#BUT its very nice to just let loose and bullshit for like two hours too

[thedragonagelesbian]

a player slept thru our d&d sess today so we brought back our ‘death house from CoS but none of us have prepped for anything & the party is tiny’ adventure and it was once again super fun

truly if i ever have time to start up another campaign, im going to try to rope ppl into playing like candlekeep mysteries or tales from the yawning portal in this style

#i like running SeriousTM longform campaigns and its what i gravitate to as a storyteller #BUT its very nice to just let loose and bullshit for like two hours too

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

#long post #the addams family #Character Design #au #design challenge #i am incapable of doing a design challenge like a normal person #oh god i forgot the cut lol

[wkemeup]

Crawl Home to Her

summary: Stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a Russian snow storm, Bucky is content to let nature take its course. Only you won’t seem to let him go.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8k warnings: passive suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, ghosts???, its all very confusing but humor me ok,  a/n: based on Work Song by Hozier ✨

No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Laid amongst old wooden floors rotted in decades of weathering and the whistling brush of wind sweeping in steady drift of snow from the open doorway, Bucky wondered whether he might have preferred the coffin of ice Hydra once shoved him in for storage.  

The chill nestled deep into his bones and he tried not to focus on the small puff of breath as it touched over chapped, cracked lips. It was the only warmth he had left and that, too, was leaving him.  

It was getting hard to breath under the sting of freezing temperatures barreling into the cabin; sharp, like crystals had formed in his lungs and punctured into his chest from the inside. The fireplace long extinguished, his rifle laid in a heap amongst his tactical vest and gear too far out of reach. He was unprepared when the mercenaries barreled in through the windows, leaving shattered glass along the floor, safe house exposed to the elements of a Russian winter.

He’d stopped shaking an hour ago, which he knew was a bad sign. His body had given up on fabricating false heat through the tremors in his arm and legs, the twitches of his breaths, the chattering of his teeth. The serum only did so much before he was left with the frayed remnants of his humanity to cover the slack.  

Bucky’s fingers dipped down and glazed over a thick, warm pool at his stomach. He pulled his hand back to find an unsettling, deep red coating his skin. It was warm to the touch and it dripped down along his fingertips into his palms, soaking into the dried patches.  

A violent cough suddenly broke through his chest and Bucky’s head fell back to the floorboards, a dull ache in his stomach from the effort. He could taste copper on his tongue as a fuzziness began to take over, like he was floating on the edge of a cloud, somewhere high up in the sky. It was a pleasant feeling, he decided, a break from the world that had not shown him kindness in nearly a century.  

He stared up at the ceiling, at the blades of a fan lined in decades of dust, as it spun around and around and around and around and —

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky jolted awake, a sharp flinch through this nervous system like the current of electricity. Eyes wide open, he turned to find a figure sitting on the loveseat to his left. The fabric was torn in the trajectory of dozens of bullets, cotton lining oozing out the cushions and littered amongst the snow. It was too dark to see but the dim flicker of the swaying light in the kitchen illuminated the corner for only a second. It was enough to still his heart.  

“Y/n?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a scowl on your face as lips pursed together.  

“Hey Buck.”

No.

No. That—that can’t be right...

You were wearing a SHEILD crewneck with a rip on the hem of the sleeve, faded in color from the wash, and a pair of sleep shorts he’d seen you in dozens of times. The slight imprint of a pillow case fold on your cheek, your hair a little out of place in sleep, and cast in the glow of sunshine through his bedroom window despite the stars littering the night sky outside the cabin’s door.  

It was what you were wearing when he left on assignment two weeks prior. He knew because he memorized every moment he left you behind.  

There was always that uncertainty, that knowledge that every mission could be his last, so he took the time to bring you with him; a memory, an image, of you laying under rustled sheets, curled up against his pillow with that pout on your lips as you told him ‘five more minutes, baby’ when he was already ten late.

He held that memory close because he could feel himself slipping. The blood pooling at his stomach was seeping into the floor beneath him and he felt dizzy, the spin of the fan above him throwing him off balance even as he laid completely still. It was the last good thing he had left -- this image of you -- because he knew it was time to let go, time to let the universe make things right again, to take him from the time he never belonged in.  

There was a relief in that... almost.  

"You’re not giving up, are you?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as your voice pulled him back sharply from the edge of dreamless sleep. He glanced over to you and found there wasn’t a trace of goosebumps on your skin amongst the snow sliding along the floorboards by your feet. You were unbothered by the rush of wind barreling in through the open door though it picked up in the small wisps of your hair, carrying them away from your face before it settled again.

“This isn’t happening. You’re not real,” Bucky chanted under his breath, but the way you were looking at him—Jesus—he'd seen that look too many times before. The pinch of your brows, the slight tug of your cheek between your teeth, your eyes narrowing down on him from a distance, never in anger, but determination.  

Bucky closed his eyes, clenched his jaw real tight, but he could still hear as you push yourself up off the couch, the slight squeak of floorboards under your feet as you paced. Bucky dared to steal a glimpse and you were kneeling down over one of the mercenaries he was able to get a shot in before hell broke loose. You pursed your lips, tilted your head just so, and pulled off his helmet to get a better look. It rolled a good few feet before it hit a sudden stop against the edge of the couch.  

It was the wind, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him again.  

“Jesus, they make ‘em big around here,” you murmured to yourself before you pressed two fingers to the side of the man's neck. You started ruffling through his pockets for weapons and Bucky could hear the jingle of coins in his pockets, the swish of the fabric. He was certain he’d gone mad.  

“You need to get warm, Buck,” you told him and a coat dropped down on his left. “You’ll die if you don’t.”

“You’re not real,” he argued, keeping his eyes closed, hoping that you’d just disappear and let him die in peace. “You’re... you’re in my head.”

It was hard enough knowing he was going to die in Russia of all places before you ever knew he was in trouble, hard enough to imagine you crying over his body as his skin paled to blue and grey, hard enough that he’d already said his last goodbye, already had the last kiss from your lips…  

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in your head or not, Bucky,” you warned, though he was almost certain he could feel the warmth of your breath touch his skin as you leaned down next to him. “You’ll die if you stay here. Do you understand? You’ll die."

Your hand slid into his hair and he could feel the trace of your fingertips, your nails, on his scalp; combing through locks matted in blood and dirt and drawing shivers in his spine untouched by the cold.  

He whimpered, tears burning at the corner of his eyes, because you were right there and somehow not at all. He didn’t want to say goodbye but his energy was draining. It slipped from him in every breath, the pain becoming a tired memory and he knew his body was giving in.  

He’d spent so much time fighting in his life. He just wanted to rest. That’s all. Just some time to rest...

“Bucky!”

He snapped awake, heart beating frantically for a few minutes before it lulled again; his breaths too short, too far apart.  

You were hovering over him, hair falling down into your face and there was real fear in your eyes. Your hands settled on his chest, trying to draw his attention back to you and he was certain he could feel the pressure of it, the grip of your fingers to the fabric of his shirt. The touch of a ghost.  

“You need to get up. We’ve got to get you out of here,” you ordered, hands fumbling for the coat you dropped by his side and trying to drape it over him, but he pushed your hands away. You sat back on your heels, wide eyed, desperate.

“I’m already dying, sweetheart,” Bucky choked out, voice raspy and raw. “There's nothing left to do. Coms are out... nearest town is a dozen miles away... I’m-- fuck—I've got at least four bullets in me. This is it, honey. I’m-- I’m sorry...”

It hurt as he said it and he dared himself to meet your eye. Draped in sunlight and all that was ever good in his life, you were an ethereal wonder; a stunning image of the women he left behind, even if his mind was fading on the edge of insanity. It was nice, he thought, to see this memory of you one last time, to hold onto it tighter as the darkness gently carried him away from this world.  

His hand lifted slowly, wanting to touch you one last time, and he was surprised when it didn’t slip straight through you like a ghost, but instead, landed tenderly against your cheek. So tangible, warm to icy chill of his hand, he could feel the clench in your jaw, the strain of the muscle, the divot of a scar by your ear.  

A final blessing he didn’t deserve.  

“Bullshit.”  

He winced as you grabbed a firm hold of his wrist and pulled it from your face. Everything started to hurt again, in his chest, his stomach. He was falling apart.  

“I’m so sorry, honey, I’m—I’m not making it out of—”

“Bull. Shit.”  

You slammed your hands to the floor beside him and suddenly, you were up and rummaging through the kitchen, tossing old utensils around and making a mess of the withering cabinets. You tore them to shreds, emptied the drawers onto the floor, the shattering of glass and the crash of metal to tile in an unsettling scream.  

“You don’t get to do this. Do you hear me? Not after all you went through! Just to die in fucking Russia!”

Bucky swallowed though it tasted like bile. You tossed out the mugs from a cabinet with the swipe of your hand and the sound they made as they crashed to the floor skipped several beats in Bucky’s dimly beating heart.  

“Sweetheart,” Bucky tried again, voice falling on empty, a whisper, “no one’s comin’...”

“Then you fucking get up and get to a goddamn phone!”

You froze then, your hand curling around whatever you were looking for with a sigh of relief. As you stomped back over to him, Bucky looked down at your grasp to find two sets of hand towels and an ace bandage clutched in your grip.  

You were grumbling under your breath as you sank down to your knees. Hands shaking, you pushed up at the thin fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He didn’t even hiss as the cold air touched his skin. That wasn’t good.  

You pressed a towel to his open wounds, hard enough for Bucky to groan at the impact and he bit down hard on his tongue. There was no apology as you wiped away the pools of blood, tossing aside the soaked towel to the corner and pressing down a new one in its place. You were angry, furious even, and Bucky had only seen you like this once before.  

The Hydra base in Siberia. He was surrounded, ordering you to get back to the jet without him though he had no clear path to an exit. It was a diversion, one you saw through instantly, because he had no intention of leaving that warehouse, not as long as you made it out alive. You almost killed him yourself by the time the last Hydra agent fell to the floor. Panting, covered in blood, you had slapped him hard across the face before you gripped at his shoulders and kissed him.

The first kiss between you.  

The beginning of it all.  

Fitting it should end like this, too.  

“Sit up,” you demanded, pulling Bucky back from his memories.  

He sighed as he stared up at you, your teeth gritted as you pressed down harder to his wounds. Everything hurt. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe.  

“Sit. Up.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered, voice breaking in the effort. “I-- I can't, honey. I’m sorry. Just—Just let me go. It’s time, Y/n. It’s okay…”

There was a silence, one that carried over the scream of the wind outside and the scratch of tree branches against the shattered windowpanes. Bucky’s own breaths were shallow, raw and wheezing through his lungs, and they sat in pained contrast to your silent, elongated inhales, the seconds you held them before you released it. He could have heard a pin drop even over the whistling wind and the mess in his chest.  

“No.”

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat. “No?”

“No,” you gritted out, sinking back onto your heels. “No! You don’t get to just give up, Bucky. You don’t get to leave me behind!”

“You’re not even here...”

You clenched your teeth, biting on the inside of your cheek. “Maybe not. But you know exactly where I am back home, don’t you?”

Bucky’s jaw wired shut in an instant. It was what he’d been avoiding, why he clung so hard to the image of you as he left, the glow of the sunlight on your skin and the sleepy mess in your hair. The perfect memory to take when him as he died, but it was being ripped from him, torn away in an instant because as you knelt beside him, your ghost began to change.  

Dark circles colored under your eyes, a sunken look hollowing in at your cheeks and temples. Your hair fell down from the bun at your crown and braided down the side, a nervous habit you’d taken up to keep your hands busy when you were anxious. Lines formed on your lips, cracking along the center; broken skin now exposed on your knuckles from a restless night in the gym.  

Tear tracks burned down your cheeks; some old, some fresh, and your eyes were bloodshot red.  

“Please, stop,” he begged, trying to will his mind to give him the memory he had before.

“You know what this is doing to me,” you told him. “You missed your checkpoint eight hours ago, Bucky. We both know what that means. We both know I’m scared out of my mind for you. I’m panicking. I’m desperate to find you and you’re going to give up before I can.”

Bucky closed his eyes, choking back tears as he pictured you frantically pacing back and forth in the intel room next to Steve, waiting by the satellite phone, waiting on a call that would never come. His coms had been destroyed in the shootout, torn and shattered under the boot of a Russian enforcer. There was no way to get word to you, no way for you to track his location. He was entirely on his own.  

You would have figured that out by now, too.  

He could practically hear your voice as you shouted for an update every few minutes, biting the head off of an Agent who dared to give you any answer outside of Bucky being found safe and on his way home to you. He could see you clenching at your fists, digging your nails into flesh, and shrugging off Steve as he tried to ease your distress. You’d be terrified, with a deep kind of unsettling dread burning like a hole in your stomach. He knew, because it was how he felt when you were on assignment. It was agonizing.  

“Don’t do this, Bucky,” you said quietly, softer now, begging. “Don’t give up. Don’t—Don’t leave me.”

He could hardly keep his eyes open, every breath drawing him further away.  

“You’ll be okay,” he said slowly, achingly, though a flash of shock widened your eyes. “You’ll be okay without me.”

Bucky’s fingers crawled along the floor to you, nails digging through a mess of blood and splinters before the curled sweetly around the palm of your hand. He squeezed it gently, the most he could manage, and he watched with a fading smile as you stared down to where he held you.  

“How could you say that?” you whispered, gaze glued to blood stained hands. You swallowed, a tear slipping past your eye as you turned to find ocean blue. “How could you possibly think that would be true? You’re my life, Bucky. I need you. You can’t—Please, baby. You have to come home to me. You have to.”

“You’ll move on,” he exhaled, closing his eyes as the exhaustion started to pull him under. “It might take some time, but you’ll be fine, honey. You don’t need me. You never did.”

“That’s not true—”

“You were always too good for me,” he chuckled sadly to himself. “At least now you can find someone who really deserves you…”

“Dammit, Bucky!” you cried, hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt and shaking him until he opened his eyes again. “You don’t get to just throw your life away because you have some backwards, fucked up notion that you’re not good enough to love me because newsflash, you idiot, I don’t care! I love you! I love every goddamn part of you and there is not a person on this planet, or any other, that I want to love me the way that you do!”

There was a silence that followed. The whistling wind and the scratch of branches on exposed windows the only solace between you. Your features softened, your hands releasing from his shirt and you gently patted his shoulder, running your fingers along his neck to touch the side of his face. He leaned into the palm of your head, jaw quivering as he bit back tears.  

“Why are you here?” he whimpered, voice cracking as a sob crawled its way through his spine. “Why-- Why won’t you just let me go?”

Tears spilled out the corners of Bucky’s sides, sliding down along his temples and soaking into his hair. He was exhausted and aching and – god—he just wanted to sleep.

You smiled sweetly at him, brushed the hair from his eyes. “It’s you, Bucky, don’t you get that? I’m in your head, remember? I’m apart of you. Stop fighting yourself and come with me. Let me help you survive this. It’s why you brought me here in the first place.”

“No... that’s…” Bucky shook his head, heart racing a little faster, “that’s crazy.”

“Crazier than talking to yourself?” you chuckled light-heartedly. “It’s been you this whole time, Buck. Look.”

You gestured to the floor leading into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a trail of bloody footprints in the size of his combat boots leading into the mess of shattered mugs and scattered utensils. His palms had tiny pieces of broken glass in them, colored in the paint of the kitchenware on the floor.  

Then, you showed him the wrapped bandage at his stomach, the one with his own bloody fingerprints at the clasp. He’d done it all himself.  

“Your imagination can’t do all that for you, baby,” you said, a soft smile on your face, though it faded to something solemn as he stared at you in shock. “You’re dying, Buck, really dying and I know you’re scared. I know you want to come home. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

“I don’t--” he swallowed, though his throat was dry and it burned amongst the cold air, “I don’t understand…”

“The mind is a funny thing,” you shrugged. “It does what it has to, to keep you alive. This is what you needed, to be reminded of the love you have waiting for you back home when you survive this.”

You nodded to the edge of the cabin, and sure enough, there was Steve standing at the door. Hands tucked into his pockets, wearing the thin white shirt and suspenders from their youth, though it looked a little funny now on the man he was today. He was smiling, that hopeful kind of look in his eye that Bucky never quite learned how to replicate.  

Sam stood next to him, hand on Steve’s shoulder, smirk plastered across his face as he nodded at Bucky; the strange and varying brotherhood between the two of them full of bickering fights and unbridled loyalty.  

Natasha was on Sam’s left, arms folded, scowl present as her eyes flickered down to the mess of bodies littering the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the burly looking soldier you’d rummaged through the pocket of— or, or maybe it was Bucky, he was still trying to wrap his head around it – and nodded as if she were impressed.  

Then, there was Shuri and T’Challa. Lang and Barton. Wanda and Vision. Peter Parker sneaking his way in behind Steve, looking just damn excited to be standing in the presence of Captain America. Even Tony Stark stood in the corner of the cabin; arms crossed, sunglasses on, observing from a careful distance, but still present.  

“You’re not alone, Bucky,” you said quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “Not here. Not at home. Please don’t give up on your family. Don’t give up on all you’ve built. We’re waiting for you, honey. Come home.”

A blur in his vision, Bucky couldn’t quite focus on your silhouette, not until you tenderly brushed the tears from his eyes, droplets on the edges of long lashes. He clenched his jaw, searching for a stronger breath as you held his face. Your lips pressed down to his forehead and he found his strength again.  

“Okay.”

Bucky grabbed onto the edge of the couch and pulled until his muscles were at their limit. A scream tore threw him, his body raw and broken and falling apart at the seams. It burned in his throat, in his chest, and it echoed deep into the empty cabin. It was no louder than the wind outside.  

“Okay,” he repeated as he sat up with his back pressed against the couch. He clutched at his stomach, heavy breaths in his lungs. The bandages were holding up, with little leakage onto his palm in all the effort.  

When he looked back over to you, he found you smiling, proud, though your appearance had changed again.  

Your hair was pulled down to a bun at the nape of your neck, a few strands falling out the sides. Dressed in a large winter coat with a thick fur around the hood and mittens on your hands; the navy-blue jacket you’d worn in your mission in the Swiss Alps last year where you’d convinced Bucky to stick around a few extra days in the blizzarding cold. You’d told him then how much you loved the snow, the mountains, but mostly the hot chocolate, the fireplaces, the snuggling in close to him at night. It was a pleasant memory.  

Bucky smiled back at you, though it took most of his strength. He turned to look at Steve and the rest of his family, but they were gone, disappeared to thin air and his stomach lurched as he quickly shot his eyes back to you.  

“You ready, baby?” you asked him sweetly, nodding towards the door.  

“Stay with me. Please.” He felt childish as the words left him, talking to what amounted to nothing more than particles of snowfall and thin air, but it carried his whole world.  

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, as if it was never a choice at all, and you offered your hand.  

Bucky nodded, stringing together all the strength he had left in his body and slipped his hand into yours. He tried not to think of the logistics of it all, how he was really getting up on his own because you weren’t here to tug him to his feet. It created a dull ache in the back of his head and he figured he better not mess with the remaining functioning pieces of himself. Let his mind get him through this, even if he felt absolutely insane.  

“Put the jacket on, honey,” you told him, bending down to grab the coat of the mercenary you’d swiped earlier. “It’ll be a long walk in the cold.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”  

The wind barreled in from the open door and it pushed at the little balance Bucky had left, leaving him to sway unsteadily, grunting at the pain that resulted in his stomach. He clutched at the wrapped bandages, relieved when fresh blood did not add to the stains on his fingers and palm.  

“Time to go,” you urged him, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Bucky stared out into the blanket of darkness beyond the door, the snow falling and dancing amongst the violent sweeps of wind, illuminated by starlight untouched by the pollution of a city. He didn’t know where to go, but you promised you’d guide him; a piece of his subconscious that must have picked up on a sign along the road at some point, he figured.  

As he made his way to the brutal cold, shivers tremoring in his spine and his feet limping dragging along the floor, facing a journey across miles of exposed land, he was thankful he wasn’t alone.  

***

Bucky had never been so cold in his goddamn life; not even when Hydra would put him on ice.  

It had been a relief then, a dreamless sleep and safety away from his captures, but this – this was torture in itself. His boots dragged through two feet of snow, the winds picking up the further he trudged out into the darkness. He wrapped the scarf tighter around his face, trying to shield himself from the cold, though ice crystals had formed on his lashes.  

Everything hurt and each step was more painful than the last, but he kept moving.  

“You’re almost there!” you shouted over the scream of the wind in his ears. You were smiling, jogging out a few paces ahead. It was easier for his feet to carry him when it was you he was walking towards. “Come on, sweetheart. One more mile. That’s it.”

Bucky panted, his breaths far too labored, his head feeling quite fuzzy, but as he looked over your shoulder, he spotted a light in the distance. Blurred by the snowfall, but still clear as day. A gas station with half the letters missing in its name. His saving grace.

“I’m coming, baby,” he whispered and for the first time, he wasn’t talking to the mirage beside him, but the woman waiting thousands of miles away.  

Picking up in pace, Bucky pushed himself harder than he’d ever tested the limits of his body before. He knew that without the serum, he would have been dead before he even left the cabin. There were few moments Bucky was ever thankful for the hell he’d been through. This – giving him a second chance to get home to the love of his life – was one of them.  

“Careful,” you warned him, gesturing to the trail of red droplets in his wake; blood that had seeped out from the soaked bandages at his stomach and trailed down under his coat to the snow below, marking his path.  

Bucky nodded, determined as he finally broke through to solid ground, to dirt roads plowed just enough from the snow, and sprinted the rest of the way. You were on his heels, cheering him on like you did when he first got back on a treadmill after he broke his leg in New Mexico last year. He was smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks, laughing as artificial light illuminated his path.  

He shoved his shoulder to the door, winced at the sound of the bell above, and charged straight up to the counter.  

A man in a thick overcoat and a fur hat stood behind the counter, reading a newspaper quietly to himself, and paid no mind to the man frantically rushing up to him. He glanced up in Bucky’s direction, eyes flickering to the blood trailing in his wake, before turning back to his paper.  

“Phone,” Bucky panted. “I need a phone.”

The man didn’t respond.  

“Russian, Buck,” you reminded him quietly to his right.  

“фона,” Bucky tried again, slamming his hand down on the table.  

The man rolled his eyes and set the paper down. Stone cold expression, he took his time as he muddled around behind the counter, leaving Bucky on edge. You nodded at him, running a hand along his arm to keep him calm.  

Then, the man set a flip phone down on the counter. He didn’t say another word as he sat back onto his stool and picked up the paper again.  

Bucky grabbed the phone and quickly stumbled his way back to the far end of the convenience stores. Brushing up against rows of chips and shouldered a few to the ground, he was starting to lose his balance again. The dizziness was kicking in and it became evident as he tried to dial the SHEILD emergency call number and kept hitting the wrong numbers.  

“Breathe,” you said softly as Bucky started to panic. “Try again.”

Deep inhale in, Bucky typed the ten digits and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times.  

“Good morning,” a voice replied, deep and clinical, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky leaned his forehead to the glass of the freezers, cold compress on his skin touching a blaze of heat.  

When did he start sweating? When did it start to soak through his clothes?

There was a stickiness under his feet and Bucky glanced down to find blood dripping down from the edge of his coat and staining the dull-white of the plaster floors. Dark red seeping into the cracks between tiles, filtering through years of dirt and dust and muddied tracks. The outline of his boots in perfect pattern.  

“Good morning,” the voice said again, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his voice, but he was sure he’d left it behind in the cabin. He could hardly hold himself up, his hand slipping on the handle of the freezer doors, nearly taking him down to the ground amongst the blood and dirt.  

Under hooded, heavy eyes, Bucky glanced over at you as you nodded encouragingly at him, but there was two of you; swaying over one another, blurred, out of focus.

“Good morning, this is—”

“Baklava,” Bucky muttered the code word between labored breaths, the meaning of it sitting somewhere along the line of I shouldn’t be alive but I am – Fucking come get me. The dizziness was starting to take hold on his body and he leaned his shoulder against the freezer doors in search of the cold glass to offset the burning heat on his skin.  

A darkness started to tunnel at his vision, thick black rings closing in around him and he tried to grip at the handles on the doors, but he missed each time; his fingers too weak to grip onto the edge, his vision swaying and doubling over.

The agent on the other end of the phone was asking him questions, but they barely registered, like white noise no louder than the burrowing winds past the door. Bucky clutched at the handle, phone slipping from his grasp as it fell to the ground. He stumbled backwards, hitting a tower of plastic cups as they collapsed around him.  

“Bucky, lie down,” you warned gently as he struggled to hold himself up.  

“I’m—I’m okay,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper, unintelligible, before the darkness caved in completely and he met the floor.  

***

When Bucky came to again, it was to hands gripping harshly at his arms, at his legs, dragging his body onto a rock-hard surface that smelled of plastic and the sting of sterilizing alcohol. Pain ripped through his stomach at the sudden movement and he whimpered quietly, painful breaths in, lips quivering as he tried to bite down hard on the dried, cracked surface; the movement jarring enough to make him wish he was back in the cabin amongst the snow and broken glass.

But there was a hand encasing his. One that was soft, impossibly gentle, a slight squeeze, and Bucky realized there were voices around him. Muffled, barking orders, but they were distant, like an echo at the edge of a ravine. They were too far away for him to hear.  

All except one.  

“Stop it! Jesus, you’re hurting him,” one of the voices warned; soft and melodic, even within the tension, within the slight tremor of panic. It was a voice that called to him, as the grip on his forearm tightened, and Bucky forced his eyes open.  

He was seeing double, couldn’t quite focus on what was right in front of him, but he could see the three agents dressed in black combat vests huddled over him, strapping him on the stretcher while a petite Englishwoman with mousey brown hair and slender fingers worked to stabilize the mess at his stomach.  

Then, he focused on the voice to his left, the kind voice, the familiar voice – yours.  

“We’ve got to get him out of here, Simmons,” you urged, glancing back at the doors to the shop and the chaos of broken aisles in between. “God knows how long he’s been here like this...”

“I just need to stabilize him before we make a break for the jet,” the woman with the quiet English accent replied. She pressed down hard on Bucky’s stomach and he was surprised to find he didn’t feel a thing.  

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat, trying to find his own voice, catch your attention in some way, but you didn’t seem to notice him watching you.

“It’s been ten hours since he missed the checkpoint. Ten hours,” you stressed, your free hand reaching up to brush back hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. It was then Bucky noticed the braid sitting over your shoulder, the dark tactical suit, and the discoloration under your eyes. There were marks in the shape of crescent moons on your hand from where you’d dug your nails to your skin. You looked tired, scared; it was different than how you appeared when Bucky collapsed.  

You gritted your teeth, brushing away tears Bucky so desperately wanted to reach to wipe away if he could only move.  

“We don’t know how much blood he’s lost or— or if he has internal bleeding or--”

You froze suddenly, words pulled right out of your mouth as Bucky’s hand twitched under your grip. Slowly, you turned to meet his eye with a kind of panicked shock and relief and an array of complex emotion.  

“Bucky?”

He nodded, a weak smile on his face.  

You nearly cried. “Oh, thank God you’re--”

“You stayed,” Bucky muttered, voice groggy and slurred. A tired smile etching up against broken lips.  

