkable show of restraint unlike anything he'd seen from any Asgardian so far- even Point Break -the real(?) Loki took a deep breath and breathed slowly out of his nose.

"Remember what Dr. Feelings said," he muttered almost too quietly to hear, completely annihilating his trepidation or suspicion towards this new Loki.

There was no way anyone with destruction, world domination, or evilness in general on their mind would go to therapy (and seriously? Dr. Feelings? He hoped that was just a professional name).

Another deep breath, and real Loki finally turned to look at him.

Green.

For a moment, it was all he could see. Green eyes that were as bright and vivid and striking as that emerald he'd tried to buy Pepper once. Compared to the watered-down blue of the fake, it was a wonder Thor hadn't mentioned it. Unless he just didn't notice, which, sadly, sort of tracked with the little he knew about him.

He was really starting to understand why this guy was so pissed off.

"So, lemme get this straight," he said, if only to break the awkward silence he could feel starting to form. "This guy here," he gestured up to the Loki in the air who was scowling furiously at them, "-was pretending to be you? All while you were on what basically amounts to a vacation?"

"It appears so," Loki sighed before he finally gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose. "My sincerest apologies for the trouble. I cannot say I expected such a disaster to result from my time away, but clearly, I have overestimated what little intelligence and reasoning those back home possess."

He held back a cackle of amusement, but it was a near thing, and judging from the way the corner of Loki's mouth twitched, he'd noticed.

"So how'd you know to come here, then?"

"Where do you think I've been?" Loki asked with a huff of laughter.

"No kidding? I thought Asgardians thought we were a little backwater planet. Not exactly the first place I'd imagine for a trip."

"I assure you that Thor only said that because he's an uncultured brute too embarrassed to admit Midgardian technology is beyond his comprehension."

That time he didn't try holding back the cackle.

"How'd you know it was Thor?"

"Please. With that charlatan galavanting about, there is no other the Allfather would have sent. And last we spoke, my brother did not have the most favorable opinion of Midgard."

"Huh…You're the real deal, aren't you?" he asked, the reality of it all sinking in.

This whole time they'd been dealing with someone else. The who still needed to be answered- and that was probably a really important answer now that he thought about it -but this guy was the real Loki. The Loki that Thor talked about with fondness, even if there was grief mixed in. Now that he was getting a chance to have an actual conversation, he could see why Thor had been so defensive of him. He was clever enough to figure things out with minimal information and less closed-minded about things outside his world and culture. He was witty in a way he could appreciate and just…more approachable, in a way. More human.

Completely different from the other guy.

"The one and only," Loki grinned before a more serious expression settled on his face. "Now, we should probably figure out what to do about the portal device on your rooftop."

"Wait, didn't you stop it?"

"I only managed to interrupt the connection process, and even that is taking considerable focus on my end," Loki shook his head. "The best I can do is delay the portal from opening and hope we find a way to shut it down before then."

"How long do we have?"

"Around…eight minutes."

"That little?!"

Loki's brows furrowed. "I do not jest when I say I am one of the most powerful mages in the Nine Realms, but it is precisely for that reason we even have that long. As skilled as I am, I am no match for the power of an Infinity Stone."

"Infini-what now?"

Loki suddenly looked like he'd bitten into a lemon before he looked up at the ceiling as if asking for patience.

"Thor, you absolute oaf," he groaned, sounding like he was just done with it all. "Don't tell me you didn't even figure out this much?!"

"Does that mean it's time for plan B?" a voice asked, seeming to come from Loki's forearm.

A forearm that had a strange, glowing symbol of some kind floating above it, and how had he not noticed it until now?

"Yes," he sighed. "I suppose it does. But be careful. Let Donatello try to disable the device before you attempt anything mystic. There's no telling how the two energies will react to one another, and I don't want to risk you getting hurt. I'll never hear the end of it from your father otherwise."

"Ooh, I was hoping you'd say that!" a second voice replied excitedly. "Such beautiful and advanced technology! I can hardly wait to crack this baby open!"

"Nerd!"

"Guys, focus!" yet another voice- and was it just him, or did they all sound really young? -cut in sternly. "You heard what he said! We've only got eight minutes!"

"Technically less now."

"Not helping, Leo."

"We got this!" a fourth voice chirped, somehow managing to sound cheerful and determined all at once. "Don't worry about us! Just do your thing, and we'll do ours, okay? Okay! Good luck, love you, bye!"

There was a crack and a yelp from the other side.

"I'm fine!" the second voice said, sounding a bit muffled. "Just some minor resistance!"

"Dude, why does the machine have a force field?!"

"Shut up! The comm's still on!"

"Oh shit, turn it off! Turn it-!"

The sound cut off, and the glowing circle faded. Loki stared at his arm for a moment, a mix of emotions warring on his face. Concern was one, along with exasperation, but there was amusement there too, and fondness.

"So…kids, huh?" he asked, admittedly curious. "Thor never mentioned being an uncle, but then again, mythology does say differently."

Loki snorted. "So I've seen. I can assure you, Stark, that those stories have been grossly exaggerated."

"You didn't deny it, though."

He grinned when that got an actual chuckle in response.

"I nursed a few animals back to health in my youth," he clarified. "But word of mouth and crude record keeping stretched out over a few hundred years tend to make for a wildly different account of events."

"Like the world's longest and most twisted game of telephone."

"And here I thought I was the ancient one."

That startled a laugh out of him.

"Oh, I like you," he grinned.

He really hoped this wasn't some sort of elaborate trap because he was already attached. He wondered what the odds were for him to convince Loki to extend his vacation after this…

"Now, as riveting as this conversation is, we do have a rather pressing matter on our hands," Loki reminded him. "One that I would like to resolve as quickly as possible lest-"

"LOKI!!"

"Oh for fuck's s-"

He didn't get to finish before he was thrown against a wall.

