#i was in my room aaaaand at the foot of my bed I had a cornered wall of windows and I had put bat stickers on them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haledamage · 3 years

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Oh there are so many good ones, but I’m gonna go with either aspectabund or petrichor for Nadia/Kurt bc I must ENABLE😇

aaaaand here’s the other one 😁 (first one is here)

aspectabund - letting emotion show easily through the face or eyes

have 2000 words of pure hurt/comfort! putting everything including the notes under the cut because it’s pretty spoilerific

Takes place right after the Prince’s Secret/Treason!/Suffering of Constantin parade of earth-shattering revelations. That was a really rough day for De Sardet and I wanted Nadia to get a chance to actually process it before moving on to the next adventure. Nadia/Kurt, pre-relationship but only barely (like, literally the difference of a matter of days. They would have left to deal with Major Hermann in the morning 😉)

---

They had only just stepped into the warmth and relative safety of the De Sardet residence before Nadia left the room with barely a word or glance at any of her companions. Kurt felt her gentle dismissal like a blow to his chest, and the quiet click of her bedroom door latch carved a hollow space behind his rib cage. It didn’t feel right for her to be alone with her sorrows, no matter that at least some of the blame for her pain could be laid squarely at his feet.

He only realized he’d moved to follow her when a hand fell on his shoulder. When he turned to confront its owner, he found Vasco there, his expression grave enough to disperse Kurt’s anger before it had a chance to build. “Best leave her be. She’s had a trying day. Give her time.”

He was right. Kurt knew he was right. That didn’t mean he had to like it, but he tried to listen to his advice nonetheless.

He went to his own room, right across the hall from Nadia’s, and mindlessly stripped off his armor and weapons with the conciseness of routine. He tried not to think too much about the blood he washed off his skin, or if he’d known the person it belonged to; they had made their choice, and so had he.

Clean and dressed, Kurt was out of distractions. He considered patrolling around the property on the off chance that someone lurked with the intent to do Her Excellency harm, but instead of reaching for his sword he found himself reaching for the door handle. His feet carried him across the hall before he’d asked them to. It was only at the terse tap tap tap of his own knock that he realized he was at her door.

The woman who answered the door was not the Nadia de Sardet he thought he knew. He’d known her more than half her life and always she’d been a lively creature, clever and curious and full of mischief. But not now. Now she looked delicate and subdued, her normally bright blue eyes dull and ringed in red, ginger hair bedraggled and falling from its crown. She was still wearing her armor, caked in mud and blood and who knew what else. Her hand clenched tightly on the edge of the door, but it wasn’t enough to hide the way it trembled.

She was beautiful even so. He felt guilty for thinking it at a time like this, but not enough to consider taking it back.

“Kurt.” She tried to smile at him, but it fell far short of believable. Her voice shook like her hands did. “Is something the matter?”

“I think I should be asking you that question.” He clasped his hands behind his back like he was presenting himself to a superior officer for inspection, weighing his words and movements carefully so as not to bludgeon through this. She looked like a strong wind or word would break her entirely. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Even after everything that had happened, she didn’t hesitate before stepping aside in silent invitation. He slipped past her into the room before she could change her mind.

Everything looked completely untouched. A bath had been drawn for her, but the water remained pristine and had been left to cool. Nadia’s sword and rucksack sat in a chair against the wall, but they were the only sign anyone had stepped foot in this room in weeks.

Nadia herself still hovered by the closed door, arms wrapped around herself but shoulders straight. Her voice was stronger but still far too small. “Please tell me you aren’t here with any new world-shattering revelations. I don’t think my heart can take any more.”

“I just wanted to see you,” he assured her quickly. “Check on you, make sure you were…” The last word turned to ash in his mouth. Of course she wasn’t okay. That she was still even trying to smile was nothing short of a miracle.

“I’m fine,” she lied. She made no attempt to make it sound believable.

“No you’re not, Nadia. You don’t have to be.” She sagged, as if him calling her by name had severed the last of the bravado holding her upright. He caught her before she could collapse, one hand on her elbow and the other cupping her cheek. “Let me help you.”

She studied his face for a long moment, though what she was looking for he had no idea. Kurt let her search as long as she wanted, letting his thumb trace a line along the edge of her jaw as she did. He could feel her mark under his fingers, smooth lines and whorls like that of a newly-inked tattoo or the veins of a leaf.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she nuzzled into his hand, letting out a sigh of what sounded like relief. Then, finally, she nodded in assent.

Slowly and carefully, he helped her disrobe. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her naked--bathing in rivers and dressing each other’s wounds were part of the life they led, and he was too old to blush at the sight of a bit of bare skin, no matter who it belonged to. A traitorous part of his mind - one that had grown vocal of late, no matter how much he tried to push it away - wished that the circumstances were different, that he could be undressing her with a different outcome in mind, but he squashed that thought as soon as it arose. He wouldn’t take advantage of her distress like that, would not allow himself to consider such a thing right now.

Nadia was completely compliant under his direction, silent and passive as he removed her armor and led her to the bath. She didn’t so much as flinch at the touch of the cold water as he cleaned the blood and dirt from her skin as gently as possible. Kurt gave her a quick cursory search for injuries, but it seemed she’d at least had the wherewithal to heal herself at some point. Satisfied, he dressed her in fresh clothes and led her to the edge of the bed.

He sat next to her and set about unbraiding her hair. It was tangled and wild, and he considered brushing it for her as well, but didn’t trust himself to be gentle enough to do so without hurting her. Perhaps he should ask one of the others to help with that, later on.

And then Kurt was out of things to do and had no idea what to say to fill the quiet. He shouldn’t linger past his welcome, he told himself, no matter how much he might selfishly wish to remain in her company.

He climbed reluctantly to his feet, but stood in front of her a moment longer to see if she awoke from her trance. She didn’t, and so he reached out to rest his hand on the crown of her head in a way he hoped she found comforting. “Get some rest, Green Blood. If you need anything at all, you come find me. I’m right across the hall.”

Nadia still didn’t answer, and so he sighed and turned to leave.

“Kurt.” Her hand shot out and grabbed his. There was life in her eyes again when he turned back to her. “Thank you. For this and for… everything.” She looked away, distracting herself by tracing the lines of old scars on his hand, her touch light and yet deliberate. Kurt tried not to shiver at the sensation. “I can’t imagine how difficult of a decision it must have been. What you did today. I hope you don’t regret it.”

“The only thing I regret is that I couldn’t tell you sooner.” When Nadia didn’t look back up, he knelt in front of her, raising the hand that she didn’t still cling to up to her face to get her to meet his gaze again. Her eyes shimmered with tears, only barely held at bay. “D’you want to know why I did what I did? Why I chose you over the Coin Guard? Because they tried to order me to kill you, and you are sitting here crying your eyes out worried about how I feel about it.”

He’d told her once that her soft heart would get her killed one day. As it turned out, it may have been what saved her life - or saved his.

Her bottom lip quivered until she clenched her jaw to force it to still, but the action made the tears finally spill over, falling silently down her cheeks. He brushed them away, though more fell to take their place almost immediately. “Though I would bet these tears aren’t all for me, are they, Green Blood?”

She shook her head, though he didn’t really need the confirmation; the last day had brought revelations from every corner, but worst for her would be Constantin’s condition. Her cousin had always been her closest friend, and he might be considered her only real remaining family.

Kurt tried to force a bit of optimism in his voice, though he doubted it was convincing. “He’ll be okay. If anyone can save him, it’s you.”

“I couldn’t save my mother.” Nadia’s voice broke, and with it the last of her composure. “Can I even still call her that?”

Times like this served to remind Kurt that he did in fact still have a heart, because he could feel it break for her. Tears stung the back of his own eyes for a moment before he forced them away and sat on the bed once more, then gathered her into his arms. “Come here. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder with a whimper, gripping his shirt with a surprising strength, and finally let herself go.

Her body shook with the strength of her sobs, as if all of the day’s events struck her at once and tried to tear her asunder. Kurt held her through it all, whispering things he would only half remember if he tried to think of them later, attempts at comfort and confessions and promises that he knew neither of them would ever hold him to.

At some point, they fell back on the bed and Nadia pressed herself to his side like she was made to fit there. He continued to hold her close, stroking her back and hair until she had finally cried herself out and relaxed against him.

“Thank you, Kurt.” She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. It was a familiar motion - Nadia had always been free and easy with her affections when it came to those she cared about - but this time it burned like a brand, leaving a claim on him for the world to see. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and murmured against her hair, “You’ll never have to find out.” It was the easiest oath he’d ever had to make, and he meant it with every bone in his body.

The last of the tension bled out of her, and he could feel her go slack as sleep claimed her at last.

He continued to caress her back for a while longer, the repetitive motion as soothing for him as it clearly was for her. He knew he should leave now that she was asleep, but he still couldn’t quite bring himself to move. He didn’t want to wake her, he reasoned to himself. She shouldn’t be left alone in this state. It would be easier to protect her if he stayed--just in case more trouble came for them.

He was still trying to convince himself when sleep dragged him under too.

#greedfall #nadia de sardet #nadia/kurt #kurt's pov because he is a grumpy stoic man and nadi is an open book with hearts drawn in the margins #so when the prompt said 'showing emotion' I knew it would be her with the emotion not him :P #and then That One Quest happened and now we're here #love the intimacy of non-sexual nudity and any chance I get to write it

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lady-maria-the-wolf225 · 3 years

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Mikey x Fem! reader ch: 2 & 3 (combined)

(Y/N) had no idea who that stranger was. Despite the dangers ahead, she doesn't care much about that. She couldn't stop thinking about those hands however. She has never seen anyone with three fingers in her whole life. Other than that, she wants answers. With a boost of confidence, instead of going home, staying out late should be a breeze. In her opinion to be exact. It was the next morning, and she grabbed some extra food and soda to help her stay up all night as much as possible. School is the same as yesterday. Thankfully she wasn't given any homework today either. She met up with her friends at an after school club and hopes she doesn't forget what she has to do afterwards. After the club has ended, it's time for her to find the mystery stranger.

(Y/N)'s P.O.V

I was walking around trying to find the figure. It was very quiet as usual. There was no sign of anything....nothing. Just myself. I sighed thinking to myself if I would just give up, but I chose not to. I kept on walking far and wide into the streets. That is until I found it. The figure.....it was standing before me. But why? Whatever it may be, I do feel a bit uneasy. Without saying a word, the figure runs off quickly. I decided to follow it. I ran to its direction as fast as I could. When It got to a corner of a random street, it stopped. I hid in a corner of a wall that way it won't see me. I waited for the figure to make its move. That's when it jumped into a sewer. "A sewer? B-but why would- *sigh*. Who am I kidding?" I walked towards the sewer area. I know I couldn't get in that way because the lid itself is too heavy to lift. I looked around to see if there may be a second entrance to it. And I did. There was a rectangular hole that seemed big enough for me to squeeze in. I took off my backpack, and managed to enter. I grabbed my bag, and started to walk into the sewer line. It was really dark so I had to take out my phone to turn on the flashlight. I kept on walking until I fell into a slide like area. I was sliding downward screaming but laughing at the same time. It was kinda fun, it almost felt like one of those water slides you go on in a local water park. I landed on my ass which kinda hurt. "Ouch!" I rubbed it, and got up immediately. There are so many sewer pipes, I couldn't figure out where the figure may be, so I decided to go straight. It was a long path to get through. Just as I felt like I may be close, I heard footsteps. No. more than just footsteps. A skateboard too? I started to panic a bit but managed to find a sewer pipe large enough for my tiny body to fit. I hid in there, and waited for whoever was coming straight ahead. What I saw, made me wonder. There was.....four creatures running passed me. "Hey guys! Wait up!" said the fourth mysterious figure trying to get its skateboard running. What's weird, is that it has rockets on it. Plus, I can't even see the person at all. Just a silhouette. "Come on Mikey! We got some foot clan butt to kick!" another one said in the distance "okay okay! Calm down Raph! It's not the end of the world you know!" it rode away with the others and the sound soon went to silence. I slowly got out, and decided to keep walking "that was.....Fucking weird." I said to myself trying to figure out who those people were. I walked a couple more steps until I found this strange looking door. Well technically it's not a door per say. I noticed it was slightly opened. I looked back for a quick moment to see if no one else was around. The coast is clear thank god. I slowly opened the strange yet mysterious entrance, and revealed some kind of lair. It's weird that a lair is located in a sewer. I also noticed The height of the entrance from here all the way to the ground does seem a little high. So basically I had to jump down like as if i'm in an action movie. I took a deep breath and counted to three. "one.....two.....Three!" I jumped and managed to land on my backpack since it's on my back obviously. I got up and stared at the place. "Woah!...." I walked around, and it had crazy technology, bedrooms, exercise weights, and a ramp for I'm guessing skateboard tricks like the ones you see at a local park. I looked around and noticed there was a sleeping rat in one of the rooms. A huge rat to be exact. I almost made a single sound after it scared me. But thankfully my words were stuck down to my throat. I sighed in relief that it didn't wake up at all. Guess it's a heavy sleeper. I walked around some more, and the bedrooms have doors. The same exact shape as the one where I entered the place. I entered one of them and noticed a small TV with a PS2 and DVD player sitting there. The room was kind of a mess too. It was littered with pizza boxes and candy wrappers. Gross. In the corner of the room, there was a mini fridge with a pack of Orange Crush Soda hidden in the back of it. After taking a look at that, I checked at the condition of the TV and PS2. surprisingly, they were in good shape. Even the DVD player is too. The TV is an early 2000s model. Old, but still good. I turned both of them on, and they work. "Oh. neat" I smiled a bit and I made the decision to play with it. I slowly and quietly closed the strange door, and took out one of my old games I always played in my childhood. "I haven't played Sonic Unleashed in a while. Might as well go ahead and play for a bit." I turned down the volume as low as possible so I didn't wake up the strange rat, and started playing. An hour in a half passed, and I started to get tired. Although I did eat a few of my snacks and since I ran out of drinks I ended up drinking some of the orange crush soda from the back of the mini fridge, I kept on yawning. Since I'm too lazy to head home, I might as well just spend the night here. I paused the game, and ended up falling asleep on the nice bed. It's kinda nice here. Quiet, no interruptions, a nice spot to play some games and have some time for myself. I just hope nothing goes wrong at all.

end of P.O.V The Mysterious heroes who are actually turtles have returned home to the sewers and one of them spoke. "Sensei! We're back!" the rat was meditating and no longer sleeping. "Where have you four been?" The turtle with the blue bandana named Leonardo spoke "we had another foot clan attack. We managed to stop them on time." The rat sighed. "Did anyone see you? Anyone at all?" they all shook their heads. "No Sensei. We got away as quickly as we could." The rat nodded and responded. "Good. you may all rest now my sons. We have a big day tomorrow." they all looked at each other. "What day is it?" Leonardo asked. "Training day." they all groaned and the rat chuckles. "Now go. I must concentrate." they all went to their rightful rooms and the youngest of the four named Michelangelo stretched his arms and fiddled with his orange bandana. "I'm gonna go on ahead and play me some video games!" as he got to his room, he noticed the TV was on along with the game system. "Huh? Hey wait a second! I don't remember playing this game at all!" He removes the game disc from the system, and yells out to one of his brothers. "Raph! Were you messing with my game system again!? And where did you get this game!? Did you rent it or something!?" The red bandana turtle named Raphael comes into the room. "What? No! What are you talking about? Lemme see that!" he takes the game disc from him and takes a look at it. "You serious? Do I look like the kind of guy who likes playing as a blue furry that runs like the flash?" Mikey stares at him in an irritating way as his own brother tosses the game disc across the room. He looks down and notices the empty cans of soda on the floor and looks back up at Raph. Raph himself was now getting angry. "You hid a stack of orange crush soda from me without even telling me!?" Mikey starts to get angry too. "Yes I did! And don't lie to me! I know YOU found them, and did this for a good laugh!" Mikey and Raph argue back and forth until they stopped when they notice movement in Mikey's bed. "What was that?...." Raph pushes him out of the way, and takes out one of his weapons. "Stand back." He grabs the sheets, and snatches them out of the way and sees (Y/N) sleeping. They both stood back as Raph dropped his weapon in complete shock. "How- what-.....where-?....oh god there's a g- a gi-..." he couldn't speak and they both looked at each other and ran out of the room in a panic. "Donnie! Leo!" they both yelled as the other two were busy doing their thing. "What? What happened?" Donatello said as he adjusted his glasses and purple bandana. "There's a g-girl in my room! And a- and uh R-Raph almost killed her on my own bed! And-" Donnie stopped Mikey. "woah woah woah! Slow down! You're saying there's a girl in your room?" Mikey nodded frantically. Leo shows up eventually and spoke to them. "what are they talking about?" Donnie responds to him with a sigh. "it appears they saw a human girl in Mikey's bed." Leo looks at them and takes a deep breathe "show me. Now!" they take them to the bed, and see (Y/N) still asleep. They all looked at her and Donnie started analyzing her. "Okay. according to my analysis, she is 18 years of age, 5'0 feet tall, 125 pounds, (H/C), (E/C), and somehow it shows me her uhh.....cup size. They're quite an impressive size for a young adult if you ask me. Wish it didn't scan them though." the other three's eyes lit up when they heard that word "cup size huh? What is that?" Mikey asked. Donnie whispers to them what cup sizes are, and they widened their eyes in surprise. Mikey blushes bright red. "Aaaaand I am now questioning my own innocence, thank you very much." Raph smirks giving his younger brother a noogie "all right Mikey! Our own little bro's first lesson in becoming a man! Woo!" Mikey playfully pushes him off shaking his head smiling. "tch. whatever bruh." Donnie finishes analyzing, and looks at Leo. "what shall we do?" Leo looks at the girl and sighs "well uhhh-" Mikey interrupts him jumping up and down excitedly "Can we keep her? I promise to take good care of her! please?" Raph and Donnie facepalms, and Leo looks at Mikey with a long pause, then proceeds to speak. "We'll might as well let her stay for the night. But we're taking her back home tomorrow!" Mikey squeals excitedly "Yes!" Leo then talks again "and one more thing! If Master Splinter finds out, we gotta tell the truth. But first when she wakes up, we gotta know how she got here. First thing in the morning before our training day starts. Got it?" Mikey nods. "Oh yeah! Totally. Yeah...." Leo nods. "Good. come on guys. We gotta go to bed. Sensei wants tomorrow to be on point. That goes for you too Mikey!" Mikey nods with a smile on his face "aye aye captain boss bro!" Raph looks at Mikey who is staring at (Y/N) "she's really pretty man." Raph nods "yeah. Never seen a girl like her before. Hopefully when she wakes up, we can have a nice chat with her." Mikey nods. "What about April? She's pretty too." Raph chuckles shaking his head "nah. She's too bland. Maybe this one may be a keeper." he winks with a daring smile. Mikey chuckles and Raph pats him on the back. "Well it's getting late. Night Mikey. See ya in the morning." Mikey looks at his brother as Raph leaves the room. "Night bro." Mikey decides to sleep on the floor and hopes this girl may be the one for him. Despite that, in his heart, he can feel it beating like a steady drum right now which means it's love at first sight for him. TO BE CONTINUED!....chapter 4 and 5 are next soon! :)

#michelangelo #tmnt bayverse #fanfic #romance

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harringtonstilinski · 4 years

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You’ll Always Be My Hero - Chapter 13 ; Omega

Author: @harringtonstilinski Characters: Stiles Stilinski x Emma Thomas (OC) Word Count: 6,384 Warnings: mentions of emma’s wounds, mentions of medication, jackson, harris, little bit of protective!stiles, some name drops, small mentions of ptsd???, A/N: Hi, friends! Welcome to Season 2! This would’ve been posted a lot sooner if Tumblr hadn’t decided to be an ass and wipe my original post clean... this site, i swear. Anyway, gif was made from a YouTube video... If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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I was stirring around, waking up from my super long nap. I honestly couldn't tell you how long I was asleep for. The only thing I do know, however, is that when I looked over to my right, all I saw was Stiles… sleeping.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” I said quietly to myself, snorting at the position he was in. Laying across the big chair that was sitting in my room for a guest, his left foot was somehow propped on the top of the chair, his head was leaning over the arm of the chair. Man, that looked super uncomfortable. He had a balloon with the words Get Well Soon written on it. I was so going to scold him for that later. He was making kissing faces at seemingly nothing when Melissa walked in. Thank God, Hallelujah, she was my nurse.

I looked over at her, chuckling, “Has he been here all night?”

She walked over to my bedside, pulling the sheets down slightly. “Sweetie, he's been here all weekend,” she smiled.

I heard a kiss and looked over. “You're dirty,” he said in his sleep. I put a hand over my mouth to try and conceal the laugh I wanted to let out, whimpering when pain suddenly went through my stomach.

Stiles woke up and saw Melissa in my room. Sitting up from the chair, he smacked the balloon out of his face.

I looked at Melissa as she asked, “Can I take a look? I just want to see if it's infected or not.”

I nodded my head and pulled my shirt up a little. She undid the tape that held the gauze to my stomach and I winced when the tape pulled at my skin.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she said, looking at my wound, satisfied. “It looks good,” she smiled. She went to replace the bandage back, but I stopped her asking, “Am I allowed to shower? I haven't since the morning of the dance and I feel super gross.”

She chuckled and nodded. “Of course. There's fresh towels in the bathroom. Just be extra careful when washing your stomach. Gently and with the mild soap in the shower.”

“Got it. Thanks, Mrs. McCall,” I said.

“Please, call me Melissa. Everyone else does.” She winked at me and walked out of my room as I looked over to Stiles and smirked, shaking my head.

“What?” he asked.

“Having dirty dreams, are we?” I asked, carefully crossing my arms.

His cheeks flushed a little bit pink as his eyes widened just a little.

I giggled and said, “Don't worry. You didn't say any names. Although, my interest is now piqued,” I sassed.

“Aaaaand she's back,” he said.

“And better than ever,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Hey, did my mom ever bring any clothes by?”

“Yeah, right here.” He stood up and grabbed the bag my mom brought for me filled with clothes. “She said it was easy to pick out some clothes for you because your closet consists of pretty much the same thing.”

“If it's not broke, don't fix it,” I said. I leaned up a little, crossing my legs and picking out an outfit. My mom packed a black shirt, black leggings, and my black converse, as well as black underwear and a bra. Did she think I was going to a damn funeral? “All black. Thanks, mom,” I mumbled, looking up at Stiles. “Hey, can you help me? I wanna take a shower.”

“Yeah,” he said, walking back over to my bed. He held his hand out for me to take, sparks shooting up my hand. That was new. I always touched Stiles, but I never felt a spark. The hell?

He helped me out of the bed, placing a hand on my back to help me keep my balance. “Do you need help walking to the bathroom?”