You blinked, biting back your tongue as your eyes shot over at Simmons. She shrugged, working quietly to reseal the bandages at Bucky’s stomach. There was a smile on Bucky’s lips, broken and cracked in dried blood, almost hazy, like he was floating high above in the clouds.  

“Honey, I’m here now,” you told him, voice a little cautious, but Bucky shook his head, though his vision was starting to leave him again, the comforting pull of darkness wrapping its arm around him.  

“You... you really stayed with me...” His voice was barley a whisper.  

Your eyes widened, a fear taking over and your quickly snapped your attention back to the agents surrounding him.  

"We need to get him out of here, now,” you ordered as Bucky’s eyes started to flutter closed again and he did not return the grip to your hand when you squeezed. Sudden movements and he was lifted into the air, though your grip on his hand did not leave him.

He fell back to the darkness before the cold air of Russian winter could touch his skin.  

***

The first thought Bucky registered was that he was warm. Not warm enough for sweat to form on his brow, but enough so that a chill didn’t press its way into his bones, enough that the thin layer of a freshly washed blanket draped over his legs chased away the goosebumps on his arms.  

He blinked his eyes open gently to take in the stream of light from the window to his left and the reflection held against bare, white walls. The room was not one he knew and quiet murmuring of strangers passing by outside in a language he couldn’t place didn’t help the rush of panic etching up through his veins.

Bucky turned to his left to see a monitor carrying his heartrate and the increasingly frantic rhythm of his pulse. There was a bruised mark on his right forearm around an IV that stemmed to a bag hanging over his head.  

Could be filled with anything, he reminded himself. Always on the defense. It was how he stayed alive.  

A hand settled against his stomach to find it wrapped in bandages, no longer searing in pain, but still sore; a dull ache left behind to remind him it was real, that he’d been shot and left for dead in the frozen wastelands of Russia, that he’d walked miles alone in a blizzard and found comfort in the ghost of –  

Bucky jolted upright, a hiss pulling swiftly from clenched teeth as a sharp pain reemerged at his stomach. He groaned, breaths coming in a little heavier now as he glanced around the empty room. Up at the open door ahead of him, he watched as stray physicians and nurses passed by in white lab coats talking quietly amongst themselves in... German, maybe? His brain was too foggy to register much of anything.  

“Y/n?” he called in search of your ghost, but his voice was too weak, he could barely hear it himself.  

Kicking the blankets away from his legs, Bucky felt a chill sweep up his spine. The pain was excruciating, but he’d been through worse. He ripped the IV from his arm. He kept his hands gripped tight to the mattress, setting his bare feet to the cold floor and wincing as the pain in his stomach worsened with every movement.  

But he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home to you. He’d promised.  

He set his stance to the ground, careful to hold himself up on the edge of the bedframe, but his legs were shaky under him, muscles unused and tired and so incredibly useless, his left hand started to warp the plastic of the railing in his frustration.  

“Bucky?”  

Wide eyes shot to the door to find you standing in its frame, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in your hand, lips parted in shock. Your hair was swept to the side in a long braid, dark circles hanging under your eyes, your clothes wrinkled with days of use.  

He tried to speak, but suddenly, his hold on the bed frame gave out. The smell of dark roasted coffee beans filled the air before he even met the ground and his skin touched the ice of tile flooring. Sharp pain in his hip and a heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Bucky tried to find an ounce of his dignity on the ground.

You slid up on your knees beside him; coffee cup noticeably missing from your hands as it laid in a puddle by the door to his room.  

“Jesus, Buck, what were you thinking?” you gasped, hands roaming down over his arms, fingers warm to the touch from the coffee you’d held between your palms. A worry line creased in your forehead, lip tugged between your teeth as you grazed your touch over his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and jawline in concentration as you inspected for damage.  

Bucky closed his eyes, a little lost in the feeling of it as he leaned into your touch, missing you and wondering how he could possibly feel that heat from your skin.  

“You’re lucky you didn’t reopen your stitches,” you murmured, hands touching gently at his wrapped bandaged around his waist. It was still white, at least, so that was something. The scowl on your face was a comfort, something familiar, and he was thankful to have it.  

But there were small differences he noticed as you tried to help him back up into the bed. Like how when the light from the window touched your skin, it reflected a little differently, got caught in your eyes and you’d have to squint away from it. Or how there was a new scratch on your jawline he hadn’t seen before. You huffed a hair away from your face as you struggled to life him back to his feet and it fell back into your line of sight almost instantly.  

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back,” you told him before you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, hands sinking into his hair. It felt so real, he almost convinced himself you were really there.  

When you came back into the room, a nurse was at your side, hands planted firmly on her lips.  

“I thought you were joking,” the nurse huffed in a thick German accent, exchanging a glance with you. You shrugged, scowl present but lips curved up in a smirk. The nurse groaned, sinking down to the floor to grab Bucky’s arm. “Why would I expect a man who’s been under for nearly a week to just up and walk out the room? Huh? I wouldn’t! No one is that foolish, Sergeant Barnes.”

You were laughing quietly beside her as you helped to guide Bucky back up into the bed. As he settled back into place, he found himself watching you intently as you conversed with the nurse. She told you keep your eyes on him, that he was a flight risk, and that she’d be back to check on him again soon. You nodded, thanking her for her time and quickly pulled up a chair beside his bed.  

“You've got terrible timing. You know that, right?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I haven’t left this room for days, Buck, and the second I go to get coffee, you decide to wake up.”

“How long?” he asked quietly and the smile faded from your cheeks.

“Five days,” you told him. “Almost six.”

“Longer since I missed the checkpoint, then,” he reasoned, pinching at his brows. “We should get moving again. I’ve got to get home.”

“What? No,” you said quickly, leaning forward in your chair in an attempt to set your hand on him, but he pushed it away. It seemed to surprise you because you paused for a moment before you said, “Bucky, you’re still healing. You need time before we can—”

“I didn’t almost bleed out in a goddamn cabin in middle of Russia just to end up trapped in some hospital in Germany and still not make it home!”

Bucky threw the blanket off of him again, pushing himself to the edge.

You rushed forward, grabbed a hold of his shins before he could swing his legs off the side of the bed. Your grip was forceful, but not enough to hurt. You planted your hip down on the bed to block his path.  

“We’re staying here, Buck,” you pressed, a slight tremor in your voice. “You almost died.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this now?” Bucky groaned and the flash of confusion on your face went unnoticed. “You’re the one that convinced me I had get home, aren’t you? You’re the one who wouldn’t just let me die and made me walk into a fuckin’ blizzard while I was bleeding out! I have to get home to you, right? That’s what you said! I’m not giving up on her – or, or us – or... fuck it— on myself, ok? Whether you’re with me or not. I have to get home to her. Even if I have to fucking crawl.”

Through the frantic swelling in his chest, the heavy pants of his breath, and the dizziness forming back in his head, Bucky didn’t register how quiet you’d become until his eyes flickered over to you. Your body was rigid, lips parted just slightly, a semblance of shock in your eyes and Bucky’s stomach sank.  

“Is that... Is that what you meant when you said ‘I stayed with you’? Back in the gas station in Russia? Do you... Do you think you’re just imagining me here?” you asked slowly and a burning heat ached into his cheeks. Something like shame or embarrassment or guilt, but none of it stronger than the relief that coursed through his veins as your hand reached out for him, fingers encasing his. Smaller than his own, warmer, and so real he could feel the divots of your lifeline and old scars and the soothing trace of your nails. Tangible. Real.  

“I...” Bucky started, stealing a glance up at your eyes before they darted back down to your hands wrapped so tenderly around him. He exhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing sweetly at his knuckles. You pressed the chill of his fist to your cheek and he could feel the warmth burning there. The way you watched him, with eyes so filled with the kind of love and adoration he’d longed for his entire life, it was enough to mend his heart whole.  

“I’m here, Bucky,” you whispered, another kiss to the tips of his fingers and it took the breath straight from his lungs. “I’m really here, honey. Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you anymore. You’re not alone.”

Bucky nodded, watching as you peppered kissed along his hands, over flesh and metal like they were one in the same.  

“It felt so real...” he murmured, sinking into the way your hand stretched up along his arm, rising over his neck like the crest of ocean waves, and rested to his cheek. He leaned further into the touch.  

“I know,” you soothed, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. “But I’m here now, love. You found your way home.”

Bucky nodded, shifting in the bed just enough for you to crawl in beside him. The dull ache in his stomach lingered, but he didn’t mind, not when you curled up into the crook of his neck, your hand gliding down over the marred scarring on his shoulder, your breath warm against his collar.  

“Home,” he echoed, the word slipping from behind broken lips, a curve of a smile etching into his cheeks. He leaned his cheek to the crown of your head, eyes closing in a relief that spread through his chest and through the very ends of his body in a gentle kind of warmth he could only ever hope to find with you resting in his arms.  

He found his way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes

[softboywriting]

Meet The Parents | Billy Russo

Summary: You introduce Billy to your parents and it doesn’t go as well as you hope. [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope] [Alternate Timeline - Castle family not mentioned/never happened] [Fluff] [Problematic Parents/Divorced] [Parents Fighting] [Language] [Flirting] [Flashback/Nightmare]

 Word Count: 3.8k 

 A/N: This is a follow up to my first fic Little Moments but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.

---

The office is quiet, and has been for the whole day. Billy has been out at a client meeting since you got in. Anvil is becoming quite popular in the private military market, having taken on three new contracts in the last two weeks. You're proud of Billy, he works hard to win over his clients and offer top of the line service. As the primary contact for all contracts and placements, you've gotten busy too. More business means more expenses, and more employees to keep track of. You don't mind, it keeps you active and engaged. There is nothing more you hate than just sitting around staring at the wall or watching cat videos for the billionth time.

"Hey sweetheart."

You glance up from your work and see Billy closing the office door behind him. He's dressed up, black and grey patterned silk shirt, expensive black suit, the tailored jacket over his arm. He looks positively delicious if you do say so. Those shirts are the best thing you ever convinced him to wear.

"Hey yourself. How'd the meeting go?"

"Shitty." He sneers and tosses his jacket on his office chair. He begins unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt to roll them up to his elbows. "The guy brought his daughter."

"Okay? What does she have to do with anything?"

Billy raises his eyebrows in an 'are you shitting me' expression. "His daughter is a model. Not naturally talented mind you, paid for by her daddy. Clearly he thought havin' her there would sway me into acceptin' the number he offered for the contract you wrote up. Like he's doing me a favor."

You stand and walk around the desk, eyes going up and down his chest. "You didn't do anything did you?"

"What kinda man do you think I am?" Billy walks you back against your desk, pinning you in with his hands on the top behind you. He drops his head to yours and stares at you with those dark endless eyes. "You think I'd fuck around?"

"I know you won't, you're too gone for me." You run your hands up his back and he arches against you. "Did she try?"

"She tried. Even sat on my lap."

"In front of her dad?"

"Mmmhmm." Billy drops his face to your neck and mouths at your skin. "I don't mind a little show and tell but even I got boundaries. Parental peepshows are off limits."

You laugh softly and he brings one hand against your lower back up to pull you against him. "Take it easy. You know the rules. No relationship stuff while I'm on the clock."

He groans, pulling his head back to look at you. "I need to touch you though. I don't want her lingering on me."

"I know." You step out of his hold and he lets his hand drag across your back as you escape his grasp. "Just another hour okay? I've gotta wrap a few things up."

Billy pulls his tie loose and unbuttons the top of his shirt. "Why did I ever make these rules?" He sinks down in his chair and spreads his legs, lolling his head against the back. He really is such a tempting little tease. How could you resist a man like that? Truth be told it's hard.

You take a seat behind your desk and focus your eyes on the invoices on screen. "You made them because you want Anvil to remain professional and not a playground."

"Bullshit."

"Your bullshit."

Billy bites his lip and gives you that look. The one that says he isn't to be messed with, that he's gonna get what he wants no matter what. And oh it's so tempting to get up and go sit on his lap in that chair. It's always been a fantasy of yours. One you haven't gotten to full fill due to his rules. He's really only cockblocking himself.

"C'mere."

"No, Billy."

"C'mon, be bad. Break my rules."

"No! You're such a jerk!" You laugh and he chuckles playfully. "We have dinner with my parents after this anyway. I'm not breaking your rules and getting all messy before we go see my parents. You hear? Parents."

"Always such a good girl."

"You like it."

"Damn right I do." He pushes up out of his chair and crosses the office to cradle your head and press a chaste kiss to your temple. "I'm gonna go home and get ready. Anything you want me to lay out for you? I think you've got a few things at the apartment."  

"The blue dress. I picked it up from the cleaners last week with a few suits. It should be in your closet."

"The one I bought you a while back for the client dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that a little revealing for a parents dinner?"

You raise your eyebrows and he narrows his eyes.

"You're a monster." He presses his lips to your ear. "If you keep teasing me I'll have to put you in your place."

"I guess I'm a glutton for punishment."

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you're askin' for." Billy kisses your cheek and steps away. "Playin' with fire will get you burned."

You smile innocently. "See you later."

"You're terrible." He goes to the door and stops, looking back once more. "But I love you."

"Love you too Billy."

"Ugh," he groans, slapping a hand over his chest. "Say it again."

"Love you?" You giggle and he acts even more dramatic, pretending to swoon against the door. "What are you doing?"

"Being you."

"Wh- you son of a bitch! Get out!" You throw your squishy stress ball at him and he cackles as he runs from the office. What a child.

_____________________

"Oh, this is your boyfriend?" Your mother asks in actual surprise. As if you weren't meant to have a man that looks like Billy Russo. Truth be told you had never dated anyone half as attractive, not to you anyways. "He's so...well dressed."

Billy takes your mom's hand and kisses it politely. "We're all well dressed here ma'am. You look lovely too."

"Thank you." She flushes and giggles.

Billy gives a warm smile and tugs you closer. His hand on your back is radiating heat, its comforting. He knows you're tense. This dinner will be a strain on your nerves and he had been warned how difficult your parents can be.

"Your father should be here soon. I told him not to be late." Mom says huffily, eyeing the doors to the restaurant. You've met up with her outside and you're currently waiting for your dad to arrive. Your parents have been split for ten years and it's been hard, but not as hard as it would have been if they had divorced when you were still a young child. Well, you like to think that anyways. They waited, held on to their shit until you were graduated and old enough to understand that some people don't remain in love.

Billy leans in and presses his lips to your ear. "Are your parents going to fight? This place is very nice, I don't want to cause a scene."

"It'll be fine. They can hold it together for a few hours. I hope. Just don't mention their personal lives. It's a sore spot for mom. Dad isn't single anymore."

"Gotcha."

"Sorry I'm late." You turn and see your dad walking towards you. "Some asshole parked his Rolls Royce just on the line and I hardly squeezed into the only spot open beside it."

Mom scoffs and rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue but you know what she would say. Some comments about his truck being too damn big and a gas guzzler.

Dad puts his hand out for Billy. "You must be the lucky guy!"

Billy takes it and smiles a beautiful, toothy, shit eating grin. "Billy Russo, the asshole who parked his Rolls Royce a bit close to the line."

The way Dad's face turns pale and then red with embarrassment makes the whole evening worthwhile up until then. "That's yours?"

"One hundred percent. Bought and paid for."

"That's a beautiful piece of machinery. Expensive."

Billy leans his head on yours. "I only go for the best."

"Well you know I-"

"Oh shut up already, let's go inside." Mom says and grabs your dad's arm. "Always babbling on about shit when we've got things to do."

"Y'know what-" the conversation fades as your parents head into the restaurant. You're glad. It is bound to be petty anyways. Always was with them. Bickering children they should be called.

"Relax." Billy says in your ear, hand traveling up and down your side. "I can win over your parents for one night."

"You could charm anyone into anything and I've seen as much. You're a silver tongued sn-"

Billy catches your jaw in a light hold and presses a kiss to your lips. Your hand slides up into his hair and he grins into the kiss. "Easy now. We've not even gotten seated yet."

"Your fault."

"Usually is."

____________________

You stare at yourself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Dinner wasn't going so great and you had barely made it through an appetizer and drinks.

Your parents couldn't stop arguing, Billy was trying his best to charm them but apparently they're uncharmable, and you were left to play referee for your parents against each other or them against you and Billy.

It is a whole mess and you want to just leave, just walk out say fuck everything and go to Billy's apartment and go to bed. You haven't even had a chance to tease Billy like you were planning, hell, you've barely gotten a word in that wasn't defending him or fielding your parents insults they continuously hurdled over the table at one another.

The door rattles on your left and you clear your throat. "Occupied!" You shout and it stops.

It's a single use bathroom, not a multi-stall type set up. So the person outside would just have to wait until you were done having your crisis. Maybe not so fair to them but you'll be damned if you won't let yourself have a moment.

The handle turns and you back into the sink as the door opens. To your surprise it is Billy, not some worker with a key. "What the-"

"Your parents are insufferable. How the hell did you grow up with them? I mean I was in a group home and a few of the adults weren't great but holy shit they weren't my parents."

"I'm sorry."

Billy closes the door and shakes his head, taking your hands in his. "Don't be sorry for their actions. Never apologize for anyone but yourself."

"I knew this would happen. I just thought that maybe...I don't know...maybe they'd be different. Maybe they'd be proud of me, of you, so they would get along for two fucking hours."

"Sweetheart, you're nearly thirty, you're still seeking your parents approval?"

You laugh joylessly and bite the inside of your cheek. "You don't understand. You can't understand."

Billy brings your forehead to his lips and he rubs your back. He's always so affectionate with you, careful to hold and to love you like a man who never received it himself so he wants to make sure those he loves receives it tenfold.

"I understand seeking approval, but there is nothing you need approval for. You're an adult with a good job, a place to stay, an outstanding boyfriend with his own company. I'd say you're doin' alright honey."

You let out an actual little laugh, and he does too, bumping his nose against yours. "You're so full of yourself."

"You like that?" He bumps again, eyes on yours. "I said it to get you to giggle."

"You know it's a little true."

His lips meet yours in a warm tender kiss. "Confidence is sexy."

"It is."

"I could tell your parents there's a work emergency." He slides his hands over your ass and pulls you flush against him. "A real pain in the ass employee is causin' trouble."

You smile into his lips and he smiles back. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He chuckles softly and cradles your head to his chest. "You can't choose how your family acts. Remember that. It's up to you to decide how you act, and if you want to deal with them."

"I know."

"Do you?" He runs a hand over your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands briefly.. "I know it's different for you, I can distance myself easier since I didn't grow up with proper parents. Maybe I'm cold, or indifferent but-"

"Stop." You dig your fingers into his side and he falls quiet. "Don't compare your childhood to mine. It's not fair. I don't want you to begin resenting me because-"

Billy gives you a look that is all warning and it silences you instantly. "I would never resent you for having parents and growing up like a normal kid should. I ended up in a shit situation and that is no one's fault but my own mother's. She is the only person I will ever resent." He softens, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Do you wanna ditch or go try to make something of this dinner?"

You swallow harshly and look at the door. Ditching would be easy, but the repercussions would be insufferable. Your mom would never stop calling about it, your dad would hold it over your head forever. It would be more of a disaster to leave than it would be to stay. No matter how valid the reason.

"We'll stay. I can try and redirect the conversation."

"That's my girl." He pats your cheek. "Proud of you."

"T-thanks."

Billy takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with his. "I'll take care of it. I can get them to shut up."

"If you can get a word in."

"I have my ways. Don't worry."

You cut him a look as you exit the bathroom and head for the table. "What are you-"

"Don't worry." He presses against your ear and guides you down to sit at the table.

Your parents are still bickering.

"Hey!" Billy says firmly with his hands on the table, not a yell, but enough to get his point across and the attention of your parents but not many others.

"Yes?" Mom asks surprisingly quietly.

Billy smiles and it's all venom, beautiful venom. You know this look, these eyes, that deadly grin. He isn't fucking around and the way he can express that so physically subtly astounds you. "The arguing is going to stop. The petty comments are going to stop. We're going to sit here and have conversations like adults, or you can leave and your daughter and I will have a nice dinner."

"Wh-" Dad starts but doesn't get any further.

"I am not goin' to repeat myself." Billy stands up straight and raises his eyebrows, daring your parents to say another word. The tension is thick, you can hardly breathe. Never did you think you'd have to witness Billy being like this with your parents of all people.

You grab a roll from the basket at the center of the table and pick at it. "How's work been, Dad?"

Dad clears his throat. "Good, busy. People always need an electrician for something. I did a school the other day, new classroom."

Billy sits beside you and lays his hand on your leg, thumb stroking your skin gently. He leans in and whispers "I told you don't worry." He turns his attention back to your parents. "So you're an electrician? Contractor?"

"Yeah, I work for Mundun Electric. Union job, pays well."

"And you?" Billy looks to your mom.

"I'm a medical receptionist. Clarke Center Hospital."

Billy smiles. "That's incredible. You're both hardworking people it seems, I see where she gets her work ethic. She's incredible, the best I've hired for Anvil."

You chew your lip and look down, flushed. "You're just being nice."

"I'm serious." He holds your hand up and kisses your knuckles. "I admire your dedication and the hard work you've put into making Anvil a success. Without you, I don't know where I'd be. Probably buried in paperwork."

"So you work for Billy? That's how you met?" Mom asks and you nod.

Dad raises his eyebrows.

"Dad, don't start."

Billy cuts a glare at your dad. "Don't start what?"

"Nothing." Dad says nonchalantly, eyes going to somewhere else in the room. "I just think inter-workplace relationships are never a good idea."

You squeeze Billy's hand and he just smiles oh so sweetly. "Dad, it's fine. Billy and I are both professionals. If things don't work out we'll make it work for the sake of the company."

"He'll fire you and you'll be looking for a job yet again." Mom pipes up, rolling her eyes. "See, things like this are why you can't hold a career."

"Mom!"

"Alright." Billy says firmly. "We're done here. Ma'am, sir, with all due respect you can both go fuck yourselves."

"Excuse me!?" Dad bellows and your mom looks flustered at the use of language. "You have no right-!"

"Actually I do." Billy stands and guides you to stand with him. "I'm going to love and care about your daughter the way she should be. You two are self absorbed monsters who should have never had a child, let alone forced the one you had to live through a loveless marriage. The fact that you cannot manage to sit here and have dinner with her and myself, which mind you has left quite a first impression, is sad and disappointing."

You grab his hand and you're shaking. You don't even know what to say. It's like Billy is telling them everything you've wanted to for your whole life.

"C'mon sweetheart." He puts his arm around you and guides you out of the restaurant. You know there are people staring but it's fine. It's over now.

"I'm s-"

"Uh uh." Billy puts his finger to your lips. "No apologies. Here." He shrugs his suit jacket off and puts it around your shoulders.

"Thanks."

"You wanna get out of here before your parents come out. Go get some burgers or something?"

You can't help the little smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. "Pete's Diner?"

"Anywhere you like." He takes your hand and walks you toward the parking area. "Fuck this fancy bullshit anyway. I never understood the food they serve."

"Me neither. A hamburger and fries with a big ole pickle is good enough for me."

Billy opens the passenger door for you. "You're a girl after my heart y'know that?"

"I think I already have it."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. "That's for damn sure."

_____________________

Midnight you wake up crying. A nightmare, a reoccurring one as it would be. Though it is more of a twisted memory than a nightmare in actuality.

You are always around seven or eight years old, it's nighttime, you've been in bed for an hour and still not asleep. Downstairs your parents are awake, their disembodied voices float through the old floors. Their voices grow louder, shouting, screaming at each other. A glass shatters and you crawl under the bed. Footsteps come closer in the hall, heavy and slow.

The dream shifts. You're not a child but an adult. Under the bed is smaller now, the footsteps grow louder. The door opens and you scream when your foot is grabbed and you wake up crying.

"What's wrong?" Billy asks, sitting up in bed abruptly and turning on the light, hand instinctively going for the nightstand where you know a weapon is stored.

You had stayed the night, both of you decided it was best to stay together while you decompress from your tragic meet the parents dinner. Didn't matter in the end though. The nightmare still came.

"Just a bad dream. I'm going to get some water." You push back the blankets and plant your feet on the cold floor. It's a nice shock to the system, reminding you this is reality.

Billy's arm snakes around your waist. "Care to share with the class?"

"It's nothing. Just a nonsense dream about old crap."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. Um, just a dream." You yawn and pat his hand on top of your stomach. "I need water."

"Grab me a bottle?"

"Sure."

You end up in the kitchen, looking out at the New York skyline. His place is so beautiful. It's luxurious, and you can't get used to it. You lean on the island and sip a bottle of cold water from the fridge. You don't think you belong here.

Then the dream comes creeping back in. Rationally you know that dream is never going to become a reality. Not with Billy around.

"Hey."

You look back to see Billy walking in with his sleep pants low on his hips. He scrubs a hand over his face before meeting you at the island.

"Sorry, I just got caught up in the view."

"It s'okay." His arms wrap around you and he presses his face to your neck. "I love you." He whispers softly into your skin.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm."

You thread a hand into his hair and scratch at his scalp. It elicits a hum that's nearly a purr against your back. "Do you ever feel like you don't deserve this? Like everyday you can't comprehend that you're loved."

"I didn't think I could fall in love before I met you, yeah. I'm familiar."

"Oh."

"Wasn't expecting that?" He chuckles, flexing his fingers against your tummy.

You shake your head and he kisses along your jaw. "Billy, stop," you giggle as his short beard tickles your skin.

"No way." He starts walking you back away from the island counter and toward the bedroom. "I've got a disease and if I don't kiss you all the time I'll definitely succumb to it."

The two of you tumble onto the bed and he straddles your hips, mouthing at your neck and chest relentlessly.

"It's three in the morning. We need to go back to sleep."

Billy hums and settles on top of you, nose in your hair. "Sleep is for the weak."

"Then I'm weak." You trail a hand up his back, fingers flitting over his shoulder blade. His skin is so soft, so warm. "Thank you by the way."

"For what?"

"Being here when I had a nightmare."

"Of course." Billy pets your hair, stroking it down against the pillow. "I've suffered my share of them alone. I'm glad you were here so you weren't."

"Me too."

"Go to sleep." He kisses your cheek and rolls off to the side. His arm curls around you and pulls you close. "Love you."

"Love you too."

_____________________

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

Header image by delicate-venus

Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support content creators. -A

#billy russo #the punisher series #the punisher #the punisher netflix #billy russo x reader #ben barnes characters #the punisher fic #billy russo fic #billy russo fanfic

[fruitcoops]

ok this is a very specific request so don't worry if you ignore it, but would you write something about remus helping interview new PTs with moody, and when they eventually find hestia?

Yeah!! I love writing Hestia as the new PT and this was a really neat prompt! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

Moody reached over and put a hand on Remus’ knee to stop its incessant bouncing. “Breathe, kid.”

“Sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he looked at the stack of resumes on the desk. “I’m just nervous.”

“This isn’t your job anymore, you don’t have to—”

“No!” Remus blurted. Moody raised his eyebrows. “Sorry. No, I’m fine, I can stay.”

The old man’s face softened. “We’ll find the right one, okay? You get to be a player now, Loops. You don’t have to stress about this part.”

Yes, I do. Moody must have seen the hesitance on his face, but he shook his head and pressed the buzzer for the first interviewee to enter. The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with a resume the size of a small Bible in his hands; Remus felt something die inside. It was going to be a long eight hours.