[magpie-to-the-morning]

your kink headcanons……….left me speechless for a minute. idk if you take requests but could you expand/write more on the dumbification kink for din because ever since reading that, it’s like I definitely see it for him. Especially where you’re so gone all that’s coming out is garbled moans and mumblings of half words and din’s responding back to you, between each sound you make with “I know” “I know” “it’s so good , I know pretty girl” and just gives it to you so good because he knows you need this, you get anxious and stressed because you’re always thinking always trying to figure things out and din can practically hear you thinking, and he just wants you to forget everything, even your own name. And when he finally lets up on you and asks how you feel as you’re still quivering and shaking, all you can manage is saying is name over and over again.

Oh man I feel like you’ve already done a great job of it 🥵I gave it a whirl tho 🖤

Explicit/NSFW

I can absolutely see all of this. Din is a caretaker and if he sees you all up in your own head about something, he knows that sometimes the best way to help you is to give you a break. You’re smart, and capable, and can solve this problem yourself but dank ferrik, he hates to see you twisting yourself up in knots over it.

He calls you over to him when he sees how frazzled you are and pulls you onto his lap. There’s no one else there so he pulls off his helmet to nuzzle against your neck and kiss you while he rubs your stiff neck. “You’re thinking so hard I can hear it, cyare. Want me to help turn your brain off for a bit?”

Relief and arousal flood you (he’s already pitched his voice low and soft and commanding, the way he knows you like it). “Oh, yes please.”

“There’s my good girl.”

Before you can do anything other than preen at his praise he’s hauling you off to your shared cabin. He undresses you slowly, only letting you help to unbuckle his armor because he knows how much you love the intimacy of that ritual and honestly, so does he. When you try to drop to your knees in front of him he pulls you back up.

“Not tonight.”

He lays you down on the bed and gets to work opening you up. He takes his time, kissing you until you go boneless beneath him, worshipping your tits until you’re whining and rubbing your thighs together.

“Ready for more?”

“Fuck, Din, if you don’t touch me soon I am going to combust.”

He chuckles, his broad palms pulling your legs apart. If you can still string so many words together he hasn’t done his job - yet.

“So wet for me,” he hums in approval, running the tip of one big finger up your dripping slit. Taking pity on you when you whine, he gives you what you need, filling you with one digit, then two, then three, massaging you from the inside out and rubbing that spot that makes you squirm and buck your hips.

It’s not until he’s made you come a couple times that he asks again: “More?”

Your eyes have gone glassy and you’re panting, sweat glistening at your temples but you manage to get the words out all the same. “Yeah.” It comes out as a whine. “I need it, please Din give me your cock.”

And oh, he does. He pushes into you, swallowing your every gasp and moan, his mouth hungry against your own. He’s not satisfied until you’re a babbling, incoherent mess beneath him.

“Does that feel good, mesh’la?”

This time, all you can manage is to nod furiously, a whine escaping your lips.

“Oh, good girl,” he praises, fucking you harder and watching the way your beautiful face crumples with pleasure. “Taking my big cock so well. There’s not a thought in that pretty little head right now, is there?”

You shake your head, a blissed out smile on your lips. You’re answering him automatically now, his words drifting to you through a haze of all-consuming pleasure.

Din shifts his hips, driving himself into you at an angle that makes you cry out and clutch at him for support.

“I know baby, I know,” he rumbles sympathetically. “It’s so much, isn’t it? You can take it though, my good girl.”

He traces your lips with a finger, which you suck eagerly into your mouth. He gives you another, completely captivated by the way your plush mouth gives beneath him, warm and wet and willing. It’s not long before you’re drooling around his fingers and he nearly comes at the sight of his strong, capable partner going to pieces beneath him, knowing he’s the only one who gets to see you this way.

“That’s it,” he urges, fucking you even harder now. “I’ve got you, sweet thing. Come for me.”

Your legs begin to shake as you fall apart even further, and the only thought that comes back to you as you reach your edge is a thin wail of his name.

It’s too much for Din. With a growl of your own name he comes, hard, the feeling of his pulsing spend rolling you straight into a second climax. He collapses on top of you with an exaggerated oomph, his comforting weight and playful actions making you giggle.

“Din, I have to get back to work.” You push half-heartedly at his shoulders, tired amusement in your voice. You don’t want to get up, not really, and he damn well knows it. 

He nips at your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck and making you laugh some more. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, mesh’la.” 

His words rumble through you like thunder, half threat and all promise, and after another weak stab at responsibility you're all too happy to give yourself over completely to Din for the rest of the night. 

By the next morning, you’re well-rested enough to tackle the same problem that had plagued you the night before while Din looks on in silent pride. 

[peakyblindersxx]

just seen your tags and hate sex can be with a wife reader as well if you get my vibe 🖐🏻 especially some season one tommy and a reader that would be a bit like esme 😁

no, you don't have to treat it like a request... unless...

reminder - tommy shelby x wife!reader

gif by @thesoldiersminute i think i owe you two cakes now cause holy shit.... no words

a/n: good lord, the gif that started this all... anyways my darling lily <3 i hope you enjoy this!! i sure as fuck enjoyed writing it. this might have gotten a little out of hand (ie: very self indulgent) but what the hell.... btw i'm still working on requests (yes they're still open) for a variety of characters, i have a bunch i'm super excited about!!

love, abi xxx

tagging: @lilymurphy03

warnings: nsfw!! smut, reader & tommy being mean to each other, slight praise kink (who am i kidding), choking, this is just.....absolute filth

It was almost midnight, shadows cast across Tommy’s office only by the dimly lit lamps scattered across the spacious room. You sat in his leather chair in your favorite silk slip, a deep purple number all the way from China that made you feel almost daring, a scowl adorning your carefully painted lips, refilling your crystal glass with Tommy’s stupid gin. He was late again, for the hundredth time this month, it’d seemed; pushing you over the precipice from bitterness into anger. Who was he to neglect you, the one who’d constantly dealt with his shit, often joining him in digging himself out of it? Without question, without any complaint? And here you sat, alone, night after night, hating yourself for staring out the window, desperately waiting for a glimpse of headlights to come rumbling up the driveway.