“Nah, I think I can manage,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

“No problem. I'm gonna go get something from the vending machine. I'll be back,” he said, walking over to the door, but before he could open it, I said, “Reese's?”

He smirked and said it back before opening the door and walking out.

I walked into the bathroom and over to the tub, putting my hand through the shower curtain and turned the water on hot. As the water was heating up, I carefully undressed. Carefully removing the bandages, I winced quietly when the tape pulled again. I'd redress it after I cleaned it. I'm guessing it was healing as it should because it was starting to itch like a mother.

Putting my hand under the water to check the temperature, I adjusted it as needed. Stepping into the water, I sighed in content as the warm water ran down my body. After I wet my hair, I reached down for the shampoo that the hospital provided. After lathering it up in my hair and rinsing, I put the conditioner in my hair, letting it sit for a second before rinsing that as well. Seeing the soap Melissa talked about, I grabbed it, put it under the water to wet it and began to wash my body, careful of my wound.

Once I was done with my shower, I turned off the water, pulled the curtain back and grabbed a towel. I dried off being careful around my stomach and spotted the gauze and tape. Being careful as I put them both on my stomach, I heard a crash. I closed my eyes and deeply sighed, “Stiles.”

After I wrapped the towel around myself, I turned to close the shower curtain when I noticed something in the water. I guess I didn't realize that the water had backed up. Making a mental note that I'd tell Melissa later, I stuck my hand in the water.

“Em?” I heard Stiles say, his voice muffled. “You okay in there?”

“Yeah, just-- just drying off,” I said. “Don't come in.”

I heard shuffling like he walked away from the door. Sighing, I bowed my head, picking it back up when I felt something float in between my fingers. I pulled a wad of black hair out of the water, nearly gagging as I put it on the side of the tub. Reaching back in, I pulled out another wad, wincing as I kept putting my hand back in, pulling out wad after wad after wad of hair. A hand suddenly grabbed my arm, making me jerk back and scream at the top of my lungs.

Hearing Stiles' muffled voice call my name through the door, I cried hysterically. He opened the door and saw me cowering against the wall, sobbing. He rushed over to me and sat down, pulling me into his arms, my hands immediately going to his shirt, balling it into my fists. Melissa came running in after.

Stiles was rubbing his hand repeatedly over my wet hair as we whispered, “It's okay, baby. You're okay. You're okay.”

Yes, Stiles did tell me what happened the night of the formal. And yes, I was very much relieved.

“He's dead,” he said. “He can't get you.”

I nodded and tried to control my breathing as he tried to stand up, but I tightly grabbed onto his shirt.

“I'm gonna pick you up, but first I need to stand so I don't drop you,” he said.

I nodded and let go of his shirt, watching him stand up. He held his hand out to me, helping me stand up. I put my arm around his neck, his arms going around my waist and my knees to carry me bridal style back in my room.

My mom walked in with a green tea from Starbucks and gasped when she saw the state I was in as Stiles set me down on the bed, climbing in after me. I was clinging myself to him like a damn spidermonkey.

“Oh, my-- Emma,” Mom said. “Honey, what happened?”

“Real bad anxiety attack, Mrs. Thomas,” Stiles said. “Don't worry, I handled it.”

“Okay,” Mom said. I looked at her and watched as she looked around, finally spotting my clothes. “Stiles, why don't you step outside of the room for a moment while I help Emma dress, okay? She won't be more than five minutes.”

He nodded and kissed the top of my head. “I'll be back. I'm gonna go check on Lydia.”

I nodded back at him and sniffled. “Be careful.”

He smirked and got off the bed, walking out of my room.

~~~

“Emma, we're releasing you with Sheriff Stilinski since he is your acting guardian,” Dr. Geyer told me. I nodded my head and stood up carefully from the bed.

After Stiles had left, my mom and I talked. She told me to play hard to get, whatever the hell that meant in this moment. She helped me dress, letting me put on my undergarments myself because I wasn't four anymore.

When I walked out into the hallway, I noticed a vending machine on the floor and snickered to myself. The conversation I was overhearing was making me wish that I hadn’t heard a word.

Sheriff looked over at me and gestured with his head for me to come over. I walked over to him as he pulled me into a side hug, but not letting go of my shoulders. “How ya doin', kiddo?”

“As good as I'll ever be considering I have three slashes in my stomach,” I replied. I could feel my sassiness come back and it felt great.

“Yep, she's definitely back, ladies and gents,” I heard Stiles say from behind me.

Sheriff turned back to Melissa, asking, “Naked? As in nude?”

“I'm pretty sure they mean the same thing,” Melissa said. “But, yes, as far as we know she left here clothing-optional.”

“Alright, you checked the whole hospital, right?” Sheriff asked.

“Every last corner,” Melissa replied.

I looked to Stiles and whispered, “Who are they looking for?”

I heard a throat being cleared, so I looked over. “Mr. Martin! How wonderful to see you,” I said, the last part coming out more as a question than a statement. After Lydia spread the rumor about me, he believed every word, so therefore, he didn't like me very much. When he didn't speak, I started to put two and two together. I looked back over at Stiles with a shocked face. “Lydia?” I mouthed, to which he nodded.

“Nothing suspicious?” Sheriff asked, taking the conversation back to where it shouldn’t have left.

“Nothing, she just took off,” Melissa said.

Sheriff looked over at my dad, who I just now noticed was standing there. “Well, I'm a terrible daughter.” I walked over, my dad careful to embrace me in a hug. When we pulled apart, I smiled at him before walking back over to where I was standing before.

“Alright, let's get an APB out on a 16 year old, redhead,” Dad said. “Any other descriptors?” I knew what was coming, so I just looked over at Stiles as he said, “5'3”, green eyes, fair-skinned, and her hair is actually strawberry blonde.”

“Is that right?” Sheriff asked his son.

“Yeah, uh...” Stiles said.

Sheriff dragged Stiles away by the back of his neck, just a couple of steps, saying, “Come here. What the hell are you still doing here? I asked you to take Emma straight home 10 minutes ago.”

“Uhm... providing moral support?” Stiles said.

“Uh-huh,” Sheriff said. “How 'bout you provide both your asses back home, where the both of you should be so that Emma can continue resting and healing.”

“Okay, we can do that, too,” Stiles said.

“Yeah, I'm starting to hurt a little bit from all the standing,” I said, just really wanting to lay down in my own bed.

“Okay,” Stiles said, putting his arm around my shoulders, making me walk with him. He looked over at the vending machine the maintenance crew was trying to get up. He made a face, and turned a corner, making me laugh.

We walked outside towards the Jeep. He opened the driver door and before I could start walking to the passenger side, he stopped me. “I really hate to do this to you, but... I'm gonna need you to get in the back.” He had the look of pure regret in his eyes as I narrowed mine, asking, “Why?”

I looked in the Jeep, seeing Scott looking at me with a smile. How did I not see him sitting there before? I sighed, annoyed at both boys as I climbed in as careful as I could. When I was situated and Stiles was in his seat, I leaned forward as best as I could in between the seats saying, “Just so you know, I've already plotted both your deaths in my head about five hundred times each. Sleep with one eye open tonight, boys. I hate the both of you.”

Now that I had put the fear of God into both of them, Scott looked at Stiles and said, “This is one she was just wearing?” Stiles had slowly handed Scott Lydia's gown as I ranted about killing them both.

Stiles nodded and sighed shortly.

Scott acted like he didn't wanna say this next part, but he did. “I'm not gonna let anyone hurt her. Not again.”

“Alright, Scotty,” I said. “Just shove the damn thing in your face and find her.”

Right after Stiles started the Jeep, I looked up to see Allison walking towards Scott's side of the Jeep.

“What are you doing here? Someone's gonna see us,” Scott said. I looked at Stiles, my facial expression telling him I was waiting for an explanation. He mouthed, “Tell you later,” and turned back around.

“I don't care-- she's my best friend, and we need to find her before they do,” Allison said. Her and I weren't on talking terms still, but I was determined to change that. I mean, if she was dating Scott then I wanted to be civil for him.

“I can find her before the cops can,” Scott said.

“How about before my father does?” she said.

“He knows?” Stiles and I asked.

“Yeah. I just saw him and three other guys leave my house in two SUVs,” Allison informed us.

Scott turned to Stiles and said, “Search party.”

“More like a hunting party,” Allison reiterated.

“Get in,” Scott said, opening his door. When Allison plopped down in the seat next to me, she smiled. I smiled back but took in a sharp intake of breath, pain radiating through my stomach.

“Stiles, can you take me home first?” I asked. “I'm starting to feel pain like no other.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can take you home,” he said, looking at me from the rear-view mirror.

Stiles pulled out of the parking lot and down the road towards his house. Our house. The house. Whatever, you get my point; Stiles took me home.

He got out of the Jeep, helping me out afterward. He walked me to the front door, grabbing the spare key from its hiding spot and opening the door. I watched as he looked back at Scott and Allison and gave them the one second finger before walking me to my room.

“Stiles, you didn't have to walk me all the way up here.”

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I had to leave.”

I chuckled and said, “I'll be fine. Just need a little more rest and I'll be back to my sassy, ready for adventure self.” My face suddenly dropped as I whispered, “I'm sorry to be a downer.”

“Hey, you're not. Okay?” he said. “You got scratched deeply by Peter. You're allowed to be helpless for a minute-- even though you aren't.”

I smiled and wrapped my arms around his middle. He hugged me back and kissed the top of my head. “I'll be back. You call me for anything. Okay?”

I nodded and looked at him. He placed one more kiss to my forehead before leaving. Grabbing my laptop, I crawled into bed, putting on my favorite movie that helps me feel better; The Wedding Singer.

~~~

The next morning, I heard a knock on my door. “Come in,” I said, sitting at my vanity. When the person on the other side opened my door, I looked in the mirror at the person, AKA Sheriff.

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted.

“Hey, Noah. What's up?”

He looked down, so my guard instantly went up. “You sure you're ready to go back to school? Your principal said you can stay home for a couple more days if you wanted.”

I gave him a soft smile. “I'll be fine. Besides, if I feel like I need to come home, I'll just have Stiles bring me, or I'll call Dad.”

He gave a short nod, and looked down. At that point, Stiles had showed up at my door. “Wow. I get both Stilinski men gracing my presence this morning. I'm only one lucky girl,” I sassed, turning my head slightly, raising a brow and giving a smirk.

Sheriff chuckled at me and I victoriously smiled. Stiles was looking at me like his dad was when he first opened my door. I sighed and said, “I'm going to school. If I feel like I need to come home, Stiles, I'll text you and have you bring me home.”

He nodded at me and went back to his room. For what, I have no clue. I could never figure him out.

I stood up from my vanity, took a pain pill, grabbed my bag and was out the door. I wasn't gonna let anything stop me from going to school today.

After Stiles and I got into the Jeep, he sighed and said, “As much as I want you to stay home today, I have some information about last night for you. Yes, it concerns Lydia but it also concerns a kid named Isaac.”

“I know of Isaac. He's on the lacrosse team with you and Scott; number 14,” I proudly stated.

He looked at me with narrowed eyes and an open mouth. “How do you know that? I didn't even know that.”

“Perks of being the Coach's niece. Now, can we get going?” I said with a yawn. I noticed the look he was giving me and shook my head. “Nope, I'm fine.”

~~~

I was so not fine. I was starting to struggle staying awake on the way to school. Stiles noticed and chuckled. “How many pills did you take this morning?”

With a yawn, I replied, “Just one. Like always.” I rested my head against the window, determined to get at least 5 minutes of peace and quiet, but my brain decided otherwise. “Ah, shit.”

“What?” he asked.

“The pain medicine makes me sleepy.”

“Why'd you take it?”

“I was hurting,” I mumbled. “I'm gonna stop taking them.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don't wanna end up like my other uncle. Addicted to something,” I said, looking over at Stiles the best I could with my head on the window.

“Okay, well just--”

“I have to finish the bottle, though.” I turned my head to look back out the window. “Doctor's orders.” I closed my eyes for a second before I felt Stiles' fingers intertwine with mine, that damn spark coming back.

~~~

When we got to school, we met Scott up at the front. Stiles told the both of us that apparently while Isaac was working at the cemetery, digging up Kate's grave, he saw something in one of the graves nearby; a person grave digging.

“She ate the liver?” Scott asked.

“No, I didn't say she ate it. I just said it was missing,” Stiles replied. “And you know what? Even if she did, so what? It's the most nutritious part of the body.”

Scott looked over my head at Stiles. “I never ate anyone's liver.”

Walking up the steps, Stiles said, “Yeah, right, 'cause when it comes to werewolves, you're a real model of self-control.” Stiles stopped us, putting his arm out in front of us. I grabbed onto both boys to keep from falling, tightening my core and wincing.

“What happened?” Scott asked, helping me to stay balanced.

“Well, considering I have three gashes in my core and Stiles made me tighten it by almost pushing me down the steps, nothing happened,” I sassed.

Ignoring my statement, Stiles said, “Actually, wait-- hold on. You're the test case for this, so we should be going over what happened to you.”

“What do you mean?” Scott and I asked.

Stiles looked from me to Scott a couple times while saying, “I mean like, what was going through your mind when you were turning, you know? What were you drawn to?”

Scott was quiet for a second, either thinking about his answer or not wanting to give his answer. He chose the latter. “Allison.”

“Okay, nothing else? Seriously?” Stiles asked, almost getting annoyed.

“Nothing else mattered,” I said, dreamily, looking up at Scott with a tilted head and playful smile.

Scott looked at me with a little bit of concern in his eyes. “Is she okay?” he asked Stiles.

“She's a little loopy,” Stiles said. “She took a pain pill this morning and was struggling to stay awake on the way here, but now I think she's a little high.”

“Nope, just super tired,” I said, yawning.

Going back to the earlier conversation, Scott shook his head and said, “But, no, that's good, though, right? 'Cause the night that Lydia was bit, she was with... not you.”

“But she was looking for... Jackson,” Stiles said, adjusting his backpack and looking to his right. I turned my head to see what he saw and watched as Jackson pulled up to a parking spot.

~~~

Running into the hallway with the locker room, I collided with a body, exclaiming, “Oh, god!”

“I'm so sorry. I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No, you're good. It was my--” I paused when I looked at the body I collided with. “Fault.” I smiled and held my hand out. “Hi. I'm Emma.”

He took my hand in his. “Isaac.”

I felt a little bit of a spark, but nothing like with Stiles last night or this morning.

“Let's go. I have an announcement. Gather round,” Coach said as Isaac and I walked into the locker room. I spotted Scott and Stiles before quickly turning to Isaac and saying, “Hey, listen. It was really nice meeting you. Maybe I'll run into you again sometime.”

He smirked and said, “Yeah, maybe.”

I turned and walked over to Scott and Stiles.

Coach was addressing a couple of players while I was walking over to my boys. “Listen up. Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It's a sick girl, roaming around... totally naked. Now, it's supposed to get below 40 degrees tonight. I don't know about you, but the last time it was that cold and I was running around naked... I lost a testicle to exposure.”

I closed my eyes and let out a heavy breath. “Why do I share the same blood with him?” I asked quietly to myself, opening my eyes. Scott heard me because he gave a confused look. “I'll explain later. I swear.”

“Now, I don't want the same thing to happen to some innocent girl,” Coach said.

“Uh, Coach? Girls don't have testicles,” I said. A couple players turned around and looked at me like I was a meal. Ya'know. Being the only girl in a boys locker room.

“Thanks for the Biology lesson, Emma,” Coach said. “Shouldn't you be at home resting?”

I sighed exasperatedly. “Yes, Coach, but I'm fine.”

“Anyway, police are organizing search parties for tonight,” Coach said, turning around and pinning a sign-up sheet to the wall. “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic A in my classes.” He held up a pen, one of the players running forwards and grabbing it and putting his name on the sheet.

“Boys,” I sighed. “Can't live with them, can't live without them.”

While the players were lining up, me and my boys turned and walked over to Jackson.

“If Lydia wants to take a naked hike in the woods, why should I care?” Jackson asked, very arrogantly.

“Because we have a pretty good idea that she might be... ya’know, turning,” Scott said.

“Turning?” Jackson asked with a raised brow.

“Yeah. Turning.”

“Into...”

I looked at Jackson with narrowed eyes and mouth agape. “A unicorn. What do you think, dumbass?”

“Did your medicine wear off?” Stiles asked me.

“I think so,” I said, eyebrows scrunching. “I'm not tired or loopy anymore. Just really hungry.”

Ignoring me and Stiles, Jackson said, “Well, I think that if Lydia's turning, she's not the one that's gonna need help.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked.

“Oh, god, you've got it all backwards, McCall. When I was with Lydia, you should've seen the scratch marks she left on me,” Jackson said, looking from Scott to Stiles. “What do you think she's gonna do with a set of real claws?”

He pushed his way through us, bumping into my core, causing me to groan in pain.

“That's it,” Stiles mumbled, running a hand up and down his cheek. “I'm gonna kill him.”

“No, you're not,” I said, putting my hand around his wrist. “You kill someone, you get arrested and thrown in jail then your dad gets fired. Your dad loses his job, you're homeless which means I'm homeless, and I know you don't want that. So, no. You're not gonna murder him.”

Stiles turned to me and said, “He hurts you again... I will.”

~~~

I was sitting beside Scott in Chemistry, Harris handing out a pop quiz. Gross. Scott handed me the quiz and I looked down at it, already knowing I was going to ace it.

Stiles, who was sitting behind us, leaned forward on his lab table. “Alright, it's causing me severe mental anguish to say this, but he's right.”

Scott and I looked at each other, him saying, “I know.”

“What if the next body part she steals is from someone who's still alive?” Stiles asked, a little too loudly in my opinion.

“This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski. If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give detention for the rest of your high school career,” Harris said.

“Can you do that?” Stiles and I sassed out.

“Well, there it is again. Your voice. Ms. Thomas', too,” Harris said. “Triggering the only impulse I've ever had to strike a student repeatedly and violently. I'll see you both at three for detention.”

I gaped at Harris. He couldn't be serious.

“You too, Mr. McCall?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Scott answered. I went back to my quiz, although I was quite pissed. About a minute later, Jackson ran out of the classroom, holding his nose.

Once class was over, and thank fuck it was, I went to my locker to switch out my books.

“Nice jacket,” I heard from behind me. I turned around and looked at a guy standing behind me a couple of feet.

I looked down to see that he had a camera in his hands. “Nice camera,” I said, sending him a small smile before I turned back around to face my locker.

“It's Emma, right?” he asked.

I was starting to feel uncomfortable, so I texted Stiles from inside my locker.

To Stiles: SOS. At my locker.

“Yep. You found me,” I said. “Not sure how you know my name, but you found me.”

“Well, I'm Matt,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, nearly jumping out of my skin when a body collided with the lockers next to me. Looking behind my locker door, I sighed in relief. “I'm starting to hurt more. Can you take me home?”

“Can't leave,” he said. “Detention, remember?”

“Damn it!” I yelled, frustrated, before the lockers below mine.

“Hey, hey,” Stiles said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You're okay.”

I closed my locker, turned to my left and walked away, Stiles right behind me.

~~~

By 4 o'clock, I was beyond ready to go home. I wanted to go home after that Matt kid tried talking to me. My pain medicine had worn off by lunch and I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable. I just had to breathe through it. I could take a pill and nap once I got back home.

Stiles was staring at the clock, hand pressed against the side of his face. I was doodling in my notebook, per the usual, glancing at the clock every now and then. Stiles started moving his hand down his face, almost like he was ready to sprint down the cross-country trail. He jerked up and started packing his stuff away, hurriedly.

“Sit,” Harris said.

“Wh--, but it's been an hour,” Stiles tried to reason. I just stayed seated. I didn't want to be or get into any more trouble than I already was by sitting here.

“My detention’s an hour and a half,” Harris said.

“You can't do that,” Stiles said, banging the corner of his Chemistry book on the table. I didn't think he meant to do that.

Harris looked up at Stiles from grading his papers.“Oh... but I can. You see, Stiles, Emma,” he said, bringing my attention to him when he said my name. “Since both your father's were so judicious in their dealings with me, I've decided to make you, Stiles, my personal project for the rest of the semester. You are going to benefit from all the best that strict discipline has to offer. Now... sit down, before I decide to keep you two here all night.”

Stiles sighed, wanting to argue and be stubborn but he decided against it, obliging with Harris and sitting down.

“Emma, you, however, may leave,” Harris said. I looked at him with a surprised face.

“Uh, o-okay,” I stuttered. As I was packing my stuff, Stiles handed me his keys.

“Go straight to the Jeep,” he said softly. “I'll be there in thirty minutes.”

I nodded and walked out of the classroom. I went to turn to my left and collided with a body... again! “Damn, what is it with me and colliding with people today?”

“I don't know. I seem to have the same problem,” Isaac said.

“Isaac, hey.” I said, smiling slightly, holding my stomach. “Why are you here so late?”

He chuckled. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Uhm,” I nervously chuckled. “Apparently, trying to defend your best friend is against the rules with your teacher when taking a pop quiz.”

“Ah,” he said. “Well, sorry you had to sit there with...”

“Stiles. Stilinski. He's one of my best friends. The one I was trying to defend.” I nodded slowly, a thin smile on my face. I looked down at my phone and saw that it was around 4:05.

“Hey, listen, I really hate to cut this short, but I have to go,” I said. “I'm supposed to be somewhere in like 15 minutes.”

“No worries. I get it. Here. Let me--” he said, before grabbing my phone. I started to protest when he said, “--give you my number.” He added his contact info and texted himself before handing my phone back to me. “Text me sometime. I'd love to take you out for coffee or something.”

I smiled a little bigger. “Okay. I'd like that.”

“Great. I'll talk to you later,” he said, walking away. I smiled to myself and walked out of the school and to the Jeep. I got into the passenger side, and waited. I could wait… hmm, 20 minutes for Stiles to get out.

When he did come out, however, he looked like he was boiling mad. He got in the Jeep and slammed the door shut, his breathing heavy. I didn't wanna look at him or talk to him with how mad he was. I simply just put my hand with his keys on my finger in between us and waited. Not a second later, he snatched his keys from my finger and started the Jeep. My phone dinged, so I looked at it and tried to stop the smile that was trying to form.

Isaac: I couldn't wait to talk to you. How does Friday after school sound?

I looked over at Stiles to see him already staring at me. “So the other night I tell you that I like you and you just go off and talk to some other guy?”

I sighed. “Stiles, I didn't do that to spite you, okay. I quite literally crashed into him this morning and then again when I walked out of Harris' class. I've never talked to him before then. And, what makes you think I'm gonna go running around with other guys? I'm not, and I won't because I--” I stopped myself from saying what I really wanted to say. I let out a breath and closed my eyes. “Can we please just go to this funeral so you can take me home? I'm really starting to get more uncomfortable.”

We looked at each other with care before he nodded and put the Jeep in drive, heading towards the cemetery.