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

Noon came and went, then one o’clock, then two, until four pm rolled around and the stack of paperwork was beginning to resemble the leaning tower of Pisa. The previous applicant, a woman with a temper like a dragon, had decided the best way to handle her polite but firm rejection was to let loose a barrage of verbal abuse on them both.

“Go home,” Moody told him for the eighteenth time.

“Not until we find the right one,” Remus insisted.

“This isn’t your job—”

“I know. Fucking—” He broke off with a huff and rested his forehead on the tabletop. “I know, Moody, but I need to do this. I need to know we’ve got the right person in there, or I’m not going to be able to relax ever again. I promise not to get too involved after this, but please. Please let me do this with you.”

A few beats of silence passed before a heavy hand settled between Remus’ shoulder blades. “You’re a good kid, Lupin. I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll still be here every day,” he mumbled.

“I know. Ready to keep going? We’ve only got a few left.”

Remus straightened and winced as his back cracked. “Alright, let’s do this.”

He pressed the buzzer again and the door opened, revealing a young woman with a sky-blue scarf around her head and neck. “Hestia Jones,” she said as she sat. Her face was kind, but she carried herself with confidence. Remus liked her immediately.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones,” Moody said, opening her folder. “My name’s Alastor Moody. I’m the head trainer for the Lions.”

“Remus Lupin, the old PT.” Hestia’s handshake was strong. “We’re just going to go through a few basic questions, then you can ask whatever you’d like and we’ll continue from there. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Hestia’s confidence did not waver throughout the interview; her answers were clear and concise. She was quick-witted and smart without being pretentious, and nothing she said made Remus believe she would put up with any whining about exercises or stretches. For the first time in six hours, he felt like they had a really strong candidate.

Moody tapped her portfolio on the desk with a pleased look on his face. Well, as pleased as his face could get. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Jones, I think we’ll—”

“Wait. Could I borrow you for a moment?” Remus asked. Both of them raised an eyebrow at him, but Hestia nodded and stood up. “Awesome, thanks. It’ll just take a second.”

He led her down the hall to the rink, where the team was finishing up with a light scrimmage for bragging rights. He heard several calls of ‘Loops!’ and waved, then motioned her toward the bench. “Quick question,” Hestia said, following the puck with her eyes. “What’s going on here?”

“Hands-on demonstration,” Remus answered. Any minute now.

Pots skated up to the boards, out of breath and sweaty. He grinned when he saw Hestia. “Hey, you’re here for the PT position?”

She blinked in obvious surprise. “Yeah. Hestia Jones.”

“James Potter.” He looked to Remus, who glanced toward the Gatorade bottles. “Hey, H—can I call you H?”

“Sure?”

“Can you grab me a blue Gatorade?”

Hestia didn’t skip a beat before grabbing one off the bench and cracking it open for him. James’ smile widened. “Superstition?” she guessed.

He lifted the bottle toward her in a ‘cheers’ motion. “Indeed.”

“Can I be honest for a second?” she asked, chancing a look at them both.

“It’s preferred,” Remus said.

“I always thought superstitions were kind of bullshit.”

James barked a laugh as Remus snorted. “Y’know, H, I seem to remember this guy saying something very similar on his first day.”

“Pots!” Sirius called. “The hell are you doing?”

“See you around, Ms. Jones,” James said, skating away with a mock-salute.

One by one, each of the players swung by the bench for their rituals and good luck charms. Hestia didn’t miss a single one, keeping her eyes on the game the whole time. She was friendly and bantered right back with the guys despite a few hiccups or moments of surprise when they appeared seemingly out of nowhere; within five minutes, Remus had his answer.

“Thanks for that,” he said as they headed back down the hallway. The tension had begun draining out of his lower back at last.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Never hurts to gauge team dynamics.”

“The Lions—” Remus trailed off, searching for the right words. “They’re a family. A loud, messy, wonderful family that either draws you in or scares you away in the first ten days.”

“You care about them a lot.” It wasn’t a question, but her tone was gentle.

“I do. Which is why I’m going to do everything in my power to convince Moody to hire you when we go back in there.”

Her dark eyes widened. “Really?”

“If you want to,” he amended. “Be prepared to be damp literally all the time, because all of them are huggers.”

“Yeah, I—” She broke off with a laugh. “I think I can handle that. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Remus said, turning the handle on the door. “It’s not my decision.”

Moody was still sorting through the resume pile when they answered; he glanced up, then folded his hands and leaned forward on the desk. He scrutinized them both for a moment, nodding slowly. “Congratulations, Ms. Jones. Welcome to the Lions training staff.”

Her face glowed with happiness as she reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Moody. It’s an honor.”

“Thank you.” He tilted his head toward Remus with a teasing gleam in his eye. “Now I don’t have to listen to him getting all twitchy.”

“Hey!” Remus protested, though he could muster up very little true indignance. “I’m not twitchy!”

“You about bounced yourself out of your chair, Loops,” Moody said drily. “Forgive me for misunderstanding. You start July first, Ms. Jones.”

The excitement on her face made Remus remember the first time he had stepped into the little PT office with his name badge and binders, buzzing with joy. Now, there was a whole new road ahead.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Hestia said.

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

[jungkxook]

—demon-etized. (m)

⟶ pairing: namjoon x reader

⟶ analytics: youtuber!namjoon / ghost-hunters au / smut

⟶ words: 6,260

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ warnings: idiot ghost hunter bts, ghosts making namjoon horny ig?, slight exhibitionism, fondling, fingering, standing sex, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ description: in this episode of unsolved, namjoon and the boys risk their lives by spending overnight in an abandoned and supposedly haunted asylum in the hopes of finding some ghouls — but the boys are pretty certain the real reason for the spooky moaning isn’t allowed to go on youtube. ***warning: very scary!!!***

⟶ pinned comment: this is part of the not clickbait series!

“Well, this has been fun. Let’s go home now.”

You were starting to think this was a very stupid idea ━ but stupid would be an understatement. The looming asylum standing before you with nothing but the darkened midnight sky in the foreground acts as a foreboding omen that you’ve seen one too many times in pretty much any horror movie. The creepy abandoned estate offering itself up as a seemingly perfect and totally innocent means of adventure for a group of friends only to end in murder or a demon possession should have been enough to scare you all away. Fortunately, you’re not the only somewhat sane person (and you say that very loosely because you did, after all, agree to come with the boys), because you’re both startled yet thoroughly relieved to hear the worried statement coming from a very tense-looking Jimin.

It really was a stupid idea. Spending overnight (which, really, just translates to a few hours and a clickbait-y title for the video) in a supposedly haunted and derelict asylum from the early 1900s offered all sorts of problems that weren’t just supernatural. Squatters, creepy cult members, and risking getting whatever sorts of diseases are riddling the walls of the ancient dwelling were starting to get to you. But it was Namjoon’s idea to come here for his next video upload especially when considering the fact that for the entire month of October he and his group of YouTuber friends host a fan favourite ghost-hunting series titled Unsolved ━ and, whatever Namjoon usually suggests, the boys usually tag along with, no matter how daring or how stupid it may be.

“We literally just got here,” Hoseok retorts as he hops out of one of the two cars you and your friends had shared on the way here. It was a three hour drive from the city with the estate being much larger than you expected it to be, four main buildings sprawling out amongst empty fields. At least the stories of its creepy atmosphere are all the same. Was it the cool autumn breeze sending chills down your spine or something else entirely? The moment you stepped foot out of the car and gazed upon the asylum, it was almost as if you could feel something watching you. But that was definitely just you imagining things. “Don’t be a pussy, Jimin. What’s the worst a ghost is gonna do to you? Rattle some chains? Ooooh, spooky.”

“Okay, first of all,” Jimin rounds on the older boy almost immediately, “vaginas are the strongest muscles in female anatomy, so I’m not being a pussy. Let’s get it right, okay? I’m being a little bitch, and I embrace it. Second of all, if a ghost does rattle some chains near me, I will definitely be booking it back to the car and leaving all of you stranded here.”

From beside you, Yoongi snorts amusedly. He’s the resident non-believer amongst your group of friends so you always wonder why he even bothers to come to these things. He says it’s to help filming, but you think he’s banking on maybe one day seeing a ghost even despite all that charade of hostility. Even now, he’s already filming for the vlog, getting shots of the building but also mostly just Jimin and Hoseok’s banter in the background. “If a ghost does anything tonight, I’ll be genuinely surprised.”

“Something is going to happen tonight. I can feel it,” Jungkook says confidently. He’d been huddled over the opened side door of one of the cars with Namjoon and Jin, sifting through their high-tech equipment that you’re certain they just bought off of Amazon or something. “This place is one of the most haunted places near us. Have you even heard the stories? Apparently there are two most popular ghost sightings. One is some girl━”

“Is she hot?” Taehyung asks.

“She’s dead,” Jungkook deadpans. “Also, pretty sure she was eleven when she died from tuberculosis. Anyway, she’s more of a benevolent ghost. They say you can hear her laughing sometimes. There’s a lot of activity in one of the kids’ rooms. And the other sighting is less friendly. They just call it a shadow man because it’s hard to see its face, but you can always see an outline of a person walking by in one of their treatment buildings. There’s even been physical attacks, with one person saying they got scratched by an invisible force.”

Jimin visibly winces. “Sounds very much like a demon than a ghost to me.”

“Sick!” Hoseok exclaims. You’re worried to find that the group’s morale (aside from yours and Jimin’s) isn’t any less vivacious than when Jungkook started his story. “This is gonna be awesome.”

But you can’t help but to roll your eyes, your feigned boredom really just a weak attempt at hiding your own fright. “Oh, shut up. That’s such bullshit.”

“Is it?” Jungkook quirks a brow, challenging you.  

“Well, whatever happens, we’re gonna catch it.” This confident statement comes from Namjoon. After he hands out the pieces of tech to the rest of his friends, he glances upward at the asylum with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s find us some ghosties.”

As the group begins to follow Namjoon towards the nearest building, Taehyung can be heard wolfishly quipping aloud, “Time to rock and roll, ghoul boys! And, er, girl.”

“Don’t call us that,” Yoongi grumbles.

It’s comforting to hear the rest of the group erupt into fits of entertained laughter, but any banter is quick to subside as you walk up to the building. You’re relieved when Jimin decides to hang back with you and doesn’t seem to protest when you start to cling to his arm as you’re all ushered through the main entrance of the building and into utter darkness only broken apart by the dim glow of your flashlights. If you weren’t already so frightened, maybe some of it would be comical, like the way the front doors creak open so very slowly in suspense.

Under Jimin’s breath, you can hear him mumbling in chagrin, “We should have gotten holy water.”

As your eyes adjust to the darkness within, you’re able to make out that the inside is just as horrifying as it was on the outside. Dust and debris hang heavy in the air and on the ground, and almost every inch of any surface within the building is covered in graffiti works of art. 

“Oh, fuck that,” Jin scoffs. “We only just stepped foot into here and this place is already giving me goosebumps.”

“Aw, sweet, bro! Check this out!” Hoseok says abruptly, startling almost all of you. He’s standing a bit further off down one hall, beckoning the rest of the group to follow. As you approach him, you can make out what sort of graffiti marking on the ground has suddenly grabbed his attention. “Who wants to lay on the pentagram with me?”

“No one,” You retort.

“I will!” Jungkook says at once, much to your dismay.

Yoongi lets out an audible strained sigh. “If any of you fucks get possessed and kill me, I’m never gonna forgive any of you. Just letting you know ahead of time.”

“Yeah, what are you gonna do?” Hoseok asks. “Come back and haunt us?”

“No, I’ll be dead. Ghosts aren’t real,” Yoongi says. “But I will still be very angry.”

“Noted.”

Before Jungkook or Hoseok can haggle Yoongi into filming them laying on the pentagram drawing and potentially offering their souls up to whatever demon lays waiting beneath it for their souls, the group is moving on. You explore the first bottom half of the building together in a tense silence before making your way up the dilapidated stairs to one of the treatment rooms that Jungkook makes certain to point out is where the infamous shadow figure is often seen. Taehyung decides to suggest, “Should we try the spirit box?”

You almost groan aloud. You fucking hate that thing, for obvious reasons. 

Whether or not you believe in it, the loud gurgling noise is always unsettling and you’re already on edge. Still, you sit back with Jimin as the rest of the boys nod in agreement and fiddle with the piece of tech until it’s been turned on. You’re immediately met with a cacophony of crackling radio static so deafening that your instinctual reaction is to cover your ears. You refrain miraculously, but you still cower in one corner with Jimin as the boys listen intently to the noise.

“Is anyone here?” Namjoon calls out to no one in particular. “If you are, can you give us a sign? Move a chair or say something or push Yoongi━”

“What the━?” Yoongi gawks. “Why me?”

“‘Cause you said you don’t believe in them.”

Yoongi clamps his mouth shut, and nods in a way that admits Namjoon has a point. At that moment, there’s a pique in the static, a jumble of inaudible words that almost sounds humanlike.

“What was that?” Hoseok asks. “Sounded like… It almost sounded like it said ‘leave.’”

“Leave?” Jimin squeaks. “Think we should take that as a sign, guys.”

“Nah, I definitely heard Steve, not leave,” Yoongi says.

Jungkook frowns. “Who the hell is Steve?”

“Maybe that’s his name,” Yoongi suggests nonchalantly. “Be nice.”

After a handful of minutes of even more strained silence, the boys are only able to discern certain words that you’re positive don’t have anything to do with the asylum or ghosts. At long last, they shut the machine off and the room is once more plunged into a formidable silence so dense that you almost miss the spirit box. But almost as soon as the piece of tech has been silenced, does Jimin cry out in pure anguish. “What the fuck was that?”

The boys instantly round on their startled friend who is now cowering behind you. The colour has all but drained from his face, eyes wide in a frenzied panic.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon asks.

Jimin looks hysterical as he shoves a pointed finger in the direction of the wall opposite the room in the corridor. “I swear on my life I just saw something move out of the corner of my eye over there. Like a-a person o-or something. Looked like a shadow. I don’t know! I thought it was one of you guys━”

“Stop it, Jimin.” Your voice treads on apprehension as you look over at the alarmed boy. “You’re scaring me.”

“Yeah, ease up, Jimin,” Namjoon says, though he seems more entertained than anything. “I’d prefer if you didn’t throw my girlfriend headfirst towards a demon or ghost or whatever it is you saw.”

“Joon.” His name rolls off your tongue in a scolding moan as you rub wearily at your eyes. His words do little to help console you, and you’re certain it fairs even worse for poor Jimin.

“I’m sorry. I just━” Jimin pulls you tighter in front of him. “I swear I saw something. Holy shit.”

Jungkook’s the first one outside the room, his own camera in his hands as he goes to investigate. As the rest of the boys file outside in the corridor, you drag Jimin along with you, favouring not to be alone in any part of the building. You can hardly see anything, let alone a shadow. 

Jungkook turns back around at long last, a devious grin on his face as he finds Jimin’s wandering crazed stare. “Maybe it was the shadow man. Told you he exists.”

“I don’t care what it was. My heart almost fell out of my ass,” Jimin gasps. He clutches at his chest over his heart, for added emphasis. “Let’s get out of here.”

You aren’t quite sure if the boys believe him, but you do notice how quick they are to move on from the room and corridor. A palpable tension hangs heavy in the air that makes you realize perhaps the boys are starting to lose their cool under pressure. 

As you reconvene below on the main floor of the building, Namjoon pipes up. “Let’s split up. See if we can find anything on our own.”

“Okay, Scooby Doo,” Jin snorts. “You do know that this is how every horror movie begins, right? There’s power in numbers.”

“Yeah. Which is what we’ll all be saying when this video reaches trending on YouTube with a million views,” Namjoon says, matter-of-fact. “Which we can only do if we get some interesting content. So, let’s split up into pairs of two. We’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“We could just fake it,” Jimin suggests desperately. “Like every big YouTuber does. The magic of editing, guys.” But no one seems to be listening anymore as the group begins to splinter off. Yoongi and Jungkook decide to venture back upstairs in pursuit of the elusive and supposed shadow man, while Hoseok and Taehyung wander outside. Lost and dumbfounded, Jimin gawks around at his retreating friends, calling out in one last effort, “Anyone? …No? Okay, cool.”

He nearly lets out a yelp when Jin clasps a hand on the boy’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. “You’ll be okay, Jimin. C’mon, let’s go.”

Finally alone with Namjoon, he offers up his outstretched hand to you. You take it at once, gripping his palm a little tighter than necessary as he pulls you towards him. 

“You doing okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” You lie, even though you know he can see right through it. 

You’re content to find that he at least keeps your hand in his even as he tugs you along with him to explore the rest of the asylum. You decide to leave the building you’re both in and wander to another one where you stumble upon Hoseok and Taehyung on the main floor briefly. Then, making your way upstairs, you find nothing out of the ordinary but empty rooms that you suspect were once upon a time sleeping quarters for the patients. It’s less frightening than the other buildings, though still a little unnerving the longer you stay to explore. You climb the stairs until you’re on the third landing and inspect almost every room to find nothing. 

At some point, you let out a wavering sigh. Namjoon is busy waving around an EMF reader in a room. It’s empty aside from a dusty cot and a broken wardrobe, amongst a few other oddities covered in a thick layer of cobwebs and dirt. You could have sworn you’ve heard footsteps in almost every room you’ve entered that wasn’t either yours or Namjoons, and the strange sensation that you’re being followed hasn’t been able to shake from you. “Joon? Can we go back now? I’m starting to get a little spooked.”

Namjoon comes to a halt at once, turning around to face you. He gives your palm a comforting squeeze. “Hey, you’re okay. There’s nothing to be scared of. I don’t mean to sound like Yoongi but I highly doubt we have to worry about any ghosts.”

“Well, what do you think Jimin saw?”

“Who knows?” Namjoon shrugs. “It was probably just his imagination. Your mind plays tricks on you in the dark, doesn’t it? Here, let’s talk about something else to distract you.”

“Like?”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as Namjoon considers another thought. You don’t even realize the smug smirk unfurling on his face until it’s too late. “Well… I had an idea earlier. Just a passing thought, really, but I bet it’d be fun anyway.”

“What was it?”

“We could probably have a quickie in one of these rooms and the boys would never know any different.”

You nearly choke at this, sputtering for air as you reach out to flick Namjoon’s shoulder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” You admit sheepishly. He places his hands on your hips then, pulling you delicately towards him in a manner that makes it hard to focus now. “But I don’t know how I feel about ghosts watching us. Also, the couple that has sex in any horror movie usually ends up dying first.”

Namjoon shakes his head at you, albeit a little amused at your worrisome thoughts. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. At least not while I’m here.”

“Coming from the man who tripped going up the stairs at your dorm the other day,” You point out tauntingly. The distant reminder and the sound of his abrupt laughter is enough to momentarily soothe your hammering heart. 

Namjoon gasps, feigning a look of mock hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean!”

“Means I love you very much but I don’t know how well you’d fair against ghosts or demons.”

“Ahh, I see how it is.” 

He sounds mildly offended and pokes his fingers at your sides but, in the ensuing scuffle to flee from his grasp, the both of you trip and fumble until you’re pressed up against the nearest wall, the sound of your snickers like music to his ears. He comes colliding against your front, hands digging into your hips. He leans forward to kiss your lips slowly, feeling you smile against him. A delightful chuckle bubbles at your mouth and he parts from you in the next moment wiggling his brows suggestively while a teasing smirk stretches at his face so wide, his dimples start to poke through.

“Wanna?” he asks. 

It’s a simple question, weighing heavy with dirty implications ━ and honestly? You’re kind of into it. Or maybe that’s just because he returns to kissing at your lips, only this time at the corners of your mouth, then the underside of your jaw. Tantalizing motions that seem to make your head spin violently. Your head lolls back against the wall behind you as he droops his head to your neck, lips meeting with the soft flesh of your throat to suck a delicate blossoming hickey there.

“Okay,” You rasp, “so maybe we can spare some time for this.”

“Ah, so now you’re interested.” His voice is huskier now, muffled by the way he busies himself by nipping at the same spot on your throat. He hears your breath hitch, feels the way you part your legs just slightly enough to have him sink further against you. He marvels at your decision in the morning to throw on a skirt and a pair of thick wool tights. At the time, you had said it was because the weather wasn’t too brisk outside just yet; now, he was thanking you silently for unknowingly picking just the right outfit for the occasion. 

“Namjoon…” Your voice is strained now, a mix between a plea and a whine and he grunts against your neck.

It takes Namjoon a moment to rack his brain, realizing that he finds it hard to even form a proper sentence anymore. “Don’t even need to feel my dick in you. Just wanna get you off, baby. Can I?”

You’re already practically drooling. “Think the boys will notice if we’re gone a little longer?” 

“Who cares?” Namjoon quips. “Jimin’ll probably think we got possessed and lost in the demon world or something.”

You giggle, though your voice splinters off into a soft moan as he continues to nip and suck at your neck. His hand falls to your thighs then, fingers brushing upward faintly until he meets the short hem of your skirt before disappearing beneath it. His hand comes to grasp at the delicate curve of your ass, his palm hot and firm against your soft flesh. 

He groans into your neck. “Been dying all night to touch you.”

“Then don’t stop.”

If the way his hardening cock now forms against your inner thigh any inclination, you don’t think he has plans on doing so. Instead, you watch as he lifts his free hand to your mouth, fingers tapping at your lips in a wordless motion. “Open up.”

You do as you’re told, lips parting just enough to wrap around his two fingers. He gazes at you with hooded eyes as you suck at his digits, tongue laving against the sturdy form in your mouth until his fingers are coated thick with your saliva. His other hand, still attached to the rump of your ass, moves like water over your skin to your thigh once more, nudging you aside just enough, pinching delicately at the skin there; he pulls his fingers from your mouth then, then lets the same hand venture under your skirt in a similar fashion. He wastes no time in pushing aside the material of your panties, pressing his digits at your core, watchful eyes staying fixated on yours if only to watch your every expression. His dampened fingers slide over your folds, spreading them open, running across them, admiring the way your stickiness already forms between your legs. 

“Joon…” You cling to him tighter, both to steady yourself against the sudden ministrations and to shield yourself more from view, though you’re certain there’s a slim chance the boys will come across you and Namjoon like this. You hope.

Namjoon’s fingers slip past your folds then, slow and steady as he feels the tight constricting walls of your cunt. You throb around him, thinking only of his cock, imagining the girth of it fitting snug deep within you. The similar stretch of your walls, the fluid motion of his length burrowing in and out of you, wrecking you into shambles. Now, Namjoon wriggles his fingers upward, scratching at a spot within you that has you writhing against him, the slick wetness of your arousal sufficiently coating his fingers. His thumb finds your clit then, running small circles against the small bundle of nerves.

“So wet,” Namjoon moans, resting his forehead against yours. He notes the way your teeth sink into your lower lip, and pulls his free hand out from under your skirt to tap his fingers against your chin. “Gonna moan for me, baby? Let the boys hear you? Maybe wake the dead?”

“You’re such a brat,” You simper through a shuddering breath, and if you weren’t so consumed by him then maybe you would have laughed at the joke he manages to squeeze in at the last moment. But he’s not wrong. What’s the point in keeping silent in an abandoned building that you’re positive only you and your friends are currently occupying? How much longer do you expect to keep quiet, when the way he’s making you feel begins to slowly burn at your insides? 

He curls his fingers deep in you, and your jaw unhinges in a silent gap. You wonder how long you can last, face burning with every passing second as he fingers you closer and closer to your high. Your hips jut outward to meet his hand with every motion, grinding against his knuckles in a desperate need to get off. You’re shameless about it too, fingers gripping his shirt tightly, brows scrunched together in hardened dedication. 

“Such a pretty little mess,” Namjoon hums. “Want you to cum on my hand, baby girl.”

“Fuck, Namjoon━” You whimper now, head lulling back as he twists his fingers further in you. 

But, as soon as you do so, the echoing sound of footsteps has your eyes darting to the darkened corridor. You make out the sound of oblivious chatter, and the familiar voices of Taehyung and Hoseok echoing from somewhere down below. They must be two floors down, though you can hear them screaming at nothing in particular, except for a string of profanities that meet your ears.

“Jesus, fuck!” That definitely sounds like Taehyung, voice shrill with worry. 

“Chill!” There’s Hoseok, but you think he was also screaming moments ago with Taehyung. “It’s just a spider.”

“I don’t care! Get it off of me!”

“Bunch of dumbasses,” Namjoon shakes his head rigidly, a fleeting grin forming on his face that is quick to fade as he curls his fingers upwards further into you. And, while your attention is somewhat fixated on the boys, you find yourself treading a fine line of not giving a fuck as Namjoon’s fingers stay buried deep within your cunt. Still, Namjoon can sense the slight urgency in your demeanor when your hands wind around his neck to tug at his hair, as if to gesture to the strangers that he already knows are nearby. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs reassuringly, voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing so good, love.”

He slows his fingers almost to a halt as you burrow your face in the crook of his neck. Your walls continue to clench around his fingers, and he adds a third finger to stretch you out just enough in a teasing leisure manner. He does it on purpose too, this much you know for certain, as he pinches playfully at your waist. It’s lewd, the idea of him fingering you out in public like this but the emboldened adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t want him to stop. By now, your high overwhelms everything else, causing you to writhe against Namjoon as he cradles you to him. You cum moments later, your orgasm overcoming you before you can sense it, trembling beneath his hands as he continues to finger you through it. Warm, wet arousal leaks from your core, coats his fingers all over as a punctuating whimper of his name tumbles from your lips.

“That’s it, baby,” he says gently. “Let everyone hear how dirty you are. Let it all out.”

Your thighs shake, squeezing shut around his hand, and all he can do is rub soothing circles into your hips with his free hand. He waits for your breath to steady, as the coil in your belly loosens, instead taking the time to admire you to your fullest, drunken hooded eyes glazed over in that perfect expression he loves.

“Want your cock in me now, Joon,” You whine breathlessly. The whining persistence in your voice excites Namjoon, only amplified tenfold by the way you begin nipping and sucking at his neck. 

“Now?” he asks.

“Now.”

Almost instantly, there’s a noticeable shift in his expression, a shit-eating smirk tugging at his mouth. You smother the rest of it before it can become too smug, folding your lips over his. Still, he hums through your eager kissing, “Yeah? Gonna let me fuck you like this, love? Take you raw against this wall, right here, right now?”

“Yes, please,” You mewl. Growing restless, you beg silently, “Namjoon.”

“Better make it quick then, hm?” 

You can only nod, still in a daze from the orgasm that still courses through your veins. Namjoon’s quick to oblige, pulling his hands from your heat and wiping your slick wetness off on his thigh. Clumsy hands between the both of you fumble to undo the button of his jeans, hastily undoing them just enough to free his straining cock from within. He wedges himself between your legs, hiking your skirt farther up your thighs, and he hurries to free his length from its confinements, wild locks spilling out onto his forehead and into your own line of sight. You push his hair up and away from his face, though your fingers grip suddenly at the roots of his locks when he grips your thigh and hoists it up to his hip, and then pushes himself into you at once, the tip of his warm cock easily coaxed by your already wet walls. He moans into your neck but muffles it halfheartedly by kissing along your throat.

“Easy there, boy,” You snicker, though your own words are a weak drunken slur, drowning out into a muffled whimper as he thrusts himself into you all the way. His hips meet yours roughly, grinding against you as your walls stretch around his throbbing cock.