This night, however, it’d seemed was full of surprises, as the bright lights on Tommy’s Bentley almost blinded you as he came racing up the pavement, a clear sign that today hadn’t gone well. Your thoroughly bruised ego, however, could care less. You refused to rise from your position in his high-backed chair; instead waiting for him to stomp up the stairs and find you. The door creaked open, Tommy having no physical reaction to you perched in his seat, choosing to first pour himself a glass of whiskey before lighting a cigarette, piercing blue eyes finally meeting your gaze. Despite all the resentment you harbored, he still looked like a fucking dream come true to you, muscles flexing under his white dress shirt as he twisted the bottle of whiskey open once more, refilling his now empty class.

“Should I even ask, or are you just going to start screaming?”

You scoffed, shooting the rest of your gin. “Like you’ve been around enough to even know how I feel.”

Tommy’s brow furrowed as he took another drag from his cigarette. “Maybe if you weren’t spending so much time flirting with my fucking cousin, I would.”

Fuck being polite, you thought. “Look, I’m sorry that you’ve got some sort of inferiority complex when it comes to Michael but if you haven’t noticed, I’ve been so busy raising our god damn children to be fucking about. Sue me if he actually asks how I’m feeling.” Tommy’s eyebrow raised, and you took another sip of gin, the liquor loosening your ambiguity. “Probably treat me better than this, anyway.”

Fuck. You hadn’t meant that, but it was too late now. In an instant, after carefully extinguishing the last of his cigarette, you were pinned up against the wall, Tommy’s whiskey-addled breath mingling with yours as he slipped his thigh in between your legs, pressing against your core.

“Think he could do better than me, eh?” He practically growled, taking a pause to suck a bruise into the soft skin where your neck met your shoulder. “Think he could take care of you like I do? Fuck you better, even?”

“How should I know? Can’t even remember the last time you touched me,” You snapped back, yet the way you leaned into his touch revealed your true emotions. You couldn’t help but melt under Tommy’s affection, even after all these years. He practically drove you insane, but you could never hide that you loved it. Loved him.

“M’just gonna have to show you then,” he grunted, quickly ridding you of your slip and tossing it aside, leaving you naked except for a pair of black lace panties as you fumbled at his belt buckle, yearning to feel his skin on yours. “Remind you who you belong to.”

Tommy wasn’t gentle in the way he tossed you on the desk, practically ripping off the last article of clothing you wore, almost offended that it was in his way before pinning your hips down, sinking to his knees, tongue lapping at your slit as if he craved you. You couldn’t help the cry that fell from your lips, hands twisting in his hair, tugging hard enough to cause him to groan into your pulsing cunt. He paused only to slip a finger inside of you, curling his finger slightly to press up against your g-spot, causing you to jolt in pleasure, gasping, your eyes squeezing shut.

“Look at me, Y/N,” Tommy demanded, jaw clenched, waiting until your eyes flickered open to close his lips around your clit, sucking lightly as he added another finger, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of you. The noise that left your mouth was obscene, earning a chuckle from Tommy, sending vibrations through your body. God, you were already close, and he hadn’t even been touching you for five minutes.

“Tommy, I…” You trailed off as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, letting go of your sensitive nub to watch you, back arched as your hands gripped at the sheets for leverage.

“Tell me who makes you feel this good, and I’ll let you cum.” You let out a whine, eyes rolling back from the pads of his fingers bumping up against your g-spot, Tommy cracking a smug smile at your wanton desperation. “You can do better than that, sweetheart.”

“You do,” You managed to get out, thighs tightening around his head as he began to flick his tongue across your clit. “Fuckin’ christ, Tommy,” you swore at him, gasping for air. “M’yours, please…”

All too quickly, Tommy stopped his ministrations, only to press his hard cock against your dripping core, body against yours, reveling in the way you squirmed underneath him, desperate for him to do something already, for christ’s sake. His right hand made its way around your neck, squeezing hard enough to send stars across your vision as you gasped for air.

“You’re fucking mine,” Tommy grunted, savoring the way you moaned audibly at his words. “You gonna be good for me, darlin’?” You hated the way you didn’t even think, just nodded in response as he entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust to him.

“God, you look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock in you,” Tommy swore, causing your cheeks to redden at the praise. “Can’t believe I let you go this long without fuckin’ you senseless like you deserve to be.”

“Tom,” You cried out as he started to move himself in and out of you, causing your cunt to squeeze around him.

“Still think he can do better, love?” He groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, quickening his pace, sending your eyes rolling back into your head. You shook your head vigorously, unable to form words as he pumped himself in and out of you, your nails scratching at his broad shoulders.

“Only want you,” You managed to get out, every brush of Tommy’s cock against your g-spot sending you closer to your orgasm. His eyes softened slightly, but his thrusts seemed to get even faster, cries freely falling from your slightly agape lips.

“That’s my girl,” Tommy crooned, watching you come undone all over him, seeming to only fuel his relentless pace as he fucked himself into you, your eyelids fluttering as he fucked you through yet another orgasm, the feeling of you unable to help but release yet again sending him over the edge, pumping you full of him. After a moment, he pulled himself out of you, eyes glued on his release dripping out of you before meeting your half-lidded eyes with his.

“M’fuckin’ sorry,” He blurted out, the vulnerability of coming undone infront of you lowering his guard, lowering his blue eyes to the carpet as he reached into his desk drawer to grab a rag, gently cleaning you up.

“Me too,” you admitted, reaching up to fix the strands of hair sticking up at the back of Tommy’s head from where you had tugged it.

“I’ll do better, alright? I fuckin’ promise,” He murmurred, pressing his lips to yours.

“Only if you promise to fuck me like this more often.”

[burnedbyshoto]

for want of a bento box

– It’s plain and simple, you see, someone is stealing your bento boxes and you will find your lunch thief! Or, in which Todoroki Shouto keeps taking your bento box and you declare war. 