~~~

It took about 15 minutes to get there and an additional five to find Scott. He was crouched down behind a statue, Stiles crouching down behind him. I couldn't crouch; I was in too much pain at this point. We all looked over towards Allison, seeing a man standing in front of her. I wonder who he was.

“Who the hell is that?” Stiles voiced.

Allison looked over in our direction, the guy in front of her also looking this way. We all ducked behind the statue. “Well, that was subtle,” I sassed.

“He's definitely an Argent,” Scott said.

“Great. More of these people?” I sorta whined. Scott looked up at me and I sent him a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

We all looked back in Allison's direction as the guy sat down next to her, to whom looked over at us. I looked down at Scott, watching him send her a wave. From the corner of my eye, I could see Stiles roll his. I kicked him, sending him my best be nice face.

“Hey, you know, maybe they're just here for the funeral,” Stiles said. “I mean... what if they're the non-hunting side of the family? There could be non-hunting Argent's. It's possible, right?”

“I know what they are,” Scott said. I heard crunching leaves coming from behind me. “They're reinforcements.” I turned my head over my shoulder, seeing Sheriff approaching.

He grabbed the boys by the back of their shirts, pulling them up. “The three of you. Unbelievable,” Sheriff said. “Emma, you're supposed to be at home resting.”

“I had detention. Stiles was my ride,” I tried to defend. Didn't work.

Sheriff turned his attention back to the boys. “Pick up my tie,” he said, making Stiles bend down and pick it up.

“Got it, sorry,” Stiles said, getting the tie. “I know, I'm supposed to ask.”

I followed the three of them, just knowing I was going to get a call from either parent and get grilled. Sheriff told us to get in the back of his squad car. I was in the middle, Scott to my left and Stiles to my right. Scott had his head leaned back against the headrest while Stiles looked forward. I was so tired and in pain that I didn't know where to look, so I just laid my head on Stiles' shoulder and closed my eyes.

I really hope Scott couldn't see in between mine and Stiles' legs because Stiles ended up grabbing my hand, intertwining our fingers. I was gonna have to have a talk with him about this. We weren't dating, so he couldn’t just hold my hand like we were.

The police radio in the car went off. “4-1-5 Adam.”

“I didn't copy that. Did you say 4-1-5 Adam?” Sheriff asked in his radio's walkie talkie.

Leaning his head over some, Stiles whispered, “Disturbance in a car.”

“They were taking a heart attack victim-- D.O.A. But on the way to the hospital, something hit 'em,” the officer on the radio replied.

“Wh-- hit the ambulance?” Sheriff asked.

“Copy that. I'm standing in front of it right now,” the officer said while Stiles was leaning forward. I winced as he did so because he was pulling me along with him. Scott looked over at us, waiting for our next move. “Something got in the back. There's blood everywhere. And I mean everywhere.”

“Alright, unit 4, what's your 20?” Sheriff sighed.

“Route 5 and Post,” the officer replied. “I swear, I've never seen anything like this.”

Stiles quickly and quietly opened the door. I have no clue how considering you couldn't open squad cars in the back from the inside.

We quickly went to the Jeep, and got in.

“Alright, Emma. I'm gonna take you home,” Stiles said, looking at me as he started up the Jeep. Scott had to get into the back because I was hurting so bad. “You need to take your medicine and sleep. And yes, I'm aware I caused you pain by sitting up. I'm sorry.”

He put the Jeep in drive and headed to the house.

Once we were there and I got out, I walked over to his side of the Jeep. “When you get home, there's something I need to talk to you about. If I'm awake, of course.”

He nodded and looked down. I reached in the vehicle and put my finger under his chin, lifting his head so that we could lock eyes. “It wasn't your fault. Interests were piqued, I get it. Now, go find out what happened,” I said, leaning in the best I could and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