“I’m needy,” he whines. “Just wanna feel you around me.”

He wastes no time in moving again, pulling his hips back only to thrust into you, adopting a steady fluid pace in such a way that has your head lolling back against the wall, and your mouth popping open in a silent moan as you shift beneath him. The wall of the building behind you is rough and jagged but you don’t feel it, not with the way he continues to thrust into you. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, stretching you apart in such a way that has him pummeling his length into your core just right. 

“Fuck,” he grunts into your neck. Impatient hands move to yank your shirt up to your chest, pulling your bra down just enough for your breasts to pop out. He moves to leave a wet trail of kisses to your breasts, catching one of your nipples between his teeth and sucking harshly at it. The new sensation has your own walls clenching around him, and he almost comes undone then. Against your chest, you can hear him murmur breathlessly, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

“Mmm,” You tug harshly at the roots of his hair. An unabashedly loud moan nearly tumbles from your lips before you can bite it back. Elsewhere, you can hear the sound of faint footsteps once more in the far distance, Taehyung and Hoseok much closer this time (quite possibly on the same floor as you, but the opposite end), but you don’t seem to care much anymore about the potentiality of being caught. “Fuck, Namjoon━”

“You like being fucked like this?” he rasps. “Out in public, for anyone to see?”

You feebly muster a nod, lips parting in a silent moan safe for the sound of your hot panting in his ear. Hurried yet deep shuddering strokes, he fucks into you again and again until your head is spinning. Every thrust sends a jolt up your spine and, still riddled by your first high, your body is quick to turn into shambles beneath him. Your hands flail outward to grasp onto every inch of his body, hands slithering beneath the material of his shirt, fingernails to dig crescent shapes into his torso, then snaking downward to grasp at his bum, pulling him in closer each time he rolls his hips into yours.

“Joon…” Your voice is an exhausted moan when it meets his ear. He almost doesn’t hear it, instead too caught up in the way your panting breaths mingle with the crude wetness of his cock delving past your folds each time. Somewhere, once more, in the distance even closer this time is the sound of footsteps once more. The thought of someone walking in one you like this━Namjoon wedged between your thighs, drilling his leaking cock into your wet cunt and tearing you to utter shambles━does something chaotically good to you. “Not gonna last.”

“Me neither,” he gasps. “Don’t care. Just wanna cum. Just wanna feel you cum around me.”

His thrusts begin to tread into sloppy territory, fervently itching to get both of you off. You reach your second high first, tumbling towards it with open arms. You can’t contain yourself, the tempting moan dancing upon the tip of your tongue, burning in your throat as your orgasm twists at your belly. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna━” 

But your voice splinters off into a delicious sounding whimper. Wary of being caught by your wandering friends when you’re both so close to being undone (because, really, the idea of someone else hearing you whimper because of how good his cock is exhilarates him), Namjoon’s hand clamps over your lips and you welcome it graciously, favouring the idea of his fingers poking into your mouth so that you have something to distract your moaning. It still comes, broken and inaudible, smothered by Namjoon’s hand, as your tongue lavs around his digits. 

Now, you’re truly a sight to behold, making Namjoon’s length twitch amongst your walls. Exhausted, fucked out eyes gawk at him, too weak to carry on, instead jutting your hips forward to meet his with each thrust. 

“Shit,” he whines. “Fuckin’ hell, Y/N━”

He comes moments later, frantic slaps of his own hips having him spilling his seed sloppily into your already wet cunt. The abrupt sensation as your own walls clenching so impossibly tight around him, he feels as if he can’t move, though it’s not as if he immediately plans to. Instead, after a few more rocky thrusts into you to ride out both of your highs, he collapses against your chest and you smooth your fingers delicately through his hair. 

It’s a miracle when you both manage to finally pry themselves off of one another. As Namjoon hurries to tuck himself back into his jeans, you fidget with your bra and shirt, and then the hem of your skirt, tugging it as low as it can go. His cum is still warm and sticky between your legs, slowly beginning to run down your inner thighs. 

You catch him looking at some point and ask curiously, “What?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently. “Just wondering how you still manage to look so beautiful even after having my cum fucked in you.”

You roll your eyes as you reach out to ruffle his messy hair in an attempt to tame the damage you’ve caused. He smiles wide at the effort anyway. 

“Decent?” he asks.

“Good enough,” You say. “Now, let’s find the boys before anyone notices we were gone for too long.”

And this, he doesn’t disagree with.

Later, when you and Namjoon have regrouped with the rest of the boys back by the cars parked outside the asylum, everyone looks a little more on edge than when you left them. Except for maybe you and Namjoon. You wonder if the boys notice, judging by the way you and Namjoon keep giggling amongst yourselves.

“So,” Jungkook says, “did you guys find anything?”

“Nothing,” Jin admits. “Just freaked out Jimin a little bit more.”

The boy in question can be seen scowling to himself, arms folded over his chest. “All I gotta say is screw this place.”

Hoseok looks indifferent as he reviews a recording on the camera in his hands. When he speaks, his voice is a casual drawl. “Dunno. Thought we heard some suspiciously loud moaning from one part of that building that I’m almost positive Namjoon and Y/N were exploring.”

At this, Taehyung bursts out into wolfish laughter, only prompted further by your sudden horrified expression that you try to play off nonchalantly and fail miserably at doing. So they had heard you two after all? “Ha! They sure were exploring something.”

While the rest of the boys look either intrigued or rightfully confused, Namjoon shakes his head defiantly. “Nah, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Resisting the urge to hide behind your hands, you bite your tongue and try to sift through your brain for something else to discuss. Over the childish giggling sounding from Taehyung and Hoseok, you ask, “Well, did you guys find anything? Thought we heard you exploring the third floor.”

“Third floor?” Hoseok echoes, dumbfounded. “We didn’t get that far.”

“But I could have sworn I heard you guys.”

Hoseok’s brows knit together. He exchanges a look with Taehyung, then returns his stare to you. “You probably heard Tae screaming like a lunatic because a spider was on him. We were only in there long enough to try the spirit box out again, but that was on the second floor. Then the spider thing happened. Then, we left.”

Now, this is alarming. You gap at the boys as your mind tries to piece together the puzzles of this dilemma. Had you heard the boys, or perhaps something else entirely? Or maybe it was just your imagination. Namjoon did say your mind plays tricks on you ━ but the sound of footsteps had been so vivid. 

Even Namjoon looks stupefied, gawking at Hoseok. “Wait, you’re not joking, are you?”

“No,” Taehyung shakes his head. “We were filming the whole time. We can show you. Are you guys joking?”

“No,” You promise. “We were━ Erm━ We got distracted. We weren’t really paying much attention but━”

You’re fortunate when Yoongi decides to speak up, interrupting your embarrassed stammering. “So then what did you guys hear…?

A beat of silence passes amongst your group of friends. One-by-one, you each turn to look up at the haunting asylum still standing behind you, the night blurring its shape into one incomprehensible monstrosity. Okay, so maybe the ghost stories about this place are true. A shiver runs down your spine. 

Then━

“So does that mean the ghost is a Peeping Tom or━?” Jungkook asks. You wonder if you should be concerned by his serious tone.

The boys howl with laughter at the thought, though you’re still admittedly a little shaken up by the idea of a ghost watching you and Namjoon bone. Maybe you asked for it, what with deciding to have a quickie in a haunted asylum. 

“I don’t know, but can we please get out of here?” You press thinly. “Jimin was right. Screw this place.”

If the boys are as deeply unsettled by yours and Namjoon’s sudden revelation, you don’t know. You all manage to pack up your belongings and clamber in the cars in record timing, speeding away from the asylum unscathed. And if you really did just witness a ghost encounter, then you suppose it isn’t all that bad. 

At the very least, Namjoon’s video does make it to the trending page.

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

#smutcentralnet #btsbookclub #namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #namjoon x reader #bts #bts smut #bts scenarios #namjoon scenarios #namjoon imagines #kim namjoon #kim namjoon smut #bangtan smut #bts fanfic #bts oneshots #youtuber bts #ghost hunter bts

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 28 - This Ain't No Hymn

Masterlist; Chapter 27

Summary: Time is running until Stalsk-12 and whatever awaits you there. You and Neil try to make the best out of what you have left.

Warnings: 18+ (implied and not so implied content); teasing; swearing.

Author's Notes: Gosh that was a long month... and I'm sorry it took ages. But it's here...! And it's over 14k for which I am terribly sorry. This one is my final stall before we kick off the action and I do hope you'll enjoy the absolute crackheadery of whatever goes on. Feedback greatly appreciated, as always!

During the final two days leading up to the battle, you did wonder how life can be at once so wonderful and yet terrifying. It was easy to get used to the new reality, letting Neil stay in your cabin for most of the time and only use his own for those brief periods when he would need a change of clothes. Or when you would be busy dealing with the assigned tasks, and he would get bored (as he proclaimed). Still, there was barely a time when you were not together.

Mornings were undeniably something else. As the remains of Morpheus’ spell wore off, you snuggled the duvet closer to your chest, relishing in the warmth provided by the blanket and the man sleeping beside you. One last heavy sigh before you opened your eyes, squinting in the bright light falling through the porthole. The sun rays aiming directly at your face, causing you to turn onto the side and face Neil. Despite the numerous mornings spent like this, the sight of him never got old. Your eyes slowly swept over his features. The relaxed brow, blonde hair falling over the forehead in complete disarray. Lips slightly parted, letting out quiet snores. You grinned, overwhelmed with love and gratitude. Because this was worth all the heartache and drama. Absolutely priceless.

Scooting a little bit closer, you felt his hand instinctively tighten over your waist. The hold, which has been placed the previous evening, not shifting throughout the whole night. Keeping you secured and warm. Just as if you were always supposed to end up like this. And perhaps you were. Gently, you reached out to brush your fingertips over his temple. Tentative touch making his breath even out, waking him in the process. Using the momentum, you swept the hair away from his eyes, ending the caress by running the pad of your thumb over his nose and mouth. If only because he was within your grasp.

Neil opened his eyes then, blinking twice to get used to the brightness. You watched as he took in the surroundings, consciousness needing few seconds longer to catch up. Once his eyes landed on you, his lips curled into a soft smile. Gaze immediately showing you nothing but affection. You mirrored his expression, letting yourself extend the staring. It was easy to waste the morning just doing that, gazing into each other’s eyes, getting used to the unbelievable luck. The comfortable silence stretched for a few minutes when Neil grinned and pulled you closer, hiding his head in the crook of your neck and inhaling the scent with reverence. The happy giggle rose in your throat, tinting the words with breathlessness:

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” the nickname coming out of nowhere, yet fitting too well.

You could feel Neil’s smile widen. Cradling you close, he kissed your collarbone and slipped his hands underneath the shirt to caress the skin. It was always like this, slow and blissful, with every minute spent cuddling reminding you why loving him was something essential.

“I should be annoyed at you for waking me up,” the pretended sulking accentuated with a huff let out by Neil.

Still, his hold over your waist tightened. Another kiss laid on the collarbone, teeth lightly grazing over your skin. At this point, hickeys were just another thing that had to be accepted. With the military fashion aboard the icebreaker depending largely on pullovers and combat trousers, you did not need much to hide them. Now, feeling the sleepiness gradually make way for other emotions, you wound your arms around his middle, tangling more to prolong the contentment.

“What’s the but there?” dropping the cheeky question, you made sure to press a kiss to the top of his head.

Taking a moment to drag your fingers through his hair, arranging the eternal mess someway, a job you took on most days now. It was only a pleasure, making sure he looked presentable and yet still like his chaotic self.

“But… this way I can spend few more minutes like this” another blissful sigh, “And this is rather nice,” the adjective complemented with a final trail of kisses down your neck.

Using the loose cut of the t-shirt, Neil ended the study with a longer caress on your bare shoulder. Earning a gasp from you. And then, to sober up, you remarked:

“I love it when you become this incomprehensible in the mornings,” another tactical distraction in the form of tracing your fingertips down his forearm.

His cluelessness first thing after waking up was endearing. Despite always being rather dependent on touch and closeness, it was in those hours when he tended to seek comfort. As opposed to your evening need of hugs and cuddles, helping your anxious brain settle in for the night. It worked. Very much so.

“Very funny” Neil raised his head, joining you on the pillow, “You’re quite gorgeous, did you know that?” eyes showing you the unimaginable extent of infatuation.

You grinned, the charm never failing to get to you. In moments like this, it was easy to believe him. To accept the fact that he was in love with you. Exactly as you are.

“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice. I’m not convinced though” sensing the potential in this line of conversation, you made sure to put up the act.

It worked if judging by the way his eyes lit up with the familiar glimmer. As if that was the needed push for him. The wake-up call.

“I’ll convince you then,” a predatory smirk reminding you of the defeat.

There was no point in fighting him. With excitement fluttering in the pit of your stomach, you watched as he shifted to hover over you. Hands settling comfortably on your waist. One last wink before he leaned down, crashing his mouth into yours with hunger. Your hands ventured up his arms to enlace on the nape of his neck, offering leverage. To pull him down as you deepened the kiss. Easily letting his tongue brush against yours in the intimate moves. Every glide of his lips against yours resulting in flickering fire, electrical sparks trailing down your veins. Muffled sighs and gasps breaking the silence. It was never something effortlessly brushed off. Each kiss sharpening the need and affirming the convictions. Unforgettable.

You broke off the contact only once it felt like you both would suffocate if letting it continue. With a permanent grin, you watched as Neil flopped back on the pillow and took a greedy breath, hand taking yours instinctively and lacing up the fingers to extend the touch. After a few seconds of the recovery period, you decided to pick up on the playful strand once more. For good measure. Raising on the elbow, you glanced down at him with a cheeky smile:

“Do you always kiss that good?” you slowly dragged your tongue along your lips, saving up the remains of the taste.

With satisfaction, you observed as his eyes darted to your mouth, pupils darkening as though that was enough to entice him. The attraction never failing to surprise you in its intensity. Fate and related synonyms constantly on your mind. Because what else could it be?

“You tell me” following your mood, Neil smirked, never easily thrown off by the banter.

Shots fired and all that. Naturally. You broke into a laugh, half-collapsing against him. Only the arms wrapping around your waist keeping you secured. There was nothing left to do but let the giggles die down, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“My god…” words choked out with immeasurable happiness, “If it’s going to be a lifetime of talk like that, then I’m not sure I’ll survive it” admitting the eternal truth, you peeked up at him to see the reaction.

A widening grin and a hint of insecurity brewing underneath were a fascinating mix.

“Maybe you’ll get tired of me and my bullshit. And dump me for someone with the charisma of a cardboard box,”

It was the way he was so utterly wrong that made you let out a quiet laugh then. And also, the concern over his self-doubts that would need to be dealt with immediately. As the true bullshit must be treated.

“So… like Jasper?” the joke earning you a genuine burst of laughter from Neil and a tightening hold over your body “Wouldn’t count on it,” raising once again, you kissed him lightly on the lips and the tip of the nose.

As a reminder.

“Good. Because something tells me I’m a lost cause,” the sincere look causing another wave of love for him, “There’s no getting over someone like you, Miss” in response, Neil bopped your nose with his playfully.

There it is again. With curiosity peaked, you ignored the need to get lost in another kiss and chose to ask a question:

“What’s with the new nickname?” your interest betrayed only by the restless fingers trailing down his chest, smoothing out the wrinkles in the shirt.

Not that you did mind. It was rather cute. And strange.

“I’m trying it out... to see how I feel about it” as usual, Neil caught your meaning with a pensive look.

For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, staring at you unseeingly. Beauty like this first thing in the morning should be made illegal. Your heart once again building up the fire that could only be extinguished by letting yourself have what you wanted. And that was rather simple.

“And?” trying to distract the intensifying thoughts, you took hold of his hand once again.

Carefully relaxing the fist, fingertips inspecting the web of veins and scars covering his palm. The long, slender fingers never failing to amaze you. A sudden reminder about the piano in his flat making everything worse. Because that would be quite a sight.

“I like it. Once we get married, I’ll amp up the game anyways,” Neil’s oblivious ramblings disrupting a detailed daydream concerning him and the piano keys.

Thankfully. It was only once you have brought yourself back to the present moment, the exact meaning of his words caught up.

“Once… not if?” that flicker of hope burning bright and steady.

It was in the way Neil studied you closely that you knew he understood. The smirk spread across his lips; eyes glimmered dangerously as he cupped your cheek:

“Why you got any other plans?” a suggestive glance at your mouth yet again.

No reason to deny it. You glanced at the phone to confirm your hopes. It was early. Enough so to spend a little bit longer in bed. Perfect.

“For now, yes,” meeting his gaze with a half-smile of your own.

Quickly untangling from the current position to provide yourself with more options. Not that he would mind how you would go about it. He never did.

“Care to share?” the want written clearly on his face, nothing but an invitation.

No verbal response needed as you straddled his lap and kissed him eagerly. Your hands followed, inching up his shirt and giving more places to study. The look full of curiosity and excitement in the blue eyes only providing more reasons to continue. More kisses. Hands exploring the familiar territory, waking up the desire, and raising the temperature. A quick fix for the addiction. Breathless moans and groans, breaking the silence of the morning hours. Gathering the courage to do what you wanted never felt this sweet.

***

Whenever Neil was busy with assigned work or training, you would wander the ship looking for something to do. A way to pass the time without triggering worrying thoughts or staring at the plans for the hundredth time. Two days were still left. And the objective was to survive them as peacefully as possible given the circumstances. You were owed as much.

That morning your feet carried you to the bridge. The quiet space offering a perfect place to settle down with the coffee and a blanket on your lap. With the panoramic windows giving an excellent view of the horizon, you could comfortably stare at the endless sky and sea. That close to the Siberian shores the only land visible were the occasional Russian islands, partially covered with snow or laid with grassy steppes. Otherwise, the emptiness could be easily overwhelming. Silence deafening. No soul nearby not belonging to your party of agents and soldiers willing to save the world from the bomb that could still go off. (Or did it already?) It was thoughts like those that caused most drama. Tiny brain worms rooting deep inside to come out at night and bother you with difficult questions and uncertainties. An ideal spark for anxiety.

Too lost in your head, you never heard the airlock open.

“Morning” you looked up, startled to see Kat take off the oxygen mask.

“Hi,” you grinned, suddenly relieved to have company.

She hesitated, eyeing your set up on the sofa and then the scene outside of the window.

“May I join?” upon your nod, she smiled and joined you on the settee, noticing wistfully, “The view from my porthole isn’t half this good”

You observed as she took in the scenery, large blue eyes full of wonder.

“This is quite something else…” you added, gaze coming back to the picturesque view.

The comfortable silence stretching out for a few minutes, when sudden thought prompted you to speak up:

“I never came to thank you for helping me back then-” the incoming apology stopped with a hand resting on your knee.

“Don’t mention it,” the reassuring smile shutting up the worries, “It was the least I could do” another pat on your knee before her grin turned wicked, “Where’s Neil?”

Caught. If it was not due to your accurate portrayal of the deer stuck in headlights, it was probably the blush that confirmed her thesis. There was no reason to pretend.

“He’s got shooting practice,” feigning nonchalance, you wondered aloud, “How do you…?” the question not needing finalization.

The look on Kat’s face nothing short of welcoming.

“I saw you on the deck during the Northern Lights,” the explanation tinting your cheeks darker “You were stood close, away from everyone else. And then you looked at him and kept on staring as though he was more beautiful than the Aurora to you” right…your breath hitched, the realization hitting with a needed kick, “I noticed you leave right after, hands holding tightly…” she trailed off, the knowing smile gracing her lips.

More beautiful than the aurora… yes, definitely. Finding words again, you chose to be honest. She saw you at your worst, offered a shoulder to lean on and a spark to light the flickering hope. To say that you were grateful was an understatement.

“We’ve managed to talk it out. Turns out he was just an idiot trying to save me while willing to ignore his feelings” thoughtlessly, a smile appeared on your face; joy uncontainable “You were right, he loves me,”

It still felt strange to say it. Even though it was true. The last time Neil told you as much was less than an hour ago. A parting affirmation as he was putting on the pullover and leaving your cabin. The new normal.

“As he should,” Kat grinned, optimism in her eyes exhilarating, “You both deserve happiness” you mirrored her smile, taking a sip from the abandoned coffee cup in a bliss-like daze, “From what I’ve seen the last few days… you’re giving him everything he was missing” the addition making your grin wider, the dangerous hope unstoppable.

Both of you went silent then, pondering on the view and what could be said. Silence comfortably stretching out and giving you a sense of companionship that you missed. While sharing thoughts and feelings with Neil was like second nature, sometimes you wished for somebody else to talk to. It was that necessity of being candid that prompted the confession:

“I like to believe that maybe now things will turn out alright somehow… but it’s difficult to keep it up with whatever awaits us at Stalsk,” the reminder settling with the anxiety cast all over your mind and heart.

The sombre turn of the conversation seemingly alright with Kat, for she eyed you closely before speaking up:

“Neil told me you’re going with him on the special unit” it was an observation.

But one that needed confirmation. The possibility to discuss it with her suddenly sounding like something you desperately wanted but never dared dream of.

“Yeah, I have to” a nod if only to reassure yourself, “Maybe it’s crazy, but I’ve got a feeling that I should be there. That it’s where I’m supposed to end up” words ringing out in the quiet space with defiance “And do whatever will be necessary to help him get out unscathed” the unsaid hanging over you, bestowing imperceptible shadow.

Kat looked at you thoughtfully; the quiet observation weighed with thousands of things that could be said. Finally, she ended the scrutiny and turned back to the horizon, breaking the silence with a comment:

“After everything I’ve seen, that’s far from crazy,” low chuckle permeating the space with a sense of faked lightness, “I’m more concerned about that part with whatever will be necessary…” the emphasis making your cheeks turn a darker shade.

Of course. She would understand what you meant. It is the only way. The belief in that one statement giving enough courage to defend your position:

“I know how it sounds. And perhaps its emotions talking… but he must survive” hiding the rising wave of emotions, you finished the lukewarm coffee, stubbornly staring at the edge of the navy sea covered with waves.

Anything but to face the attentive gaze. In the fear of losing the conviction. There was no time to falter now. Whatever would happen, you had to proceed with the plan. If not for yourself, then for Neil.

“Even if that means your sacrifice?” the question asked with a neutral tone.

The meaning simple. Taken by surprise, you looked up to meet the blue eyes staring at you inquisitively. There was no point in lying. It was another thing that you pondered on often. The question of what if. What if it comes to it and you’ll have to choose between your life and Neil’s? The answer was undeniable. Even if unspeakable.

“Yes,” a nod to assert it with all your might, “And I know he sees things the same… he told me that it’s why he’s doing it. To make sure the world won’t end taking me with it” you added, as though to validate your statement.

To show her that it was not only you who was that crazy. That perhaps what you have is something extraordinary. Worth more than anyone else can understand. Judging by the glimmer in Kat’s eyes, she knew what you were trying to say.

“I’ve only encountered love like that in fiction,” a hint of a melancholic smile on her face tugging at your heart with force.

Desperately searching for something else to say, you remembered everything Neil told you about her. Of why you were very much alike even if it did not seem so at first sight.

“You’re willing to go to similar lengths for your son. Max, right?” uncertain about the name, you hesitated.

She nodded, her expression turned serious, eyes showing the steely resilience you have seen before. A strong woman willing to do anything to save her son.

“Yes, I think… I’m not sure what’s going to happen on that bloody yacht but…” you watched as she searched for the right words, hands clenched tightly in her lap, “I’ll do what must be done to make sure Andrei doesn’t win this one” her tone turning cold, determination resounding through every syllable “He’s done enough harm,”

It was the flash of resignation passing through her gaze that caused another heartbreak. Suddenly you wished for nothing but a reckoning. Vengeance against this horrible man and the tortures he has inflicted upon Kat.

“I’m sorry,” words rolling off your tongue for the lack of anything better.

Instantly, you cursed your awkwardness, ready to come up with something different, when a hand placed on your forearm stopped the panicked stream of thoughts.

“Don’t be,” she squeezed your palm quickly before saying, “I hate it when people look at me with pity. The poor woman who married a monster. I want to be seen as a victor, not a victim,” the confession carrying with it a rising sense of strength.

Because she certainly was a victor. Someone to admire for the resistance and unyielding force of will. To be good and to put her son’s life before hers. That was something to aspire to. A quote from a few years back resonated through your head as you commented:

“Nevertheless, she persisted,” the mysterious smile spreading on your lips upon seeing Kat’s surprise.

And then she beamed. Gratefulness better than anything else you could ask for.

“Yes, exactly,” a nod, hope shining bright in her eyes, “Maybe this is my chance,”

Using the quiet moment, she stood up and wandered over to the panoramic window. The sun has begun to shine through the low clouds, adding a little more charm to the view. A tiny bit of optimism. Because maybe… With her back turned to you and the increasing sense of courage, you spoke up:

“You’ve already won. You’ve survived a wound like that… and you’re here, free from him. That for me is being victorious” finishing the sentence, you wavered.

When Kat turned back to face you with a smile full of gratitude and eyes shining with happy tears, you knew it was worth it.

***

The early afternoon before the very last night proceeding the battle was difficult. Left to your own devices, you have been idly sitting in the cabin, pondering on the various ways to stop the anxious thoughts. Even for a minute. But all the ways you could come up with either involved seeking out Neil, who has been hired to give the soldiers a quick physics-related pep talk, brushing up on their inverted combat skills and how to survive on the battlefield when the forces of gravity work against you. The other coping method you came up with had to do with spending hours in the shooting ground again. And there were hardly any bullets left for training, with stocks reserved strictly for operational use. Limits set by yourself as per order. Not omittable.

That is how you have found yourself setting up the hastily packed speaker (because why not?) in the small sparring ground in the training zone. You have changed into comfortable sweatpants and a tank top, deciding to use up the excess of energy in chilled solo sparring of sorts. It mostly consisted of finding proper bops and prancing around the space, trying out different kicks and punches Ives taught you. It was easy to get lost, feeling the rhythm, setting the pace, and choosing the right kind of moves to deal with the invisible opponents. A backfist here, roundhouse kick there. An attempt at a flying kick just because the guitar solo got you a little bit too entranced. That one ended with a groan, face flat on the mat. Thankfully there was no one to see.

You got lost in the movement, music drowning out everything else, until it was just you, your body in the fluid movements and the breaths punctuating the silence. Aiming a perfect backhander, you turned around only to freeze when your eyes landed on the intruder leaning on the plastic screen separating the spaces. Impeccable grin and a shrug answering your wide gaze. Blue eyes appreciatively sweeping across your body. Nothing new there for him. You stared back, heavy breaths catching up after minutes of intense practice. After what seemed like an eternity, Neil’s smile widened as he pushed himself up and crossed the distance.

Hands landing on your waist, without a second wasted, he pulled you closer, forcefully enough to draw out a startled yelp. That was rather unexpected. You barely had time to comprehend anything when he kissed you with hunger. On reflex, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck as you opened your mouth to let him in. Teeth clanked when Neil reached out for more than you could offer, breath caught in your throat, unprepared for something like this. The need resonating through your tangled bodies as you let the stream of feelings take you under. Temperance forgotten as Neil tugged on your lower lip, bruising the skin and softening the damage with his tongue. You moaned, the sound getting lost in the haze of sudden frenzy. As though you were bound to die tomorrow, and this was the last chance to show each other the love you feel.