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pairing: todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: fluff, cursing, shouto is a bad chef, I believe I made reader pretty gender neutral but I whipped this out in two hours and I can no longer remember if I used any fem!pronouns but im pretty sure I didn’t

word count: 3,060

a/n: this is for the wonder coworker bnharem collab! I had intended on writing a completely different theme and storyline but was very overwhelmed by how much time it actually needed to be written compared to the amount of time I actually had. that version will be out another time! but for now, enjoy some pure flufffffff!!!!

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Having a normal, functioning, well-paying job was probably the most desirable thing to you. It wasn’t to say that you were slacking or that you were homeless, broke, and never to be seen again because you were that in debt. But it was nice having a job!

When you entered the prestigious Toshinori Company, you joined not as an entry-level job employee but as a senior representative. You thought it was crazy.

It had to be crazy.

You had no prior experience, and now you were going to be in charge and the lead in certain areas?!

“And that was the entire layout of the office!” Mina chirped happily, throwing herself onto the desk chair across from yours with a big smile. “Any questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you mutter, brows creased as you look around the room again. 

The office space was ample, sleek, open. Each desk has its own grand computer that you currently could not afford with your own money, comfortable chairs, and beautiful wood desks. It was elegant, far superiorly fancy, and yet, you didn’t feel out of place. Strange.

“Oh!” you say with a roll of your eyes as you reach below your desk to bring up your packed lunch. “Where was the break room again? I need to refrigerate my food!”

“Omg, of course, come this way!” Mina grins, standing up and motioning you to follow her. You smile gratefully and do. 

The entire way to the office, Mina takes the time to point at the many different people on the floor and give them names. Everyone so far had sort of acknowledged you earlier as Mina was giving you the official tour. Some were much more open and friendly, and some had sneers or blank stares that left you dumbstruck. 

Definitely a personable group.

“Hm, well, I guess Todoroki-kun isn’t here today?” Mina mutters as you enter the break room that has couches and comfortable-looking chairs. “Such a shame! You would have loved to see the office hottie!”

You snort at that, lips curled into a granulous smile as you place your plastic container with food into the fridge. “I’m sure I’ll live,” you brush off the fact that there was an absent person on your floor today.

“That’s the thing, though,” Mina points a finger at you, a lone eyebrow raised and a confident smirk on her face. “You won’t be thinking that again the moment you see him!”

You laugh, eyes crinkling as Mina joins your laughter. Eventually, she motions for the both of you to leave, and you nod in understanding. And with a weird sense of comfort and belonging, you realized that this job was going to be good. 

.

.

Eventually, you had been working at Toshinori Company for two months.

Sixty-two days to be precise, and in all that time, you had only met Todoroki Shouto once. Even then, you had only seen the man walking through the office with a blank face, fingers in his pockets as two other men were walking in front of him, bickering lightly.

Had Mina not quite literally thrown herself across the table and gripped the collar of your shirt and twisted your head to look at him, you would have never caught a glimpse at the man with red and white hair. The three of them walked into the break room and came back out with their own lunches before leaving.

And that was it.

You had learned that the three of them (Todoroki Shouto, Midoriya Izuku, and Bakugou Katsuki) were within your department but worked very closely with the very high up members within the company. Many rumors pointed at one of the three taking over the company when the current CEO stepped down. They were, however, on the roster for your floor; they just never appeared except to pick up their lunches. Something they seemed to come to grab whenever you were a) way too fucking busy or b) not in the room.

You weren’t too bothered, though.

It wasn’t like you were trying to date one of them! You had only wanted to say hi.

.

.

.

Now, at ninety days, you had your first and probably most crucial evaluation. 

Toshinori Yagi, the man who founded and currently ran this company, sat before you, looking at papers within a folder with tired but kind blue eyes. He nodded, impressed (hopefully), making small comments about the work you had been able to accomplish, a smile becoming a warming grin as he looked up.

“I’m impressed by the performance you’ve managed to attend to despite the short while you’ve been here, y/l/n-shojo,” Toshinori spoke, his fingers threading together and placing them onto the table. “I knew it was an excellent decision to put you in that position, and you exceeded my entire expectation!”

You flushed at that, lips twitching as you attempted to suppress that smile of yours. 

“Thank you, Toshinori-san,” you practically wheeze as he waves off your thanks.

“No need to thank me, you’ve done all this work!” he laughs, tired eyes closing with a glorious supply of crow's feet blooming at the corner of his eyes. “Typically, at these evaluations, I ask a bunch of questions because there isn’t too much anyone can do in their first ninety days, I must admit.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, but because I am curious, is there anything that has been happening as of late that you feel needs to be addressed with me?”

You felt yourself stiffen but knew your one and only complaint was not something to bring up in this setting.

“No, nothing,” you shrug, and Toshinori beams.

“I’m glad!”

Now, the problem.

The big, fat, stinky, hooligan, wanting to throttle someone problem.

For the past sixty of your ninety days, someone has been stealing your lunch.

Yes, you heard that correctly; someone was stealing your damn lunch! Every morning you woke up and prepared a delicious bento box for yourself. Some days you went as far as cutting shapes into your fruits and veggies just to make yourself grin. You weren’t the best chef in the world, but your bento boxes were pretty enough to make up for it, in your opinion. But the thing is, every day when you went into the communal fridge, you noticed two things.

One, your bento box was no longer in the same place, and two, the bento box was not yours at all.

The food was disastrously organized. Rice and lettuce spilling out in every partition in the box. The fruit and veggies often packed in this box had multiple cuts in them, implying that whoever did this was less than ideal with a knife. The meat was often oversalted, the sushi never sitting together, and everything was just… not it.

The first time you had sighed and eaten it, grumbling about how your precious lunch was stolen. But you had quickly figured out that it was inedible, and Mina, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu thank god, offered to share their meals. 

Seeing that you were distressed about how someone stole your egg and octopus sausages one day, Mina declared that they would watch the break room for whoever was stealing your light blue bento box. The first day you staked out, you had done it with Mina. But ten minutes into waiting around, you needed to pee. So you stood up and left in a hurry, leaving Mina alone.