“Scott, take care of him.” I didn't wait for Scott to respond. I walked inside the house and to my room, where I changed out my bandages and clothes, took my medicine and curled up, as best as I could, with my book and read until I fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2: I know nothing about how wounds heal, tbh, but Emma’s started healing a little bit faster than Lydia’s, wouldn’t you say? And what do we think about Rose being a Stemma shipper? We like, we don’t like? Also had to edit this after posting ‘cause I got the word count wrong... it’s one of those days..

~~~

YABMH Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellysashcroft @lauren-novak @sammypotato67 @originalamethysthealer @alittlebitofeverythinggg @katemusic @hcomet28 @good-vibes-and-glitter @luckylouiebug @luckylovestruck @trinnwazheree @lettersofwrittencollective

Taglist was taken from the Forever / Everything taglist. If you want to be added, just let me know. If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know. Tumblr’s trying to tag people for me, lol.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag 🥺

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from Emma and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of Jeff Davis. Our home slice Emma was made up all by me. As well we her parents and their storyline throughout the series.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on October 6, 2020

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yesyoumayserveme · 4 years

Text

Lay or Nay-I Rate Beds in FGO

Yes, in a review that no one asked for I will rate the beds found in different My Room backgrounds

1) Starting off with the beginning of ah yes, familiar home sweet home in Chaldea

A standard mattress that’s just slightly more generous than a military barrack. It looks as thin as a rice cracker but has TWO pillows so it’s slightly above average. Begs the question of how much weight can you place on it. According to doujins...alot 6/10

2) Halloween Event

The same bed as before but now 100x more spoopy. Quality still the same but now with more colourful decor. Ghost pillows give it bonus points and the pumpkins can act as a nightlight. 7/10

3) Christmas event

Ohhhhhh now this is lovely. The plush red cover looks warm and inviting and the pillows are now larger in size for more comfort. There’s two drink glasses on the table, food, a cozy fireplace....definitely one of top ‘most inviting beds to bang on’ 10/10

4) CCC Event

A rather romantic setting with ‘moonlight’ through the windows and a nice, more decorative bedframe. The mattress seems to be a little thicker than the standard Chaldea one but that could just be me. Looks soft and cozy so it gets 8/10

5) Prison Tower Event

Okay though the real question is, why are there handcuffs right next to the ‘bed’ like would one prisoner be handcuffed to the wall and someone else can sleep on this sad excuse for a human resting spot? This is not a bed, it’s a rack in a torture dungeon so 0/10 but 7/10 for realistic prison play if you wanna go that route

6) Summer Event Luluhawa

This is a bed in, apparently, a 5-star hotel so I would like to think it’d be absolutely great to lay on. Nice crisp sheets, a generous 4 pillows (that’s twice as much as usual!)and a mattress that looks 5x thicker than the norm. Would be number 1 in ‘most inviting bed to bang on’ based on the amount of R-18 doujins that take place on that bed/ in the room, good lord. Then again, can’t blame em with that gorgeous balcony view. 10/10

7) Last on the list is the Lostbelt MyRoom bed

RIP to anyone with long legs or likes to kick when they sleep. That desk/shelf right above the foot of the bed is economic in terms of space but also horrible placement. Don’t be surprised if you wake yourself up cause you’ve bashed your toes or shins against the underside of the desk in the middle of the night. Bed itself is military standard but it gets points off for that desk. 5/10

Aaaaand that’s all folks. The beds of FGO, would you lay or nay? Not that you really had a choice to begin with but still.

#fgo #fate grand order

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notmichealangelo · 4 years

Text

Don’t Worry- an Onward minific

It’s been about a year since the events of the movie, and today would have been Wilden Lightfoot’s birthday. Barley, Ian, and their mother, Laurel, are about to celebrate; but Barley still has a nag in his gut about the events of that fateful day. Guilt that Ian never really got to see their father. Ian sorts things out, and the brothers have a heart to heart. ----

The sun was setting over the peaks of the distant mountains, and Barley Lightfoot let out a sigh as he watched through the window of his messy bedroom. Today would have been Wilden Lightfoot’s birthday. Today was his father’s birthday. It had been almost a year since Barley and his brother, Ian, had set out on their totally awesome quest to bring back the other half of their dad; and his little brother had already turned seventeen years old. The kid was almost as tall as Barley himself, but had still managed to maintain his small frame and bony elbows. Barley smiled to himself at just how much Ian had grown. “He owes an awful lot of that to you, you know,” the voice of his father still rang in his long ears as if they had just been said. Barley smiled wider. Suddenly, a knock at his door made him lazily turn his head.

“Hey, Barley?” The familiar squeak of Ian’s voice came through the door.

Barley’s smile began to fade. Ian. Ian never had the opportunity to speak to their father that day... it had been the kid’s dream to meet him. An involuntary rush of guilt ran through Barley’s gut.

“Uh.... Barley?” Oh. Right. Ian. Ian was at his door. Barley shook his head and puffed out his chest. “Come in, dear brother! What is it you seek?”

A chuckle could be heard from the other side of the wall, and the door clicked open to Ian, a goofy smile on his face. He was wearing their Dad’s sweatshirt.

“We’re about to celebrate Dad’s birthday, so uh, come out of your Knight’s Quarters and let’s have some cake.”

Barley laughed.

“All right, be right there,” He said, turning away from his brother.

There was a pause. Ian hadn’t left yet. Had he... said something wrong? He soon heard his little brother pipe up from his place in the doorway.

“Um... Is everything okay? With you? You seem kinda... Out of it?”

Barley fought the smile rising to his lips at how awkward the boy sounded, and sighed instead. Here we go.

“I, uh.... dunno if you’d wanna talk about it.”

At that, Ian cocked his head as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He began to walk deeper into the room, careful to avoid the Quests of Yore action figures and miscellaneous articles of clothing on the floor.

“What... do you mean?” He asked softly, stopping at the foot of Barley’s bed. Barley cleared his throat.

“It’s about... that day, y’know, when all that happened, with dad.”

Ian’s face fell as he suddenly found that the floor looked very interesting. A soft “Oh,” escaped his lips, and he tentatively sat down on the bed next to Barley. Ian began to tug at his sleeve, a thing that he always did when he was nervous. The movement did not escape Barley.

“What about it? I mean, I know I made a lot of... big mistakes when all that happe-”

“No no no no! That’s not what I meant,” Barley waved his hands in front of him and shook his head, quick to cut his brother off from whatever train of thought he had starting.

“What I um, what I mean is, well..., “ Barley slowly removed his hat. How was he going to say this?

“Sometimes I just... feel bad.. Th-that I was the one to... see him. I mean, yeah, I only had a few memories of him, but at least I knew him. You were the one who wanted to see him. More than anything. But....”

Barley’s words trailed off when he felt a small weight on his left foot. Looking down, he realized Ian had placed his own foot there. Barley let his eyes rise to meet his brother’s. Ian’s eyes shone in the evening light. They were brown, but they almost looked gold. Barley continued on, more uncertain.

“But... I mean... You never got to.. and-”

“Barley.”

Ian’s voice was quiet, but confident.

“Do you remember what I told you that day? After everything was over?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Barley. I told you that, yeah, I never really had a dad, but I always had you, And.. I’m happy it’s that way. I did see him, too. I heard him laugh....” Ian looked for a moment, smiling wistfully at the memory before looking back up. “And sure I didn’t actually talk to him, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for that.”

Ian’s slim hand softly gripped Barley’s thick shoulder.

“You... deserved to see him again, and.. I’m just glad I have you. Don’t beat yourself up for something that isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for anything that happened, okay?”

Barley felt tears rush to his eyes as he smiled.

“...... Okay.”

There was a moment of silence with only a sniffle or two from Barley before Ian opened his arms for a hug.

“Just c’mere already, you oaf.”

Barley didn’t have to be told twice. He laughed as he scooped his brother into his arms, squeezing Ian into a bear hug. Ian buried his face in Barley’s shoulder, his curls tickling Barley’s neck and ear as Barley held tight onto his brother’s small frame.

They sat like that for a moment, the last rays of daylight streaking into the bedroom before Ian’s muffled voice rose from the depths of Barley’s shirt.

“Plus there was a huge fire-breathing stone dragon that you probably couldn’t have done much about if I were the one to stay-”

“Okay I get it,” Barley said with a grin, squeezing Ian tighter and hearing a small cough and a giggle escape the younger boy’s lips. He pulled away and let Ian catch his breath.

“Hey,” Said Barley, quietly. Ian lifted his eyes as Barley placed his foot over his brother’s.

“Thanks.”

Ian grinned.

“Any time, Barley.”

Suddenly, a voice rose from down the hall.

“Are you two coming or am I going to have to eat this whole thing by myself?”

Laurel Lightfoot, their mother, called to them from the dining room.

Ian turned back to Barley.

“You, uh, ready to come back ou-”

Barley had suddenly scooped up his little brother into his arms and off his feet.

“Barley! What’re you-”

Barley stood as Ian tried to wriggle out of his tight grip.

“Well, sir Lightfoot, it seems as though our mother awaits our council!” Barley boomed in his dramatic Quests of Yore voice.

“Barley!” Ian exclaimed through a fit of giggles.

“Aaaaand, off we go!”

Barley hauled Ian all the way to the dining room despite the boy’s halfhearted protests, where the cake and their mother were waiting, and the three of them celebrated Wilden Lightfoot’s birthday as a family as the first stars began to twinkle.

-----

Hello and thank you to anyone who decided to read this!! I plan on making at least one art piece for this fic, as I’m more of an artist than a writer, and then later moving everything to AO3 so stay tuned if you’re interested! I’d love to hear any feedback anyone has to give me, I’d love to hear tips or advice on how to improve my writing abilities!

#and by heart to heart i mean like they actually talk about it #this is not inc*st #brotherly love #just guys being dudes and sharing their pent up feelings #ian lightfoot #barley lightfoot #wilden lightfoot #laurel lightfoot #onward #onward fanfiction #idk how to tag #sibling relationship #should i start a fic tag #sure why not #mikeyfics

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fire-the-headcanons · 4 years

Text

Tai scratched his neck with a thoughtful frown at the floor. "Have you told Professor Carmine you can carve?"

"No. …Why?"

"Custom parts for weapons. Embellishments, mostly. There was always a two-week wait at Signal for anything they didn't already have the molds for. With all the professional Huntsmen that come here for repairs, I bet it's even worse."

"Hey, yeah, I never thought of that," Summer said, pausing her rifling through the paints. "Wouldn't that be cool? Your stuff being part of real Huntresses' weapons!"

"Summer, we're not fake Huntsmen," Tai complained.

Follow the Beacon Summer—Care Package

[Link to Masterpost]

[The promised fluff! And @ranger-lcat‘s favorite chapter, actually.

TW: slight existentialism, jump to CARE PACKAGE! in all caps to skip]

"Oh—you're that kid."

Summer paused, the pen dwindling to a stop halfway through her signature. "...Oakley?"

"Are you okay?" they asked, sliding the box onto the counter. "You seemed a little... freaked out, on Halloween. I thought later maybe I should have broken character."

"N-no, it was fine!" And not at all embarrassing. She hurried to scrawl the rest of her signature.

Slush sprayed under her boots as she headed back to the dorm. You never expect to know the person under the sheet. But they were back in reality now, and she didn't have to stand back and watch helplessly while people were hurt.

Starting with the ones in front of her.

"CARE PACKAGE!" Summer shouted, kicking the door open a little harder than intended. It banged into Qrow's desk loud enough to send half the room diving for cover. "Whoops. Sorry."

"It's gigantic," Tai scoffed, believably, jumping up to help her carry it in. "What's in here?" They dumped it at the foot of Summer's bed with a muffled floof.

...It was bigger than she'd expected. How much did Huang have lying around? It wasn't like anything of Summer's would fit either of the twins. "I guess Mom didn't know which paints to send, so they just sent everything." She slid Gungnir's arrow from the barrel and sliced through the tape. "Aaaaand it's a bunch of your old clothes."

"I asked him to send, like, two things. Half of these don't even fit me anymore… I thought we donated this." He held up an old band T-shirt—most of the lettering had peeled off, but the bone-like patches sewn on to imitate a Beowolf's pattern remained. She was reasonably sure it wasn't Tai's, either, his dad was the one who liked that group. Then again, Summer had mentioned the twins wearing Grimm colors on a phone call sometime in September. I guess they remembered.

"Cool."

They both glanced at Raven, who hurriedly looked back at her textbook.

"Then it's yours," Tai said, tossing it right over the pages. "Take whatever you want, the rest is going to Ramparts. Here they are!" he shouted, pulling some of his orange zip-off cargo pants from the bottom of the pile. "I knew I had another pair! ...What's this?" he muttered with genuine confusion, drawing a note out of the pocket.

Summer grabbed a loose corner and dragged it open. "Hey kids, we've been too busy to get into Vale, could you drop this stuff off next time you're in town, Claret and Huang."

"That explains why they have some stuff in here too," Tai said, pulling a deep red skirt from the box with his free hand. Summer fought back a smile. It was perfect—her mother was about Raven's size, and while her red had a bit more of a purplish hue it was definitely closer than Tai's orange. Huang had thrown in some plain brown pants for Qrow, too, by the looks of it—

"My paints!" she gushed, pulling a large plastic toolbox from the giant wad of clothing. Another lay beneath it. "And all the figures…" You didn't need to sell it that hard.

"Sorry. Guess Dad figured Uncle Balt was dropping it off for free and just sent half the cabin." Tai grinned. "But hey, maybe we can scrape together a group to play a little Grottoes and Grimm."

"Dan won't want to, though," she said, turning her old Huntress over in her hands. It didn't look like any paint had chipped during transit. Then again… some of these were early attempts and an excuse to redo them wouldn't really hurt.

"He can deal with it for a Saturday or two," Tai said dismissively.

"Can I see them?" Qrow asked. "…The figures?"

"Of course!" Summer said, turning the toolbox to face him as he limped over.

It had been a whole day and his aura was barely recharging, but he refused to go to the doctor. If it kept up any longer they'd probably have to drag him—if something had torn in his knee it could keep siphoning his energy forever until he got medical attention.

"Your leg doing any better?" Tai asked.

"A little."

And all of that was ignoring the gashes on his face and neck. If he could really keep his defenses up in his sleep, it would take more than a distracted tumble down the stairs to injure him.

What they couldn't figure out was why he would lie.

Summer inspected a little plastic Ursa, wrinkling her nose. "These don't look as good as I remember."

"They look great." Qrow picked through the box carefully, one at a time. "Well, the paint looks amazing," he amended.

"Yours are way better than the plastic," she said, setting the Ursa back down. "...You're sure you want me to paint them?"

"It'd take me forever to learn to do this," he said, holding up a little Huntress with a battleaxe. "Go for it."

Tai scratched his neck with a thoughtful frown at the floor. "Have you told Professor Carmine you can carve?"

"No. …Why?"

"Hey, yeah, I never thought of that," Summer said, pausing her rifling through the paints. "Wouldn't that be cool? Your stuff being part of real Huntresses' weapons!"

"Summer, we're not fake Huntsmen," Tai complained.

"You know what I mean!" She grabbed a scratch sheet of paper from her desk and dipped her smallest brush into the red paint, tracing a few practice swirls. Once she put brush to bone it wasn't likely she'd be able to erase any mistakes. When the motions finally felt automatic, she picked up the Beowolf and traced the little lines on its mask.

He peered at it, smiling. "I love it."

"Those are way better than the plastic models," Tai agreed.

"Hey, when you paint the Grimm Reaper, can you use a little of the silver just on the edge of the blade?" Qrow asked, pointing out the little tube of metallic paint sitting on the toolbox's tray.

"Ooh, and leave some of the bone showing?" Summer asked. "That's a great idea!" She beamed at him. Behind him, his sister threaded a needle. "Oh, Raven, if you're going to tailor that shirt you'll need some stay tape. I think it's knit. Here, use some of mine."

"Oh, thanks."

Much better, Summer thought, tracing the next set of red lines onto her practice sheet for the nevermore. Raven quickly got engrossed in her project, and a slightly confused Qrow listened to Tai's enthusiastic retelling of their last G&G campaign while he picked through the box of clothes.

Finally, the cloud of the last few days began to lift.

Next Chapter: Taiyang—Scars

[On one hand, I don't have any ideas for a Grimm and Grottoes campaign with these four. On the other hand, Qrow's Semblance screwing with the players and the GM equally would be hilarious. "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "Miss." "...Nat one." "You take… fifty-six points of damage." "Guys, I don't think this is working."]

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #summer rose #taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #raven branwen #strq #team strq #follow the beacon

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squashedbananatk · 5 years

Text

Tickle Monsters

I know it’s not cannon but lets just imagine it is ok! Lets just day Tony survived Endgame.

Peter had just grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, It’s been a long day at school and now he had a whole nights worth of homework to do. He sighed as he sat down on the sofa of the Stark industries before pulling out a textbook from his backpack.

Just as Peter was starting to get in the zone he heard small footsteps running towards him.

“Uncle Peter!” A small voice called out it was Morgan. Morgan jumped up onto Peter’s lap making Peter set the book aside. .

“Hey Morgs,” Peter said with his best fake smile.

“What’r you doing?” Morgan asked.

“Homework, so I don’t really have time to play right now...” Peter said picking up the book from the floor.

“Oh...” Morgan said with disappointment.

Peter hated it when she was upset, but he had to get this done.

About an hour has past now, Peter closed the book rubbing his eyes to get rid of the remaining fuzz from reading fo so long.

“Maybe he should take a break? No, no he couldn’t!

Peter was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard happy squeals and giggles along with small footsteps once again.

“UNCLE PETER!” Peter heard Morgan screech cheerfully. Little Morgan dashed from around the corner with Stark’s Ironman helmet on her head.

“Uncle Peter I’ms not here M’K?” Morgan said before hiding behind the couch. Peter chuckled rolling his eyes. He could at least play long, after all he turned her down earlier. Peter took a sip of his now still soda when Stark came running in.

“Pete where is she?” Tony asked with a playful smile plastered on his face.

Peter cleared his throat.

“Who?” Peter asked trying to play along with Morgan’s game.

“Morgan, that little monkey stole my helmet again.” Stark explained.

“A hero NEVER shares another hero’s secrets Mr Stark, you out of anyone should know that!” Peter joked crossing hims arms. A small giggle could be heard from behind Peter.

Tony eyed Peter who just did an overdramatic shrug. Tony then very slowly and quietly walked over to the couch. Tony roared picking up his giggling daughter.

“I’ve got you now haha!” Tony yelled playfully before gently placing her on the ground in-front of the couch taking his helmet back putting it to the side before he attacked his daughter with tickles all over her little tummy.

“Kyahahaha! Dahahaddyhyhyhyhy! Nohohohohoho!” Morgan screeched squirming around under her dad. Peter smiled at the sight in front of him.

“Who’s daddy? I’m the tickle monster!” Tony roared continuing his tickle attack.

Peter rolled his eyes with a smile as he pulled out his math homework.

Tony chuckled before putting his finger on Morgan’s bottom rib and began counting.

“One” tickle “Two” Tickle “Three tickle... Morgan screeched each time Tony’s fingers made contact with her ribs.

“Eleven aaaaand Twelve!” Looks like you’ve got all your ribs kiddo! Tony joked.

Tony stopped tickling his daughter as he didn’t want to push it too far.

Morgan then looked over at Peter who had his earbuds in. Morgan then suddenly ran over to Peter

“Attaaaack!” Morgan called out catching Peter by surprise jumping on the young hero. Morgan then latched her hands to Peter’s sides.

“H-Hehey! Morgahan! d-don’t put your hahands there kiddo!.” Peter warned taking his earbuds out and gently grabbing her hands. Morgan giggled taking her hands back attacking Peter’s sides again.

“Why?” Morgan asked happily.

“Ah! Ihihit tihickles!” Peter giggled beginning to squirm hearing Tony chuckle in the background. Peter could easily get away but he was actually kinda having fun, he guessed it wound be ok to take a little break. Peter then picked up Morgan.

“Heh, ohoh man aren’t you a little tickle monster!” Peter joked as he laid her down on the couch next to him before lightly tickling Morgan’s sides

“EEEH! Uhuncle Peter! ehehehe!” Morgan laughed grabbing at the older’s hands.

“Now I’m the tickle monster!” Peter claimed before lightly poking all around Morgan’s tummy.

“Hahaha! Dahahahddyhyhy! Hehehelp!” Morgan squealed kicking her legs out.

Peter looked over to where Stark was sitting to find he was no longer there. He must have slipped away when Peter wasn’t looking. He looked around nervously trying to locate his mentor.

Stark then jumped out from behind the couch with a roar before grabbing Peter around his chest digging his finger into the teen’s lower rib.

“Ah! MR STARK! Nohohoho fahahahair!” Peter giggled, curling in on himself as best he could.

“All’s fair for the Tickle monster!” Tony replied digging in to Peter’s flank.

Mr Stahahahahak! Nohoho!” Peter giggled as he reached his tummy.

“Uh oh! Here comes another tickle monster! Stark said watching Morgan crawl over to Peter. Tony then grabbed Peter’s wrists pinning them against the back of the couch with one hand.

“Get him here Morgan!” Tony exclaimed as he wiggled his fingers in Peter’s underarm.

“AH! HAHAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHO AHAHAHA HEHEHEHEHEEHEE!” Peter cackled kicking his legs and shaking his head. His hoodie doing nothing to protect him.

“Attack!” Tony yelled digging into Peter’s insanely ticklish underarms.

“NAHAHAHAHAHA NOHOHO AHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE! AHAHAHA. HEHEHEEHHEEHHE!” Peter laughed loudly and freely which he hasn’t done in a long time. He can’t stand his underarms being tickled.

“Get him Morgan!” Tony yelled playfully. Morgan did just that poking and tickling all over Peter’s torso.

“M-Mohohohorgahahan! St-Stahahahhaahahap! Guys! Lehet me gohoho!” Peter giggled and screeched.

Tony then let go of Peter’s arms to get his sides but Peter took that opportunity and jumped off the couch and started making a break for his bedroom.

“He’s getting away Morgs!” Tony exclaimed chasing after the teen.

Peter had just made it into his room before Stark jumped on him pinning him to the bed.

“No one messes with my girl!” Tony announced before poking all around Peter’s stomach and ribs.

“AH! Mr Stahahahahahark! Nohohohoho! Wahahahahahait!” Peter laughed wriggling around.

“Yay! Get him daddy!” Morgan cheered from in front of the bed.

“Hahaha! You are no match for us Spiderman!” Tony exclaimed as he skitters his fingers up and down Peter’s sides causing the teen to squeak at every touch.

“Plehehehehease! Mr Stark! Ihit tickles!” Peter squealed pushing at Tony’s hands.

Morgan was just giggling along with Peter.

“Aw look at that Morgs, Spiderman is even more ticklish then you are!” Tony teased wriggling a single finger into Peter’s ribs.

“AH! nohohohohohoho!” Peter laughed out.

“No? I can tell you that theory is false!.” Tony teased before drilling his thumbs into Peter’s ribs.

“AHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEHEASE! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOHOHOHOP HAHAHAHA!” Peter cackled throwing his head back twisting and turning.

“You wanna get him Morgs?” Tony asked pinning Peter’s legs down at the knees. Morgan squealed with excitement before wiggling Peter’s toes.

“ahaha! dohon’t doho thahat!”

Peter giggled.

Morgan did just that and start scribbling her small fingers all over the ball of Peter’s foot.

“Kyahahahahaha! No! plehehehehease Not there!” Peter giggled and squeaked trying his hardest get his legs free.

“That a girl Morgan! Get him!” Tony cheered on.

“Nohohoho Mohohohorgahahahahan!” Peter laughed covering his face with his hands.

Something about Morgan’s little hands made the sensation worse!

“Keep going Morgan! We gotta beat Spiderman!” Tony called out over Peter’s laughter. Peter then sat up grabbing onto Stark’s shoulders only to have Stark skitter his fingers on either side of his tummy.

“Aah! MR STARK! Nohoho ehehehehehe!” Peter squeaked before falling onto his back once again.

“

“No! nononono AHAHAHAHA!” Peter laughed as Tony’s fingers dug into his navel.

Morgan was just giggling along with Peter.

“Hey Morgan watch this!”

Tony exlaimed lifting up Peter’s hoodie before grabbing his side and blowing a big raspberry on Peter’s now bare stomach. Peter exploded with ticklish laughter.

“AHAHAHAHAHA MR STAHAHAHAHAHARK!!” Peter yelled tossing his had back and forth twisting his body every which way. Morgan came running over to the side of the bed to see what was going on.

Tony lifted his head not letting go of Peter. Peter laid there gasping for air still giggling as the feeling went away.

Peter could hear Morgan laughing next to him.

“Again!” Morgan yelled. Peter’s eyes went wide and looking up at Mr Stark.

“Nononononono MR STAHAHAHAHAHAHARK! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Peter cackled throwing his head back. Peter started pushing at Tony’s head though it did nothing to lesson the feeling.

Peter didn’t know if it was his reaction or the sound that was making Morgan laugh so hard but what he did know is that it tickled like hell!

“Thahahat was awfuhull...” Peter panted laying on the his bed still under Tony.

“Hey guys, I brought some Piz- What is going on here?” The three of them heard from the bedroom door. It was Pepper.

“Mommy!” Morgan yelled running to her mother hugging her leg. Stark got off of Peter smiling at his daughter for the millionth time. Peter’s cheeks went pink as he sat up.

“Uh... H-Hi Pepper, we were just um...” Peter stuttered.

“Tony was tickling you?” Pepper interrupted.

“Me too!” Morgan called out.

“I! Uh... H-How did you?!” Peter asked as the pink rushed to his ears.

“Haha! I could hear you all the way down the hall.”

“Thanks hun, Pizza sounds great!” Tony cut in.

“Yeah, but you know what sounds better?” Pepper asked walking over to Tony.

“Helping the kids get some revenge!” Pepper teased before jabbing Tony’s side.

“NOPE!” Tony yelled before dashing out of the room.

“Lets get him guys!” Pepper said as the three of them chased after the billionaire.

fin ~

(May have a sequel)

(The sequel is here!)

https://squashedbananatk.tumblr.com/post/186830222654/tickle-monsters-part-2

#peter parker tickled #tony stark #morgan stark #pepper potts #MCU #Spiderman tickle #Ticklish #Peter tickled #Tickling #Morgan tickled #Endgame #Tickle Monster #Ironman

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faecurious · 4 years

Text

pages | graham&quintin

Summary: Quintin falls asleep at a library while studying and working, and figures out that his notes are once again infested with Bookwryms. Upset, tired, and pouting, Graham endures the lure of such a sight, and the two share deep insight into science, taboo, and moral issues in q’s area of study while separating the pages. @grahamstoker

Quintin had fallen asleep at a random book store, his nose plopped in a book and one arm stretched out. He needed just a little more information on a chemical compound to react with salt involving dissolving things, and he had worn himself out. Quintin was in trouble often for getting himself to the point of sheer exhaustion, but he couldn’t help it. When an idea got in his head he grinded until some answer presented. Losing track of time, meals, and water. He knew it wasn’t the best, but he was lucky to be a warden. Snoring lightly, the book clerk was staying open late anyway, so they cleaned up and let the young looking college kid snooze for a few moments.