It was that thought that prompted you to break away. In search of oxygen mostly.

“Wow…” you gazed up at him, feigning nonchalance, “Thought we agreed on no PDA in the public spaces,” the stern glare breaking underneath the lovesick smile you could not hold back.

Because, after a kiss like that, how could you?

Neil shrugged, keeping his hands firmly on your waist, thumb gently stroking your side through the shirt. There was no remorse in those eyes, only fondness, and mischief. Whatever brought him here was bound to end in trouble. Perhaps that was the distraction you were seeking…

“It’s not my fault you’re stood here looking like this” another admiring look over your figure, finishing with a quirked smile and a pull to bring you closer once again.

It was difficult to deny him anything.

“Like what?” arching an eyebrow you searched his eyes for clues.

Up close, you could fully marvel at his long eyelashes and the exact colour of his eyes. The darker rim encircling the blue-grey depths, pulling you in and making you fall even harder. You always should have known that it was inevitable. There was no escape from eyes like those.

“Irresistible,” the word, falling from his lips in a pious whisper.

Inches left between your faces, gravity doing its work in bringing your nearer. Nothing left to do but breach the gap and kiss him, another way of thanking him for the compliment and getting the fix for the addiction. Now there was no need to hold back, after all.

“Huh…” you grinned, catching your breath once more, “How did you find me?” taking a step back to stop the temptation.

Because perhaps that was enough. The rest could continue in the privacy of your room. Whatever that might be.

“Intuition, mostly” Neil swept his gaze around the room, focusing on the speaker laying in the corner “And a little bit of luck since only you could be listening to ‘Big in Japan’ while training” his eyes narrowed, cheeky smirk dangling in the corner of his mouth.

Ah. The song choice coming back with a vengeance as you blushed for no reason.

“What’s wrong with Alphaville? That’s a banger,” the defence coming with an unnecessary but satisfying push aimed at the center of his chest.

Working perfectly, if the surprised gasp was anything to go by. He only needed a second to recover, the sparks in his eyes telling you that the response was bound to be quite something, and you better prepare.

“I’m not saying it’s not. Only that this is very much in character for the woman I’m honoured to call my girlfriend” a wink perfecting the delivery.

Yep, on point. Your face warmed up a notch, happiness almost incomprehensible.

“Ain’t you smug” masking the softness with sarcasm, you attempted a harsh glare.

However, all the intent crumbled the moment your speaker started playing the next song via shuffle. The soft piano, opening the ballad with a flourish. Nothing but corniness of the 90s and a love song to defy any other. As Bryan Adams started singing out the first lines in his husky tone, you groaned. Fuck you, Spotify.

“I didn’t take you to be this sentimental” Neil eyed you closely, mirth betrayed by the barely contained laughter.

Using the weapon you have been hoarding for too long, you aimed to school your features before noticing:

“Well… wise man once told me that we’ve all got our weaknesses…” the meaningful gaze doing the job as Neil grinned.

“Very wise, indeed,” the self-satisfied expression only deepening.

Before you could perceive his movements, he closed the distance, took your hand in his, and placed the other palm on your shoulder blade. Following instincts you did not even know you had, you hastily put your hand on his bicep in the ballroom dance position you have seen on tv. What the hell.

“What are you doing?” question coming out breathless as you stumbled to fall into the correct steps following his lead.

Lead to a slow waltz, of all things.

“Using the opportunity,” Neil adjusted the pace, letting you feel the rhythm before continuing, “Haven’t you ever dreamt of waltzing with the love of your life in a glitzy ballroom?”

It was the nonchalance that caught you. The way he said it without a stutter. As though he has used the words before, perhaps in the quiet of his mind or in a conversation.

“Maybe I have,” forcing the doubts to shut up you chose the noncommittal answer for the moment.

Letting your eyes speak instead as you met his steady gaze. A flash of a gentle smile and a thumb tenderly stroking your shoulder blade. Calming down and grounding within the moment.

“I know I did,” the affirmation added to the mix, complete with the kiss on your forehead.

'Look into your heart – you will find

There's nothin' there to hide

Take me as I am, take my life

I would give it all, I would sacrifice'

Bryan Adams kept on crooning as you moved slowly across the room. The relatable meaning of the words sung out making you hide your head in the crook of Neil’s neck, disrupting the formality of your position. Turning the waltz into a slow dance by making Neil pull you closer. He tightened his hold, fingers carefully stroking your skin, the contact keeping up the spark alive. A few more slides across space, your feet following his without hesitation. The synchronization perfect in the matched tempo. It was surprisingly easy to find the right rhythm; perhaps the chemistry did its work in that aspect too.

It was only once the song has reached the guitar solo part that you have managed to break the comfortable silence with a comment:

“This is… nice,” the adjective being the only one you could come up with.

All the other words disappearing one by one, dissolved in the wave of feelings. Happiness, most of all. And love you never imagined existing, let alone to experience. Neil chuckled lowly, his chin resting comfortably on the top of your head.

“Mhmm… Remember how we’ve first met?” the question catching you off guard.

Enough to miss one step and earn a little ‘tsk’ from him.

“Of course, why?” the audacity of the assumption frustrating.

As if. Because even now, you sometimes found yourself reminiscing on that day. The conversation, seemingly innocent, and yet have led you to this point. To everything you did not even know you were missing but now could not live without.

“Even then… when we were chatting over the coffee, I was intrigued,” the wistfulness in Neil’s voice causing long-forgotten questions to resurface.

You have never discussed that day in detail. But maybe that would be the chance. Gathering up the courage, you waited until you have completed the spin around the room to admit:

“Me too… I’ve always wondered… what was it when you’ve eyed me and said I’ll pass the training without issues? Just flirting?” curiosity creeping into your voice.

Not going unnoticed and acknowledged with a thoughtful hum. That was another thing you have thought of. Back then, his gaze only increased the interest. Now, knowing it was not only you that had many impressions after the meeting, it was harder to ignore.

“That was one of the few times when I broke my own rules of looking at people objectively” the explanation given with the needed depth “I always try to be respectable… to see everyone for their minds rather than their bodies” unasked, your heart let out a painful thump in awe over him “But with you, I- I guess my fascination got ahead of me” sudden shyness surprising, causing you to disrupt the dance by freezing in the spot “I was right, in the end” Neil met your questioning gaze with an apologetic expression.

That alone vouching for a kiss and a reassuring squeeze of a hand. You gladly accepted an invitation back into his embrace and another slow dance. Spotify proving itself useful with the next song choice – ‘Forever Young’. By Alphaville, again.

Neil’s snicker was met with a glare on your side and a light step on his foot, for good measure. It took you another few seconds to let the doubts speak up again:

“Was that really enough for you to see me? That one afternoon?” once the questions started, there was no end to them in your mind.

“Yes,” no hesitation on his side “Trust me, I was surprised too, but with every passing day I was thinking about you more. And now I know why” a nuzzle to the top of your head before he asked, “What about you?” inquisitiveness almost hidden by the neutral tone.

Might as well show your hand. Laying a small kiss on the side of his neck, you began:

“I’m not sure… I was curious about you” an understatement but always something, “You seemed so different and charming, like no one I’ve ever met before. And obviously, I had to acknowledge that you’re handsome as hell but… then I saw you flirt with Anna, and I thought that you’re one of those” the admission coming out with the resigned edge you did not fully intend.

It was quickly extinguished with a spectacular dip and a pirouette that managed to knock the breath out of your lungs and the thoughts out of your brain. Nothing but Neil left. As usual.

“I see… mind you, I was flirting with her only because I didn’t know how to talk to you yet” he carried on the conversation without a hitch.

Interesting.

“Did it matter?” you raised your head to be able to see his face for this one.

As though he was expecting scrutiny, Neil met your gaze with a steady look and a confident smile.

“Surprisingly, yes. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea,” the intensity of the eye contact increasing.

The song starting to fade out amidst its 80s glory, the last of the synthesizer giving out its swan song with the needed cringe. Your dance slowing down to a small two-step, prolonging the moment a little longer.

“Which would be?” another question, because why the hell not.

Using your momentum, Neil slipped his fingers underneath the strap of your tank top, grin widening once he realised the lack of bra. The familiar sparks, making you wonder about wherever this was bound to lead you. About what could happen. A vague idea formed in your head, needing only closure to the chat.

“That I’m not serious,” Neil’s response bringing you back to the moment.

All the movement stopping, leaving you standing in an embrace in the middle of the space.

“Are you?” just a final test.

Even though you did not need an answer, everything that happened within the last days proving time and time again that he was in it hundred percent. That finally you have found the one.

“Very much so, my love” stepping out of the hold, Neil tipped your chin.

The depth of adoration in his gaze only bringing out fierce blush and the deepening softness threatening to make you melt on the spot from too many feelings and too much happiness coursing through your veins. Enough. For now.

You grinned at Neil as a means of accepting his answer and took a definitive step away from him, noticing the curious look on his face. Ignoring it for the moment, you quickly searched through the library to pick up something a little more appropriate. And less cringe. As you pressed play on the right playlist and faced Neil again, the smile you saw told you he had ideas towards your next suggestion:

“Do you want to join me for a little sparring?” you approached him slowly, the unexpected nerves making an appearance, “We’ve never done that together, and maybe… you can say no of course but-” as you faltered, the plan seemed to make less and less sense every passing second.

Because perhaps there was a reason why he never suggested it. Or perhaps, it was not something he would want to do with you, his girlfriend, of all people. Maybe-

“I’d love to,” the answering smile reassuring enough to let you know that all your issues have been noticed, “Don’t pull your punches just because it’s me” Neil closed the gap and took your hand in his with a wink.

There was no way of stopping that grin from appearing on your face. Tightening the hold over his hand, you made sure to put on the most intimidating expression in your arsenal.

“You wish, sunshine,” a kiss on the cheek just because, followed by a wink to tip off his mirroring smile.

Let the games begin or something. You watched as Neil took off the pullover, leaving him in the t-shirt, and joined you on the mat. The final thought was that this sort of activity could end in many ways. Some of them rather intriguing. However, all distractions had to be left behind if you were to win this one. Which was easier said than done, as you eyed your opponent, coming up with the strategy. Because of those damned blue eyes and fascinating body proportions that were hard to ignore, no matter the circumstances.

With the final nod, it began. You crossed the space to aim a kick at Neil’s shin, using the element of surprise and height difference. As you hit the mark, he let out a surprised yelp and glared at you offendedly. A giggle escaped your throat as you made sure to put up the guard, expecting retaliation to follow. And it did. A lighter kick in your ankle, and then an attempt at punch towards your shoulder. That one, thankfully blocked, with your rendition of the shooting daggers.

The sparring followed this rhythm for a couple of minutes, drenching your shirt with sweat and increasing the adrenaline with every move. As it proved, Neil was an excellent partner for that too. Your dynamic working perfectly as you bounced off the different techniques and styles, learning from each other in progress. Soon it became a matter of prediction, of staring at him intently to determine the very next step and to block it efficiently. A few mistakes resulted in bruises here and there, but it was nothing compared to the elation flowing through your veins. The occasional compliments and teases interrupted the flow, bringing out more feelings than you ever deemed possible to exist. At once. Joy, excitement, fatigue, and desire slowly combining into the strangest mix inside your head.

Because one thing was certain – it was increasingly difficult to ignore the way it felt when Neil got close. His strong arms, usually acting as your refuge, now a barrier you had to get through to win this battle. The closeness intoxicating as you tried to wrestle out of his hold, imposed by using the moment of hesitation on your side. But then who was to blame you for getting lost in his eyes? Again. With his chest pressed against your back and the forearms blocking any form of movement, you decided to put it all on the card of fate, hooking your leg around his in an attempt at a backflip taught by Ives. That was another fatal mistake.

You only realised how badly you have fucked up when you opened your eyes to see Neil peering down at you with the most annoying of grins painted on his face. Eyes sparkling with satisfaction that certainly should not be there. Shit. He got you pinned to the mat with hands trapping you underneath him. Not much space between your bodies. A fierce blush bloomed on your cheeks; embarrassment combined with sudden arousal once the exact placement of your limbs sunk in. The earlier misstep resulted in having your legs wound tightly around his waist and crossed over the back. Just like-

“This position is rather… familiar” the husky whisper broke through the sudden onset of feelings and thoughts as you met his gaze.

The darkness of the irises and the boundless depths of desire you found there providing the missing piece in the puzzle. The heat turning up a notch. Unable to break the eye contact, you watched in fascination as Neil seemed to consume you on the spot. His pupils widened, betraying the feelings reigning free over his mind as he contemplated the very next move. Frozen, you could only wait helplessly, feeling the well-known tension rise, causing havoc in your head. Still, what he chose to do next, caught you off guard.

He leaned in and captured your lips in an eager kiss, easily stealing away the breath and distracting you from anything else in the whole world. As you opened your mouth for him without hesitation, Neil used the moment to strike. His tongue caressed yours in exact opposition to the way his hips jutted forward, creating friction. The surprising ploy, drawing out a gasp and making you break the kiss with a telling hiss. The answering mischievous smirk the only warning before he did it again, rocking his body forward against yours, upping up the temperature, and making the warmth pool in your lower stomach instantly. The wetness, collecting on your underwear and sticking to the skin in an impulse you could not control.

“Jesus, Neil- You can’t just-” frustration poured out in incoherent sentences as you fought for sanity.

He, naturally, took that as the cue to up his game. The deadly smile was the last thing you saw before he bowed down, tongue darting out to lick down your neck and then cover the space with kisses. A groan escaped through your lips as you grabbed onto his biceps in search of support. A logical part of the brain told you to stop the madness (and drag him to your room to continue), but that voice could be barely heard through the overwhelming haze. More kisses, teeth grazing over the skin, hands slipping underneath your top, and using the lack of bra to cause more drama.

The added touch onto your breasts was what defeated the sanity and caused you to roll your hips against his, matching up the tempo in the frantic attempts at getting something out of it.

“Fuck” heaving out the curse, you could not stop the moan caused by Neil sucking on your pulse point below the ear.

All the reasons against continuing something this good disappeared one by one. The synced-up movement, making you breathless within seconds. The arousal, seeping through the underwear, only increasing with the way you could feel Neil react to it as well. The telling signs of his lust rubbing off against your crotch upon every thrust. Getting ever harder to ignore with sounds breaking up the forgotten sparring soundtrack.

“That good?” Neil’s question dripping with need as he rasped out the words upon your hungry kiss stolen in the moment of eagerness.

No point in holding back now. Grasping onto his chin to stop him from distracting you with yet another trick, you made sure to show the extent of want raging in your veins:

“It would be without all the bloody clothes in the way” piecing the sentence, you huffed with dissatisfaction.

Because after something like this, you wanted him. No, needed him. Anything to finally release the tension and catch the high. Because, as you began to discover, it was too easy to get addicted to him. To the pleasure, he always seemed happy to give you. To being wanted and needed like never before.

Even now, Neil seemed entranced, eyes searching your face for something. Whatever he needed, you delivered with the want in the unguarded look, for he grinned and nudged your nose with his.

“I like seeing you this needy, darling” choosing no mercy whatsoever he stole yet another hungry kiss.

All the while keeping up the friction. As if you could ignore the feelings building up for a minute longer.

Using the opportunity, you caught his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged at it with force. Drawing out blood and groans. A punishment. To strengthen the effect, you made sure to tangle your fingers in his hair, imposing light pressure. Enough to make him suffer a little more, but not as bad as to make him more predatory. That was another thing learned in the past days. You were right Neil had a hair thing. And using it right could work to your advantage. With satisfaction, you broke the kiss and watched as he opened his eyes, unfocused gaze and shallow breaths giving the needed bravery.

“Bastard,” you whispered and used his moment of hesitation to initiate the retaliation.

The answering smug smile giving more reasons to push on with the plan. With the full attention provided, you slowly licked your lips. A trick that always worked, making Neil stare with that same look of starvation hidden in his eyes. It was the confidence you were seeking to hook your leg around his and find the impetus to complete the switch in one smooth attempt.

It worked. You comfortably straddled his lap, pinning him to the floor. Only a shocked gasp told you he caught up with the change. You met his gaze smugly, using the new position to run your fingers up and down his chest, light teasing included in the act of vengeance. The answering groan more than gratifying, making you even happier to give him the taste of his own medicine and roll your hips forward.

“I like this new development,” Neil breathed out the comment, hands settling on your hips, “You know what, though? I’d love to see you snap one day. Get annoyed by my antics and punish me” it was the way he said it that made you freeze with one hand already underneath his shirt.

As though it was exactly what he wanted. Interesting…

“Is that what you’re into?” arching one eyebrow, you trailed your nails over the skin on his chest.

Watching the goosebumps with fascination. The light bruises on the sides reminding you of the morning the day prior and the sudden passion that resulted in marks all over your bodies.

“I’m into you, but yes,” Neil observed you with strange pensiveness, “Even a man like me needs to be dominated from time to time,” the challenge in his eyes already inspiring scenarios within your mind.

“That can be sorted then” you winked and used that moment to stand up, leaving him on the floor with mouth open wide.

Perfect. Grinning, you brushed off the dust from your clothes and strode over to the speaker, ignoring Neil pointedly. Only an exasperated sigh told you he managed to pick himself up. Using the towel, you wiped off the remains of sweat from your brow and turned back to him with a neutral expression:

“I’ll go shower,” you quickly eyed him, taking in the ruffled hair and flushed cheeks, “I’d ask you to join me… but I don’t want to traumatise anyone using the communal bathroom for that” a meaningful look making sure he understood.

The slight double-take all the needed confirmation. Neil swallowed hard, as though the suggestion was enough to make the images appear before his eyes. But then he flashed you a confident smile.

“Fret not once we’re back home, we’ll catch up on that. I’ve got that spacious shower for a reason,” a tiny shrug as though to make you remember.

Right. Another thing to add to the bucket list, no doubt. However, for now, you were not done with the taunting. He did deserve it.

“I see… do you often use it for those kinds of purposes?” draping the towel around your neck, you strolled towards him with an inquisitive look.

Another shrug. Hands reaching out to be placed on your waist and to draw you closer, keeping that one metre of space just for show. His eyes searched yours with feigned nonchalance before responding:

“Not really. But with you, I want to change that up a little. After all, I’ve got to convince you that having sex with you is wonderful,” followed with a nose nudge and a smirk.

For once, there was no shyness. Mirroring his moves, you put your hands on his sides, thumbs slowly stroking the hipbones, pulling him closer. Once your bodies were flush against each other, you grinned:

“Mutually” and then, upon noticing the well-known beat coming from the speaker, “One might even say you’ve brought the sexy back” a wink, using the lack of inhibitions in the air.

The answering gaping mouth and eyes widened in shock were good enough indicators that whatever this mood was, it should continue. After a second of confusion, Neil started laughing hysterically, collapsing against you with ease:

“… Jesus Christ,” he choked out the words, drawing you into a skewed hug if only to preserve the closeness.

The sudden outburst of happiness was not controllable even if you wanted. Giggling quietly, you waited for him to calm down, running your fingers up his back in a soothing manner. Once his laughs eased, you whispered:

“Sorry, blame that on JT” an apologetic shrug followed with a chaste kiss pressed to his temple.

The cheerful sparks in his eyes, telling all you could need to know. Thanks, universe.

“No, I love it” Neil’s words brought you back to the present moment as he took your hands in his “I love you,” the sincere confession breaking up the ridiculous atmosphere with tenderness.

“You better” your smile widened as you squeezed his hands in a non-verbal response.

It was only once you were heading out of the room, after at least three passionate kisses and some more infatuated gazing, that Neil chose to pick up the abandoned line of teasing.

“Make sure to think of me during your shower” you turned around, mouth open wide “For inspiration. I’ll be waiting” there was no mistaking the look in his eyes or the intentions behind it.

There was nothing left to do but walk out with cheeks burning red and head too empty to do anything but what he proposed.

For a good purpose, as the afternoon then showed you.

***

With the night falling on the last day before the fourteenth and the battle, you could feel the internal darkness creeping with every passing hour. By the early bedtime, there was nowhere to hide. Laying on the bed and waiting for Neil to come back from his shower, you could do nothing but stare at the ceiling blankly. Thousands of worries, questions, and scenarios multiplying in your head, threatening to steal away the remains of peace. It felt as though the curtain has fallen over your blissful days, leaving nothing but uncertainty. Because God knows what would happen at Stalsk. The plan was one thing, perfect execution - a different one.

With lungs failing to expand properly you considered getting up and marching outside to let the cold air give you something else to worry about. That is when the door to your cabin finally opened, and Neil walked in. A sight for sore eyes personified. Mindless of your struggles, he sent you a smile before placing the morning outfit on the chair. It became a ritual of sorts, with him bringing back the change of clothes to prolong the waking up period and stay in bed with you. Despite the anxiety rising exponentially, you could not help but smile at the tradition upheld on the eve of the battle. You watched in silence as he took off trousers and placed his phone on the bedside table. It was only once he sat down on the bed and faced you with fondness in his eyes that you knew the act of staring has been caught.

“Alright?” Neil reached out and tipped your chin to make sure you could not hide.

Gently his fingers caressed your jaw and down the neck, soothing the nerves and asserting his presence. You leaned into his touch and whispered the white lie:

“Yeah…” desperate to extend the bliss even a second longer, you joked lightly, “Was beginning to worry you’ve decided to ditch me tonight” shifting forward, you rested your forehead against his.

Closing your eyes and letting the feeling of being wanted envelope you in its sweet embrace.

“You wish,” the tint of joy in his voice adding on to the perfection of the moment, “There’s no getting rid of me that easily” Neil tucked the hair behind your ear, stroking your temple slowly in the process.

It felt almost unreal to have someone love you like that. So carefully, yet with a passion that did not seem to wane. The only thing left was to believe it. And let your feelings lead the way. You opened your eyes to find Neil staring back with the softest of smiles gracing his features. That was enough to whisper back the answer:

“What a shame,” and capture his lips in a hungry kiss.

Knowing the moves by heart, you have tangled your fingers in his hair and opened the mouth to deepen the kiss. It was always too simple, an act of devotion and a drug you could not imagine giving up. Each brush of his tongue against yours bringing sparks of electricity and pleasure, a promise of so much more only waiting to be taken.

Without breaking up the contact, you shifted to lie on top of Neil, stealing small pecks interrupted with smiles and sighs. Not knowing what bliss feels like, you assumed it must be like this. Because nothing seemed to come close to the feeling of being loved and wanted by him. To feeling the steady heartbeat as you pressed up against him in the closest of embraces. To having him grin against your mouth, interrupting the kisses with happy giggles, and stroking your back underneath the shirt in a simple act of tenderness.

It was once you felt his touch tread onto that well-known territory bridging the line between want and intimacy that you leaned back to meet his gaze. Slight confusion found in the blue eyes as you fell back onto your side and took his hand in yours:

“Can we… not do this tonight?” the tentative whisper broke the silence as your nerves spoke up again.

Because despite never having enough of Neil, tonight you wanted something innocent. Something easy. Asking for it felt almost wrong as if it could be too much. With the countless worries anchoring within your mind, you focused all your attention on studying his hand attentively. The thin scars scattered across the skin. Neatly trimmed fingernails and elegant fingers betraying the sensitive nature of the man you loved without any inhibitions. Neil as always noticed the sudden shyness, for he kissed you on the forehead before answering:

“Of course,” the affirmation given without a stutter, as he retracted his palm from underneath your clothes, “What do you need?” with the free hand cupping your cheek, he forced you to meet his gaze again.

Concern and affection. All the needed encouragement to speak your mind. To reach out for everything he wanted to give you.

“Hold me, please,” forcing out an uncertain smile, you wound your arms around his waist, snuggling in to find the perfect position.

But it was not enough.

“How do you want me?” the question asked with the glimmer in his eyes that told you he remembered the night from London.

Months ago, while also something that has not happened yet. Linearly, that is.

“Closer” this time, the answer could not have been simpler.

Neil accepted it with a hint of a smug smile as he pulled you close. Spreading his legs for yours to fit in-between. Hips flush against each other, heartbeat synced. Hands clinging to the warmth of your skin, his lips pressed against your temple. No inch of space left. Exactly as you needed.

With the brain strangely quiet, you breathed in his scent, letting the reality catch up. Yours. The soothing warmth of the embrace and solidity of his body underneath your fingertips making you feel safe. Even if only for the moment.

A short moment? Prompted by the harsh reminder of time running out mercilessly, you tensed and splayed your hand over his heart. A clear signal for Neil to tighten the hold and nuzzle your temple. Waiting for the words to come spilling out of your heart.

And they did.

“I- There’s so much goddamn noise in my head, and it’s beginning to drive me mad” after finishing the sentence breathlessly, you hid your face in the crook of his neck.

Smelling the bergamot and hints of your perfume, increasing the love held within your system. Following the instincts, Neil started running his fingertips up the curve of your spine, giving you something to focus on. The steadiness of the movement grounding you back in the present.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” the soft tone melting the edges of sharp blades penetrating your mind with anxiety, “I can’t stop the thoughts, but I’ll make sure you know I’m not going anywhere,” confirming the meaning, he took hold of your hand lying on his chest and laced the fingers.

Another way of showing support. Of letting you believe your luck. Nothing left but to press a kiss to his neck and whisper:

“Thank you… We’ll be alright, won’t we?” the question forcing itself on your tongue.

Because it was all that mattered. For you and Neil to survive. To have time to love each other. But… tomorrow is promised to no one. The counterarguments preparing to strike with force as they assembled at the bottom of your heart. You could die tomorrow. That was a fact, as true as the knowledge that the world could end. The bomb could go off. This could be the last moment of peace you would have. And there was no way of knowing whether it was. The fear creeping in with nothing to stop it.

“I hope so,” as though sensing the growing unease, Neil raised your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

You need not look at him to know what you would find in his beautiful eyes. It was the knowledge of feelings reciprocated that gave you the courage to speak the truth. To reassert what he already knew. Just because it could be the last time.

“Earlier today, after we’ve… I’ve realised that… I’ve never been more in love,” stumbling through the sentence, you whispered the confession against his skin, “And I don’t want it to end” a deep breath to gain back the momentum “I need you, Neil. You’re everything I have…” you faltered, feeling tears blur the edges of your vision.

As if your heart knew something you did not. As if being this vulnerable was the trigger you were seeking. There was much more you could tell him, but no words were found for it. Instead, you felt the embrace tighten as Neil kissed the tip of your ear tenderly.

“We’ll be alright, my love,” the endearment getting lost in the quietest of sniffles “I’ll make sure of it” he hesitated, the edge of your breakdown impacting him too with the emotions betrayed in every syllable, “And I don’t know if it needs saying, but… You’re my everything too. I’m not going to give up on us,” the definitive promise offering all the strength for you to raise your head.

Tears shining in your eyes as your gazes met. Worth fighting for.

***

The feeling of safety gave way to worries not longer than an hour after you finally gave in to sleep. Gasping, you opened your eyes in a flash after a particularly terrifying and confusing nightmare full of inverted rounds and ticking bombs. Blindly you rolled over to the side where you would usually find Neil, only for your hands to clutch at nothingness. Shit. The realization working better than any alarm clock as you sat up and turned on the lamp.