But when you returned, Mina was gone, instead standing by Kirishima’s desk with a bright grin and a stance that screamed that she heard something she liked (gossip, possible in-office romance, a love confession?). Her jaw dropped as she noticed you and Kirishima had turned and waved in your direction as you raced into the break room to open the fridge, and sure enough, your bento was gone.

The next time, you staked out with Uraraka. Your arms were folded, your bladder cleared, and your lips twisted into a pout as you glared and stared down every single member who entered the room. Uraraka whispered to you her guesses about just who might be the thief, every other person rating an 8/10 likelihood of stealing your lunch.

But as the both of you sat there, your eyes narrowed at each passerby, no one came to collect your bento today.

“Deku-kun, no packed lunch today?” Uraraka asked as the green, curly-haired man you had only met once previously raced into the break room, grabbing the extra chopsticks meticulously hidden in the third bottom draw.

“Ah, Uraraka-san, y/l/n-san! Uh, no,” Midoriya greeted you both, who apparently responds to the nickname Deku, laughs off as he grabs a handful of napkins. “Todoroki-kun left all our lunches in his car by accident, and well… they spoiled… Kacchan’s pissed, so I ran off to get lunch for us today!”

Uraraka laughed, shaking her head, “Leave it to Todoroki-kun to act that way.”

Midoriya laughed, bright and clearly in agreement, “You should have seen his face when Kacchan asked for his lunch! I swear–”

“HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GRAB FUCKING CHOPSTICKS, SHIT-KU! I’M FUCKING STARVING!” a voice roared from nowhere near the entrance of the break room. You did, however, jump a bit, eyes turning toward the break room entrance to see the blond man (Bakugou? Kacchan? You had no idea which was correct) near the entrance of the floor. 

“It’s only been a minute, Kacchan, relax!” Midoriya laughs, completely unaffected by the startling shout as he waves goodbye to both you and Uraraka before leaving, joining Bakugou as the both of them seem to talk comfortably… well, maybe more like bickering.

“Why are they–”

“Childhood friends, apparently,” Uraraka sighed, but the smile on her face betrays her exasperation.

No one stole your bento that day.

Yaoyorozu took up the third stake out, the two of you idly chatting about tea. You honestly had no idea what to talk about with Yaomomo; she was often just so elegant and mature despite being your age. When you learned that her family was in charge of the Yaoyorozu Corp, it had been strangely easy to accept that. 

It made sense.

So as the two of you stood at the kitchen sink, boiling water for tea Yaomomo swore would be the best matchup for your packed nigiri, the both of you missed the man who walked into the room, opened the fridge, and took your lunch.

“I… I am so sorry,” Yaomomo apologized, head bowed dangerously low as the both of you looked at the sloppily cut salmon in your not actual bento. “Please eat my food in reparation.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sigh, chewing on the somehow still warm salmon. “I deserved this loss.”

Luck was just on this man's side, it seemed. No matter what you did, you could never catch the man in action, and you were ready to give up.

But this was the last attempt you said to yourself as you returned to your office floor, the evaluation done, and the rest of your life coming to light. You could do this. No! You WOULD do this!

.

.

“Why don’t you just put your name on your bento box?” Bakugou asked, a lone eyebrow raised in what you could only assume was judgment and pity. The explosive man was standing in the doorway of the breakroom, watching as you and Mina were trying to climb up the counters of the breakroom to grab the camera you had previously planted. “Obviously, it doesn’t have your name on it.”

“Um,” you squeak, having been obviously caught by someone who intimidated you just the slightest bit. “That’s a good idea, thank you, Bakugou-san.”

“Tch, whatever, just clean up the damn counters, fucking nasty standing up on there. Some people prepare their food there.”

“We would never forget to do that!” you argue, desperate to not leave a bad impression on this man.

“I don’t know much about you, but I know raccoon eyes over there would.”

“MY NAME IS MINA!”

“Like I care.”

He left without so much as a wave but did seem to nod with his departure. You sighed as you hopped off the counter, Mina grabbing the cleaning supplies as she cursed out the long-gone man under her breath. 

But you were looking at the fridge with your missing bento box.

“I can’t believe I never put my name on it.”

“It’s okay! Not even Yaomomo thought of it, so I say we are still smart!”

.

.

.

It was the next day, you were at your desk, anxious as hell as you did your work, trying not to focus on the fact that it was lunchtime and you were actively avoiding the break room. You wondered if they wouldn’t come and collect it today. If somehow they were an asshole and wouldn’t care if your name was on it! What would happen then? What if it was someone like Bakugou who was taking your lunch? What then? You were sure you would cave in slight fear and major intimidation if he said that your lunch was his now.

“Want a cutie while we wait, cutie?” Mina asked, waving the small tangerine in her fingers as she grins.

“Please,” you say in gratitude for the food because you were starving. “Thank you.”

Eventually, you lost track of what was happening, becoming all too invested in the conversation that Mina was telling you about that involved Kaminari, Kirishima, Bakugou, Midoriya, twenty-seven Red Bulls, fifteen Monsters, and five shots of sake. It seemed that the former two were quite big instigators when they wanted to be, and the latter two were unable to back away from challenges, especially when the other was involved.

“Y/l/n?” an unfamiliar voice called from behind you, and you turned partially in your chair as you looked behind you.

Standing behind you was a tall man with red and white hair, and from this distance, you noticed immediately that his eyes were a deep grey and brilliant blue.

Todoroki Shouto.

“T-Todoroki-san!” you greet him back, voice unable to keep from trembling as your nerves shot up. What was going on? You two had never interacted before! He was always gone, never present, and whenever he was in the office, it seemed that you weren’t there.

He cleared his throat and raised up two identical bento boxes.

“It seems… I have apparently been stealing your bento boxes,” he concludes, pressing the blue bento box with your name written on it into your hands.

Your jaw drops as your fingers curve around the cool plastic, eyes blinking up a storm as you try to abstain from laughing high pitched and ugly like. 

“It was you?!”

A pink color blooms onto his cheeks as he averts his eye contact with you and nods slowly, “I am so sorry.”