College kids weren’t the only people out and about; Graham also had a brief conversation with the clerk regarding books as he entered some odd minutes before the store closed and the clerk agreed to stay open just a little longer for him to pick up what he was looking for… except that he wasn’t looking for anything in particular. He wandered through the store - fortunately, it wasn’t that big - and he found himself in the central area where a few tables and chairs were gathered for students, bored geriatrics, etc. His strong gaze fell upon the sleeping figure of a boy, probably no more than… he wanted to say early 20s and he walked over to the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder to stir him. “Hey kid,” He said clearly but not aggressively. “You’d be comfier in bed, I think.” He wasn’t sure why he cared but the store WAS closing and he WAS getting his condensation on the book’s pages and that thought weirded him out.

Quintin stirred away groggily, and blinked a few times trying to figure out where he was. “What?” He looked around the room and stretched his limbs forward almost like a cat. “Darn, I should go. Thanks--” Finally he looked up and felt embarrassed it wasn’t the clerk who stirred him from his slumber but likely another customer. “Oh, sorry-- heh, I get a bit caught up with reading sometimes,” Quintin started closing all the scientific books featuring various charts, graphs, and a few long essarys he was excited to dive into the theory of. “It’s late--” he started shoving everything into his backpack quite messily. “Did you find anything worthwhile?” he asked with a kind edge, curious even. “I love this store, always little gems here. Sometimes old things.” “It happens, man,” Graham replied, removing his hand from the latter’s shoulder as he looked the younger man over, then the amount of materials he had splayed all over the table. Plentiful amount of information…. Just shoved into a backpack. What a waste. How disorganized. He kept from curling his lip and put his hands in his pockets after checking his familiar gold watch - it could be later but at least the sun wasn’t out anymore. “Uh, nnnno. No, not really.” He shrugged. “I only got here a few minutes before they technically closed though, so I didn’t spend a whole lotta time searching. I’m guessing you did, though,” He quirked an eyebrow at the book the younger man had fallen asleep on. The kid seemed like the studious type. Probably really smart at the expense of doing… normal human things.

“Really? Are you one of those types that likes to make the employee’s be nice to you when they want to close the store?” He grinned, teasing and far from being overly serious. Quintin grabbed the rest of his stuff, the books weighed in his hands comfortably. “Yes-- yes, I actually managed to find everything I needed. Luckily I can read a book once and remember most of it. It’s very helpful when writing a dissertation. It’s a bit of a chaotic mess, but it’s all very understandable.” Q paused, “Quintin by the way,” he offered, a sleepiness still in his eyes, and his body seemed almost squishy and round in the cheeks from just waking up. “Are you headed out now?” He waved to the clerk, having already paid for everything and started making his way out. “Oh, you know it,” Graham replied dryly with a half-smile of his own. “At least you found what you were looking for,” He noted more of the books. “An eidetic memory is a useful thing, indeed.” He nodded; that explained some of the kid’s general… -ness. And the ‘chaotic mess’ part. He gave the boy named ‘Quintin’ one more look over, pausing perhaps a little longer than he should’ve at the red cheek the boy was sleeping on and feeling his nostrils flare for just a fraction of a moment before he recovered and he nodded again in lieu of doing anything else, something different. “Graham,” He returned the name. “And… yeah. Since the store’s closing and all.” He paused in his dialogue for a moment, following behind the boy. “What are you writing a dissertation on?” He asked, finding himself curious.

“Hmmm, it’s pretty out there. But I’m working on something people sorta frowned on,” Q did not seem put off even with his mumbling. He pressed the books closer to his chest, walking with the other. “Do you have any opinions on building body parts in test tubes? Or utilizing tissue in ways to heal other people? Or developing a way for the body to accept foreign cells as their own through--” Quintin paused, wishing for once he could just say- by using monster parts when he explained his research. “Careful study.” He lamely finished, but masked it pretty well with a yawn hidden behind the books which only made his eyes more watery. “The frowned upon part is that I’m researching a way for a body to be brought back to what the scientific community labels as life. Whether it’s anything more than a few reawakened cells at the end of it-- well. We’ll see.” As they walked and as Quintin fell into a pseudo-ramble - well, maybe not so much as… morally-curious questions-- WELL, not even that. Graham didn’t think what he was asking was morally-curious until he suddenly stopped at his last question-- aaaaand he’s talking reanimation. Hmm… he realized this conversation would’ve bothered him a lot more before he himself turned into a reanimated corpse. He looked sideways at the younger man and offered a genuine, if clever, smile. “That’s on them. People oftentimes try to put ethics ahead of scientific progress.” He offered is own perspective. “If that’s a passion you have then it’s important to pursue that goal. I’m sure this town’s seen weirder shit than a reanimated something-or-other.” He decided to be vague on that front. “How long’ve you been in town?” He asked.

“They do,” Quintin agreed, “I’ve received a lot of backlash at UCLA over it. They were very conflicted, but I’m a progeny, one of the youngest to graduate. They wanted me to stay under their school so they could benefit from my work and so I didn’t go elsewhere.” Bitterness made his nose wrinkle as he walked up to his big pick up truck that made him appear like a little baby in comparison and leaned against it. “That’s why I’m here though. White Crest lets me think clearly. Reanimation is a fascinating area of study, people are just scared of what it means. All those people in cryo right now could honestly be reawakened in the future. They let them pay for a cold bed, but won’t let scientists work on the questions they are scared of.” He fished for his keys in his bag, realizing he was stupid and put them in there. “About three years, I travel a lot back to LA. Where are they--” he plopped on the ground, and started pulling everything back out of his bag. Setting the items carefully on the asphalt with much more care and organization, but a few of the papers floated away on him. “Crap! Can you grab those?” Very proud of his work and accomplishments. And humble, to boot. Talks a lot. Ahhh Graham remembered when he was like that. Graham found his hands in his pockets as the younger man talked, pausing next to the large truck and wondered what sort of compensating the kid was doing. Probably a lack of friends, if he had to guess. He looked from the truck to Quintin as the latter seemed to have been looking for something to the point of sitting on the ground to search the contents of his bag. When some of his papers started to float away, Graham simply watched them leave until Quintin asked him to retrieve them, to which he smacked his lips and rose his eyebrows. “Sure thing,” Graham said before adding “This might not’ve been a problem if you packed ‘em up right the first time, buddy.” He was lightly poking, of course, but he did feel like he was right. The papers were easy enough for him to get, putting them altogether neatly but as he examined them like the nosy guy he was, he felt his brow furrow. “Uhhh…” He said aloud as he walked back over to the younger man. “I got your papers but I don’t know why they’re such a big deal to you… don’t important papers usually have, I dunno, writing on them?”

“You are very right,” Quintin sighed, he had been embarrassed at the state he was in and hadn’t put thought into it. Finally, his fingers looped around the keys and pulled them out in victory. “Thank you--what?” Q’s voice faltered, and he scrambled up to meet Graham halfway, pulling the page into his hands. “No, no no no,” he frantically started flipping through all his stuff, noticing bits and pieces also faded. “Stupid bookstore--” Q knew what he needed to do, but he also didn’t want to ruin all his doctorate notes. This would put him behind having to rewrite everything from memory, not that it would be difficult to recall, just time consuming. This was what he got for bringing his stuff out of the lab. “Ouch!” he dropped the paper, and gritted his teeth. “Dammit! Stupid worms! Stupid!” He actually stomped his foot then plopped on the ground with his shoulders slumped and tried not to full on cry. His voice had a warble to it. “Sorry-- just,” he didn’t know how to explain this to anyone without sounding crazy, but he didn’t care right now. “I can’t leave yet, I have to sort my infested notes with the ones that aren’t.” Suddenly Graham had much less of an idea of what was going on than before as he watched the car crash in slow motion called ‘Quintin’ go from frustration to pain to looking like he was about to burst into tears like a child told they couldn’t get on the ferris wheel. Spectrum? That’d explain the ‘genius’ bit and the ‘unintentional know-it-all’ part. He put a hand back in his pocket and actively avoided looking at Quintin now, as if that would spare him some embarrassment. “Uh…” He paused for a second, not entirely knowing what to do but feeling like something mocking would be funny for him but not really appropriate. “So… there’s worms on your papers?” He decided to ask. “What, were they in your bag?”

“Worms that eat notes, words, knowledge. I thought I had them contained back at the lab, but-- guess I didn’t,” the dejected tone was full of self loathing to this particular failure. Quintin started separating each piece of paper in a stack that was at least eight inches high. Hoping everything wasn’t ruined. “They must have gotten really excited in that book store, and spread--” it wasn’t lost on Quintin that the other man was content with playing with his absurdity. People thought he was a mad scientist anyway, not that he liked when people thought that. Not when he worked so hard for their sake. He sighed. “You don’t have to wait around for me, this is awkward enough and will probably take me some time. They-- these worms are easy to detect, but very difficult to get rid of. Clearly. Since I am still suffering from their presence.” He glanced up, the softest of pouts on his lips. “I appreciated your company though.” You know what they say about playing stupid games; Quintin didn’t seem like the most organized of individuals so it really didn’t surprise Graham that a bunch of knowledge-eating worms escaped containment.. Graham looked back down at the lanky kid, catching his pout like this somehow caught him off-guard. He glanced off to the side and gave a soft sigh before dropping fluidly to a crouch next to the boy and motioned with his hand. “Here, gimme some,” He said, wondering what he was doing with his life at this point. Damn his soft spot for children up to the age of… Hmm. “It’ll be quicker with two people. Do you want to save any words and just get rid of the ones that are completely blank?” He asked for a general direction as he held an arm that rested on one of his knees out to take some papers.

Quintin yawned again, pressing a hand to his mouth, clear he probably could lay down right here and pass out if he could. “Wait, huh?” He glanced across from him, surprise written easily on his tired features that the person wasn’t thinking he was crazy and also willing to help him. His instincts hummed a little, wondering if they had an ulterior motive or if he lucked out and actually ran into someone nice. “I’ll remember most of them if I make a note of the page number,” he explained, writing down the numbers in the corner in a small notepad. “Ill burn them, or find another way. Yes we can just pile those there. You don’t seem put off with this. Which isn’t that surprisingly I suppose, everyone on campus is always going on about stuff weird and supernatural. But you seem, particularly calm about my ramblings. Is it often you run into people exclaiming note infestations and reanimation?” He sleepily teased. Jeez, the more Quintin yawned, the more Graham could feel how hungry he was; the sleeping were such available targets for a quick snack BUT… damn his soft spot for children AND his foresight to know better than to just go around biting strangers. Part of him wished he had no idea what he did, pulling an ‘oh sorry I didn’t know’ schtick but he DID know better and ugh. What a pain. Speaking of vampires though-- “I’ll admit, I’ve never heard of word-eating worms before,” He responded first as he shuffled the papers into the piles the boy wanted. “But I’ve never been one to turn away the pursuit of science and medicine,” He added with a half-shrug. “Granted, not all of them like to talk as much as you do but I think I have enough of a bead on the type of kid you are and talking’s just… something you do.” He rolled his eyes under their eyelids. “Plus, it’s not like reanimation’s a thing I’m unfamiliar with.” He added under his breath.

“They are quite annoying, I have tried various ways to get rid of them, but if I miss even one little worm, they re-infest everything again,” Quintin hated these things, maybe if he got his hands on a pixie they could munch away at them and then when he knows for sure they are gone, he’d have something else to play with. “You like science then, ouch! Stop it,” Quintin squished the few centimetre long worm with his thumb after it bit his finger, and knew he'd forget something because of these little bites. “Hey, I don’t talk a lot, I’m just not usually bothered or spoken to at all, so it’s been nice talking to you,” Q admitted, “I’m really not a kid, I know I dress like one...” Quintin grumbled. If he wasn’t so sleepy he’d have gotten up and left, people always picked fun at him, and never quite got used to it. “Oh yeah? Why’s that? People always shy away from talking about it. Super taboo for whatever reason.” “You dress like one, you talk like one, you pout like one...” Graham replied casually, hearing Quintin responding verbally to the bites now and then and part of him wanted to get bitten, too if only out of curiosity if he would feel it - fortunately, he was aware of his non-breathing so if these things drew blood, though he was curious about whatever mark they left on the kid, he had to actively work not to notice. He kept his bright eyes on the papers, quirking an eyebrow. Oh so he was bothering Quintin by waking him up? He was fairly sure that that wasn’t what he meant but he remembered not actually starting any conversation-- wait wait wait, he kinda did when he asked about the dissertation. That being said, if he recalled how many words he said compared to Quintin, the scales would be tilted considerably in the latter’s favour. Mmf, get out of his thoughts. “Life’s too short to be afraid of conversation, at the very least,” He dodged the question and kept filing through the papers. “So if it’s something you like talking about, you should be able to bounce ideas or whatever’s floating through your head at someone.”

“You would be really surprised how often I’m told to leave someone alone,” he shrugged. “I even got excited online the other night with someone who liked the band Warhorse, and I never find anyone who does, and they kept signing offline mid conversation for hours at a time. So, yeah-- it’s a little weird you want to chat with me.” Q guessed he was being a little bit like a baby right now, but he was tired from staying up for three days dissecting an arm, off a faerie he had captured, at the shoulder socket and attempted to fuse it to something else for hours upon hours. “Do you believe that a soul is required for a body to be labeled alive?” he asked, still moving pages over, finding a lot of them not infested which he was grateful for. “I’ve heard of creatures not requiring one, though life isn’t exactly the right word.” His eyes twinkled a little, “one of these days I’ll be able to wake someone up stored in cryo. I really wonder if their soul is hibernating in there, or if something else will show up.” The vampire elected to keep his comments about how he didn’t find the aspect of Quintin being told to leave someone alone surprising at all to himself and set aside a stack of papers. “I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Graham opted to respond to the first comment and shifted to furrowing his brow in mild contemplation as Q seemed to jump right back into his subject of interest again. “I used to,” He replied casually though he could feel walls starting to erect in his head and he found himself frustrated at their sudden structure. “I think maybe ‘soul’ isn’t the right word,” He shuffled more papers, finally seeing one of the worms and crushing it between his fingers before it had a chance to bite into him. “I don’t believe plants have souls, but they’re alive and have bodies.I’m ASSUMING that you’re referring to the difference between treating a body as an empty husk that’s inhabitable by ‘life’ and assuming that one human body belongs to one ‘soul’, which is bound to that body indefinitely and if that’s the case, if the soul moves on once it perceives its assigned body as ‘dead’.” He thought it was too late to be thinking this existentially. “And in that case, you need to talk to a philosopher. No hard science will be able to answer that for you.”

Quintin laughed. “True. True.” This was why science and biology was exciting. It tethered to so many other areas of study so easily. Stirred the mind to ponder and could contain no answers to the questions one wanted sometimes. “Belief fills the gaps of science. It’s very fun to see what opinions people have over things that are taboo or uncomfortable that contain no scientific backup. Life is special. Consciousness is too. But you know—“ some that are here and alive really don’t belong. He grinned in victory at the last page lifting it up to double check its words were still there and set it in the right pile. “Yay, I promised myself I’d take a break this month and not— doing that. Do you want to hang out again? You like to sing? We could do karaoke or eat bad food somewhere.” Quintin tried to ask without sounding desperate. Long-ass paper. That’s what Graham concluded by the time the duo seemed to reach the bottom of the seemingly-endless stack and he gave an artificial exhale as a sort of pat on the back for all his contribution. He placed his elbows on his knees, leaning back against his feet in his crouch and content to listen to Quintin go off on another tangent if that’s what he wanted but to his actual surprise, the latter made offers to go do stuff. Kill time? It was his turn to laugh, genuine and surprisingly warm. “You’re a weeeeird kid.” He remarked once he tapered his laughter. “Do YOU like to sing?” Karaoke bars usually weren’t someone’s first choice of ‘hanging out’ and even then, he was sure he thought Quintin would’ve been too quiet for that kind of activity. Maybe he DID hold surprises, after all. He extended an arm, fist balled and he lightly nudged Quintin’s shoulder with it. “...Yeah, alright. Karaoke. You pick the time and the place.” He smiled.

“Heyyyy, come on. We talked. You helped me. I can’t help but hope for a better background to keep chatting,” Quintin carefully this time, put the notes back in his bag and held the infested ones to his chest. “And I can sing— I love music.” He felt another tired pout almost plump his lips. Why was he so bad at being casual with people? He’s always awkward. Even the other hunters shy away from him. He tossed his bag on his shoulder, and rose up to unlock his big pick up truck. “Okay—“ he threw the bag in and set the papers down before writing his phone and online profile for him. “Here, you don’t have to.” He shrugged. “But it was kinda nice you could keep up with my gibberish. Maybe see you around.” He pulled himself into the truck. Graham straightened up when Quinton did and he kept his blue eyes on the gawky young man, chuckling and crossing his arms; the mental filter wasn’t too strong on this one. He must’ve been lonely. “Alright, Quintin,” He replied with a scoff. “I’ll see you next time. You better be able to deliver on that karaoke,” He finished the conversation with a call as Q climbed into the big truck that seemed to swallow him. The vampire gave one last look at the student before letting his head fall with another scoff at himself this time; why did he only seem to make friends with weird teenagers? He shook his head and texted his new roommate that he’d be home later than usual - something about Quintin, his face and how he carried himself reminded Graham that he was starving.

#x: graham #x: pages

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madlori · 5 years

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Unveiled - Chapter 3

You guys have been super encouraging today so...surprise! Here’s Chapter 3 early. And it’s kinda short, so. Might as well tack it right on.

Aaaaand chapter 4 will likely show up tomorrow sometime. I’M WEAK.

BTW make sure you’ve read chapter 2, I posted it earlier today. Links are beneath the header image.

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Epilogue

by MadLori Word Count: 2000 Fandom: Men’s Hockey RPF Pairing: Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin Rating: NC-17 (like, heed this, please) Tags: Arranged Marriage, Modern Royalty AU, Mpreg, Not Omegaverse, No Consent Issues, Veiled Sex, Weird Traditions, Don’t Think Too Hard, Handwavey Biology

Definitely sex in this one.

Read it on AO3

The Royal Bedchamber that his consort had mentioned in his message was not Zhenya’s bedroom, nor was it the Consort’s. Their respective rooms were almost next to each other, but not quite -- between them, and with a door leading to each, was the so-called Royal Bedchamber, which was used only during embargo for intimate relations. Once the Consort had conceived and the embargo was lifted, any intimacy they chose to engage in would take place in either of their own rooms.

Zhenya showered, scrubbing himself well. This was the first time he’d really be having relations with his husband -- the ritualized consummation during the wedding hardly counted. It was rare for sex between embargoed partners to reach the level of passionate lovemaking, but they could be more relaxed with each other, and enjoy a more personal experience, than they could do with a cleric standing over them.

The best part, though, was that even though Zhenya would still not see his husband’s face or even most of his body, he would definitely get to see his cock, and he was looking forward to it.

He suspected that his new husband was a man who appreciated punctuality, so he waited until precisely 3:00 pm, then opened the door into the bedchamber.

The consort was sitting on the large, low bed that was the main piece of furniture in the room. He’d changed out of the black drapings he’d been wearing earlier in the garden and into lighter, flesh-toned veils that still concealed him while being a little less forbidding. They covered him only to the middle of his chest and were entirely opaque; Zhenya wondered, not for the first time, how the consort could see through them. He straightened up as Zhenya entered. Sitting there on the bed with his legs folded under him, perked up at attention, the man looked like an eager schoolchild waiting to be called on. His consort had yet to speak a single word to him, but Zhenya was utterly charmed.

Zhenya shut the door behind him and lurked there for a moment, not quite sure how, exactly, to approach having sex with this man. Should he just climb aboard and go to it? Seemed so abrupt, and borderline rude. There was no need for pretense -- they both knew why they were here -- but that didn’t seem like any reason to abandon all niceties, just because they couldn’t make small talk or kiss.

His consort seemed to sense his hesitation -- he took a breath, unfolded his legs, stretched out and...well, there was no other way to put it...displayed himself.

Zhenya’s breath caught. His husband -- it still felt new and strange to even think the word -- was toned and muscular, with magnificent thighs and a narrow waist, the V of his hips drawing Zhenya’s gaze to his impressive cock, sizable even in its flaccid state. Zhenya couldn’t see the man’s face, but he knew that the consort was watching him.

Zhenya slipped out of his dressing gown, revealing his own nudity. His cock was filling rapidly; his balls felt heavy beneath it, as if the task he was here to accomplish weighed upon them. He let his eyes roam up his consort’s strong legs and hips, and all at once he knew what he wanted.

He stepped to the foot of the bed and made a “turn over” motion with one hand. The consort rolled over, keeping his drapings carefully in place, and Zhenya’s cock plumped further at the sight of him. He knelt on the bed and slid his hands to his consort’s hips, urging him up to his knees. Free now to do so, he palmed the smooth, muscled globes, slipping his thumbs between them. The consort arched his back and pressed into Zhenya’s touch in a silent urge to keep going.

Zhenya parted his cheeks, exposing his hole, and then swiftly buried his face there, swiping his tongue up the center with a low growl. He’d wanted to eat this ass since he’d first laid eyes on it, and the reality was even better than his fantasy. The consort smelled clean and masculine, electric like the scent that rose from the earth after a thunderstorm, and Zhenya felt him jump and shudder at the sudden contact. He slipped off his hands where he’d braced on them and sank down to rest on his elbows, dipping his back lower and pressing his ass into Zhenya’s face.

Zhenya relished in the breathy gasps he was wringing from his mate as he worked him over with his mouth. The consort’s cock hung heavy and hard now between his thighs, dripping; Zhenya reached up and stroked it in time with the thrusts of his tongue. He could feel his consort’s pussy getting slick as well; he dipped his tongue lower to swipe across it, drawing a deeper shudder. His own arousal was cresting; he might come without even a hand to himself at this rate, and he had a job to do.

He left off his attentions and knelt up behind his husband, who read the change and moved to spread his thighs and present himself. Zhenya grasped his hips and mounted him quickly, not wanting to finish prematurely and cause an awkward delay while he worked back up to hardness. The consort met his thrusts eagerly, his erection still bobbing free; Zhenya wanted to hang on long enough to bring him to completion as well. He grasped his husband’s cock again and stroked him, keeping a rhythm he hoped would be pleasing; evidently it was, for after only a few strokes the consort stiffened and came over Zhenya’s hand, his passage pulsing and clenching and drawing Zhenya’s orgasm from him. He thrust deep and came hard into his husband’s body, visualizing again a successful conception.

As they both came down, breathing deeply in counterpoint, Zhenya withdrew and collapsed onto his back at the consort’s side. His mate stayed where he was for a moment, then he rolled to his back and tucked his legs close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Zhenya recognized this as a superstitious posture to maximize the chances of conception. He had his doubts about its effectiveness, but it wasn’t his place to judge his consort’s habits, or his superstitions. What was the harm? After a few minutes during which Zhenya looked his fill at his husband’s fine body while he was otherwise occupied, the consort uncurled himself and rose. He turned to face Zhenya, put his hand to his chest and gave him a little bow, then quickly left the room. Zhenya lingered for a moment, enjoying the lazy post-sex lassitude, before he began to feel self-conscious and retreated to his own chamber to clean up and dress before dinner.

------

Zhenya was restless that night. He hadn’t eaten much at dinner, so distracted had he been by thoughts of the surprisingly good sex he’d had with his new husband, not to mention everyone’s endless teasing about his newlywed status. His consort had not been present; it was nearly impossible for embargoed spouses to share meals given the drapings and veils required, not to mention the restriction on both of their speech, so consorts typically ate privately, in the company of their own guards and attendants where they would be allowed to remove their veils. In fact, Zhenya hadn’t seen his consort all evening, and would very likely not see him again until the next day’s 3:00 appointment.

He wondered how many of those appointments they would have. Their wedding would have been scheduled to coincide with his consort’s most receptive time, which would last for as long as a week, but after that the odds of conception were low. The usual custom was that relations took place only if both parties desired them to, until the next cycle of fertility came around. His consort had seemed to enjoy their appointment today, but would he wish to continue when his chances of conceiving dropped? Zhenya would leave that decision to him.

Dammit. Now he was restless and hungry. He glanced at the clock -- after midnight. The kitchens would be deserted.

He rose and put on slippers and his dressing gown and snuck down the back staircase to the kitchen.

Which...was not deserted.

Sitting at the long stainless-steel prep table, holding a large bowl of ice cream and spoon frozen halfway to his mouth, staring at Zhenya with wide, surprised eyes, was one of his consort’s guards, the one he’d noticed earlier with the bow legs and the handsome face. As Zhenya watched, a dribble of ice cream slid from the corner of his mouth and fell to the spotless tabletop. He looked like a child, caught stealing sweets from the cupboard.

“Well, you’re caught,” Zhenya said. “Off to the gallows with you.”

The man seemed to remember himself. He dropped the bowl and spoon with a clatter and jumped to his feet, saluting smartly -- it looked odd on a man clad in a threadbare t--shirt and loose sleeping pants. “Your Royal Highness, my apologies. I…”

“At ease,” Zhenya said, flapping a hand. “I just came down for a late night snack myself. Looks like you had the same idea.” He went to the cabinet, in search of the graham cookies that were his favorite. “Ah ha,” he said, pulling out a tin. He poured some milk and joined his mystery guest at the island. The guard had resumed his ice cream binge. Zhenya peered over. “What flavor is that?”

The guard licked his lips. “Butter pecan.”

“Mmm. My favorite.”

“Mine, too.” He looked down at his bowl of ice cream, then cleared his throat. “Sir, I really do apologize. I’m…”