Empty room. Darkness outside. Neil’s phone left by the bed. Next to it a piece of paper torn out of a notebook:

“Couldn’t sleep. Find me on the bridge if you need me. Yours, N.”

The initial tugged on your heartstrings as you quickly made up your mind. It was only past one. And there was hardly any chance of going to sleep now. Without him by your side and with the brain haunted by terrifying dreams. You stood up and quickly got dressed in the hoodie he left the day before and joggers.

The moment you stepped outside the cabin corridor, the silence and cold hit you with their starkness. Usually, at this hour, the icebreaker would be alive with the sounds of the crew and troops getting ready for the night. There would be groups chatting in the mess or the galley. Soldiers catching late-night sparring sessions or betting on who would get more bullseye shots at the shooting range. Not tonight, though.

Without stumbling upon a single soul, you walked over to the bridge. Cold hands clutched together in the hoodie pocket. Untangling only to deal with the zip by the airlock.

Once you crossed the threshold, you knew you were in the right place. The silence finally interrupted with voices. Most importantly, with the sound of Neil explaining something in those soft tones that always brought you peace. The darkness of the room enlightened by the single fluorescent above the empty table. Kat was sat in the chair opposite him, focused on what he was saying. As you took off the oxygen mask with a quiet sigh, they both turned to you. Neil brightened up in a flash, a soft smile lightening up his face as he reached out for your hand. You sent Kat a shy nod as you let your boyfriend pull you down onto the sofa:

“Hello,” she grinned, giving you both a satisfied once-over.

The echo of the conversation you had the day before ringing out in the spaces between words. Nothing left but to relax into the pillows and give them both an apologetic shrug:

“Hi… Hope I’m not interrupting” you watched as they shared an amused look, followed by Kat getting up to make tea.

You knew instantly what this was. A moment of privacy.

“Never” Neil’s voice made you turn to him only to see the affection pouring out from his gaze.

Gently he took hold of your ice-cold hands and warmed them up between his palms with care. It was too easy to feel the love fill your chest again. As if switched back on whenever Neil was nearby. Somehow the darkness felt less frightening with him by your side. After a beat, you answered the unasked question:

“I woke up without you, and…” trailing off, you looked at Kat pouring water from the kettle into the mugs.

She seemed entirely focused on the task, mindless of your conversation. Using the encouragement, you moved closer to Neil and captured his lips in a quick kiss. He responded instantly, placing his hand on your cheek to draw you nearer and take whatever you wanted to give him. This time, because of company, the contact ended in a happy sigh a few seconds later as you pressed your forehead against his for a moment. Just enough to share a look of love and a shy grin. Hearing the unmistakable sound of teaspoon clanking in the mug, you leaned back, away from him yet keeping your hands locked in the space between you on the sofa.

“Sorry. I couldn’t fall asleep and didn’t want to wake you. So, I came here and stumbled upon Kat,” Neil explained, breaking the silence and acknowledging the other woman with a sympathetic nod.

Using that line as her cue to turn back to you, Kat handed you both warm mugs. Only a grateful grin could be given before you took a sip and let the tea melt the remains of ice that settled in your chest. With the comfortable silence setting in, you asked:

“Nerves?” giving the woman a quick once over, it was easy to determine that she too has been struggling with the night-time demons.

The shadows under her eyes, hands clutching tightly at the mug as if to find comfort in the warmth it provided. Making you appreciate the hand holding yours even more than you deemed possible.

“Yeah,” Kat swallowed hard, her gaze focusing on the darkness outside “Suppose it’s nothing for you, in a business like this but… I’ve never had to deal with a world-ending situation. Let alone have it depend on me. Partially” she finished the confession with eyebrows knitted together.

“In truth… neither did I” Neil leaned forward, the sombre look in his eyes settling on Kat, “Sure there were some missions of a bigger caliber than a few boxes of inverted artillery smuggled across Scotland… but nothing exactly like this” hiding grin caused by his answer, you took a longer sip of tea.

There was something incredibly true about him at this moment. Discussing the topics of deadly nature yet adding jokes and anecdotes to keep you all that one step away from despair. Tightening the hold over his hand, you added:

“The grand plan,” murmuring the words you once heard TP say, you reflected, “I bet my uni professors would never quite believe it if I told them that this is where international relations got me” feeling Neil’s gaze, you turned to look at him.

A crooked smile and hair falling into his eyes. Perfection.

“More like fate,” he countered, thumb running over your knuckles absentmindedly.

Biting down on your lip to stop yourself from grinning too widely, you nodded:

“That too,” or I’d like to believe it is.

After a beat, you both faced Kat again, only to encounter her knowing smile, curling the lips with a sharp edge of steel. Then her expression softened as though realising the reality once again.

“Are you scared? Of having to do this… together?” it was the hesitancy that helped you understand the meaning.

You knew Neil caught up too, for her moved an inch closer. Shoulder to shoulder, knees touching. No unnecessary gaps. Together. Just when you thought of answering her question, Neil cleared his throat:

“A little… It’s like… on the one hand, I’m glad we’ll be on the same team, as then I can keep an eye on you” he gave you a little shoulder bump as if to accentuate the addressee, “But then I’ve always been warned about being emotionally compromised during missions. Trouble is I’ve been compromised like that for months, at least” an apologetic shrug to complete the sentence.

He was not even looking at you. Yet, it was too easy to understand what he meant. An excuse for the warmth to settle in your heart again. Months. More reasons to keep fighting for the future.

“Sorry,” returning the nudge, you frowned, “On my side, ever since you came up with this idiotic idea to deal with the lock, I knew I’d follow. Because there’s no way in hell, I’d let you do it alone. But, as you say, the element of emotional compromise is there. God knows I’m terrified of whatever might happen,” the ramblings only stopping because you have run out of breath, “It’s like… when you’re young, and you want to change the world. Sometimes you even begin to believe that it’s going to be your purpose. To be the hero and save the day. But most people grow out of that and never even get the chance” ending the observation, you noticed the two pairs of eyes focused on you.

Kat’s light blue gaze, staring wistfully, nothing but understanding and melancholy. As if whatever you said triggered something deep within the confines of her heart. As if she was grateful.

Neil looked as though he could not quite believe you existed. As though your words made him fall even harder. And then he shook himself awake again, clutching your hand tightly.

“But we do” he nodded lightly, offering support should you need it.

Letting you know that the fate of the world was not only on your shoulders. We. That pronoun again. In response, you could only give back the voice to those things that you still wanted to share with them:

“Yes, exactly. And the child that still occupies parts of my heart… she’s excited to be the hero. While grown-up me is just terrified of the stakes” staring at the dark horizon, you noticed quietly, “Never did I dream of saving the world from an inverted atomic bomb-”

“-Well, actually-” Neil interjected with his picture-perfect, MA in Physics tone, making you roll your eyes affectionately.

Idiot. You exchanged an exasperated grin with Kat before stopping him from starting up a lecture about the details of the Algorithm with a hand clamped over his mouth.

“Shut up, mister smarty-pants” your smile widened at the shocked look in his eyes before you lifted your hand and continued, “But at the same time it makes sense… sort of” faltering, you looked around the space looking for something else to say.

“I know what you mean. I never expected any of this to happen to me, but now that it did… I guess I should’ve seen it coming” Kat had your back, agreeing with your words with the same sense of apprehension in her voice.

It was easy to tell what she meant. The guilt entirely unnecessary yet unavoidable for someone this good. Your need of protest got cut short by Neil:

“Kat, don’t blame yourself for not knowing what Andrei is doing. None of that is your fault” upon her pained look he gave her a reassuring smile to confirm the sentiment.

“It’s easier said than done… but thank you” she offered him a weak attempt at a smile and then looked at you with sparks in her eyes, “You got yourself quite the catch there,” a tiny nod in the direction of the blonde man.

Indeed. Unable to stop the happiness rising in your chest, you countered her look with a smug grin of your own:

“I know” ignoring the blush spreading across Neil’s cheeks, you patted him on the head, “He’s incredible,” an appreciative look at your boyfriend and the free hand placed on his knee.

That woke him up.

“He? I’ve got a name, you know,” the feigned spitefulness making a giggle rise in your throat.

Neil glared at you, the act only betrayed by the very way the corner of his mouth curled up, disrupting the frown. Forcing a poker face, you chose to just go for it:

“Yes, and it sounds as though you were English pensioner spending days playing bingo on Malta,” the slight delivered perfectly.

Gratification instantaneous, with Kat laughing hysterically in the background as you observed Neil’s reaction. He froze mid inhale, eyes widened, showing nothing but confusion. And then his mouth opened to choke out:

“…what the-” before he could get to the expletive of choice, the sound of the zip lock interrupted him with abruptness.

Before either of you turned to check who the newcomer was, you met Neil’s bewildered gaze and shrugged. Squeezing his knee as addition and lifting your hand to make the position a little bit more neutral.

“I see it’s not just me who can’t sleep” Wheeler’s voice ringing out in the room made you turn to look at her.

Stood by the entrance, she gave you all an assessing look. Somehow her appearance felt right. Another grounding voice against the rising unease and panic. Someone to pull you back down from the anxious high horse.

“No rest for the wicked” Neil seemingly got over the previous paralysis, for he offered the woman his best rendition of a devilish smirk and threw his arm over the back of the sofa.

Hand landing perfectly by your shoulder. Simple intimacy.

“What’s on the agenda?” Wheeler strolled across the room to sit on the chair by the table.

Dark gaze nonchalantly slipping over the two of you on the sofa. She was never the one to comment on what she observed, but the way she looked at you was enough. The label was painted in the cheeky smile, hidden in the corner of her mouth. Lovebirds. Somehow you knew that at some point, you would be cornered and made to tell the story with necessary details. If only so that she would have digs in the arsenal of sarcasm at a ready. Ignoring the desire to run away, you answered the question:

“Mostly discussing how strange it all is. You know, us of all people, getting a chance to be the heroes” sensing the apprehension rise again, you added, “I feel like if they knew their fate is down to us… they’d be terrified,” a chill running up your spine.

Suddenly uncomfortable, you inched closer to Neil, using his raised arm to lean into his side and find solace. He understood the intent in a second and pulled you nearer, shooting you a quick concerned look. Questions were no doubt coming after.

“And I wouldn’t blame them,” Wheeler agreed with your grave statement with the usual pensiveness, “Normally I don’t get this jittery before missions… but this one feels more important” she stared at the horizon, lost in thought.

With the anxious thoughts waiting around the corner, you searched your head for anything to light up the mood. A stupid joke or a snide comment. But there was nothing.

“Like something could go wrong?” Kat interrupted your train of thought with the simple question.

Alarmed, you looked up to notice the two women exchange a tense look. It really could go wrong. The worst type of wrong.

Neil sensed the way you stiffened, for he pressed his lips to your temple and gave you a quick kiss. His hand tightened the hold over yours, increasing the feeling of being protected. Got you. As always.

You barely noticed when the airlock opened again. Or when another person walked into the room and took off the oxygen mask.

“What’s all this then?” Ives looked around with the eyebrow raised pointedly.

With the whirlwind of emotions, the only thing left to do was to plant your face in your palms, groaning loudly. What the fuck.

Feeling the questioning gazes of everybody else, you slowly raised your head and asked the soldier with blatant tone:

“Could you be any more British?” a mirrored arched eyebrow for the additional effect.

Maybe he was the distraction you needed. The final piece in the puzzle.

No bullshit taken as Ives grinned and gave you the showpiece bow borrowed from The Crown.

“Top of the morning to you, luv” straightening, he raised his hand to tip off the invisible top hat.

The snicker coming from Neil was the only response you ever needed as you rolled your eyes and hid your face in his chest. No point in pretending.

“Couldn’t sleep?” stroking your back slowly, Neil asked the question.

You appreciated how he accepted your sudden need to be comforted. With the careful touch running up your spine, gently scratching the skin, your thoughts slowed down to an acceptable white noise.

“Yeah. The bunk beds are fucking awful, and I’ve no one to cuddle me” it was the neutral way he said it that made you break out into a violent laugh.

The kind when it is increasingly harder to catch your breath, yet the lightness permeating the chest makes everything worth the aching diaphragm and tears running down the cheeks. You heard Kat follow suit, the light giggles bringing hope you wished to find in the darkness of the night.

“Sorry mate, I’m taken,” Neil shrugged, gesturing towards you.

From the comfortable position, you could make out the smirk on Ives’s face as he threw the remark:

“Traitor,” he sat down on one of the empty chairs and noticed, “Anna will be heartbroken, mind you” a passing glance at the two of you snuggled on the sofa.

At the reminder of the receptionist, you sighed heavily. Because yeah, sure, there was nothing to regret in the best turn your life could have taken. But spiteful looks and cold treatment from Anna were not on the list of things you wanted to keep on experiencing.

As if following your line of thoughts, Neil waved his hand dismissively:

“Oh, she’ll get over it,” you grinned at the hint of irritation in his voice, “Plus, it’s not like I’ve ever promised her anything… Not my fault this one came along and stole my heart,” placing his palm on your thigh, he gave you a loud smack on the forehead.

You raised your head in time to see Ives look as if he was close to getting sick on the floor. For once, you could not blame him.

“Dramatic much,” glaring at Neil, you bopped him on the nose with a poker face.

The only sign he noticed was the deepening state of perplexion visible in his blue eyes.

“Who’s Anna?” Kat’s innocent question was the one to throw you out of the strangest conversation and back into the present moment.

Exchanging a glance with Neil, who shrugged as though permitting you to share the tale, you began. Right where it started for you, with the flirting over the admission papers on that first afternoon. Omitting the more private details of your story, and with Neil’s help with the background, you have managed to entertain her with the account of all things Anna. By the end, Kat was looking at you both with eyes wide and cheeks wet from laughing.

It only got better with Ives and Wheeler contributing to the discussion with tales from the past and anecdotes of their missions long before you came into the picture.

When the silence finally fell again, it was less charged with tension. Sipping a second cup of tea, you rested your head over Neil’s chest, comfortably curled up and content.

“What do you want to do after this?” Wheeler asked the question after a beat with a smile on her face.

Nothing needed clarification. An attempt at making the morning seem less daunting. A spark of hope for after – the magical space where you desperately wished to find yourself already.

“Go to a pub and get pissed” Ives grinned from over the rim of his mug, devilish sparks lightening up his blue eyes.

Too tired to react, you chose to sigh heavily and catch Wheeler’s bemused glare as she scoffed:

“How typical” she rolled her eyes and smiled at you as though sharing a private joke.

Men.

“I was planning to invite you along, but now I’m not so sure” the solder cut back with a feigned sulk.

“I’d rather catch up on all those missed boxing classes,” the retort coming without a second missed, causing a giggle to rise in your throat.

Who knew team banter would be the cure for all ails?

That and the steady embrace, holding you close with hands resting on your knee and waist. Letting you know that no matter the future, he was there. All yours.

“Boring,” Ives murmured the response lowly, earning shooting daggers from his second in command.

You felt Neil chuckle as he rested his chin on the top of your head, observing the conversation silently. Your eyes fell upon Kat, a little separated from the idiotic narrative that overwhelmed the four of you. Suddenly feeling a wave of sympathy towards her, you asked:

“What about you, Kat?” as your eyes met, you sent her a small smile.

“I want to go home to Max and finally live my life without that fear of Andrei lurking in the shadows behind my back,” the candid answer whispered almost shyly, “Sorry, I’ve made it all dark-” she added, looking at the rest of you with panic.

Before you could jump in with reassurance, Ives spoke up:

“It’s alright,” he countered her embarrassed look with a stone-cold resilience, “I offer to shoot that fucker on sight if he somehow comes out of this alive” a shrug to complete the proposal.

The genuine grin on Kat’s face was unmissable.

“Appreciated” she nodded curtly as if to mask the initial reaction.

Before you could ponder on it for too long, Wheeler broke the silence again:

“Neil?” her gaze slipped over you once again, the smirk still hiding on her lips.

You felt him raise his head, tightening the hold over your waist as if it was necessary. And then…

“What I want to do is between me and my girlfriend,” the cheeky undertone making you blush instantly and slap him across the knee in an ill-fated attempt at chiding.

That spark of curiosity not easily diminished, however. You made a mental note to ask him as soon as you were alone what that meant. Because, admittedly, doing things with Neil was the height of your wishes too. And most of those were best kept private.

“Thank fuck”

Ives’s candid reply brought you back to the moment in time to hear Neil add:

“-But… I just want to go on holiday. Spend at least a week without stress and the weight of the whole world on my back. And maybe visit my parents… it’s been way too long” the melancholic tone did not get unnoticed despite the panic that crept up your spine.

Following the basic instincts, you lurched forward to be able to look at him. There was no mistaking that confident expression.

“Should I begin to worry? Because ‘meeting the parents’ sounds… official,” you whispered the word with apprehension.

Yes, that sort of thing was probably expected, given how serious he was. But still. The fear of making an idiot out of yourself in front of Neil’s family enough to trigger the anxiety once more. Somehow it sounded worse than dying in the Siberian shithole tomorrow.

With the tense silence that fell, you could almost hear the way the rest of those present were staring at the two of you with curiosity.

“We are official” Neil reached out to brush away the hair falling into your eyes, “We’ll talk about it later. After,” the soft smile administered perfectly, cutting through your worries in an instant.

Maybe you could survive it. Maybe.

“So… Y/N?” at the mention of your name, you looked up at Wheeler.

Right. Diplomatic, subdued answer it is.Somehow it got easier to find the words with Neil’s hand resting on your knee again.

“Holidays would be nice, certainly” stealing a glance at your boyfriend, you exchanged an excited grin, “And maybe some time to walk around London, appreciate life… I don’t know I think I miss the mundanity. Getting coffee on my way to the lecture; visiting random shops and browsing the shelves just because I could. No inverted bullets, no timey wimey bullshit” with the spite thrown in, you left out a long exhale.

That life seemed so far away now. Almost like something out of a dream, rather than your reality before Neil and Tenet. While you would never wish for anything but your current circumstances, sometimes you missed the normality. The lack of danger waiting upon every corner. No necessity to consider fatal sacrifice in the name of love. Normalcy.

“Think you two have travel agency visit booked,” Wheeler commented, looking between you and Neil with a knowing smile on her lips.

Using the most basic of gravitational pulls, you turned to face Neil with a hopeful look. With how close you were seating, only inches of space left between your faces. Despite the tiredness and insomnia, he was utterly stunning, taking your breath away within seconds. A part of your brain wanted nothing but to press your lips against his, mindless of the audience. As though using the same wavelength, Neil glanced at your mouth for a split second, causing a resurgence of butterflies in your stomach. They never seemed to get a rest anymore. Sharing one last long look, you nodded at the unasked question and awaited his response:

“Mhmm… I like the sound of that” another happy grin and a hand grasping yours tightly, “But now, I think we should try sleeping” stifling a yawn, he finished the tea and stood up to wash the mugs.

Using the slightly awkward silence, you jumped up from the sofa and sent the rest of the group a grateful grin:

“Thanks for this… whatever this was” shrugging lightly, you felt a wave of gratitude fill your chest with warmth.

Suddenly the morning felt a little less terrifying. Perhaps for once, you did belong. For once, you were not alone.

“Always up for chatting shit on the eve of the battle” with the bemused smirk on his face, Ives got up and gave you a quick pat on the back.

You only registered that Neil was back by your side when he placed his arm over your shoulder protectively:

“One could even say… that the real treasure is the friends we made along the way” it was the casual way he said it that made you look at him incredulously.

“Is that… Disney?” with your eyebrows knitted together, you tried to find remains of coherence.

Again: what the fuck.

“Maybe,” shrugging, Neil grinned at Ives as if nothing happened.

“Are you regretting your life choices?” the soldier ignored him and stared at you without a shadow of emotion discernible.

With the overwhelming tiredness and brain cells dying one by one, it was easy to choose.

“Maybe,” parroting Neil, you grabbed his hand “You, with me” without protest, you steered him towards the exit, “Think you need rest,”

Just before you could zip up the airlock after the two of you, Ives’ comment broke the silence:

“Take care of each other out there. I want to get an invitation to that wedding” he shot you a serious look, hiding the concern evident in the blue eyes.

Biting harshly on your lip to prevent the sudden need to run back in there and hug him, you raised your hand in mock salute:

“Yes, sir,” a final nod of understanding before you closed the door.

It would be alright. It had to.

#tenet #tenet fanfic #neil tenet #neil x reader #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

[bosspigeon]

if you're still bleeding

Pairing: Jax/M!Merc

Words: 2657

Summary: Jax should know better. He should know to mind his own damn business. But, unfortunately, he's well beyond "knowing better" now that he's gone and gotten tangled up with an unhinged mercenary with more knives than sense, and the scars that say the chances of him finding any sense are slim to none.

and if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.

'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.

we're setting fire to our insides for fun.

collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,

it was a flood that wrecked this home.

- "Youth" by Daughter

CW for: implied/referenced sex, sexual humor/innuendos, references to blood, violence, and trauma, and implications of kink

Knox is a man with scars.

Jax has plenty of his own, of course, but Knox has a lot of scars. There's a story to most of them, too, and he's never shy about telling them. Hell, half the time he tells those stories completely unprompted, whether you want him to or not.

There's a scar on his chin from where Royal told him he couldn't knee slide the entire bar. There’s the ugly knot of scar tissue where his left arm used to be, where the port to his prosthetic is grafted on. There's the scar in his stomach from the mook Jax had to help him bury. There's a scar on his lip where he bit himself too hard with his freakishly sharp teeth trying to keep quiet while Jax bent him over the hood of his car outside Saints and Sinners in the wee hours of the morning.

He's particularly happy to blab the story about that one to anyone who'll listen.

But he doesn't talk about the scar across his throat.

As little clothing as he tends to wear on the day to day, ("As little as I can get away with," he says with a sleazy wink) his neck is always covered. High-collared shirts, a jauntily knotted scarf, decorative chokers and heavy leather collars always keep it covered. He'll flash his tits before he'll show his throat—but in all fairness, it's not really all that hard to get him to flash his tits.

Jax didn't even see the scar until the fourth or fifth inadvisable hate fuck, at which point he was beginning to think he didn't hate the merc quite as much as he thought, considering he kept letting the little bastard in when he showed up at the door out of nowhere—and didn't shoot him when he decided to forgo the door entirely and come in through the window. (Jax still can’t be sure how he even got to the window, seeing as Jax lives in an apartment well above ground level, but he figures he’s better off not asking.) He didn’t think to ask about it until he’d actually lost count of how many inadvisable hate-fucks there’d been, and when they’d progressed somehow from inadvisable hate-fucks to still pretty inadvisable but otherwise amicable casual fucks.

Knox was loose and relaxed, quiet in a way Jax didn't even think was possible when they first met. And, to think, all it took was shoving him face down into the pillows and thoroughly wearing him out. Usually, he rolled out of bed as soon as his legs could hold him again, commandeered Jax's shower, and used half a bottle of his expensive conditioner before he disappeared without so much as a thank you. This time, he stayed. He sprawled gracelessly across Jax's sweat-stained silk sheets, arms stretched over his head, eyes half-closed and his ever-smirking mouth curled into something softer... almost sweeter.

Jax doesn't know what possessed him to roll over, to reach out and touch, but he did. He started at the inner thigh, the bruises he'd left with teeth and then fingers, a rumbling of possessive pride stoking the banked coals of satisfaction in his belly. His knuckles skimmed the soft curve of the merc's belly, the angry red scar tissue of that knife wound, then higher still. Inked into his sternum is a coyote skull, surrounded by boldly outlined flowers that curve along the underside of his breasts. Jax was almost surprised by the softness of the design, especially in comparison to the rest of the merc's ink, like the crude stick-and-poke perforated line and little pair of scissors right above his prosthetic, or the dirty pinup of some generic muscled pretty boy on his bicep, or the peach on his inner thigh that bears an artful addition of a T-dick very much similar to Knox’s own.

He wondered vaguely if the flowers meant anything to Knox.

Before he could dwell on the uncomfortably tender direction his thoughts had taken, his fingers travelled upwards, flicking absently at one of the heavy, angular piercing through Knox's nipples. Knox huffed a rough laugh, watching the progress of Jax's hand through eyes narrowed to dozy, yellow slits.

He traced Knox's collarbone, and his body was all but melted into Jax's bed, soft and pliant. Like he belonged there.

And then Jax’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw the scar, a thin line, pale with age, but standing in stark relief against Knox's tanned skin. It sits at a bit of an angle, slicing across the middle of the merc's throat.

The second his fingers made contact, skimming that raised line of flesh, he knew he'd fucked up.

Knox's body went taut for a split second, and that was all the warning Jax got before Knox was twisting his wrist hard enough for the bones to grind together and snarling in his face like a wild animal. If his knives weren't two rooms away in his discarded pile of clothes, Jax knows he would have lost fingers.

For once, Knox didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent, mouth a grim sneer, eyes flat and hard. He shoved Jax roughly off him and rolled out of bed. He didn't look back once, stalking out of Jax's bedroom naked, every inch of his compactly muscled body vibrating with tension. Jax heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of buckles and zippers and a half dozen knives, and then the front door slamming shut.

He didn't see Knox again until Orla called them in for another job, and it was as if nothing had happened. He was his usual smug, annoying self, not a single break in his usual facade of irreverent humor and Napoleonic bravado.

And maybe some of Knox's reckless stupidity is rubbing off on him, because Jax can't shake the curiosity that grips him, even now. He shoves it down, naturally, because he doesn't want the batshit merc to get twitchy on him again when he's got enough knives on him at any given time to outfit a military squadron. Hell, for all Jax knows, that's the end of it. He's not going to go crawling back to Knox (even if the sex is really fucking good—it's always the crazy ones, isn’t it?) and he knows Knox won't come to him first.

Except he does, dragging Jax into one of the back rooms after a meeting with Orla, shoving him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Things go right back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are with Coyote Fucking Knox. And as normal as they can be once Orla oh-so-sweetly reminds him there are cameras in the back rooms, and if he doesn't want stills of his dick forwarded to the entire Mirage gang, he'll keep his and Knox's exhibitionism where she doesn't have to see it.

So Knox continues to invade Jax's privacy, steal petty shit from his apartment and/or pockets, and loudly demand that Jax fuck him hoarse (-er) if he wants him to shut up.

And he winds up tangled in Jax's sheets again, sprawled out on his belly with one leg tossed over Jax's thigh, his face smashed into a pillow, one smug yellow eye watching Jax try to catch his breath beside him.

He could let it be. It's not like this is anything but a convenience. Some fun between… well, they're definitely not friends. Coworkers, if anything, and even that's pushing it. For a while, Jax considered it a fair trade for dealing with Knox's bullshit constantly. Now, it's becoming a pattern, and when it comes to semi-regular sex with a stab-happy mercenary, patterns can be dangerous.

But he can't kill the curiosity.

He figures his best bet is being blunt. And maybe getting ready to dodge in the very likely event things go south. He doesn't touch this time, at least not where they aren't already, Knox’s knee between his legs, the skin feeling a bit feverish and clammy as the sweat cools. The urge to touch is still there—he left some nice bite marks on Knox's shoulders he'd like to reacquaint himself with—but he ignores it for now. He rolls onto his side, meets that one yellow eye with quiet consideration, and props his head up on his hand.

Knox must read the change in his face, because he goes from cat-got-the-cream contentment to a warily curious tension. Jax just goes right for the throat, so to speak. “Any chance of hearing the story behind that one?” he says, casual as anything, and nods in the vague direction of Knox’s neck.