“I just… how?!” you exclaim, exasperated, this man obviously being a bit dense if he had no idea he was taking your bento box!

“I prepare my bento boxes the night before, and I don’t really remember what I put into them….” Todoroki explains slowly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his tongue clicking the roof of his tongue. “I just thought that my cooking was improving and that I was somehow doing an amazing job.”

The grin that overcomes your face is one of subtle, strange fondness and soft warmth. “I can tell you that you probably haven’t improved much,” you tease, opening your bento box to see your prepared meal for the day. 

Cucumber salad, bulgogi beef, rice, and some fruit.

It was packed exactly how you remembered.

“I can’t believe I finally get to eat a meal I prepared,” you continue to tease, your eyes moving up to meet Todoroki, who was also looking at your bento previously. “Thank you for returning my meals and apologizing.”

“It was nothing,” Todoroki waved off with a single hand before opening up his own disastrously assembled bento box. It looked worse than usual today. Everything was just thrown in, it seemed. You saw egg and rice, but everything else in there was indescribable. He smiles at you before sighing at his bento. “This looks more like my stuff.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “You want to share my bento box? I’m sure you probably don’t want to return to that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Todoroki gently declined, although he looked at your bento with great want. He cleared his throat, gaze moving to lock on yours, and you swore his cheeks were still pink but no longer from embarrassment. “I just wanted to come and apologize for stealing your lunch for so long and to thank you for the meals; they were all delicious. Especially the soba you had made.”

“It’s all good; it’s in the past now,” you say gently, somehow finding yourself falling for a man you’ve barely just begun to talk with. The both of you stare at each other, and your skin feels warm. You chuckle, gaze averting for a moment before returning as you tease him. “Although, if you steal from me again, I’m not so sure if I’ll be so lenient.”

“It won’t happen again, promise,” Todoroki smiles, and you feel your spine melt. “But I would love to make it up to you somehow. I can make you dinner one night or something?”

You laugh, head shaking, “No, absolutely not; I don’t trust your cooking skills just yet. But you can definitely take me out to dinner.”

“Yeah, I can definitely do that,” Todoroki agrees, and the both of you fall silent as the shy stares continue. “Does, um… is Friday at seven okay with you?”

“That works,” you say, and Todoroki smiles.

“Good, I’ll uh, see you then?”

“See you,” you agree with a sweet smile before turning around, your fingers raised in a small wave. 

You turn to see Mina, Uraraka, and Yaomomo staring at you, eyes comically wide and so very intrigued.

“Oh… my… GOD!” Mina shrieked as Todoroki walks away, and you shriek as she jumps across the table and shakes you, screaming about office romances and meet-cutes being entirely too underrated. “PROMISE ME I’LL BE INVITED TO THE WEDDING!!!!”

“MINA!”

.

.

.

.

.

It would take about three years of dating, several months of teaching Shouto how to cook, which resulted in a few bellyaches. Still, eventually yes, Mina would be invited to your wedding.

[valentina-writes]

Craving

A/N: Sorry, that I haven't posted in quite a while! I was lacking motivation a little bit and had a ton of other stuff to do. This one here was not requested, but the idea for it was stuck in my head for a couple days now and I couldn't concentrate on writing anything else. I will probably write some of the open requests soon.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: light smut (only a few paragraphs)

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„Come on, Y/N, we‘re waiting for you!”. Cassian’s voice is calling out to you from the dance floor. Behind him, you spot Mor, looking seriously offended you’re leaving her alone and instead sitting in a corner of Rita’s with a not even half-finished drink in your hand. Rhys and Feyre must be here somewhere too.

Even Azriel is on the dance floor, a rare sight. You can’t help but stare at him, the way his wings glow faintly in the glimmering lights of the club. His body that moves so flawlessly to the rhythm, so unlike the movements you are used to see him perform when training.

Fingers entangled in your hair, the hot feeling of his lips on yours. His voice in your ear, telling you he would take you slowly.

You shake your head as if to get rid of the memory, but still blush as Azriel’s gaze meets yours for a second.

“I’m sorry guys, but I don’t feel like dancing today”, you excuse yourself. That being said, you set down your glass and quickly escape out into the night.

Inhaling the cold air slowly, you try to calm down. It’s not his fault, you remind yourself, that you can’t seem to get over him. That you start thinking in an inappropriate way as soon as your eyes meet.

His lips met your neck, kissing and sucking on it. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, your body begging for him to come closer. As his kisses travel downward you cannot help but moan out his name.

“Y/N is everything okay?”, Mor calls out to you. The fantasy in your head is gone, leaving you restless, yearning for him.

“Yes, I’m fine”, you say, not looking up.

“No, you’re not and you know that”. She’s close enough to see your face now. “What’s wrong?”, she asks. Her eyes soften as she hugs you. Mor must have seen your despair.

“I- it’s nothing, really”. At her strict look, you wince a little bit. You want to tell her. But it’s just so embarrassing.

“I had sex. With Azriel”, you start over, taking a deep breath. But before you can continue, she exclaims: “By the Mother, that’s awesome! When? Why didn’t you tell me?”.

A tear builds up in your eye and before you know it, you’re crying into her shoulder.

“It- it… it was a couple years ago”, you finally manage to say. By now all you can really feel is embarrassment. “And it’s not awesome. Well, it was. But-“. You start sobbing again.

“It was a one-night stand. He… acts as if nothing ever happened, but I can’t stop thinking about it and whenever he looks at me, I-“. You stop talking. It sounds absolutely idiotic, even to you.

But Mor doesn’t look bewildered. Instead, she hugs you even tighter, rubbing your back slightly.

“What happens then, sweetie?”, she asks.

Sighing, you gulp down your embarrassment: “I miss him. A lot. He’s still there, of course. But afterwards he stopped talking to me the way he did before. We’re not as close anymore. And above all I not only miss our friendship …”, your cheeks heat up again, “Since him I’ve never had sex THAT good again, so I stopped having any altogether. And now I’m not only missing him and kind of into him, I’m also sexually frustrated and lonely”.