“Never mind. You don’t report to me, right? We’re...colleagues. If anything. Besides, I’d be a fool not to make friends with one of the men who guards my husband.”

The guard tilted his head to the side with a shrug, a “that’s a good point” sort of gesture. He thought for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Sidney,” he said.

Zhenya shook it. “Call me Zhenya.”

“Hoo, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“How about just here in the kitchen, and only after midnight?”

“I’ll try.”

Zhenya ate two cookies and washed them down with milk. “Have you been guarding His Highness for long?”

Sidney swallowed. “I’m new. Transferred into the Consort’s detail from the Prime Minister’s.”

“So you transfer in and immediately get stationed halfway across the world?”

This statement was met with a blank look. “That’s why I transferred. I wanted to come. See another place, experience a different kind of life. I’d never left New Scotland before, so when the Earl -- sorry, the Consort -- asked me if I’d like to join his guard, I said yes.”

Zhenya wondered if this new guard would be more amenable to divulging intelligence than his captain was. The consort might be dedicated to the integrity of the embargo, but Zhenya wasn’t above a little snooping. “So you don’t know the Consort very well yet?”

“No, I’ve known him since we were kids. I just never guarded him before.”

“He seems like a good man.”

“That’s not for me to judge.” He hesitated. “But that’s what’s said of him.”

“What does he look like?”

A smirk spread over Sidney’s mouth. “You know I’m not supposed to talk to you about him like that. The embargo and all.”

“Is he handsome? Tell me that much.”

Sidney flushed a little and looked away. Zhenya wondered why he’d find that question embarrassing. “He’s...often told that he is.”

“Hmm. Well, I hope I’ll get to see for myself.”

“I’m sure he does, too.”

“His mother said he had a lot of marriage proposals.”

Sidney snorted. “Yeah. Most of them boring as shit, or rich people who wanted a spouse with a title.”

“You knew who’d proposed to him?”

“Everyone talked about it. Heck, people were laying bets on who he’d accept.”

“What were my odds?”

Sidney grinned. “Even. Best odds in the pool. I told him he should bet on one of the long shots then pick him, take the money and run off to the country.”

“Not a bad plan.”

He shrugged. “He’s the one who has to marry the guy.” He blinked, hearing what he’d just said. “Sorry. That wasn’t...I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m glad he picked you.”

“No insult taken.” Zhenya ate another cookie. “I hope he’s glad, too.”

Sidney smiled. “Yeah. I think he is.”

Next Chapter

#unveiled #hockey rpf #sidgeno #sidgeno fic #my writing

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 5 years

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Dark Side: Part 3

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Steve X Reader

Summary: You expected Captain America to be a lot of things… You didn’t expect him to be anything like you. As it turns out, America’s Golden Boy may be more than a little tarnished.

Warnings: Violence, blood, feels, fluff, smut, everything

A/N: This bad boy is for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s Marvelous Writing Challenge!

LOLOLOLOL WHAT HAVE I DONE.

Well. This is longer than I expected but seeing as the challenge is over this week I thought I’d give it to y’all in one final beefy chapter filled with blood and emotions and smut and the bevy of human messiness that makes us all tick. The prompt is bolded. I need a drink. Aaaaand there is probs gonna be an epilogue because I have more ideas for these two.

Hope y’all like my angsty Cap!

Tags are open!

It takes two hours to clean up the mess.

He tells the police he had been here with a friend, who he told to leave as soon as the shot was heard, he saw the victim attacking a woman, she fired in self-defense, before he could question her she’d gotten lost in the crowd. As he conveyed his not entirely untrue story Natasha stared at him, eyebrows raised as if she didn’t believe him but she said nothing.

It didn’t matter. No one seemed too concerned with any of it. Almost to the point that it unnerved him. Both the DCPD and S.H.I.E.L.D. chalked it up to some random incident, bagged the body, took some statements and that was it.

“They’re not going to do anything more about this?” He asked Natasha as everyone dispersed.

She shrugged, “People die every day in this city. They’ll look into it but he’s likely just a thug who picked the wrong mark. Sucks to be him but if no one’s gonna miss him they’re not gonna waste the manpower on it.” He doesn’t like it. “Can’t save everyone all the time, Steve.”

That wasn’t what left a bad taste in his mouth but he couldn’t tell her that. With a cloud hovering over him he heads home, trying his best to push down the feeling in his gut that he’s missing something.

As he slips his key in the lock he hears water coming from the bathroom. His blood runs cold.

Quietly he opens the door. Slipping inside, he stands, hardly breathing as he assesses the situation. His shield isn’t where he usually leaves it, close to the door. However, he does see blood, drops trailing on the wood floor toward the bathroom. Even though he assumes it's you he cautiously makes his way through his apartment.

The door to the bathroom is just barely ajar. He shoulders it open and hears the click of a gun. You’re standing in the shower, shield raised, gun poised.

“Oh thank fuck,” you breathe out, shield dropping to your side revealing your muscular form clad in nothing but a pair of high waist lace underwear and a matching bra. He swallows hard, trying to pretend he doesn’t feel his cheeks heating.

“That thing is heavier than I thought it’d be.” You lean his shield against the wall beside the shower, setting your pistol beside it.

“They really just let you bring that home? I thought it’d be on lock up or something. Vibranium is worth a shit load.” He says nothing as he steps in, nothing the first aid kit, the blood in the bathtub, and discarded surgical thread in a pile.

“I’ll clean this up,” he’s surprised at the awkward tone in your voice. “I… uh… it’s hard to stitch up the back of your thigh yourself, in case you ever need to know.” Blood is still snaking down your leg, he can tell from the pool forming by your foot.

“I’d assume as much.” He has a million questions but for now, you need help. “Here,” he begins undoing the buttons on his shirt.

“You don’t have to-”

“I can’t just leave you bleeding in my shower. And I think I’m owed some answers. So, you’re gonna let me stitch you up and you’re going to answer my questions.”

“Authoritative. I’m into it.” He slides his gaze to you, as he tosses the shirt to his bed. That goddamn smirk on your lips. He’s got half a mind to turn you around in the shower and… No. You need help and he needs answers. That’s what this situation is. Nothing else.

He washes his hands and grabs a few rags, getting them wet. “Turn around, let me see.” Ignoring the blood he kneels behind you, setting the kit down beside him, to inspect the wound. It needs stitches but it’s not too bad.

“Am I gonna make it doc?” You look over your shoulder and down at him, voice dripping with mock concern.

“I think we can save the leg, just barely though.”

“Thank god. Though I could always replace it with a machine gun.”

“That may be the most ridiculous image I can imagine,” he laughs as he starts to clean the area around the wound.

You hiss just a bit before explaining, “It’s in a movie actually.”

“Well,” he pulls gauze from the kit to press to the wound, you brace yourself against the wall, “that sounds like a cinematic masterpiece.”

You laugh a little, “It’s so bad it’s almost good actually. Kind of a horror action combo.”

“Maybe I’ll watch it.” Gently he removes the blood-soaked pad before pressing another, the flow slows.

“I don’t know if it’ll be your taste.”

“Aren’t you the one always telling me to try new things?”

“Ok,” you laugh, “point.”

He threads a fresh needle, “Ready?”

“Can’t wait.” Your tone is flat, forehead pressed against the shower.

He’s impressed that you hardly flinch while he sutchures the wound. As he does so he can’t help but think about how quickly something like this would heal on him. He’d hardly bother to stitch it. He almost… envies you.

Once you’re stitched he tapes gauze over the wound and cleans the dried blood from the back of your leg. “You’re set, though I’d still maybe get it checked out.”

“Thanks, doctor Steve,” you turn and he’s eye level with those maddening lace underwear again.

Forcing his eyes away he stands, stepping out of the shower, heading to the sink, “Yeah, well I didn’t do it for free, Zelda. You owe me-”

“Y/N,” you say softly. He looks back at you as he soaps his hands. “My name… is Y/N.”

His face stretches into a smile. It’s pretty, suits you. Drying his hands he turns to you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

It’s not the smirk he’s grown to expect, the curling of your lips is genuine, soft, lighting your eyes. You nod, “I obviously owe you a new suit too,” you gesture to the bloodstained slacks. “Think I could add some other clothes to the tab? Unfortunately, my dress has seen better days.”

“Sure.” He heads into his room pulling sweats and a tee from a drawer. You’re rinsing the shower with the handheld head when he walks back in. He sets the clothes on the counter. “Don’t worry about the suit. Not like I bought it.”

“Still, thanks.”

“If I leave you in here are you gonna disappear again?”

“No promises,” the smirk back on your lips. He leans in the door, arms crossed. “I’m not going anywhere. I owe you, remember?”

He nods and leaves you. Grabbing fresh clothes himself he goes to the guest room to change too. When he opens the door, there you are. Before he can say anything your eyes fix on something behind him.

“Is that…?” You gesture to the almost finished canvas of St. Louis.

“Yeah…” He hasn’t felt this awkward in more than 70 years. “It… I…”

“You did this?!” You look awestruck.

He shrugs, “Yeah. I went to art school back in my day. It was kinda the only thing I was good at… well besides getting the shit kicked outta me.”

Your gaze has shifted from him back to the painting. “Steve… honestly… this is stunning.”

“Eh. I’m still not happy with the sky, it’s not the right kind of purple. The gradient is off too and my shadows need work.”

“Shut up. It’s beautiful. What the hell are you doing being a soldier?!”

“Could ask you the same thing.”

You scoff, “Nah,” something dark flits over your features when you turn back. “There’s no spectacular hidden talent here.”

“I doubt that.” He gives you a warm smile, “You’re one hell of a dancer.”

Your head tilts back in a laugh, “That’s me bein’ a ho. Nothing particularly special there.” You pat his chest as you walk from the room. “Mind if I nab some of that whiskey I saw in there?”

“Not at all.” He follows you out, “Have a seat and I’ll pour you a glass.” His eyes follow you to the living room, unable to ignore the curve of your ass as you walk.

He pours you a hearty bit of whiskey, certain your leg has to be hurting and he doesn’t have any other pain killer. For posterity, he pours some for himself too. It does nothing for him but the smoky taste is comforting.

“Here,” he hands you the tumbler.

“Thanks,” you wrap your fingers around the glass. Suddenly you look tired, smaller somehow.

He pulls the armchair close to the couch, not wanting to crowd you. For a few minutes, silence hangs. As adamant as he was earlier about getting answers, looking at you now he just wants you to rest.

“So…” you break the silence.

He sighs, “Let’s start with why you asked me out tonight.”

One perfect brow raises, “Because I wanted to.”

“And someone trying to kill you had absolutely nothing to do with it?”

“Not… exactly.” He doesn’t honor that with an answer, just stares at you. Nervously your nails tap the glass of the tumbler. “A few weeks ago I got tapped for a gig. Blind hire. Usually, I don’t even entertain jobs like that unless the pay is very good. This was, but when they told me who…”

Ah… he sees now. “How much is Captain America’s head going for these days?”

“Not funny.”

“I’m not laughin,’ just curious.”

“Millions.” Not bad. At least he knew he was worth something to someone, even if it was dead. “Thing is,” your voice pulls him back, “I have a, uh, reputation of sorts…”

“I don’t doubt that,” he smiles up at you through his lashes and your features soften.

“Fuck you.” Playfully you toss a couch pillow at him. “See, if you hire me you had better be damn sure your hands are cleaner than the person you’re sending me after.”

“If they’re not?”

That smirk plays on your lips. “Well, most times I’ll flip the gig. Tell whoever you hired me to go after what you’re doing, offer my services, usually make more than I was gonna before. And if not it’s at least more satisfying.”

“Judge, jury, and executioner.” He can’t pretend he approves.

You shrug, “I don’t trick myself into thinking it’s justice. It’s a job. That’s all. I just sleep better knowing I didn’t go after someone innocent.” His brows rise. “Yeah. That’s kind of my niche. I’m who the underground sends after their own.”

“Seems like a fine line to walk.”

“I’m very, very good at what I do. So, I’m tolerated.”

“Guessing I’m not dirty enough to justify being your mark.”

“Well… I’m sure in some ways… but not enough for me to put a bullet in you.”

“So you turned ‘em down.”

“No.” He can’t help but look surprised, you laugh. “Told them I needed 48 hours. I knew they’d go underground once I said no, so I needed time. There wasn’t any trail I could find to figure out who was putting the hit out but I did find a tie to my Popov job.”

You slam back the rest of your whiskey, “It was also a blind hire, great pay, but I didn’t look too far into it because he was a fuckin’ monster. Hell, I would have don’t it for a smoke and a beer. But I think they wanted to see if I I could get to someone even with you there…”

“And you did.”

“Yup.” You roll the glass in your hands, “Realized I wasn’t getting anything else on my own so contacted them in 30 hours, they thought I was going to say yes so they were pretty willing to share what they wanted.”

“They wanted more than me dead?”

“No, more like how… They didn’t care about anything else other than it looking like you went out in the line of duty a-”

“Hero’s death.” Bitterness fills his mouth.

“Something like that. And it was to be local, close to DC.”

“We don’t do many jobs close to home…”

“Figured as much.”

He nods, “So they worked out you were going to tell me and came after you?”

You shrug, “That or they planned on taking me out once I turned them down, just finally had a good window.”

He doesn’t like this. Not because someone was gunning for him, that honestly didn’t phase him. He doesn’t like that you were in the crosshairs over it. You may have a questionable day job but… you weren’t a bad person.

“So,” you slowly stand and walk to the table where your clutch and shoes wait, “I was thinking you could cash in on some of those clearly unused vacation hours.” Picking up your things you turn to him smiling. “Maybe see St. Louis for real or Notre Dame, Greece is great this time of year, or-”

“I’m not running.” He’s sort of touched and a part of him would love to go to any of those places with you but… Steve Rogers didn’t stand down from a fight.

“Steve… if someone tried to hire me they aren’t fucking around. They will find someone and-”

He stands, “I’ll be fine.” His hand rests on your shoulder, you lean into it a bit, taking weight off your leg.

Looking up at him your face is hard, “You won’t be.”

“And if I’m not America can have her martyr back, plus someone gets a great payday. Why does it matter to you?”

“Why doesn’t it matter to you?”

He holds your gaze, meaning every word, “Who’s gonna miss Steve Rogers?”

“Me.” He honestly wasn’t expecting that. A sad smile lifts your full lips, “I think I’d miss Steve Rogers… a lot.”

Something in him snaps at that. He’d felt so numb for so long and now he’s suddenly burning. Cupping your face he leans down pressing his lips to yours.

Your things clatter to the floor as you return the kiss, arms curling around his neck. He wraps you in his arms, holding you close and lifts you just a touch as your tongue finds its way between his teeth. The taste of whiskey and desire fill his mouth.

Steve can’t remember wanting something, someone, in so long…

You break the kiss, eyes burning into his own. “Please don’t do something stupid… please.”

“Promise I won’t if you stay.” Hope flickers in his chest for just a moment.

“I can’t…” It flickers out. “I’m sorry.” You release him and he makes sure you’re steady on your feet before he bends to retrieve your things. When he looks back he swears that’s disappointment on your face…

“Even just for tonight? Your leg…”

“Too risky,” your index finger traces his jaw, bottom lip catching in your teeth.

“Can I at least get you home?”

“I can manage, Cap.” You sigh heavily, “I should go…”

His eyes glue to the wood grain of the floor. “Ok.”

“I’ll see you around…” He looks up, then, the soft smile on your features telling him this is a request.

“Maybe.” You nod, darkness flickering behind your eyes. He won’t make promises he can’t keep. Holding your things he turns to walk you out, now just wanting this to be over.

At the door, you both stand awkwardly. “Here,” he hands you your things.

“Thanks.” you take them. “For everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for the warning.”

You nod. “Steve…” Your hand rests over his heart before your pleading eyes catch his, “Please be safe.”

He wraps your hand in his lifting it to his lips, “You too.”

You nod when he releases your hand, no doubt noting his avoidance. “Well, until next time.”

He opens the door, “Next time.” And then you’re gone.

The next few months crawl by. Anytime you’re not working is always miserably boring but you needed to lay low unless you wanted to end up in a shallow grave somewhere.

Your new found free time had left room for you to keep digging into Steve’s hit. What you were finding was… well, nothing short of a national crisis so wild and far-reaching that if you hadn’t been doing the research yourself you’d think it was bullshit. Honestly, discovering that the government was run by lizard people would have been more believable.

More than once you try to convince yourself to meet up with Steve, share all this. But… he wasn’t in a good place, that had been clear. You were pretty sure he wasn’t much better since you left him if your mostly unanswered texts were any indication. If you were to tell him you had evidence that Hydra, the organization he’d given his life to see destroyed, was still functioning… And that it was very possible that S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved… What would he do?

One morning you’re on your third cup of coffee, wondering how you’ll fill your day when your phone rings. The little hand drawn picture of a dick on a napkin that pops up tells you who it is.

“The fuck you want, Wade?” You hear Vanessa laugh in the background and can’t help but smile. “Am I on speaker?!”

“Of course. I only conduct sensitive business in the loudest way possible you know that. Oh and also, rude.”

You laugh, “What’s going on.”

Crunching echos on the other end before he answers. “You asked me to tell you if I heard any chatter about someone getting tapped for that Captain America gig you turned down?”

“Yeah?”

“Well. I heard something.” He says nothing else.

“Wilson. I know you love foreplay but now is not the time.”

“Ugh, you’re so boring.”

“She prefers me anyway,” Vanessa quips.

“She’s not wrong.”

He laughs, “Why am I friends with you again? You’re rude to me, prefer my girlfriend, you never come slap me around anymore, I mean honestly, Y/N.”

“Wade, I swear I’ll do more than slap you around next time if you just stop dicking around and tell me what you got.”

“Ooooh, see that’s what I’m talking about.” More crunching, “But in all seriousness, that’s not the promise I want from you. I tell you this, you tell him if you have to, but don’t get involved, this shit is way too risky.”

“Aww, you care.”

“Fuck you.” He sighs, “Private airport, DC, supposedly some child-smuggling ring, links to human experimentation. That’s at least the story on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s books. Don’t have an exact date but it’s likely going to be within a week.”

Bold of them to stick with that structure even after telling you… but it was a good enough cover, and if it worked… Fuck.

“Y/N… don’t be a dumbass. Why you give a fuck I don’t know but if you need to tell him, do it. That’s it though. Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t, promise.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, Wade, seriously.”

“Anytime.”

“Love ya, Y/N!” Vanessa calls out.

“You too boo! Fuck ‘em up for me.” She laughs and the call ends.

For the next ten minutes, you just stare at your phone. Your fingers trace the shape of your lips, remembering the way he tasted, how warm his body felt… Suddenly you realize you may actually miss him.

Finally, you pick up the phone and tap out a text:

Y/N: Hey. We need to talk ASAP. Call me?

Hours come and go. You run, work out, clean, anything to try to keep yourself distracted but it doesn’t help. Every minute he doesn’t respond fills you with dread.

When you can’t stand it any longer you call him. It rings and rings until his voicemail picks up. You don’t leave one.

Two days later you feel physically sick from the stress. What if you were too late? What if he…

The phone rings, and you practically drop it in your haste to pull the thing from your pocket.

“Steve!?” You hate how desperate you sound.

“It’s the job with the kids isn’t it?” His tone stings a little… still…

“Yeah, it is. Don’t know who took it but it’s a safe bet it’s not someone to fuck around with.”

“Right. Well, thanks for the heads up.”

“Steve?!”

“What.”

“I… uh…” You don’t know what you expected… this wasn’t it. “Just… ya know, don’t die.”

“No promises.” With that, he hangs up.

It hurts more than you want to admit. Angry you storm to the garage and begin beating your punching bag until your knuckles bleed and tears run down your face.

You had made peace that the life you chose was a fairly solitary one. It was better that way. For some reason, though he made you wish that wasn’t the case… it didn’t matter. You couldn’t have him, he didn’t want you… And he’d likely be in a flag covered casket by the end of the week.

That thought makes you freeze mid punch.

No. You can’t let that happen. Rushing through the house you gear up, wrap your knuckles, and in less than an hour, your bike is thundering down the highway.

You’d been living in Pittsburg so it doesn’t take you long to get to DC. The sun had just set when you stand at his door, banging, heart threatening to burst from your chest.

As soon as it’s clear that he’s not going to answer you go outside and work your way up the fire escape, prying the window open like you did the last time you were here.

“Steve?” You call out, begging that if nothing else you’ll see his shield… There’s no Steve and no shield. “Fuck.”

Wade didn’t tell you what private airport. You wrack your brain, there were two that were legit just outside the city but you knew there were a couple more exclusive ones that wouldn’t be found through a simple Google search. You don’t hesitate to call in some contacts to find out where this may be going down. If someone wanted to rat you out so be it.

Favors called in, promises given, you finally have it narrowed down to two places. One on the books one off. The first one is the obvious choice, used mainly by wealthy dignitaries looking to avoid customs and it’s closer. It’s also a dead end. Cursing yourself you pray you’re not too late as you rush to the other private airport near College Park.

The place is dead… as is the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent near the front of the small check-in area. It reminds you how easily this could go wrong. You slip your phone out and text Wade.

Y/N: Look. If I eat it tonight this isn’t on you. Idk why he matters but he does and I couldn’t stay out of it. You know where my stash is, take Vanessa somewhere nice if I don’t come out of this. Love ya.

If you did live he’d likely kick your ass after this. You’d welcome it. Taking a deep breath you stalk slowly deeper into the airport.

The silence eats at you making your anxiety rise. If there was still a fight going on you’d hear something… if he was…

You hear glass breaking from down the small terminal. Immediately you take cover. Unable to see you let your ears do the work. Two, maybe three, a groan and a snap echos in the space. Well… two people. A shot goes off and you flinch but you have to look.

The merc isn’t someone you know but he’s big, a mountain of a man who’s bulk rivals Steve’s. Brass knuckles on his massive hand, in the other a gun.

“Honestly,” he speaks, clearly American, “I thought this would be harder.” A sinister grin fills his face, “But who am I to complain?”

He rushes Steve, landing a blow to his solar plexus. Steve gasps and the shield clatters to the ground. Before you know it your gun is in your hand and you shoot, not to kill but to distract.

“What the fuck?!” He takes cover as you let loose another shot.

“You scare easy for a big fucker!” You taunt more to let Steve know who’s here.

The glint of the metal on his knuckles tips you off before he can take his shot and you tumble toward Steve who’s still getting his breath. Pushing him to the side you fire.

“What the hell are you-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You growl at him. From your belt, you pull a flash bomb and hurl it toward the merc. In a second it goes off and you pull Steve to his feet. “Come on.”

You head toward the front of the terminal, previously abandoned but you can hear the shuffle of people. Steve pulls you against him and against the wall, shield in front of you.

“Not yours?” You ask looking up at his bloody face partly covered by the cowl.

“No.”

“Great.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says low in your ear.

“Neither should you.” You push away from him, “This way.” Hopefully, you could get out the back of the terminal before the merc got his vision back.

Holding close to the wall you manage to make it to a side door. Relief begins to tickle at you. You just may get out of this alive. With no assailants near, you turn to him.

“So, I warn you that someone is trying to kill you and all you can do is run straight for the reaper!? I mean I get you don’t like me or approve or whatever but come on you could have at least-”

Unblinking he flings his shield behind you with a swish. You turn in time to see it slam into someone's neck, snapping it.

“-listened to me,” you finish your statement voice flat with restrained surprise.

“Never said I didn’t like you,” he pushes past you to retrieve the shield. “We should aim for the back.” You nod and follow him.

You cover one another as you slowly make your way to the gated back portion of the airstrip. The shrubbery would provide just enough cover once you got there and-

A bullet grazes Steve’s shoulder causing his shield arm to go slack.

“Shit,” he hisses. The shot came from the single-engine plane you had just cleared.

Whirling you take aim at the assailant and catch them in the chest as they try to take cover off the wing. With a clatter they tumble to the ground, head making a sick crack on the asphalt.

“They must have sent a team,” you say kneeling to look at his wound.

“Ya think?” He sets the shield against his calf for a moment while he tries to move his arm.

“You’re making me regret showing up to save your ass.” He huffs out a little laugh.

It happens so fast you can’t think. A shot rings to your left and you both look. He must have seen or heard something you didn’t because he’s got you by the shoulders pulling you to the ground and under him. You can feel the moment the bullet hits his body. He groans and goes heavy on top of you.

“Steve!” He says nothing and you manage to push him off gently. Blood stains the navy of his suit a darker shade and you can see the tip of the bullet glinting against the fabric. Through and through.

You grab the shield and deflect another volley of bullets from the two of you. Glancing over you see the big man from before. Great.

“Just go,” Steve groans.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up earlier?” You rip your shirt off and toss it to him to press to his wound. “Don’t bleed out on me.”

Thinking fast you rise to your feet, shield before you and you fire at the man. One in the head, two in the chest. He’s only part of your problem. You can see movement toward the terminal…

The two of you need cover and a very loud distraction. You pull two smoke grenades and toss them toward the plane the shooter had been on. In just a minute there’s enough of a screen to shield you both for a moment.

“Ok,” you turn to him. “Cover your ears, it’s gonna get loud and then we’re gonna have to run like hell. Can you manage?”

He grimaces, blood suffusing his side. “Sure, why not.”

There’s no other choice. You pull the two concussion grenades you keep for special occasions from their holster. Flicking the pins and hoping for the best you hurl them one after the other in two directions before covering you both with the shield as best you can.

The one that lands by the plane has the desired effect, it blows close by and will only cause a bigger hazard as the fire you can see through the smoke spreads. The other doesn’t hit much but is loud enough to distract. Good.

“Time to go old man.” You help him up, shield on your free arm and you make your way to the fence. The link is easy to cut and you’re quickly through it into the brush.

“Where are we even going, Y/N? Just leave me here, my people will come and-”

“I’m not fucking leaving you.” Your tone is sharp. “We aren’t in the wilderness. There’s a strip mall not far. I’ll jump a car and get you…” Where?

“Just get me home.” You stare at him trying to gauge just how much he wanted to die. “If you take me to a hospital they’re gonna look for me and innocent people may get hurt. I’m not bleeding enough for this to be life-threatening-”

“You don’t-”

“You can stitch me up.” His smile is crooked.

“I’m not a fucking medic, Rogers.” If he died… You were wasting time. “Whatever fine. Come on.”

You manage to get him back to his apartment alive.

His massive form leans against you heavily. “Don’t fucking pass out on me now, Rogers.”

He grunts in response. “Table.”