There’s a growling noise building up behind Knox’s teeth, but he bites it back. He smiles, but it feels feral, like an animal baring its teeth looks like a smile, but it's really a threat. It looks brittle, like it'll shatter if he tightens his jaw any further.

Jax gives in to the urge, reaching out to touch, fingertips skimming down the mercenary's spine. A shiver ripples across the skin. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but at this point, if you’re going to Hell...

“I don’t know,” Knox says flatly, and Jax is almost shocked he answered at all. There’s no inflection, no mirth. Just that broken-glass smile.

Jax snorts. Knox never fucking shuts up, that much is true, but Jax isn’t stupid. He knows when someone’s talking a lot and saying nothing of importance on purpose, and he also knows when Knox can’t deflect, he lies his ass off like he was born to do it. Even Orla barely knows anything about her least favorite favorite merc or where he came from, though the chances of her caring enough to even try to find out are slim to none. Still, he has no idea what the mercenary even has to gain from lying, especially here. "If you don't want to say anything, just tell me to fuck off."

The knife edge smile stretches wider. Tips closer to the breaking point. "Fuck off," he echoes like a parrot.

Something starts to uncurl in Jax's gut, something burbling and acidic, a nasty niggling feeling he can't quite name. "You're serious," he says, and he doesn't want to believe it, mostly because he can't imagine someone like Knox taking that sort of… personal unknown well. “Nothing?”

The smile cracks, and Knox lifts his head so Jax gets the full effect of it. His eyes are wide, wild, and suddenly that smile is too big for his face. Slowly, he sits up, and there's the scar. Old and faded, but splitting his throat neatly and boldly from east to west. He drags his thumb across it, digs it in hard enough the white scar tissue goes a bit pink. He laughs. He's never had a pleasant laugh, rough and raspy and mean. Somehow, this one is worse. “Not a lick,” he drawls, and the effort it takes him to sound so casual almost makes Jax cringe. “There’s a reason Orla found me in the fuckin’ bargain bin.” He taps his temple, his messily painted nail clicking against the chip in his head.

Jax’s eyes flick down to the scar, frowning deeply. It doesn’t make sense. Knox is deflecting again, he has to be, but there’s something in the way he’s holding himself, the tension radiating from him, the way he slumps against the headboard of Jax’s bed with his knees pulled up, not quite close enough to hug to his chest, but more like he’s thinking about it, resisting the urge to physically hold himself together and risk looking weak.

"I have nightmares, sometimes," he admits, so soft the syllables catch on the rough edges of his ragged voice. "They never make any fucking sense. I'm just… I'm choking. Something’s cutting into my neck, and there’s someone behind me, and I know them, but— But I'm guilty? I don't know for what." He laughs, bitterly brittle. "Could be fucking anything. Got a lot to be guilty for that I can remember, never mind what I can't."

He inhales, and it sounds like it hurts him, like his breath is made of shards of glass. He drags his hand down his face until he can curl his fingers around his throat so the scar doesn't show. "I just know there's this perfume Orla wears that makes me want to climb the fucking walls and I don't know why. I think I know how to play the piano, but I can’t even look at one without wanting to smash it to pieces. Sometimes I hear some… some fucking opera song, or some shit? And I know the words, and I want to sing along, but then my voice just—just cracks, and I feel like… like a broken fucking wind-up toy? It's like my head doesn't remember anything, but the rest of me does and it makes me so fucking angry. What am I missing? Why does it matter?” His voice hitches dangerously, and there’s a stab of panic in Jax’s belly, his hands twitching like they want to—to reach out? “Why can’t it just leave me the fuck alone?"

Knox squeezes his own throat so hard the skin dimples around his fingers and bleeds white where he’s cutting off bloodflow. His shoulders tremble. There's something in the furrow of his brow, the twist of his mouth, that says angry isn't the only thing it makes him, but he either doesn't have the words to say it, or he just won't, not even to himself.

The silence falls again. Jax always thought he preferred silence where Knox was concerned. Turns out he was wrong. This silence is brutal, heavy and choking and just… wrong. When Knox does see fit to break it, it's with a loud exhale that almost makes Jax start.

"Would you look at the time," the merc says loudly, shaking out his bare wrist and looking at it critically. Jax could almost laugh. Knox tosses his legs over the edge of the bed smiling crookedly over his shoulder. "I should really head out, huh? Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Before he can think, Jax snaps a hand out and catches Knox’s hip, squeezing. Not enough to stop him if he really wants to go, but enough to give him pause. Once again, Jax counts himself lucky they rarely make it to the bedroom before one or both of them are naked, which means all those knives are somewhere by the door, or scattered across his coffee table, or in the leather jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Coyote turns slightly, just enough to eyeball him. Just one yellow eye.

There's a lot Jax could say, a lot he even wants to, but there's something raw in that one yellow eye, something wary and broken that just wants to hide somewhere quiet and lick its wounds. They've been at this for way too fucking long at this point, Jax should know what to do with that, shouldn't he?

Maybe he does.

He snorts. "When the fuck have you ever cared about overstaying your welcome?" He smacks Knox's hip just on the wrong side of gentle, and rolls over. "You're not leaving until you help me change these sheets. Hell, maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you back in bed after we shower."

He pushes up to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his muscles, allowing himself to luxuriate in the pleasant soreness leftover from their romp. Knox is quiet behind him, and he can't really think of when he actually started to trust the crazy bastard enough to turn his back to him.

Knox makes a rough little sound, something not quite a laugh. "Is that an order, Sir?" he asks, low and raspy-sweet.

Jax glances back with a raised eyebrow. "Do I need to make it one?"

#remember you will die #rywd #vapolis #rywd jax #rywd fanfic #rywd merc #pidge writes #oc: coyote knox #idk take the warnings into account for ur own comfort #this is more about the vulnerability and the tenderness between two deeply emotionally stunted idiots #anyway i have been picking at this on my bus rides to/from work for the last week #and performing narrative surgery to fix a screwup (bc i cant read apparently gfhdjg) proved to be a solid warmup #for diving into those comms #so uh #here we go! #enjoy i guess!

[jadelynlace]

Hvitserk’s First Tattoo / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!reader]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. here is the visual reference for the tattoo Hvitserk gets (image isn’t mine and all credit goes to it’s original owner). mentions of brotherly bickering, Hvitserk being scared and Ivar tattooing.

synopsis: You finally talk Hvitserk into getting some ink.

✎

“Did I miss it?” You say, nearly falling in through the main door of the shop. “I almost took the ambulance over here just because it has lights and sirens,” Hvitserk offers you an estranged look, one mixed with him being mortified and slightly impressed with your timing after the over night shift.

“I’ve never seen you this excited,” Sigurd calls from his spot, pulling a record from the shelf as he goes about lining it up, pulling the needle over so the music can fill the room.

“She doesn’t even get this excited when she sees my dick,” Ivar teases from his spot and you offer him a less than kind finger gesture. 

“Can you blame me?” You remark back and Ivar only returns your original hand motion. “Did you pick yet?” You the ask as Hvitserk studies Ivar’s portfolio, as if he will be quizzed on it at the end of the session.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” He groans, another turn of the laminated pages.

“All of our best talks happen when it’s in the ambulance cabin at four in the morning,” You laugh, patting his back as you round the small counter. Ivar’s hands are quick to seat you on his lap, wrapping around you almost instantly and you both breathe in relief.

“Long night?” Ivar asks softly in your ear.

“Routine bullshit,” You grumble back, his hands tracing up your back and you could almost fall asleep in the very spot. One hand leaves your spine, reaching along the counter to grasp the tall can of his energy drink, offering it to you but you only shake your head. “That crap tastes like cough syrup,” You add as Ivar downs another gulp.

“Hurry up Hvitserk, we’re here after hours for this,” Ivar calls before he pulls the can back to his mouth.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to pop your cherry,” You say and Ivar looses some of the energy drink through a spray from his lips.

“You can get her name on your ass,” Sigurd says, walking past Hvitserk and tapping his uniform clad back. 

“Why? So Ivar and I can match?” Hvitserk grumbles back and you laugh against Ivar’s chest. 

“How do they know about that?” Ivar asks you quietly, through a teasing voice and you raise slightly, giggling against his mouth as your catch his lips with yours.

“Oh, for fucks sake—Hvitserk here, do that one,” Sigurd says, tapping his fingers against the page. “Paramedic Ragnarsson gets an anatomical tattoo,” 

“Nice choice,” Ivar hums, standing to his full height with you latched still around him and he sets you to sit along the counter.

“Is it nap time for the baby?” Sigurd says, voice taking on a toddler’s tone as he sits back at the front desk, and at the receiving end of the pen that flies from Ivar’s grasp. Leather combat boots stalk along the dark wooden floors, pulling the design from its laminated home before Ivar sends the image through the printer in the far corner. Your eyes catch sight of his back, the muscles in his biceps, the veins on his forearms as he programs the machine to spit out the stencil. Looming your eyes up the gray fabric of the old band tee, over the locks that he’s starting to comb into a bun, and then down the dark wash jeans and over how they end in the tops of his shoes. More thoughts swirl about how you couldn’t wait to undress him when you two would go to your apartment.

As Hvitserk makes himself comfortable in the black leather chair, he rolls up the uniform sleeve, a quick unbutton and folding of the blue material, already deciding on where he deemed the appropriate placement. The curl of his sleeve stops above his elbow and you could see the faint burn mark on his wrist from when he tried to eat a marshmallow that was still on fire. You watched Ivar position himself at his station, a meticulous arrangement of his tools, setting everything in a straight line to connect. There was a squirt of the ink into the containers, a pull of gloves onto his hands, wiggling his fingers into their spots and cracking his knuckles. You bit down on your own tongue to stop that moan that tried so hard to escape. Taking the razor to shave off the blond fuzz, he gingerly laid the stencil on his brother’s inner arm, pressing it gently before pulling it back.

“Double check in the mirror that you like the placement,” Ivar says, tossing his head towards the back wall with the mirror surrounded by an intense wooded frame Floki had built. Hvitserk stands, and you see the slight tremor in his hands, never a fan of any sort of pain—intentional or not. You’ve seen this man cry at the sensation of a paper cut, and all but sob when he jerked his shin against the metal grate on the ambulance’s bumper. But, he was also the man who would tell the patients that it was going to hurt—the realignment, or when he set up the hare for an isolated femur fracture—it was going to hurt and they had his full permission to break his hand if need be. You laugh every time there’s an active labor call, and Hvitserk reassures the mother that he has two hands, and if she needs to break one to push her child out, he’s willing to suffer. It calms the hysteria, even on the worst calls you two had walked into, Hvitserk always knew how to calm any of the demons that danced in the ambulance. Ivar turns to you as Hvitserk gazes, probably far longer than other client has to date, and slides himself over to where you’re perched. There’s a removal of one glove, an index finger and thumb on your chin as he kisses you once, twice, and third time. 

“I already know what I want to eat for dinner,” He whispers against your ear, just loudly enough so you’re the only one to hear his words. “But make sure you leave the polo on, baby girl,” He adds, kissing your temple and nudging the badge that’s on your chest, as a slow blush roses over your cheeks while he turns back around. ���Alright brother, ready?” He calls, tapping the seat of the chair and Hvitserk takes a final look before plopping both himself down and his arm against the cushion. 

“Is it going to hurt?” Hvitserk asks, trying to bite the smile he’s showing while both Ivar and Sigurd are preparing to throw whatever they can reach. “I’m sorry I couldn’t resist,” Ivar offers him another lethal glare, nearly plucking the smile from his lips as he begins to spread a thin layer of the ointment across the purple ink. There’s a buzz from the needle gun and Hvitserk whimpers not unlike a puppy. Ivar’s glove-clad fingers stretch to pull the skin taunt, taking the gun down the first line and wiping it with a paper towel.

“Still alright, sir?” You say to Hvitserk as if he’s a patient in your ambulance and you’re watching an IV start. 

“Can you hold my hand?” He whines in a faked voice of concern.

“No,” You say back and there’s a snicker from Sigurd on the far side of the shop. The room dulls to only the noise of the record, the vibration of the needle and you watch Ivar so effortlessly in his element. Eyes watching, concentrating on what he’s doing yet singing lowly to the lyrics of the song that floods your ears alike. He rolls his chair slightly, maneuvering Hvitserk’s arm to his liking as he holds it down with his own. Strength unmatched because his least favorite thing is when the client fidgets, since it sends his work to become sloppy, and he’s grown accustomed to a way to hold the body part down to his liking. And that sight makes you think about him over you, body weight pressing against you like a weighted blanket, one with a smart mouth and curved lip who melts at the sheer stroke of your nails on his skin. Your thoughts rolls from the shift you worked prior, reanalyzing what you had done, gone through, pulling it to part like thread. They roll like waves but crash with thoughts of Ivar, his small comment earlier and then they shift. From work to pleasure and you’re squeezing your thighs before you realize it. Ivar’s voice comes through your ears to halt the dissection, and you move your head to see Hvitserk admiring the piece now forever on his skin and you smile back. Another layer of ointment and then it’s wrapped tightly with Ivar’s instructions to leave it on for an hour. 

“See? No need to be a little baby about it,” You tease him and he laughs.

“That’s his default setting,” Sigurd’s voice calls as he stands up. “Ivar you’re closing up tonight, right?” And Ivar just nods. “I will see your smiling face tomorrow morning then,” He adds sarcastically, and with a wave and check of his pockets he’s out the shops front door.

“Wasn’t as terrible as I thought,” Hvitserk jokes. “Maybe I will get your name on my ass after all,” You offer him a faked smile and forged laugh. “I’m going to head out too, I got the over time for tomorrow,” And he’s gone with a salute through his hand and the hundred dollar bill on the desk, leaving you and Ivar alone in the shop.

“I like seeing you in here,” You say softly as you watch him clear his materials, place everything in their homes and he smiles while he works. “You’re so relaxed,”

“I can say the same thing when I see you in that ambulance, baby,” He replies as he casts a look back to you and then he’s standing, arm grabbing you to come into his side. “Now let’s get going, I’m really looking forward to my dinner…”

Ink Drinker Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @victoria-styles @quantumlocked310 @xbellaxcarolinax @mighty-ragnarssons @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @queen-of-upshur @nanahachikyuu @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa  @youbloodymadgenius @love-all-things-writing @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon @fandomlifeandeverythingelse

*please message me to let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list. specifications for series/etc. are also welcomed, as well as feedback.*

full masterlist can be found here.

#vikings #vikings fiction #vikings fanfiction #vikings au #modern vikings #modern vikings fanfiction #modern Vikings au #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok fanfiction #ivar lothbrok #modern ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #modern ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson fanfiction #ivar ragnarsson smut #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar au #vikings ivar #hvitserk #hvitserk fanfiction #modern hvitserk #hvitserk au #hvitserk ragnarsson #vikings hvitserk #sigurd #modern sigurd #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd ragnarsson #modern sigurd ragnarsson #— i am i am i am. ( my writings & creations )

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass tonight

I got so much going on with uni, but I couldn’t resist. If you too are queen/king of procrastinating uni work, you have my deepest support! Hope you enjoyed x

TW: none (except fool language)

Part 2    -    Part 3*

Office parties have never been y/n’s cup of tea, the idea of enjoying yourself in the very place people usually count down the hours before they can leave, is rather ludicrous in her humble opinion. Alas as the boss’ personal assistant, she not only had to plan and organize the whole shebang but her presence was also required, supervision purposes and all that. The only solace sweetening the deal for her was that she’d be in charge of the catering too, and y/n learnt very early on that good food and greater booze could make any boring work function at least tolerable.

Now that the festivities are in full swing, conversation flowing almost as heartily as the champagne in the guests’ eager mouths, y/n thinks she did quite well. The vast open space of the office is decorated with taste, the music set at the perfect level as to not overpower the boring chitchat bouncing off its walls, and to her greatest delight, the catering company she hired has truly outdone themselves. All in all, everybody seems to be having a grand time, and y/n decides that’s reason enough to officially relieve herself of her supervisor’s duties.

As she scans over the assortment of canapés, mini-quiches, crudités and other mouth-watering ambrosias, y/n fails to notice the tall figure casually approaching her. She’s in the midst of pondering whether she should try the humous or a cream cheese and salmon toast first, mouth salivating and stomach growling in appetite, when a raspy voice interrupts her inner battle, "I see m’not the only one who’s here just fo’ the food".

Her eyes pop off the delicious hors d’oeuvres to the sight gracing them next and she doesn’t know which is the most appetizing. Because standing a few feet from her is Harry, vibrant smile and pretty dimples on show, as he leans over the verrines platter to pick the best-looking one. He’s wearing an olympic blue floral suit on top of a scandalously unbuttoned transparent shirt, a bold number that would grant anyone else looks of surprise and confusion but looked absolutely divine on his broad frame. Besides, after two years working at the office, everyone had gotten used to his unconventional fashion choices by now.

Y/n quirks an eyebrow in curiosity as she dips a cucumber stick in a bowl of humous, before quipping, "not a big fan of these things?"

Harry lets out a small chuckle in a ‘no kidding’ way, and attaches his emerald eyes to hers, "they’re kind of a drag, if m’bein’ honest."

She smiles at his admission, realizing they both share an aversion for mundanities, "I know right. Like, why party here where everyone has to be on their best behavior when we could be down at the bar without the boss gallivanting around?" she cries out in exasperation and not for the first time, Harry thinks she’s quite possibly the most endearing thing he’s ever seen. His smile widens the tiniest bit at her passionate rant, "my thoughts exactly. Do we even know what we’re supposed to celebrate?" The question makes her laugh, she wouldn’t have known either if not for her involvement in the affair, "well as the person behind this all drag," she give him a pointed look at his jeering choice of word, "it would be weird if I didn’t."

Harry’s face falls at the possibility of having offended her, but his uneasiness quickly dissipates when she starts laughing at him. "M’sorry, that came out wrong," he tells her before letting out a giggle of his own and y/n revels in the moment. The idea of interacting with him beyond the usual ‘here’s the presentation for today’s conference’ or ‘do you have the quarterly report ready’ is rather intoxicating for her already feeble nerves. "Don’t worry, I take no offense, I’m just as bored as you are," she reassures him with a smile, "the party is for a new potential investor, something about wooing them with some ‘corporate fun’. S’a load of bullshit if you ask me".

Harry nods at the explanation unimpressed, his boss’ intentions being the least of his worries. Aside from being the classic douche every manager typically insists on being, the guy has always made his distaste about him pretty clear, so Harry would rather focus on more interesting things. Like how beautiful y/n looks right now, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, leaving a few strands to fall around her face. "You look amazing, by the way," he brings himself to say, though he thinks his compliment doesn’t even do her justice.

Y/n looks down at her own outfit then: a knee-length red dress composed of a skater skirt and a backless top that only holds with a couple pressure buttons clasped behind her neck. Her cheeks warm up to match the color of her apparel, betraying the timidity she’s always fallen victim of whenever he happened to be in her vicinity. Y/n’s never been one to shy away from her feelings or trip over her own words when facing her crushes, but there is something about Harry that teleports her right back to her sheepish 13 year-old teenage self. Also, she’s not too keen on office romances and the drama that usually ensues so she’s always made sure to stifle her blossoming attraction and keep their relation work-appropriate. Surely that must account for most of her awkwardness, doesn’t it?

Her eyes trail back to his face and her response comes in a shy euphemism, "thank you, you clean up quite nicely yourself." It’s enough to quirk Harry’s lips in a bashful smile, their  complexion evidently on edge as they tread uncharted territories. Professionalism has always regimented their interactions with kind but polite rigidness, neither of them quite inclined to cross that invisible line, but tonight seems to challenge that.

Tonight, Harry is resolute in his infatuation, no longer inhibited from social construct but driven by a quest for knowledge; anything that will help him decipher her carefully shielded crux. Tonight, he endeavors to scrape the edges of her rough diamond to expose the gem encapsulated inside, peel back the stoic layers of her exterior to find her unapologetic and intrinsic nature. Tonight, he is thirsty for secrets and confidential disclosures, and he won’t leave until he’s drained it all out of her. Unless she tells him to fuck off, obviously.

Harry keeps the conversation going as he browns the buffet for a new delicacy to snack on, "so, what would you be doing if you didn’t have to be here?" He wants to know everything, the present and the past, the good and the bad, the superficial and the substance, the messy and the orderly, but he figures he should start by what she likes to do in her own time. The things that loosen her up after a tense week at work, the things that will make her eyes shine with passion as she relates them back to his curious mind.

The question reaches her ears as she takes a sip of her drink, "mmm," she smiles around her glass before placing it back on the table, "-that’s easy. Playing pool with the gang at Gibson’s." Her answer spills without hesitation, a heap of follow-up questions already brewing up in Harry’s brain, but the foreign name is what beckons his attention first, "Gibson’s?" he echoes with a faint rumple pulling the skin between his eyes. Is that the name of a friend? A boyfriend? Out of all the questions he’s contemplated, y/n’s relationship status never crossed his mind. He’s always assumed her to be a single woman, the evidence of a significant other never present in her language and demeanor.

A wave of relief washes over him at her elaboration, "it’s a bar couple blocks from my place. It’s been my friends and I’s HQ ever since we all met." The sentiment has her eyes sparkle at the remembrance of all the happy memories the place hosted, and Harry stores the information in his mental list of all y/n’s soft spots.

"Sounds rad, so you play pool?" he inquires with enthusiasm. He’s been knows to play a game or two in his youth, though it’s been a hot minute since he’s felt the weight of the cue in his hands as he sinks ball after ball in their respective pockets. He remembers the elation of it all, the adrenaline coursing through his veins at each successful strike, and his heart flutters at the thought of ever sharing a game with her; she seems like the competitive type in the most entertaining way possible. Before his thoughts can spiral into much filthier realms, like bending her over the table mid-game when his own skills prevail and she turns into a sore-loser, y/n’s voice rings him back to reality.

"Uh uh, correction," her expression suddenly turns in false seriousness before she proves him right about her competing tendencies, "I win at pool." Her eyes are so full of confidence, a spice of mischief sparkling in their corner, she would have no difficulty persuading anyone of anything that passes the threshold of her mouth. Harry certainly doesn’t doubt her mastery of the bar game, but it doesn’t stop him from challenging her in a slightly elevated pitch, "oh is that so?"

Y/n only grins at the banter, not at all fazed by his taunting remark, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." She reaches for another snack, not taking her come-hither look off his handsome face, and Harry revels in her flirtatious advances, a smug smile taking possession of his lips as he surfs of the same wave of seduction. "Is that a challenge?" he philanders back, fueling the sensual back-and-forth they seem to have embarked upon.

"Not much of a challenge if I know I’ll win," y/n replies with cheek, her self-assurance once again burgeoning like sexy wildflowers sprouting from the ground underneath Harry’s feet, wrapping around his ankle and growing along his body to twine around his spellbound heart. He absolutely loves her unfaltering aplomb, finds it undoubtably sexy but he can’t let her know that just yet.

"Cocky."

"Confident."

They both chuckle at their repartee, enjoying this ping-pong of quick-witted banter they’ve never found in anybody else before. It’s like their intellects were meant to collide in galvanizing forces, the encounter of two fiery psychs too brilliant to one up the other.

Harry is mesmerized by their connection, if he knew sparks would fire this bright, he would have made a move ages ago. "Fuck, you’re something else," he shakes his head in incredulity before confessing, "definitely not what I expected."

Y/n’s chest tingles at his comment, a rivulet of liquid glee leaking through her arteries to pump her heart and her ego full of bliss, "Oh so you expected something, did you?" She punctuates her teasing with a thousand-watts power smirk, and Harry finds it strikingly alluring.

Not about to let her have the upper hand however, a burst of smugness crosses his features as he boomerangs her earlier allurement back to her, "maybe you’ll have to find out for yourself." It earns him a deep jazzy laugh rooted in her tummy and a tinge of pride swirling in his own. He wants to pry laugh after laugh from her belly until her last giggle, only relenting once the muscles in her chest are aching from unbridled joy.

Y/n sighs in content before taking a bite out of a mini-tartlet as she considers how to proceed in this much too flirty conversation. "So what would you be doing tonight, if not for this stupid party?" she returns his first question before realizing,  "-wait a sec, what are you doing here if you hate these things so much? My presence was mandatory but yours isn’t."

"I’ll have you know I was coerced into coming too," he quips back in a fake defensive tone, hand pressing to his chest, "Mike from accounting begged me to tag along, he just broke up with his girlfriend so I didn’t have the heart to tell him no." The selfishness of the gesture softens her heart in a goo of adoration, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Softie."

"Chivalrous."

His comeback has her giggle, a rejoinder already tiptoeing at the edge of her lips, "see, who’s cocky now?" Her eyes are full of jest and lightness, somehow taking the weight of the party off his shoulders. Turns out, food and booze are not the only remedies for boring work functions, y/n’s company is just as effective if not more, and that’s with the guarantee of a hangover-less comes next morning. Harry is truly happy he decided to make an appearance tonight, a sentiment he definitely didn’t foresee for the night. The realization has him faintly shaking his head in amazement, his lips letting out another whispered "something else" softly enough that it doesn’t quite reach her already inflated ears.

"So did you have any plans tonight?" She reiterates the question not wanting to ever stop talking with him.

There are probably a hundred exciting plans he could have conjured up to come off half as intriguing as she seems to be, but instead he decides to go the honest route, "nah, I would have probably crash on my couch, this week’s been pretty hectic." His truth is confirmed by the faded blackness tinting the skin below his eyes, a proof of hard work and long hours under the heedlessness of a greedy superior. Y/n knows it all too well, having had firsthand experience with her boss’ jackassery. That’s why she directly inquires, "boss giving you trouble?"

Part of Harry is eager to steer the conversation back to more pleasant waters but he guesses talking a little bit about work was inevitable at some point, especially since they both share palpable distaste for their superior. "The maniac keeps giving me last minute reports like I’m expected to work all night along on his bullshit projects," he explains dejectedly before running his hand through his luscious curls in sign of frustration. "Barely finished in time fo’ the party tonight, I had to slip in his office to put the file on his desk, that fucker had already left."

Y/n listens attentively, her chest tightening in empathy at the recollection of his misfortune. She’s very familiar with the embittering feeling that comes with working your ass for someone that barely registers your efforts and dishes the office hours before you can even dream of clocking off. She’s faced the same scenario time and time again, including tonight, when she’d come up to lock the boss’ office hours after he left to get pampered for the party. She barely got time to make the double commute to and from her place, much less spend hours getting dolled up. She does remember the odd file on her boss’ desk though, "oh I was wondering what that blue folder was about, he never usually leave unattended paperwork on his desk."

Harry starts nodding in confirmation before stopping dead, eyes widened in distress, "wait, did you just say blue?" he asks in urgency.

Y/n frowns at his sudden agitation, her mind reeling to try and visualize the state of the surroundings she left several hours ago. She’s pretty positive she saw a blue binder laying there, not that she knows the ramifications of that simple fact, "yes I think so, why?"

The dire nature of the situation becomes painfully obvious as Harry’s face turns into a mess of  dread and panic, "oh shit, oh fuck, no no no," the words keep tumbling from his mouth in a ramble of nerves. "So stupid, m’so fucked" he keeps muttering self-admonition in quiet anger, hands griping at the root of his hair.