You did have sex with other males in the succeeding weeks. But none of them had been able to give you the same feeling he did. That indescribable feeling of closure and … being loved. Even though he most likely didn’t love you, because it took him a month to even look at you again.

Mor’s face is a mix of amusement and empathy: “Like… no sex in years? For a guy who fucked you so good but then what? Ignored you? Even though there was this feeling that nobody else could give you?”. You nod, and she actually starts laughing. “Honey, if you weren’t that sad it would be hilarious, because it sure as hell sounds like he’s your mate”.

Your entire world shifts in that moment.

Your sweaty bodies are tangled in his sheets, gasping for air. Azriel’s shadows swirling around you, purring in your ears. With his final thrust, the world around you seems to fade away. There’s just him and you, for a second you don’t even know where his body ends and yours begins anymore.

Shocked, you look at her. “I… that kind of makes sense? But he would’ve talked to me then, wouldn’t he? I … I’m so confused right now”.

Your thoughts are running wild. Was this the reason he ignored you? Because he was overwhelmed? Was he waiting for you to make the first step? Or… Or was he not interested in the bond and wanted to reject it?

“Y/N? Mor? Is everything alright? Rhys told me to look after you, you’ve been gone for quite a while now”. You quickly wipe away your tears at Azriel’s voice. What should you tell him?

Mor winks at you, already making her way back towards the entrance: “Everything alright, shadowsinger. You might want to stay and talk to Y/N for a second though”.

And just like that, Mor vanishes, leaving me alone with Azriel. His wings are slightly shuffling behind his back and his gaze on me looks worried.

“So, uhm what did Mor mean?”. His shadows are coiling closely around his arms, showing how uncomfortable he is.

You inhale slowly, making sense of your thoughts. You find no good solution, so you just decide to start at the beginning.

“A couple of years ago we… after a celebration for you when you came home from a mission we had sex. Do you remember?”. It was almost painful to say this while watching him. Not only was the atmosphere incredibly tense, but also the possibility of him actually having forgotten about it made you sad.

He frowned a little, “I do remember, Y/N. Quite well, actually. But I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me”. For a second, you believe to see a certain hunger in his eyes. An expression you had only seen once on him before.

Nodding, you continue, “There was this… this feeling back then. Something I’ve never felt before. And nobody else has been able to make me feel the same way. I told Mor about it…”

You can’t finish your sentence, he cuts in sharply, “Why are you telling Mor this after years?”. And to himself, almost inaudible, he murmurs, “Don’t think about the other males”. The anger on his face is devastating.

You are absolutely terrified, but know you have to tell him. So, you muster up all of your courage and speek the words aloud that had been on your mind ever since, “Because I am in love with you. Because I don’t know what I should do about this, as you’re so distant all the time. And I cannot take this anymore, I miss you. I hate seeing you with other females. When I can’t fall asleep I think about this connection I felt that night”.

The pure shock on his face quickly gives way to a broad smile. “And what Mor meant is that… when I talked to her and described that feeling to her, she said we are most probably mates”. The last word is purely a whisper hanging in the air between you two. Mates.

And then, without hesitation, he begins to talk. “The first time I felt the bond was about two weeks before that night, when I said goodbye to you before that mission. It was so painful to leave you behind…”

“Hold up, you knew of the bond?”, you question him. Guilt creeps upon his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you ignore me for weeks after we had sex? Do you know what this did to me? All these years and you didn’t bother to just talk to me?”. Hot tears again spill over your cheeks.

He comes closer, as to wipe your tears away, but you back away.

“Y/N, I thought you didn’t want the bond. That you rejected it. Or worse, that it was only one-sided, because I couldn’t feel you across it. Rhys told me that the safest way to know was to just sleep with you, because then the bond normally clears up, but it didn’t work. At least I thought so”. The look on his face is pleading, but still, all you feel is anger and loneliness.

“So you only slept with me because Rhys told you so?”.

“No! I did it, because I love you and wanted you, truly. I still wished that the mating bond would reveal itself. And when I thought that it hadn’t worked, I couldn’t bear to be around you. I was so angry at the Cauldron, because I felt unworthy. Again. Imagine being in my situation. Having a mate, but the bond not working completely, the other person unaware of what’s going on! I did what I had to do to protect myself”.

The vulnerability in his statement catches you absolutely off guard. A small smile formed on your face, as you walk a few steps towards him.

“Maybe we weren’t ready back then. Maybe it kept us waiting, because it knew we would need the time to work things out”, you suggest, closing the distance between you and him.

His eyes twinkle in the starlight, as he lowers his head, “Well, there’s only one way of finding out”, he says as he cradles your head in his hands. Slowly, he comes closer and closer, until you can’t endure the tension anymore and slam your lips on his.

His lips are velvet on yours, only intensifying the kiss after a few seconds. He holds himself back, almost painfully so. But you are yearning for him, for his touch. And as you licked his lower lip and he grants you access to his mouth, you felt it again. The euphoria racing through your veins. And as you kept kissing, it was as if a fog lifts itself and all of a sudden you can feel him, not only against your body, but also against your soul, interlocking with it.

He must have felt the same thing, as we both gasp for air almost at the same time. Azriel’s mouth twists into a smile as he kisses me again. His wings are now wrapped around you, obscuring you from any passers-by.

“I’ve waited 500 years to find you, my mate”, he says. The word echoing through me. Mate. Mate. Mate. You still can’t believe this is actually happening, as you send a wave of love across the bond. “But I would have waited 500 more for you. For this moment alone”.

At this, you kiss him again, unable to express your emotions any other way. “Let’s end this journey how we began it, shall we? With me in your bed”.

[felswritingfire]

That april brain rot with the three in one brain cell hit me with all the emotions. Would you be willing to write a continuation with the boys getting revenge for the reader?? I am out for some blood 😾😾😾😾

I... I may have gone off the deep end with this lmao.

But, Ace, Deuce, Grim, and everyone else in Heartlabyul have a tad bit of Yandere tendency, hope you don't mind jslkdfjldkf

The first part if anyone's curious!