Hastily you clear the mail and books from the table top. The heavy wooden furniture groans under him as he sits on it, shaking fingers fumbling to undo his tactical suit.

“Here,” you push his hands away. There are an annoying amount of zippers and connection points but you eventually get it loose to his waist.

Moving behind him you lean across the table to help slide the suit down his arms. At first, your breath catches at the way the muscles of his shoulders and upper back ripple, a fucking Grecian statue of a man. When your eyes trail down though…

Blood stains his side, leaking slowly from the bullet hole. Bruising, deep and painful, already blossoms around the wound. His arm is nowhere near as bad but still needs attention. You swallow hard, trying to calm the panic in your chest.

A clink on the table draws your eye away. The bullet, intact and bloody lies there.

“Jesus, Steve…” Your fingers barely touch the unbruised skin close to the wound. He shivers.

“Not to be an ass but-”

“Shit! Yeah, sorry.” Hurridly you run to the bathroom and tug out the first aid kit, in the same place it was before, and soak rags in warm water. When you come back in you notice Steve sway.

You slam everything down on the table. “Steve,” you grab him by the shoulders, “hey,” your hands move to cup his face. “Look at me.” Those cool blue eyes meet yours, hazy and distant, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

His hands catch your wrists, strong fingers digging in. “No,” his voice is stern, eyes seeming to clear.

“Ok,” you don’t want to waste time fighting him. You wash your hands in scalding water, slip glovers over them, and pray to a god you had long since given up on that you don’t kill this man.

When you’re finally wrapping a bandage around him you feel like you’ve just sprinted 10 miles. Your hands are shaking, your nerves are fried, you want to throw up and pass out and have 40 drinks but… you did the fucking thing. So far, so good. He hadn’t fainted, bled out, or died.

You take a shaky breath as you secure the bandage and he catches your hands in his bloodstained paws. Slowly you drag your eyes to meet his, barely breathing.

“Thank you,” his features are so soft.

A dry laugh slips from you, “Thanks for not dying.” He squeezes your hands a bit.

“Come on,” you pull back to help him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“You don’t hav-”

“Consider it me protecting my hard work. I’m not about to have gone through that for you to fuck it up.”

“Fair,” he groans as he stands.

You guide him to the bathroom and he hesitates, “Seriously I-”

“Don’t blush Rogers, you’ve lost too much blood to send it running in places it shouldn’t be.” The look on his face is slightly shocked. You can’t help but laugh, “Look, do you really think you can get out of the rest of this gear on your own?” He shrugs. “No. You can’t. Don’t be a baby.”

Gently you push him toward the bathroom. “Sit.” He does so on the edge of the tub.

Steve watches you kneel before him, sure fingers untying the laces on his boots.

There was a time in his life he was used to being cared for. Honestly, it felt both like yesterday and an age ago… Unsurprisingly he still absolutely hates it.

You were right though. He wasn’t in the shape to do it himself.

“Stand for a sec, we need to get this suit off.”

He swallows hard. It wasn’t that he was particularly shy… but…

“I can’t let you hang around in bloody clothes, man.”

All he can manage is a nod. His legs shake as he stands and his head swims a bit from blood loss and lack of sleep. When was the last time he had a solid night’s sleep…

“Stay with me,” you reach out steadying him.

“Tryin’,” his tongue is thick in his mouth.

“Just a bit longer.” You give him a gentle reassuring smile.

He feels almost drunk. “You have a beautiful smile.” The words just fall from his lips. Some part of him is mortified until your smile brightens even more before you look away. “Now who’s blushing?” He teases.

“Ya know I was gonna let you keep some of your dignity and give you a towel to cover up with. Now I’m not so sure.” You look back at him and wink.

“I got nothin’ to hide.”

“I bet.” That spark in your eyes makes the muscles in his abdomen clench painfully.

He’d be lying if he tried to pretend he’d never wondered what you’d look like on your knees. However, in none of his imaginings were you working a blood-soaked tac suit off him while he fought to stay conscious. But since when had anything in his life gone to plan?

“Boxers?”

He blinks at you, “What?”

“Your boxers. You need some that don’t look like evidence.”

He looks down, the ones he’s wearing are half grey and half crimson. “Top drawer.” You disappear and return with boxers and sweats.

You hand him a towel, “Thought I’d be nice.”

Wordlessly he takes it, holding it loosely in front of himself. When your fingers hook around the elastic of his boxers, your body lowering slowly down with the garment, eyes locked on his, he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Hangin’ in there, Cap?” Mischief glints in your eyes.

“Mhm,” he nods his head. You turn to wet a rag and, despite his best efforts, his mind fills with images of tearing your tac pants off your body and fucking you over the sink until you can’t stand.

His throat goes dry as you turn back. Unsuccessfully he tries holding the towel out a touch further to hide how hard he is.

The corner of your mouth ticks up, your warm hand on his chest causing his heart to beat a little faster. “What’d I say about keeping blood where it belongs?” Your voice is a purr.

Steve huffs out a small laugh, grimacing at the movement. You drop to your knees, gently washing the blood off his thigh. Bullet wound be damned. His fingers release his grip on the towel.

“Steve…” Your eyes lift up to his, the tip of your tongue flitting out to touch your bottom lip. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just got shot… I don’t want to hur-“

“Please.” He doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that his knees feel week, that his head is filled with fog, or that he could have died tonight. He didn’t die. And he wants you… it’s the first time he’s wanted anything… anyone, in so long…

He won’t force you but his eyes are begging, he knows. As you stand disappointment feels heavy in his gut. But…

The bloodstained rag lands with a thwack in the tub. Your calloused palm rubs the stubble on his cheek before pulling his face to yours. It’s a soft kiss, your mouth warm and inviting. He groans as your hand wraps around his cock.

“Sit,” you whisper against his lips. He lowers to the edge of the tub and you settle between his thighs.

Your fingers trail feather light touches down his chest, your lips following close behind. Lust and adrenaline clear his mind. Even so, there’s nothing but you right now.

Those eyes of yours look up at him, smirk on your full lips. Your tongue languidly runs up the length of him, catching the bead of moisture gathering at his head. His breath stutters and you hesitate.

“Please don’t stop.” He needs this… maybe more than he wants it.

Without hesitation your tongue traces his head before taking the length of him, your eyes never wavering. He hit’s the back of your throat and a growl rumbles in his chest. One hand grips the tub’s edge his other cupping the back of your head.

Lifting up, your hand wraps around his shaft, twisting a touch as your mouth applies the faintest suction to his head. The fingers of your free hand run over his balls and down…

His head falls back. Deft fingers massage the tender flesh just behind his sack while your palm cups his balls, pressing up ever so slightly. After only a few minutes the steady motion… the sound… his exhaustion… everything comes to a peak.

“Y/N… I… I…” The words won’t form. He can’t…

Fingers tangle in your thick hair, his body tenses, and the sound that tears through him is not quite a scream but it’s more than a moan. It reverberates against the tile walls. His body shakes.

When his vision clears he sees you, eye level, brushing a drop of cum from the edge of your grinning mouth. His eyes flutter.

“If you faint on me I swear…”

“No, I… I’m good.” With a shaking hand, he pulls your face to his, kissing you softly. “I am afraid I won’t be able to repay the favor tonight I-”

“Don’t. Consider it a thank you for taking a bullet for me.”

“I didn-”

“Yes, you did.” Your gaze is stern and he knows he can’t argue. He did. He knows he did.

Cleaned up, dressed, and thoroughly spent he lets you lead him to his bed. He winces, as his back meets the mattress.

You sit next to him on the bed, “Do you have anything you can take for pain?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing really works. Perk of being a super soldier…”

“That’s some shit.” He nods. “Are you comfortable enough?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” your gaze shifts away.

Sighing you stand. For reasons he’s too exhausted to identify, panic grips his chest and his hand shoots out for yours.

“Don’t go… please… I… I don’t…” Want to be alone. Are the words his pride just won’t let him say, even now.

Your fingers lace between his, “I wasn’t gonna leave you, Steve. Not like this.” Relief floods his body. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

He tightens his grip. “You don’t have to sleep out there… it’s a big bed.” A hopeful, crooked smile lifts his lips.

“Ok… but I’m stealing a shirt.” Your smile makes your eyes flash and his heart leap.

“Fine by me.”

He drifts off once you disappear into the bathroom only waking when he feels you slide into the bed next to him. Eyes at half mast he reaches out to you. Carefully you let him pull you close.

This… the feeling of you next to him, your hand over his heart, cheek on his chest… he didn’t know how desperately he needed this. Despite the wound in his side and everything in his head, he sleeps hard through the night.

Morning’s light slowly wakes him. Already the serum in his veins has worked overtime, the pain far less than it was last night.

A rustling next to him draws his gaze and warmth fills his chest. He expected you to be gone by morning… Instead, you’re sound asleep, back pressed to his side.

His smile is so wide it makes his cheeks ache a bit. Worried that he’ll wake you if he moves he contentedly dozes, opening his eyes here and there to watch the steady rise and fall of your breath or study the colors of your hair in the sunlight.

He wants to paint you… just like this… He closes his eyes, imagining the canvas.

“Good morning,” your voice sounds petal soft. His eyes open to see your face in the warm light, a soft smile on your lips.

“Morning.” Neither of you says more. Somehow you’re content to study the other… Until your phone begins to blare a song from your pants pocket.

“Shit!” Frantically you scramble up and fish the phone from your pants.

“Hey!” Your tone is forced. Someone screams something on the other end, he can’t quite make out the words though. “Not dead. Sorry… I… I know… I… Wade… Just…” He sees your features shift, “Yeah… Yeah, I got it. Love you too.”

You toss the phone on the end of the bed and rub your hands over your face. The last bit of that conversation had him burning though…

“Boyfriend?”

“What?” Your brows knit. “Oh! Fuck no.” You laugh a little and he feels himself cool. “Best friend. He tipped me off about last night, told me not to get involved…”

“And he’s pissed you didn’t listen.”

“Something like that…” You look at him, eyes… sad.

“Y/N?”

“I have to go…” You catch your bottom lip in your teeth.

He shoots up from the bed, wincing at the pain but not stopped by it. “Why? Do they know you-”

“No,” you hold your hands up, resting them against his chest when he stops in front of you. “They suspect though so it’s best I get the hell outta dodge before they can confirm anything.”

“You don’t have to go…” His voice holds a twinge of desperation. “I can get you S.H.I.E.L.D. protection,” something darkens your features at this but he keeps going, “and I would… look out for you.” He rests his hands on your shoulders.

Your eyes fix to the floor, “I can’t, Steve. It’s too risky for both of us.” The twinge in his chest is alleviated a touch by the look of longing on your face when he tilts your chin up.

“I need you to promise me something.” Your somber tone chills him.

“Ok…”

“Look out for yourself, watch your back. Don’t trust anyone, even S.H.I.E.L.D. to protect you…”

“Y/N… I’ve got good people, you don’t have to-”

“Promise me, Steve. Even good people can be bought.”

“They couldn’t buy you,” he traces the curve of your brow down to your soft, rose-colored lips.

That smirk again, “I’m not good people.”

“Yes, you are.” Pulling you to him he kisses you, hard this time, hungry. A few steps back and he has you pinned against the wall, he can feel your heart thundering in your chest.

“You could stay and have my back,” his lips graze the tender flesh under your ear.

“I can’t,” your voice is thick with emotion. When he looks at you tears shimmer in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Please…” A trembling hand cups his face, “Please, promise me you’ll be smart… don’t-” Your voice cracks but you fight to keep your composure. “Don’t run toward death…”

He’s not certain it’s a promise he can keep but… “I promise, Y/N.” One tear escapes the corner of your eye, he thumbs it away. “But you have to promise the same.”

A bitter laugh pops out, “I’m not the one to worry about here but… yeah. I promise.”

He kisses you again, wanting to hold on to the way it makes his chest burn, the movement of your lips on his the… Feeling of being alive, not just angry, for the first time in a long time.

The two of you say nothing else, each seemingly not trusting what may come from your mouth, as you change. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you, dreading the moment he has to let you go.

“You should definitely get that looked at,” you gesture to the bandage.

“What? Don’t trust your tabletop nursing skills?”

“Absolutely not.”

He slowly stands, “I will.”

Without prompting, you wrap your arms around him, taking care to avoid his injury, and tuck your face in his neck. The two of you stand like that for a while.

There are so many things he wants to say but he doesn’t. He just contents himself with burying his nose in your hair, allowing the warm intimacy of the moment to wash over him.

A heavy sigh tickles over his skin and he knows it’s time to let go.

At the door you turn back to him, eyes glassy once more. “Remember, don’t trust anyone… not with everything.”

“I got it.” One final time his lips press to yours, slow and longing.

Your forehead rests against his, your eyes speaking volumes, as you whisper, “I’ll miss you, Steve Rogers.”

Those three words hit him harder than that bullet had. His mouth hangs slack just a touch.

You smile, “Gonna catch a fly.” Playfully you lift up his chin. “Be safe.”

“You too, Y/N.”

One more kiss… and again… you’re gone.

True to form. Steve Rogers surprises you. This time by wheedling his way into your heart and mind so deep you cannot fucking shake him.

To protect you both you don’t call or text, the risk too high. You do, however, send him a letter. There’s no return address and no long written missives. The papers contain numbers, coordinates for a house in Buffalo New York and two words. Love, Zelda With a red lip print over them.

You don’t expect him to come here. All you wanted was for him to know you were safe and that if he needed a place to go he had it.

A few jobs came and went. Winter faded into spring. You began to wonder if maybe you could meet up now if things had quieted enough. Because despite trying desperately to convince yourself otherwise… you desperately missed him.

Then all hell broke loose.

Glued in front of your TV you watch in horror as S.H.I.E.L.D., quite literally falls. You’re blowing up with information from all your contacts. Inbox, dark web forums, everything.

Hours pass that feel like days… No one had reported on Steve’s condition, just that Captain America had been spotted in the fight. A curious numb sensation creeps over you at the thought that he may be gone.

Finally, someone comes through. This time it’s not your usual sources but an old military friend. Rogers was in his hospital, injured but not at risk of death, and no, he wasn’t alone. Someone, a male friend, was with him. Had been the whole time. You nearly sob from relief.

As media attention on the fiasco rises you know there’s no way for you to get close without being spotted. The last thing he needs is to be seen with someone like you. So you allow yourself to be thankful that he’s still here, letting that be enough.

Several weeks later you pass out hard after a long, trying day.

The Hydra files Romanoff released had rocked your world. Nearly everyone you knew had been pinged by those bastards at some point. Including you. This meant everyone was reevaluating their loyalties, cutting ties, and more than a few had already been put down… The fear and paranoia were real and exhausting.

When a sound from your kitchen hits your ears in the middle of the night you shoot up. Hand already wrapped around the pistol under your pillow. Apparently, this was the day.

Not bothering with formalities like pants, you quietly creep to your cracked bedroom door and nudge it open just enough. Without a sound you stalk down the short hall, breath bated.

All you can see in the dim light is the intruder’s back. Wide, shoulders move as they finish a bottle of whiskey and set it down, not even trying to be quiet. A car passes and illuminates familiar golden hair. Steve…

You lower your gun, “Wanna tell me what you’re doing in my kitchen at three in the morning?”

He turns slowly, the shadows making his features almost sinister. “Did you know?” Voice barely above a whisper.

“Know what?” You set the gun on a side table and move to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “About S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

Almost too fast for your eyes to follow, he rounds the counter, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you hard against the wall. Your breath is heavy from a mix of fear and maybe a touch of excitement.

“Fuck S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Ok,” your voice breathy as you try to regain composure. “Well for what it’s worth, no, I suspected S.H.I.E.L.D. but I didn’t have anything concrete. Hydra…” Your eyes dart away, “That I did know about…”

“No,” his fingers dig into your upper arms, his breath scented with whiskey. “The Winter Soldier,” he spits the title out, “did you know who he was?!”

You look back to him, brows knit. “Uh… until a few weeks ago I thought he was the bogeyman of criminals… so… no. Should I know him?”

Some of the rage seeps from Steve’s features, “Steve?” You place your hand against his unshaven cheek.

In an instant, his mouth covers yours, warm and whiskey flavored. You almost groan in satisfaction. His massive form presses into you and you savor the sensation.

He runs his hands down your sides as your arms curl around his neck. When he slips his hand in the front of your boy shorts you make a small sound, you already know what he’ll find.

When he feels your moisture, those strong fingers sliding just over your damp folds a grin fills his face but he doesn’t make a move.

“Please,” you echo his request from months before.

That's all it takes. His lips crash against yours, teeth knocking slightly, and two of his fingers slip in, stretching you open. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking, your body hungry for him.

Wanting to touch him your hands move under his shirt, holding his sides as he works your cunt. When his fingers curl up just enough your nails dig into his skin. You feel the tension gather in your abdomen. Wordlessly you beg him not to stop.

“Steve…” Your breath hitches.

His thumb rolls lightly over your clit. Your head would have thudded against the wall had he not cupped it, forcing your gaze to stay on him. His blue eyes burn into you, he picks up the pace, thumb making steady circles over your throbbing clit.

“Fuck… fuck…”

“Come for me,” he growls.

You do. In earth-shattering fashion. Crying out, electricity pulses through your body, your legs tremble, your knees give way. He pulls his hand out of your underwear and catches you, holding your trembling body close.

This lasts only until you feel the length of him move through his denim. That was incredible but you want all of him.

Your unsteady hands reach for his belt. Fingers, that can’t quite obey orders yet try to convince the offending garment to give up its prize. His hands grasp yours, stopping their work.

He kisses you, the distraction enough that you don’t resist him as he spins you toward the island. Strong hands turn you, pressing your back to his chest.

Lips trail down your neck, goosebumps cover your skin. He catches the hem of your tee and pulls it over your head. Not trusting your legs to hold you, your hands brace against the counter and his teeth bite at the soft flesh where your neck and shoulders meet.

“Steve,” you breathe out.

The tinkling of his belt buckle hits your ears and fuck, a zipper going down had never sounded so promising.

His hand wraps lightly around your throat, tilting your head back just under his chin. “How do you want it?” His voice burning velvet.

Your eyes flit to his, “Give me everything. Don’t hold back.” Lust sparks in his eyes and he kisses you breathless.

Moving your underwear to the side with one hand and pressing your chest to the counter with the other he slams the full length of his cock into you. You gasp raggedly, body pressing back to him. This is the best kind of hurt.

Steel fingers dig into your hips holding you steady as he fucks you so hard you forget anything else. Your moans and cries mingle with his low sounds. Everything is this.

His hands release you but he doesn’t stop fucking you. Vaguely, you’re aware of something falling to your side. When he grabs a fistful of your hair pulling you up against him you realize it was his shirt, his burning flesh pressed to your own.

The other hand dips into your sopping boy shorts and effortlessly locates your clit once more, his cock throbbing inside you.

“Look at me,” he says in a gravel tone. You do as he asks and a whimper slips from you, his fingers and cock driving you mad. “You like that, baby?”

Words are lost. He fills your parted lips with a kiss and you fill his mouth with your cries of pleasure as you come once more.

You can hardly breathe now, much less stand. With a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, he lifts you into his arms. Your hungry mouth kisses and nibbles the salty skin of his neck as he carries you back to your room.

Tossing you on the bed he slips out of his jeans and you free yourself of your underwear. For a moment he just stares at you, on your back in the dim space, legs spread, waiting for him to take you.

Moving with the fluidity of a big cat he hovers over you. Your hands trail over the solid muscles of his back, fascinated at the power housed in this body.

This time he enters you slowly. Your legs wrap around him and a low rumble vibrates through his chest.

“Y/N,” he hums next to your ear.

You grab his face, bringing it up so you can see him. His breath is ragged. Intentionally you tighten your walls against him his lids flutter and a soft moan falls from his lips.

His pace quickens and your body responds, hips rising to meet him, demanding evermore.

“Fuck,” he breathes out grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand. The other lifts your head to more easily kiss you.

“C-can I,” he stutters between kisses.

“Yes,” your legs tighten around him, “god yes.”

He roars, your back arches up, moan raw tearing from some hidden place in you. Then there’s nothing but the soft sounds of your panting breaths.

Steve’s body shakes, the weight of it on you strangely comforting. When he looks at you all the rage and fire are gone, replaced with a mournful sadness. The past few weeks had been hard on you… they had to be hell on earth for him.

Tenderly you kiss him. “Stay here.”

His brows knit, “You sure…? I… I… don’t…”

“Hush,” your fingers try to coax the lines of his forehead into relaxing. “I want you to stay.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t protest more. In fact, he doesn’t say much of anything. He does let you hold him. At times you think he may be crying but his cheeks are dry despite his labored breathing.

You’re drifting off, for now resting your head on his chest, when he asks, “Do you like your bed?”

“Huh?” You aren’t sure your groggy brain understood.

“Your bed. Do you… like it?”

You consider for a minute. “It’s ok. Kinda soft.” Honestly, you could never find the right firmness.

He laughs a little, “Apparently it’s a complaint a lot of Vets have. Bed’s being too soft.”

Leaning up on an elbow you look down at him, “Ya know… You’re right. Friend’s of mine complained about that too. Sometimes…” You shake your head a bit at yourself, “Sometimes I even sleep on the floor if I can’t fall asleep in my bed.”

Steve softly caresses the side of your face, a weak smile on his lips, “Me too.”

“Do you want to?” Hopping off the bed you pull the comforter off, not giving him time to answer. “Grab the pillows. No need to deny ourselves that small comfort.”

“We don’t… I wasn’t…”

You’re already laying the comforter on the ground. “I want to. Now come on.”

He brings the pillows over and arranges them while you grab another blanket for you both to cover up with. Quickly the two of you settle down.

After a while, Steve whispers into your hair, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have anything to thank me for, Rogers.”

“Yeah, I do.” You look up at him, his eyes glassy in the dim light. “You saw all of me… the darkest parts… from the beginning and you didn’t run away.”

“Technically…” You tease.

“Shut up,” he smiles but a tear finally works it’s way free. You brush it away.

“You’re not alone, Steve. We all have our dark sides. I’m right there with you.”

He nods, chewing on his bottom lip.

Now the tears come. Silent at first and he doesn’t let you brush them away or offer him comfort of any kind. He just hides his face, one knee pulled up. When the sobs start you don’t let him push you away.

You can’t fathom the depth of his grief. Everything and everyone he lost… now he had the one thing that gave him stability ripped from under his feet… You don’t have to truly understand it to anchor him though.

Captain America may look out for everyone else. He may be the beacon and hero the country, hell the world, needs right now… But you, you would look out for Steve Rogers. No matter what.

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #LDMWC

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mikauzoran · 5 years

Text

Adrienette Drabble Thirty: Sleep

“You should eat something,” Plagg advised as he jumped around on the piano, picking out the notes to O Mio Babbino Caro.

“I’m sleeping,” Adrien grumbled, rolling over onto his stomach.

“You’re moping,” Plagg snorted.

“I have every right to mope. Last night was one of the worst nights of my life. …Do you have to play that song?” Adrien groaned. “It’s depressing.”

“It’s a beautiful song,” Plagg countered. “What’s wrong with it?”

Adrien sat up and sang along, “…ma per buttarmi in Arno.”

Plagg stopped playing. “…Are those the lyrics?”

“Yep,” Adrien snorted. “A little ironic, don’t you think? Especially considering your concerns about me throwing myself into the Seine just last night over a broken heart. The Seine, the Arno. Same difference, really. Keep playing. I’ll sing you the rest.”

Plagg reluctantly obliged.

“Mi struggo e mi tormento!” Adrien crooned, dropping the notes down into the tenor range.

Even in the lower register, the sharpness of the pain and torment was visceral. Plagg could tell Adrien felt every word.

“O Dio, vorrei morir,” Adrien sang so that the notes wept.

“Okay, no.” Plagg quit abruptly, flying over to nuzzle Adrien for all he was worth. “Stop that. Stop wishing you could die. Bad song choice. Bad song choice.” He zipped down to tickle Adrien’s ribs.

Adrien burst out laughing and fell over backwards in bed. “S-St-Stop!” he shrieked as he tried to roll away from the onslaught. “Mer-cy!” he cackled.

Eventually, Plagg stopped and floated up to look Adrien right in the eye. “Kid, I love you so much. You know that, right?”

A touched smile curled onto Adrien’s lips, succeeding in making it all the way to his eyes. “Yeah.” He reached up to scratch underneath Plagg’s chin. “I know, Plagg. I love you too.”

Plagg landed on Adrien’s cheek and gave it a sloppy lick, ignoring the salty taste of dried tears. “Good. Glad that that’s settled. Now, let’s play something happy!” He soared back over to the piano. “What do you want to hear?”

“Whatever you want to play, Plagg, I’m sure it will be wonderful,” Adrien assured, settling back under the covers.

“Come on. Let’s have a request,” Plagg prompted, trying to keep the boy engaged so that he didn’t slip back into his melancholy.

“Habanera from Carmen,” Adrien mumbled into his pillow.

Plagg pursed his lips. “…That’s not a happy song.”

“Hooked on a Feeling,” Adrien proposed instead, having no skin in the game.

“…No. No love songs,” Plagg sighed, sinking down to sit on middle C.

“Javert’s Soliloquy from Les Misérables.” Adrien returned the sigh with interest.

Plagg banged his head against the keys. “Aaaaand we’re back to jumping into rivers. Tell you what. How about we put your sound system to use and go back to listening to Shake It on repeat until you’re fed up enough to get out of bed and eat?”

“Noooooo!” Adrien whined, picking up Plagg’s pillow and tossing it indiscriminately. “I’d rather jump into the Seine than listen to Metro Station.”

“Then you had better—”

Plagg was cut off by a knock at the window.

There was a beat.

“…Was that a bird running into my window?” Adrien wondered, coming out from underneath the covers.

“…A turtle,” Plagg observed.

“The hell?” Adrien sat up to find Carapace waving at him from the other side of the glass.

“The hell?” Adrien repeated as Carapace found the window pane that Adrien kept unlocked for Chat and hopped down into Adrien’s room.

“Detransformation,” Carapace muttered, leaving Nino to dart across the room to Adrien’s side. “Hey. Mec.” Nino kicked off his shoes and crawled across the bed to tackle Adrien. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Adrien’s hair, squeezing Adrien tight. “Adrien, I’m so sorry. That never should have happened.”

Despite himself, Adrien melted into the embrace and let his hand come to rest between Nino’s shoulder blades.

After a minute, Nino pulled back, letting Adrien sit up so that Nino could study him. “How are you doing?”

Adrien shook his head. “Since when does Maître Fu let you borrow Wayzz to sneak into people’s bedrooms?”

“Since I expressed frantic concern that Chat Noir was vulnerable to akumatization and since your father told me I wasn’t allowed to see you and that I was to leave the premises before he had security escort me. He said you didn’t want to see me,” Nino snorted.

“I told him to tell you that I wasn’t home,” Adrien sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are currently on the list of people I will always love but don’t particularly like right now.”

Nino bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “That’s fair.”

Adrien waited, but no further excuses or pleas for forgiveness followed.

Adrien arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to list all sorts of reasons why I should forgive you and why you were in the right?”

Nino shook his head. “No. You have every right to be mad at me. I’m not so sure myself that I got it right this time. I mean, I knew fallout from this was probably going to be bad, but… Look, Mec, I’m just here to make sure you’re all right. Us being all right comes second, so… What can I do? What do you need?”

Adrien pursed his lips and considered momentarily. “Could you please go get that pillow that I threw?”

Nino glanced about until he spotted it on the floor under the piano. “Sure.” With a shrug, he went to fetch it. On his way back to the bed, he noticed the pile of grey ash over by Adrien’s computer.

Nino stopped mid-step to gawk. “Dude. What happened to your desk chair? Did you Cataclysm it?”

Adrien smiled sheepishly. “Uh…accidentally, yes. The desk chair was collateral damage.”

Nino’s frown intensified. “What happened?”

Adrien rubbed at the back of his neck, shrugging and averting his eyes. “I may have been in the middle of Cataclysm-ing Ladybug in effigy in the form of all of my Ladybug merchandise when my father walked in and startled me, and I got the desk chair too.”

Nino’s mouth dropped open. “Holy crap. What did Gabe do when he found Chat Noir in your room?”

“Oh…” Adrien bit his lip. “So…about two months ago I might have actually…told my dad about the whole Chat Noir thing?”

Adrien could feel Nino’s eyes boring into him.

Adrien met Nino’s gaze and rushed to explain, “It made sense at the time, and it’s worked out pretty well so far. I was kind of having an identity crisis moment, and having that conversation with my father is what led to us finally working on fixing our relationship. Maybe some of us have the luxury of not telling anyone, but I really needed my dad at that point, so I don’t regret telling him. If Ladybug has a problem with that, she’ll just have to get over it.”

Nino raised his hands in a placating gesture as he slowly drew nearer. “Mec, it’s okay, so calm down, all right? I think…I mean…She’d be a hypocrite for faulting you on this. I think you’re the only one who didn’t have someone who knew. Alya and I found out about each other when Ladybug didn’t have time to get us apart to deliver our Miraculouses separately, and I figured Ladybug out shortly after I became Carapace, so… I mean, Ladybug didn’t tell anybody, I don’t think—she still hasn’t told Alya, for crying out loud—but I was able to be there for her because I knew. It’s only fair that you finally have people that know and can support you too.”

Adrien looked away, mumbling, “Nathalie totally figured me out a couple years ago, but…”

Nino sat back down on the bed and handed over the pillow. “So you accidentally Cataclysm-ed your desk chair?”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed, taking the pillow and smacking Nino lightly with it before tossing it once more. “Could you go get that please?”

Nino smiled wanly, getting back up. “Sure, Mec.”

“Last night, I was pretty sure I was going to get akumatized, so I gave my dad the ring to hold onto for me. Apparently, he could feel it through the ring when I transformed to take out my frustrations on inanimate objects, and he came to check on me, disturbing me in the middle of my destructive spree.”

Nino stooped to pick up the pillow a second time. He paused halfway up as something occurred to him. “How did you transform if your dad had your ring?”

“I didn’t relinquish ownership of the ring. I just gave him the physical ring to protect,” Adrien explained, accepting the pillow back from Nino. He gently hit Nino with said pillow before tossing it again. “One more time, please?” He smiled winningly.

Nino nodded. “As many times as we need to do this, Mec,” he assured, starting off after the pillow once more.

“You probably don’t know since you don’t get to keep your Miraculous for any real length of time, but there’s an instruction manual. If you read the manual, it talks about advanced techniques and stuff. It takes a lot of practice and concentration, but Black Cat holders can learn to Cataclysm multiple objects in one go or use Cataclysm multiple times before they have to detransform and recharge.”

Nino stopped at the foot of the bed to cock an eyebrow at Adrien. “How many Cataclysms can you do?”

Adrien looked away. “Only two or three. I’m still working on that. I poured most of my time and energy into mastering remote transformation and not necessarily needing to keep the ring physically on me to maintain transformation.”

“You can do that?” Nino breathed in awe.

Adrien nodded, a proud grin slipping onto his face.

“Can Ladybug do that?” Nino wondered.

Adrien shrugged. “Yeah, but she doesn’t seem to be any good at it. I guess she’s working on other things? I mean, remote transformation was my first priority, but…I haven’t read her instruction manual, so I don’t know what all she can do. Maybe she’s working on something that she deems more important, but…”

Nino’s brow creased. “Have you two talked about this?”

Adrien shook his head. “Oddly enough, it’s difficult to have complex conversations while you’re in the middle of a fight, and it’s not like she ever sticks around to talk to me long afterwards because of her timer. We chat sometimes when we meet up by chance while we’re both out in costume, but…when we do meet up, strategy isn’t the first thing on my mind, honestly.”

Nino made a mental note to ask Marinette if she had ever read her instruction manual.

He sat back down on the bed and handed over the pillow, prepared to be pummeled.

The third blow was as gentle as the others had been.

“I’m mad at you,” Adrien announced.

Nino nodded. “Okay.”

Adrien smacked him with the pillow again. “Like, what the hell? Are we or are we not best friends?”

“We are,” Nino confirmed.

“And yet you just let me walk right into that?” Adrien snorted, shoving the pillow into Nino’s hands as he picked up the other pillow for himself.

“I did,” Nino sighed.

“You suck,” Adrien pouted.

“Yeah,” Nino mumbled.

Adrien’s eyes narrowed into a glare as he raised his pillow over his head. “Fight back,” he commanded, bringing his pillow down.

For the next four minutes, a pillow fight ensued, eventually deteriorating into a wrestling match.

Adrien got the upper hand, pinning Nino and trapping his arms above his head. “You still let me win,” he grumbled, letting Nino’s arms go.

“You underestimate your own strength,” Nino laughed a little breathlessly.

Adrien sat back on his haunches, gazing sullenly down at his friend. “I’m not very good at staying mad at people. I mean, it even took me a little bit to decide that I was mad at you in the first place, and then you come here with your grand gesture, breaking into my room with your Romeo balcony act, and…I don’t want to be mad at you, Nino. I’m so freaking tired.”

“Hey,” Nino sighed, taking Adrien by the hips and gently flipping him over so that they were lying side by side. Nino propped himself up on his elbow and frowned lightly in concern down at Adrien. “You’re okay. Just…feel whatever you’re feeling, and that’s okay. Don’t try to make yourself feel any differently.”

“I’m disappointed in myself because my therapist is always telling me how important it is not to let people walk all over me, and yet…” Adrien closed his eyes. “Honestly, the most I can manage to feel is hurt.”

“Because your dad taught you that you weren’t allowed to get angry, so instead of blowing up at others, you turn whatever you’re feeling in on yourself.” Nino gingerly began to rub slow, soothing circles along Adrien’s scalp. “It’s okay, Mec.”

“It doesn’t feel okay,” Adrien mumbled. “You should have told me. If there have to be sides like this, you’re supposed to be on mine. You shouldn’t have let me go out there blind and make a fool of myself in front of Luka. He probably thinks I’m a total spazz now.” Adrien opened his eyes to pout at Nino. “There’s no way he’s going to want to be my friend after this.”

Nino blinked as he tried to wrap his head around Adrien’s words. “We don’t…hate Luka now?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “No. I mean…” A rosy blush crept up into the apples of his cheeks. “Luka’s really cool. I was kind of a little drunk last night after Kim verbally roughed me up, and Luka took care of me. He was sweet, and I had a good time talking with him, and we danced, and he said…he said a lot of things, but…”

Adrien shook his head ruefully. “But none of that matters because he probably hates me now that someone’s told him about me and Marinette, so…so whatever. It’s fine. Whatever.”

Deep trenches formed in Nino’s brow. “Luka called me last night.”

Adrien studied Nino’s face for some kind of indication of where his friend was going with this information. “Oh?”

Nino nodded. “He sounded really stressed. He was worried about you.”

Adrien’s eyes widened in interest. “O-Oh?”

“He was pretty anxious to know whether you’d made it home okay, and he sounded pretty miffed that no one had told you about Marinette dating him,” Nino continued, studying Adrien’s face intently for the smallest muscle twitch. “I don’t think he hates you, Mec.”

A pleased blush made itself at home on Adrien’s face, and a shy smile followed. “He doesn’t?”

“Didn’t seem like it,” Nino confirmed, pursing his lips. “…This isn’t the conversation I thought we’d be having.”

Adrien sat up, looking away. “This isn’t a thing. I just… He was nice. I’d like to be friends. It’s a platonic crush. That happens, right? With people you look up to?”

Nino pushed himself up to sitting and nodded. “Yeah. Sure, Mec. Of course…. But…it would be okay if it was a thing. You know, other than the fact that he’s got a girlfriend. It would be okay.”

“It’s not a thing,” Adrien repeated. “It’s just like how Chloé admires Ladybug and Kagami. How you admired Chat Noir.”

Nino bypassed speculation on Chloé’s sexuality to skip to Adrien’s second point. “Dude, there’s no need to use past tense. I still do admire Chat Noir. I admire him even more now that I know it’s you. I’ve admired you, Adrien Agreste, for a long time.”

Adrien turned a puzzled stare on his friend. “Me? As in…me me?”

“Adrien,” Nino chuckled, shaking his head. “You, you, you, you, you. You are awesome, Mec. There’s a lot that I admire about you both in and out of costume, okay?”

Adrien nodded, his shy smile making a comeback. “You’re pretty cool yourself.”

“I know. Thanks.” Nino preened.

Adrien rolled his eyes, giving Nino a shove. “Stop. I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Sorry. Should I do something douchebaggy to make it easier?” Nino proposed with a serious expression.

Adrien shoved him again. “…Could you not tell Marinette about my platonic crush on Luka? I mean, I know she already knows because I told her myself the other day when she mentioned she’d been hanging out with him lately, but…like…just don’t bring it up, okay? Don’t remind her.”

“…Dude?” Nino raised an eyebrow uncertainly.

“It’s not a thing,” Adrien insisted. “I just… People can flirt platonically, can’t they? Like…you and I do that, don’t we? And Alya flirts platonically with me, and I used to think Marinette and I flirted like that, but…but people do flirt just for fun, just kind of teasing each other, not really meaning anything serious by it…right?” Adrien’s eyes searched Nino’s frantically. “Luka and I could flirt platonically without that necessarily being cheating on Marinette, right?”

Nino pursed his lips. “Okay, so…yeah, people do flirt without actual romantic intent. You in particular are a huge flirt, so, yes, it is possible just to flirt for fun. Whether or not you and Luka can platonically flirt…I don’t know, Mec. I’d have to see you two together before I could say for sure, and, honestly, I think Marinette would have to be the judge of what should be considered cheating. My advice is to not even go there if you’re questioning whether something is okay. Just don’t flirt with him period if you’re unsure of where the line is. And if you can’t not flirt with him, steer clear of him in general. I mean, I think we’re jumping the gun a little because it’s not like you and Luka are in regular contact anyway, so…”

Adrien nodded, lying back down to absorb what Nino had said.

“…How’s Marinette?” he inquired after several minutes.

Nino gave a halfhearted shrug. “Hurting. Regretting a lot of things. Trying to keep a grin pasted on so no one will worry.”

Adrien hummed thoughtfully. “…Why didn’t you really tell me about Marinette and Luka? Marinette said you two were trying to figure out the best way and the best time. She said she didn’t want to mess up the end of high school for me, but…that all reeks of bull. Why did everyone actually wait more than two weeks to tell me?”

Nino blew out a slow sigh. “The truth?”

Adrien nodded.

“She told you the truth,” Nino confessed. “She was uncertain and trying to figure things out. It was the end of the school year, and we were all busy with other things on top of that. We knew there was no avoiding this hurting you. I was supposed to tell you this week now that we’re on vacation with nowhere to be so that you could have time and space to process and come to terms with it.”

Adrien rolled his eyes.

“Seriously,” Nino insisted. “Adrien, you’re a bit overdramatic. You overreact and take things harshly. I thought so even before I knew about Chat Noir, and now that I do know that that’s you… You really didn’t need to have an ‘end of the world’ breakdown at the end of the school year.”

Adrien rolled over so that his back was to Nino. “Stop patronizing me. I’m not a child.”

“Sorry,” Nino sighed. “I know you’re not. It’s just that sometimes you’re the most mature, grownup person I know and other times…Bro, you throw fits.”

“Do not,” Adrien grumbled.

“Dude,” Nino replied pointedly.

“Dude,” Adrien returned sharply, accusatorially.

“…Dude,” Nino sighed, suddenly sounding beyond the limits of exhaustion. “You know what? You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Adrien rolled back over to look up at Nino. “…How much sleep did you get last night?”

Nino shook his head. “After the party, I ran halfway over here to check on you, but then I got a text from one of your parentals saying that you’d gone to bed, so I knew you’d made it home safe. Then I ran over to the bakery and relieved Alya of Marinette duty. We were up for a couple hours talking. It was almost dawn by the time we crashed. We were both so out of it. We kind of just fell asleep on top of the covers for a couple hours. I left her house at eight, dropped by my house to shower, change, and grab something quick before trekking over here to make sure you were okay, but then your dad told me you didn’t want to see me and threatened to have me forcibly removed, so I hiked over to Fu’s for the Miraculous, roof-ran back here, and here we are now. So, yeah. Not much sleep.”

Adrien sat up and grabbed the discarded pillows, arranging them once more at the top of the bed. He straightened the sheets, pulling them up over both Nino and himself.

“Take off your pants,” he instructed his friend.

Nino arched a curious eyebrow but began to do as asked. “Adrien Agreste, are you trying to seduce me right now? Because I have to say that it’s working.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, smacking Nino’s arm. “Sure, Bro. Marinette has wrecked me so completely that I’m now into guys—particularly guys with girlfriends who they’re crazy about. Your jeans don’t look too comfortable to sleep in.”

“Am I sleeping?” Nino chuckled, tossing his pants to the floor.

“Yep.” Adrien grabbed the remote control from his nightstand and hit two buttons.

The lights turned off, and enormous blinds slowly lowered, covering the floor to ceiling windows.

“Nap time. You sound wiped.” He pushed Nino down on the bed beside him.

Nino stared quizzically as Adrien settled back under the covers. “Don’t you need to talk about stuff or something?”

Adrien shook his head, eyes closed. “I’ve done enough talking. I’ll talk to my therapist on Tuesday. Right now I’m moping and sleeping.”

“You’re sure?” Nino pressed, trying not to catalogue all the ways in which Adrien’s pillow was far more comfortable than his at home.

“Mmhm. Go to sleep. You’re off duty.”

“But—”

“—Hush.” Adrien’s eyes snapped open to fix Nino with an intent gaze. “You’ve been running yourself ragged these past few months trying to be everybody else’s emotional support. You think I don’t realize how needy I am? I can’t even imagine Marinette’s crap on top of that. And then there’s your own stuff and probably Alya’s. Nino, go to sleep, okay? You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“…I thought you were mad at me.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I suck at being mad at people. Even if I am mad, I still care about you. Like I told Marinette, love and hate aren’t mutually exclusive. I’d love to smother you with this pillow, but I’d regret it as soon as I was done. Don’t you and Alya ever get like that?”

Nino sighed. “Yeah. There are times I want to strangle her with my bare hands, but…”

“All right then,” Adrien announced. “Go to sleep. I promise not to smother you.”

“Much appreciated,” Nino mumbled, letting his eyes slip closed.

Adrien came to consciousness feeling much too warm. He tried to move away from the heat, but someone was holding him in place. Had he been captured?!

He jerked awake to find himself wrapped up in Nino’s arms with his face buried in his friend’s shirt.

Nino inhaled sharply but then snuggled back into Adrien’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as he mumbled, “Shh, Al.”

“If we’re gonna do pet names, I prefer ‘Dri’,” Adrien chuckled, causing Nino to give a jolt of surprise.

Nino pulled back, blinking uncomprehendingly at Adrien, trying to remember what he was doing in bed with the blonde.

“First time calling your partner by the wrong name?” Adrien teased, sitting up and stretching.

Nino rolled his eyes, flopping back over. “What time is it?”

Adrien reached for his phone on the nightstand only to remember that he had entrusted his mobile to his father the night before. “Good question,” he mumbled, grabbing the remote control instead, turning on the lights and opening the blinds with the push of a button.

The sun was still shining brightly, but that didn’t reveal much in the middle of the summer.

“Plagg, what time is it?” Adrien called out, hoping his kwami hadn’t gone far.

“Time for you to get a watch,” Plagg snickered.

“It is two-twenty-three,” Wayzz responded as he floated over to land on Nino’s knee.

“Wow. Thank you, Wayzz. That was incredibly helpful. I appreciate that,” Adrien remarked pointedly at Plagg before turning to Wayzz with a sincere smile. “Seriously. Thank you. Tell me, did I get stuck with the smart-aleck? Are the rest of you more accommodating and cooperative?”

Wayzz chuckled softly. “Adrien, you could have done a lot worse than Plagg. He cares about you a great deal.”

“Don’t I know it,” Adrien sighed, holding out a hand to his kwami. “I care about him too.”

“Brat,” Plagg snorted, landing on Adrien’s hand and hugging his thumb. “When are you gonna eat something?”

“Not hungry,” Adrien sighed, lying back down, resting the hand with Plagg in it palm up on his stomach.

“When was the last time you ate?” Nino side-eyed his friend suspiciously.

Adrien shrugged.

“He had some snacks at the party,” Plagg ratted his chosen out remorselessly.

Nino sat up to glare down at Adrien. “Mec, we’re getting you something to eat. I will feed you myself if I have to. Going on a hunger strike will not make your problems go away.”

Adrien shrugged once more. “What time is Marinette’s party? You’re not missing it, are you?”

Nino rolled his eyes. “I’m not going. I’m pestering the tar out of you until you get up, put on actual clothes, eat, and then play foosball or something with me. I don’t care what we actually do, but you’re getting up out of bed.”

Adrien shook his head, a deep sadness settling onto his features. “I don’t know if I’m ready to get out of bed.”

Nino arched an eyebrow but didn’t press, letting Adrien talk in his own time.

“This past month, since Marinette broke up with me, I’ve been getting up and working on getting better because I thought that was the only way she was going to take me back. I could only be with her and be happy if I put the work in, but last night she told me that she’s not going to be waiting for me on the other side of this. If I get out of bed today, it will be because I’ve decided that I am worth getting out of bed and putting the work in for. Just me. No true love. No happily ever after. Just…Adrien Agreste.”

Adrien looked at Nino nervously. “I don’t know if I care enough about him to commit to this. Like, seriously. I don’t know if he’s worth putting myself through all this.”

“I think he is,” Nino replied gently, running a hand through Adrien’s hair. “But, Adrien…even if you get out of bed today, that doesn’t mean you have to get out of bed tomorrow. I would like for you to, but you don’t have to. Don’t think of this as an all or nothing situation. Somedays you’ll get out of bed; somedays you won’t. That’s fine. The important thing is that you get out of bed more days than you don’t. Maybe it won’t be like that right away, but that’s the goal to work towards right now. Once you meet the goal of getting out of bed four days out of every seven, try for five out of seven, then six. This is a long-haul kind of thing. You don’t have to be perfect off the bat.”

Adrien took a deep breath and let it out thoughtfully. “Are you hungry?”

Nino nodded.

Adrien pointed. “There’s a landline on my desk. Dial three-six-five to reach the kitchen staff and ask them to bring whatever you want to my room.”

Nino got up and went over to the desk, mindful of the ash pile that used to be a desk chair and Ladybug merchandise. He dialed as instructed and waited for someone to pick up on the other line. “Uh…hello? Um…could you please bring two large salads with grilled salmon and some kind of vinaigrette dressing along with a mug of mint tea to Adrien’s room? …Okay. Sounds good. Thank you so much.”

Nino looked back to find Adrien propping himself up on his elbow, staring at Nino in wide-mouthed surprise. “They said it would be about fifteen/twenty minutes. What’s up with the fish face?”

“You remembered,” Adrien breathed.

Nino frowned. “Remembered?”

“What I said. A couple years ago. About salads and mint tea,” Adrien clarified.

Nino chuckled, making his way back to the bed, climbing over Adrien. “About how when you or your mom had a bad day she’d kick the kitchen staff out and make you guys a big salad and some mint tea to share? Of course I remember. I mean, salad and mint tea are about the weirdest comfort foods I’ve ever heard of.”

“Marinette’s mom makes her orange jasmine green tea,” Adrien muttered sullenly.

“But her dad makes her crème brûlée to go with it,” Nino countered. “Most people eat fat and sugar when they’re feeling crappy. You just eat health food. Your whole family is weird.”

“I’m sure you mean that in the most loving way possible,” Adrien sniffed indignantly.

“Of course, Mec,” Nino snickered.

There was a long silence.

“…Hey,” Nino called nervously. “Just tell me if you want to drop it, but…can I apologize for the whole Luka thing again? You were right. I’ve been doing a lot of emotional support stuff lately, and I feel like I’m juggling a bunch of balls, right? But I’m a sucky juggler, so I’m trying really hard not to drop them all, but it’s hard cause I don’t know exactly what I’m doing. And I think I dropped one. I think I might have dropped one of the most important ones, and I’m really sorry, Mec. I don’t want to make excuses because I did screw up, and I know I screwed up. You have every right to be mad, but I just want you to understand why. Don’t think of this as an excuse. It’s only an explanation. Some context for my massive failing as a friend…. Can I tell you the story of how I met Marinette?”

Adrien considered for a minute before nodding his assent.

Nino exhaled slowly and began, “I was about five when my family moved to Paris for my mom’s job. It was kind of rough settling in because Paris was so different from the little town I was from. It was kind of overwhelming. I had a hard time fitting in with all the new people. I’ve always been a bit of a social recluse—at least, before you and Alya—I mean, I liked music still, and I was a huge movie buff even then, but those are hobbies you do by yourself. I didn’t have a whole lot to relate to other kids with.

“When I started school, all the other kids in my class were white—well, Marinette’s half white, but—and most of them had lived in Paris their whole lives, and they’d known each other from the previous year, so…I was feeling super out of place. One day, during break, some of the kids were playing I don’t even remember what, but it looked like fun, so I asked if I could play too, but then Chloé, bless her heart, repeated some crap she’d probably heard from her dad about brown people’s place being in the servants’ quarters.”

Adrien full-body winced. “She didn’t.”

Nino snorted. “Maybe those weren’t her exact words, but that was the gist of it.”

“Oh my God, Nino. I am so sorry she said that.” Adrien’s entire face heated up in shame.

Nino shook his head. “You don’t need to apologize, Mec. Just have a bunch of brats of your own someday and teach them to act better.”

“Hey, you’ll get no complaints from me if you can talk Marinette into it,” Adrien joked, only not really. “But what did you say to that? What did you do?”

Nino smiled sheepishly. “I was, like, five. I started to cry, Dude, but then Marinette came over and took my hand and told Chloé that she was mean. Marinette said that she thought my skin was a beautiful color, and she asked me if I wanted to come play with crayons with her.”

“Of course she did,” Adrien chuckled, smiling affectionately.

“Of course she did,” Nino echoed. “And we were fast friends. She was my first ‘bro’. For a couple years, we were nigh inseparable. We made an actual blood pact when we were eight. We used one of her sewing needles to prick our fingers. We kind of drifted apart around the time we were eleven or twelve. We still hung out and everything, but…we weren’t as close as we used to be until after you and Alya came and the four of us started hanging out as a group. We were both kind of outcasts before you and Alya. Marinette didn’t hang out with the other girls in our year besides when the whole class was doing something together, and I was off doing my own thing—listening to music, watching foreign films. Marinette and I used to sit with Nathaniel at the losers’ table in the lunchroom. We weren’t the people you know now. Alya really drew the both of us out of our shells. Well…I guess Marinette had the whole Ladybug thing going on too, but…”

Nino took a deep breath and rested his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Do you kind of get where I’m coming from? You and I are best friends now, yes, and you are irreplaceable to me, Adrien…but Marinette and I have a lot of history together. I know as your bro I’m supposed to be on your ‘side’ first and foremost, but…”

“You can’t do that because Marinette is an irreplaceable friend to you too, so you keep getting caught between us,” Adrien finished with a sigh.

Nino nodded. “I’m sorry, Adrien.”

Adrien shook his head slowly. “It’s okay. I understand.” Suddenly, an impish glimmer lit up his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it, does it?”

Nino shrugged. “No.”

“So…it would be okay for me to, even though I understand where you’re coming from, still get all childish and pouty and want you to choose me anyway?” Adrien wondered.

Nino smiled wearily. “Yep. That is definitely something you could do.”

“Good,” Adrien proclaimed with a triumphant smile. “Then I’m still mad about the Luka thing.” He picked up one of the pillows and tossed it over by the piano. “Fetch?”

Nino groaned in resignation, getting to his feet. “Okay. If this is the worst I get, I’ll take it and be grateful.”

(The following are questions I asked the AO3 readers in response to some of their comments. I’ll ask you guys too in case you would like to give some feedback on the direction of the story. If you’d rather comment on AO3 because the formatting is easier, you can do so here.

Show of hands: Who wants to see Nooroo and Adrien? Who wants to see more of Luka? Who wants to see less of Luka? Who wants me to stop expanding the story and just wrap it up already?

I feel like some of you want me to stop writing already and just skip ahead to when Marinette and Adrien are okay to date, but I was planning smaller time skips to show how they get there instead of the large timeskip that some of you have mentioned. Are you interested in seeing how they get there, or do you really want me to end the story already? My plan was for Adrien to learn that it doesn’t have to be Marinette through a crush on Luka (no, not a relationship but an attraction that teaches Adrien that he actually can develop feelings for someone else and he isn’t doomed to be alone if Marinette doesn’t return his feelings). I was also going to show Adrien and Marinette slowly learning how to be around one another and repair their relationship before finally coming to a place where they can be together.

So who wants the story to timeskip and wrap up already? Who wants to see the longer version showing the reparation of the relationship and character growth? I think what you guys are tired of is the drama and the angst and the hurt. The good news is that we’re pretty much done with that at this point. Thirteen and Twenty-Seven were the big blowups. Now we’re working on rebuilding.

Thoughts? Thanks for reading!)

#Adrienette #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Adrien Agreste #Plagg #Nino Lahiffe #Mikau's Writings #There's a Daisy

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