TW: Yandere tendencies; descriptions of violence; Cussing; Possessiveness; Threats

It wasn't easy finding him- the bastard who did this. Ace had to do some fine digging to find out where he ran off to and even then he needed Cater's help (who didn't mind one bit, he was almost too eager) to find him hiding in the Dwarves house that the four of you officially became friends at.

Ace scowls at this realization, watching as the student cowered and squirmed under Deuce's shoe. "Oi, Juice-"

"What?" It probably came out a lot harder than Deuce was intending, but Ace really didn't mind, he understood the feeling.

It took a moment for Ace to continue, his sharp eyes taking in the way the boy whimpered in pain as Deuce dug his heel deeper into his spine. "Don't beat him up here-" he gestured around, waiting as green-blue eyes took in the familiar cob webs and worn wood- "got too many good memories and all that mushy stuff, you know?"

Duece nodded, his gaze dull as it focused back on the boy. "Yeah. But where are we gonna go?"

They stood there mulling over their limited options before they heard a snicker. Turning to Grim who floated behind them, Ace raised an eyebrow. "What? You got an idea, Raccoon?"

"Of course the Great Grim has an idea!" Grim kept snickering as his hind feet touched the ground, walking over to the trembling figure on the floor. His pupils where almost pin pricks as he stared down at him. "Why not take him to the cave?"

"C- cave?" The boy trembled, a bit of red dribbling from his split lip from where Deuce had socked him.

Ace let out a laugh- something mean and ugly. "We could! Just tie him up and wait for that thing to come and rip him to shreds right?"

Deuce hummed. "But Riddle told us not to do anything too nasty."

Ace slung an arm over his friend's shoulder, red eyes leering down at the round eyes of the boy. "He also said nothing that could be our fault- and, how would it be our fault if goldilocks here pulled some stupid shit and decided to fuck with some sort of monster, hm?"

Deuce's eyebrows twitched. His grin turned wicked as he nodded, "yeah, some dumbass thinking they're all that and getting screwed over... it'd be a pretty likely story."

Grim nodded, floating just above the above the boy's terrified face. "And we wouldn't even have to try!"

"W-why?" The student suddenly cried out. Ace couldn't help but stare down at him, the air suddenly getting tense. "Why are you all doing this?"

"What? Are you stupid?" Grim hissed, suddenly scratching the student's eye making him yelp. "You hurt my henchman, there's no other reason!"

"Hench-" he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut tight- "you mean (Y/N)?"

"'You mean (Y/N)?'- who else are we talking about, idiot?"

"Who else did you hurt as badly as them, huh?" Deuce leaned down, grabbing a fistful of the boy's hair, yanking him back hard. The boy winced.

"They- they-" he licked his lips, wheezing for air- "they said no! They should have said yes, it would have been so much easier! We- we're meant to be-" his shaking words bleed into a sudden groan as the fist holding his blond strands tightened to the point that Deuce's leather gloves groaned in protest.

Ace threw his head back laughing, "meant to be? Bull- fucking- shit! You don't know anything about them!" The boy opened his mouth to say something when the side of a polished shoe ended up slamming into his teeth. "You wanna know who does know them? Us. We pretty much now everything about them. If they belonged-" he snorted- "together with anyone, it'd be fucking us."

He reveled at the rage that flashed in those blue eyes, the sheer audacity this idiot had thinking he was something important to you made another snort leave Ace's throat.

Deuce growled, his lips curling. "What're you so pissed about? Is it because Ace is right? That they barely knew your name and then rejected you? What'd you expect?" Deuce suddenly slammed their head down against the rotting floor board and the boy let out a pained shout, Grim giggling in the background. "You expect them to run into your arms? Huh? Dumbass!" He reared his head back and slammed it back down again. There was a worrisome crack, but none of them seemed to care.

"We..." The student whimpered. "We were meant to be something... They would have learned to love me. They would have..."

Grim let out another hiss, blue flames flicking out of the corners of his mouth. "They would have nothin'! My henchman is my henchman! You can't have them! I'll burn you to a crisp if I have to!"

"Don't burn him alive, idiot raccoon." Ace said, grabbing the cat by the back of the scruff. "Remember, we let the monster have it's way with him, remember?"

"Monster?" The familiar voice made the group jump. Ace turned to see Riddle, Trey, and Cater standing in the dilapidated doorway. Riddle's eyebrows raised as he took a step towards them. "There're monsters here?"

"Yeah!" Grim said, a little too happy, "Big and scary! It has a pickaxe!"

"And you're thinking about... giving this one to it?"

"Why not?" Ace shrugged, his eyes shining with a sadistic malice as his gaze floated between the student (who was barely moving now, he figured that he might have been knocked out). "It'd be easy to come up with an excuse as to why he was out here-"

"It really would!" Cater suddenly chimed in, a grin on his lips, "I went diving through his files, turns out he's not as much of a goody-goody as he wants everyone to think!" He pulls out his phone, tapping at his screen before leaning over and showing it to Riddle who's eyebrows raised and eyes widened as he skimmed over the words.

"Ditching- causing multiple fights-" he mumbled, his eyes narrowing the further he went.

"Yep! It'd be really simple!"

"And he deserves it!" Deuce declared, "after everything he put (Y/N) through..." his face twisted into something angry, pupils dilating. "He deserves ten times worse."

"I agree," Trey said, nodding. A sage smile on his face, while he rolled up his sleeves (he had forgone his jacket and vest, only in the thin white undershirt of his uniform tucked into the belted waist of his pants). "So, let's get to doing that, if that's alright with you, dorm leader?"

Riddle nods. "It's only right." His steely eyes open slowly to reveal the rage boiling in them. "Hurting someone so important. It only deserves the most fitting punishment."

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to support me consider donating to my Ko-fi!

[fanfic-scribbles]

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

  ~

 You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

~

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

~

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

~

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

~

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

~

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

~

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

~

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

~

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

~

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

~

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

~

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

~

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

~

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.