Concern is starting to fester in y/n’s guts as she takes in his disheveled state, "Harry, Jesus, take a breath, tell me what’s going on," she steps closer to him, one hand softly holding at his biceps as she tries to connect their gazes.

Once his eyes plug into hers, pupils blown out in turmoil, he finally calms down enough to word  out his mishap, "s’not the right file on his desk, I only use red binders for the reports." Spinning around out of her hold to shout his stress back to the wall in a loud "fuck!", Harry’s mind is caught up in a swirl of possible excuses to give to his boss, all sounding more ridiculous than the other. He can’t think of way to fix his mistake and escape the inevitable berating coming his way comes morning.

Fortunately for him, y/n is not about to let this happen, "it’s okay, we’ll fix this," she encourages. "What’s on his desk right now?"

Harry looks back at her then, not totally convinced that this all mayhem is salvageable. His boss is never going to tolerate this minor negligence, especially once he finds out the irrelevant material mistakenly slipped amongst his work. "My 14 year-old niece’s english project" the answer comes out as a question, a hint of self-deprecating humor lacing through his words. "Bloody hell, he’s gon’ have my head fo’ that one."

Harry is adamant in his doom, but if anything, y/n is not a quitter. "No he’s not. He hasn’t seen it yet, right? You said he was already gone when you brought the file."

He takes a long breath, "I suppose not."

"Guess it’s a good thing I have the keys to his office then, yeah?" She smiles proudly as a beacon of hope shines on his conflicted face. The forest green of his eyes seems to breath back to life in an endearing revival, effectively tugging at y/n’s heart’s merciful strings.

"Fuck, you’d do that fo’ me?" his shoulders loosen up in relief, the tension slowly simmering down to a gentle buzz, as he envisages the possibility of an illicit break-in. Well, as illicit as it may be, considering they have the keys. Still, best they don’t get caught snooping in the boss’ office, for both of their sake.

"Of course, silly. No questions asked," y/n answers with a smile, and her willingness to put herself in potential trouble, warms Harry’s heart from inside out.

"Y/n, you’re an angel, a life savior," he grabs her shoulders in each of his hands, his gratitude painted all over his soft traits. "Fuck, I could kiss you right now." The words fly out of his mouth without him realizing their significance after spending the last ten minutes coming onto her. And well, y/n isn’t too opposed to the idea either, and she thinks she might hold him to that promise in retribution for her saving grace when the time and space works better in their favor. "Alright Casanova, let’s get your ass out of this mess," she grabs her purse form the table and takes his hand to guide him through the cluster of people milling around the office space, eventually reaching the row of elevators across the room.

As they stand waiting for their lift to come, Harry starts fidgeting with nervous energy, feeling like a kid who’s about to get caught trying to steal straight from the cookie jar. "Shit, alright, we have to be discrete if we want to pull this off," he tells her, not taking his eyes off the room in case someone would look at them and read their plan straight off their guilty-looking faces.

"Says the guy in the flashy suit," y/n immediately counters, in an attempt to revive the playfulness of their synergy. The night was going swimmingly before the whole ordeal, and she’s convinced this foxy little adventure can only add to the appeal of an evening full of surprises.

Harry’s indignation at her dig teeters from his pouty lips, "hey! It’s not that bad." She giggles at his poor rebuttal, and as the doors of the elevator open, they quickly take a few steps inside.

"Harry, that suit is so loud, it could break the sound barrier," y/n teases as she eyes the crowd of people frivolously chatting away, while waiting for the door to close back.

"Thought I cleaned up nicely," he cheekily throws back her words from earlier, letting them resonate within the small confines of the elevator as they make their way up to their boss’ office.

She turns to face him then, a smile spreading on her supple lips, "don’t get me wrong, you look wonderful, just nowhere near decent for a secret spy mission."

Her words have him beaming back at her in a second, his mind fixated on her compliment rather than how impractical it is that his clothes are flashier than the Queen’s; in his defense, neither are y/n’s. "Damn, just got upgraded from nice to wonderful, this night is actually turning around," he chirps as the door open to the deserted hallway of the top floor.

"Alright, more action and less flirting, Styles," y/n playfully chides him. "Go get the right file, while I open his door, we should be quick in case he decides to bring the tour and his special guest up here." She sends him off with a tilt of her chin in what she knows to be the direction of his office, and Harry complies with ease and starts backtracking a few doors down, "yes ma’am."

While he’s gone to fetch the correct document from his office, y/n rummages through her purse to find the key of her boss’ office and unlock the door. Once she’s inside, she makes her way around the imposing mahogany desk commanding the space, and finds the imposter file sitting innocently on the polished wood. For pure curiosity’s sake, she starts leafing through its contents and lets a small chuckle as she takes in the endearing work of a young aspiring writer.

Her reading is interrupted by Harry’s hurried strides when he joins her in the room. "Here’s the damn report," he flings the folder on the desk next to his niece’s, red clashing with blue, mocking him for his slight negligence. As he absorbs the sight of y/n’s face engrossed in the teenage’s fiction, he moves slowly behind her, getting a glimpse at his niece’s whimsical words over her shoulder, before his eyes settle on the bare skin of her back.

Y/n welcomes his sudden proximity, has stranding on end as she feels the soft puffs of his breaths against her neck. "Your niece is quite the writer, does she always come to you for advice?"

She ignores the shivers running down her spine, and gulps when Harry’s voice greets her ears in a deep quiet hoarse, closer than she excepted, "usually, yeah. I was the one who got her into writing, so it’s kinda become our thing, I guess."

She smiles at his softness, "that’s really sweet," and draws in a long breath in a vain attempt to calm her jitters. She can almost feel his presence on her skin though they’re technically not touching, her fingertips tingling in anticipation.  

Another frisson travels through her when he responds with a low "mhm," his nose slightly grazing behind her ear, taking in her beguiling fragrance. Jasmine and vanilla, fresh and soft, exciting and comforting at the same time; it suits her perfectly.

"Harry-" she doesn’t know what to follow the whisper of his name with. Careful? Not here? Please don’t stop? At this point, she wants nothing more than to succumb to his affections, regardless of their improper whereabouts.

Harry brushes the back of his index down the smooth skin of her back in a featherlike caress, "thanks fo’ saving my ass, tonight," he murmurs into her ear, before laying a small kiss behind it.

Y/n is exulting under his tender ministrations, her eyes closed to enhance the feeling of his touch. "Anytime," she breathes out as her head tilts backward, a hand coming behind his neck in a silent plea not to let go, and Harry smiles against her skin at her receptiveness, goosebumps of his own blossoming across his body.

His next words are out of his mouth before he can think, "mmm, I owe you a big one," his playful persona resurfacing now that the situation was handled. They snort in unison at the double-entendre, and Harry slides his free arm around her waist to bring her closer to his chest in silent remittance. Y/n doesn’t mind though, she kinda likes this boyish side of him, but she can’t let him know that just yet.

"Gross."

"Hilarious."

Their ping-pong of wisecrack is back despite the tension permeating the air. It’s the kind that speeds heartbeats and moistens palms in lustful anticipation, the kind that curtails people’s breath as their lungs fill up with voluptuous aphrodisia. "Will you let me kiss you? Show you all my gratitude? I really wanna have a taste, love," he pleads for her permission, and y/n is too consumed by desire to deny him, "have it."

In one swift move, he spins around and latches his eager lips onto her. Passion ensues, hands roaming all over each other to find the perfect hold; the back of a neck, the lapels of a suit jacket, a few strands of hair, the curve of an exposed ribcage, it’s all intoxicating but there is always more to explore. Their tongues are caught up in a heated tango of their own, swirling around each other to quench the thirst of passion, licking their lustful way around their mouths.

At one point, Y/n finds herself pressed against her boss’ desk, one leg around Harry’s waist as he attaches his hips to hers in a heated embrace that leaves them breathless upon parting. He rests his forehead against her temple as they both process the intimate exchange, not ready to burst out of this fairy bubble. "Fuck, been waiting to do that for a while," he exhales with a smile, still incredulous at the evening’s proceedings, and the girl nestled in his arms.

"Same," she agrees and gently cups his face to bring his eyes back to hers, barely believing the adoration and warmth swimming within his lovely olive irises.

Harry’s heart feels like a ticking bomb about to implode, the sweet taste of her lips already providing him with a fix he didn’t know he was addicted to. "One more," he demands against her mouth before diving into another searing kiss. This time his hands explore more meticulously, scavenging for other soft spots to add on to his mental list. The dimples in her back right above the curve of her ass seem to rival the area at her side right below the swell of her breast, but Harry is pretty sure he’ll find more sensitive spots in the near future. Hopefully.

Once again, the need for oxygen compels them to part way, but neither of them make a move to separate their tangled limbs. Y/n is reveling in the moment she’s been daydreaming about for months, "so good," she keeps whispering sweet nothing against his lips while rubbing her nose against the bridge of his.

Harry clears his throat as he regains his bearings, realizing that there are still very much in the middle of their boss’ office, a place they are not supposed to be in, doing stuff they’re not supposed to be doing. At least not here. "Let’s get outta here, yeah?" he brushes a strand of hair that fell in front of her face, "you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and I’ll tend to yours once we’re back at my place, what’dya say?"

And well, how can one say no to that?

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #Harry fic #harry styles au #ofc #reader insert #coworker!harry #office au #fluff #flirting #harry styles fluff

[sparring-hyena]

the time of our lives.

this one was kinda requested/suggested by @cloakanddaggerthings. they’ve also been a great help in hammering out the finicky details. thanks heaps, mate! 

OR, the one where it takes a year for these two goofs to realise they’re in love.

-

i. New Year’s Eve.

naturally, this is where they start. although, start in a very loose sense of the word. because they were something before tonight. something fiery and intense, but certainly not something real.

they were midnight rendezvouses, sharp remarks that lacked any real malice, and moments that somehow meant nothing and everything. but what they were is irrelevant. because Poppy’s got a reputation and parental expectations, and AJ doesn’t fit into any of that.

so, they stand in the front yard of some frat house, a New Year’s party raging on inside, and fight. they shout and cuss and say things that don’t at all mean but that make this whole thing easier.

it’s with ten seconds of the year left that Poppy says, “i hate you,” and feels something break in her heart.

“i hate you, too,” AJ says as the countdown finally reaches zero.

there’s cheering from inside and then AJ leaves and now Poppy’s standing alone on the front lawn. she ignores the tears that fall down her cheeks and tries to tell herself that everything will be fine.

so, yes, that’s how they start: in the final ten seconds of the year with an i hate you that actually means something else entirely.

ii. Valentine’s Day.

she sees AJ sporadically throughout the day. and that irritates Poppy like nothing else ever has. figures it would be today of all days that she sees her everywhere.

first it’s at the crack of dawn as she walks home after a one night stand that she spots AJ on a jog. they’re on opposite sides of the street, but it’s empty so they see each other.

AJ stops in her tracks and looks right at Poppy, not exactly irritated but certainly not pleased. Poppy fixes her with a glare that says what are you looking at? AJ shrugs and starts up on her jog again, and Poppy huffs and continues on her walk home.

then they see each other on campus way too many times—in the café, on the quad, and in the library. and each time, Poppy’s glare is met with a shrug from AJ.

the last time she sees AJ it’s late. the sun has long since set and there’s a chill that’s set in for the night. she’s on her way home from dinner—some blind date Veronica had set up—when she spots AJ across the street, laughing and walking hand-in-hand with some girl who looks vaguely familiar.

Poppy watches them until she can’t see them anymore, and wonders if AJ saw her this time, too.

iii. spring break.

she goes to Miami for the week with Veronica and Chloe. her intention is to have a fun and carefree week where she doesn’t once think about AJ.

it’s two days into her trip when she finds herself scrolling through Instagram late one night. curiosity nibbles at her restraint until she’s typing AJ’s name into the search bar.

she finds AJ’s profile and the first picture she sees is some candid shot of AJ and that same girl from Valentine’s Day looking at each other with ridiculously cheesy smiles. Poppy switches her phone off and doesn’t dare touch it for the rest of the night.

Poppy goes to a party the next night and hooks up with a girl who looks a lot like AJ. Veronica and Chloe point this out a few days later, laughing over cocktails. Poppy scoffs and tells them that’s complete bullshit and tries to hide her blush by taking a long sip of her drink.

iv. summer break.

the academic year ends and Poppy sighs with relief as she collapses onto her bed. she’s got three months until her final year starts, and three months where she doesn’t have to see or think of AJ.

it goes well at first—the not thinking about AJ. she spends a lot of time shopping and partying and lounging by the pool of her parents’ beach house on Long Island. but there are only so many hours of the day where she can keep her mind busy. so it’s at night, when she’s in bed trying to fall asleep, that her mind wanders back to AJ.

the first time it happens, she groans and rolls onto her side, and tries to flush all thoughts of AJ from her mind. that works. but then it happens again and again, and before Poppy really knows it, it’s halfway through August and she’s thought of AJ every single night since the end of June.

she lays awake in bed and watches the fan on the ceiling spin in lazy circles. her brain summons a long and near forgotten memory of a night a lot like this. she closes her eyes and sinks into the warm embrace of the memory:

she was in bed with AJ. it was either late or early, Poppy can’t quite remember. she decides it probably doesn’t really matter. they were talking and laughing under the quiet blanket of night. and Poppy suddenly remembers how she’d reached for AJ’s hand and never wanted to let it go.

Poppy opens her eyes and glances to her side. the bed is empty beside her, the sheets untouched, and she can almost feel the ghost of AJ’s touch on her hand. she squeezes her eyes shut, trying not to cry, and realises she never did hate AJ. she was probably just scared.

v. Halloween.

there’s a party on campus—isn’t there always? a frat party with costumes and decorations and cheesy music that starts to sound alright after three or four drinks. Poppy slips in later in the night, when everyone’s teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk.

she moves through the throng of people towards the kitchen to pour herself a drink, and bumps into AJ for the first time this semester.

“hey,” AJ says, awkward and unsure, and Poppy silently regrets everything she’s put her through.

“hi,” Poppy says, smiling and really meaning it.

that seems to loosen AJ up a bit, and she returns the smile in kind.

“haven’t seen you in a while,” AJ says, leaning back against the counter and sipping her drink.

“been busy,” she lies even though that’s something she’s trying to stop.

and AJ seems to understand the lie for what it is. “you wanna go outside for a bit?”

Poppy only nods, afraid that if she speaks, she’ll ruin whatever’s happening right now. it’s quieter outside, the cheesy music and chatter nothing but a gentle murmur. they stand out on the front lawn of some frat house and Poppy gets a strange sense of déjà vu.

“i wish things had been different, y’know?” AJ says, her voice a gentle reassurance.

“me too,” Poppy says, and then: “i’m sorry that i said i hate you. because i don’t.”

a moment of silence passes, uncomfortable and almost tight like a rubber band pulled to its limit. because it looks like AJ’s about to say something important that’ll put them on a better path. but then the front door of the frat house flies open, and a few drunk students stumble out into the yard.

AJ offers Poppy a smile, almost sad and longing. “it was nice seeing you again.” and then she heads back inside.

vi. Thanksgiving.

Poppy doesn’t plan on visiting her parents this year. and besides, they’re going out of town for the holiday. so if she has to be alone, she’d rather it be in the sorority house than in some stuffy brownstone on the Upper West Side.

it’s late in the afternoon when Poppy gets a text from AJ. all it says is are you at the sorority? she stares at it for a moment, debates deleting it and carrying on with her day. but something tells her to respond, so she does.

she says that she is and waits for AJ’s response. she waits five minutes, then ten and nothing comes. Poppy scoffs and tosses her phone onto her bed. it’s not long later when she hears a knock on the front door. Poppy doesn’t think much of it, so she answers it without checking.

she finds AJ standing on the front stoop, grinning like she knows something Poppy doesn’t.

“what are you doing here?” Poppy says. “i thought you’d be on your way home by now.”

“i’m getting an early flight tomorrow.” then AJ holds up a plane ticket, grinning like this has been her plan all along. “and i was wondering if you’d want to come with me.”

“what?”

“come home with me. my parents always cook too much food, so really, you’d be doing them a favour.”

Poppy folds her arms over her chest and studies AJ for a moment. “don’t you want to take your girlfriend,” she says, and maybe she wants her words to hurt a little bit.

“we broke up over the summer,” AJ says, simple and easy.

“oh. sorry.”

“don’t be. it wasn’t working out and hadn’t been for a while.”

“are you trying to use pity to get me to come with you?” Poppy says, and she knows AJ wouldn’t, but it’s kinda fun to mess with her.

“no, of course not! i just wanted to be upfront with you. so, come home with me. please.”

Poppy plucks the ticket from AJ’s hand and says, “i’m only doing this for your parents.”

“of course.” AJ winks and grins. “i’ll see you bright and early at the airport tomorrow then.

the flight is uneventful, although Poppy decides AJ is much too cheerful for seven o’clock in the morning.

when they step inside AJ’s childhood home, Poppy’s immediately struck by just how warm and lived in it all feels. AJ’s mother tells her to mind the mess as she ushers them both inside, and AJ’s father greets them and says hugs’ll have to wait as he gestures to his dirty apron.

they all cram around a too small table in mismatched chairs that creak and rock back-and-forth. Poppy doesn’t care that she’s sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with AJ and one of her sisters. dinner is loud and fun, and AJ’s parents insist on sharing stories from AJ’s childhood. and as dinner winds down and dessert is served, Poppy reaches for AJ’s hand beneath the table and knows that she’ll never let go.

vii. Christmas.

it’s close to midnight on Christmas Eve when AJ appears on the front stoop of the Zeta house. she looks distraught and like she hasn’t had a good night sleep in days. so Poppy steps outside and asks, “what’s wrong?”

AJ looks at her, really looks at her, and Poppy feels something shift in that moment. and then AJ’s talking, words tumbling from her mouth, and it doesn’t look like she can stop herself. then she says i love you and everything goes still.

it takes a moment, but AJ seems to catch up to what she’s just said. her eyes go wide, and Poppy can see that she’s gearing up to apologies. but Poppy doesn’t let her. she surges forward and hug AJ tightly because oh god, i’ve missed her so much.

Poppy doesn’t say the words back, not yet anyway. but she holds onto AJ and tries to show her that she loves her, too.

viii. New Year’s Eve.

naturally, this is where they end. although end in a very loose sense of the word. because they will be something after tonight. something supportive and challenging, but most importantly something real.

they will be promises of forever, witty remarks that are just an i love you in disguise, and moments where the rest of the word falls away and it’s just the two of them together. what they will be terrifies Poppy. because she’s got a reputation and parental expectations, and AJ doesn’t fit into any of that... right?

maybe. but maybe it’s good that AJ doesn’t fit into that. maybe it’s good that AJ had upended everything she thought she knew. maybe that’s what makes what they will be so damn perfect.

so, they stand in the front yard of some frat house, a New Year’s party raging on inside, and finally admit what’s been there all along. they talk and tease and say things they mean with all their heart.

it’s with ten seconds of the year left that Poppy says, “i love you,” and feels that final piece of her heart heal.

“i love you, too,” AJ says as the countdown finally reaches zero.

there’s cheering from inside and then AJ steps closer to Poppy, smiling so bright and warm, and Poppy twists her arms around AJ’s neck and doesn’t once care that she’s probably smiling like an idiot in love.

so, yes, that’s how they end: in the final ten second of the year with an i love you that means exactly what it claims.

#my writing #poppy x mc #poppy min sinclair #queen b #playchoices #this story 100% ignores canon #it also combines a number of holiday related requests i've gotten but just didn't get around to writing #hope that's all good :)

[fific7]

That Swept-Back Hair

Billy Russo x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

AU Prompt: Friends with Benefits

Summary: How will Billy Russo react when his FWB finds another lover? Bearing in mind that he’s a complete hypocrite.

Warnings: Swearing, jealousy, fluff with mentions of sex.

A/N: Loosely based on S1 Billy, it’s non-canon & set in my imaginary Punisher universe.

(My GIF)

»»———————————————　⚜　———————-————————-««

Your phone was jumping like a jack-in-the-box on your bedside table, the blue light of the screen illuminating the wall behind it every few seconds.

You rolled over with a groan, taking a moment before picking it up and looking at it. Of course it was Billy Russo, who else would it be at 1 AM on a Saturday morning?

The guy next to you in the bed also rolled over, covering his mouth as he yawned, eyes half-open.

“Everything OK, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah, Raf, just a needy friend.... gonna call them back, so do you mind staying hush-hush for the next few minutes?”

He yawned massively again, speaking through it, “Ahhhhrrrrr...yeah... no problem...”

You hit the ‘Favourites’ star next to Billy’s name in your contacts, hearing it start ringing.

It went to voicemail so you hung up, slid the phone onto the table and threw your head back down onto your pillow. Fucking Russo. Blows up your phone with missed calls & “Pick up!!” texts then doesn’t answer when you call back.

It rang two seconds later, just as Raf had turned towards you, opening his mouth to no doubt ask you about your ‘needy friend’. You rolled your eyes and grabbed it, but the screen went dark just as you did so.

You hit redial, it rang out, went to voicemail. “Fuck!” you ground out between your teeth.

Your head had touched your pillow again for about 5 minutes, when there was a staccato series of knocks on your apartment door.

You shot up in bed, quivering - ah hell, it couldn’t be, could it? Really?

Raf had dozed back off in the meantime & didn’t even stir when the knocks rang out sharply in the quiet apartment. Not much of a guard dog, you thought, quickly throwing on your discarded PJs.

You padded barefoot over to the front door, confirming via the peephole that Billy Russo was indeed outside in the hallway, leaning on your doorframe so he could place one eye right to it. You spotted an eyebrow wiggle as you made eye contact. Oh holy hell!

You straightened your shoulders, took the chain off and unlocked the door, swinging it open.

“Billy!” you said quietly, with a small smile, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him for about three weeks. Not that that was anything new.

He moved gracefully past you like the panther he was, even though you’d been trying to subtly block him from coming in. He was dressed in one of his sharp suits, so you guessed he’d been at one of the never-ending stream of events he attended.

Your mouth drew into a line. Whoever he’d gone there with must have bucked the trend and bailed on him. Otherwise he wouldn’t have turned up at your place when, in his mind, the night was still young.

He turned towards you, placing both hands on your hips as he did so, pulling you up against his muscled chest.

“Now, Y/N, why do you think I’m here, holding my best girl in my arms?” the New York accented voice purred in your ear.

He leant in and kissed you hungrily, deepening the kiss immediately to a passionate one.

You pulled away, escaping his grasp. His eyes widened in surprise, a small frown making its way onto his brow. A few locks of his dark hair had fallen forward onto his brow and he swept them back up with his fingers, a reflexive gesture for him.

“I tried to call you back,” you mumbled, “I’ve... uh... got a friend staying with me at the moment.”

He shot his trademark smirk at you. “Hey, that’s OK. We can be quiet for once, yeah?” Grinning now.

In true romcom fashion, Raf picked that moment to come wandering into the lounge, clad only in his boxers, both hands ruffling through his short hair.

Billy’s mouth dropped open. He made a quick recovery, though. Gestured with a thumb.

“So... this your ‘friend’?”

He looked Raf up and down. He was a 6 feet 3 firefighter with the FDNY, and to put it mildly, he was ripped.

He topped Billy by a couple of inches, and by a few pounds. Billy scowled at him.

Raf eyed up Billy too, turning to you and asking, “This your ‘needy friend’ you were talkin’ ‘bout, Y/N?”

Oh crap.

Billy’s scowl turned to a furious glare, aimed right at you. “Needy?!! Ah, fuck this, Y/N! I think we all know who’s needy around here.”

Your mouth rounded into an offended O, but before you could reply, Billy was out the door and it slammed loudly behind him.

Great - now all your neighbours were gonna be mad at you too.

»»———————————————-　⚜　-———-———————————-««

You had then spent an uncomfortable half hour over a coffee with Raf, explaining the dynamics of your non-relationship with Billy.

“Now,” he’d said, brow furrowed, “let me get this straight. He’s part of your friend group, you see him every so often at a bar or at one of their places - but never his. He sees tons of other women but turns up here for booty calls whenever his busy schedule allows?”

He shook his head. “He’s using you, Y/N. What a selfish prick.”

You bristled, “Look, we go back quite a ways. Since he was in the Marines. I knew Frank first as we were neighbours when we were kids, and I eventually met Billy through him. He’s Frankie’s best friend, they’re Marine brothers.”

“And how long have you been ‘friends with benefits’?”

You muttered your response. “Sorry, what was that you said?” he asked.

“Three years,” you repeated reluctantly.

“Damn.” he said. “And what am I, exactly? Filler for whenever fuckboy isn’t calling?”

“No! Raf, you’re a really nice guy, and I love spending time with you.”

He stood up, heading to the bedroom. “Look, I’m gonna go. I need a few days to try and get my head round your fucked-up relationship with the suit-wearing Marine.”

He’d left shortly afterwards, saying he’d call. You weren’t sure that he would.

You met up with Karen for lunch later that day. You’d been co-workers first off, then had become good friends. She was currently dating Frank, your childhood friend.

You were so glad that he was back out socialising, in a small way, after losing his wife and kids in a brutal gang clash just over a year before. They and several others had been what the papers described, rather callously, as “collateral damage” while minding their own business in the public park the gun fight took place in.

Frank had understandably closed himself off to a large extent as he grieved and after a decent interval, you’d tried your best to draw him back out in a gentle way. You’d decided to indulge in a bit of Matchmaking Lite, and had invited Karen along to a night out with the rest of your friends. You knew Frank would be there and as you’d hoped, they hit it off right away.

You spilled what had happened the night before to her, grateful for a shoulder to cry on. She looked and sounded sympathetic, but you knew she wasn’t a big fan of your arrangement with Billy. She again voiced her astonishment that you still had it going on with him.

“Karen, without making you vomit by sharing too many details, Billy is just the absolute best in bed. He’s got the stamina of an ox. Several oxes, in fact.” You just knew your eyes had a faraway look in them.

Her mouth pursed in a ‘moux’ of distaste. “But still, Y/N, he’s just so damn selfish about it! It’s all on his terms.”

“You know he’s got commitment issues.”

She choked on her espresso martini. “Ya don’t say!!”

“It’s complicated.”

“Look, honey, I’m gonna be straight with you. It is anything but complicated. He spends 90% of his time at Anvil, 9.9% with other gals, and guess who gets the remaining measly 0.1%, the crumbs from his table?” She pointed her finger straight at you. “Coconut for the lady over there!”

You sat in silence for several minutes, turning over in your mind what Raf, and now Karen, had said to you. Eventually you nodded slowly. “You know what, Kar, you’re totally right. I just let the great sex blind me to all the rest of his fucking bullshit.”

Time to cut Billy loose.

Not that you ever had him tied down in the first place. If you were being brutally honest.

And you weren’t sure whether he’d even bother showing up at your place ever again.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next day being Sunday meant that some serious ‘Me Time’ was in order.

Sitting on the sofa, you stared off into space, thinking about the two men in your life. You huffed to yourself; you hadn’t heard from either of them so far, and that was probably for the best. You could do without being stuck in the middle of some kind of testosterone-fuelled conflict between the two of them.

Then you laughed out loud at yourself. Who were you kidding? You’d probably never see either of them again! You stood up, stretching out your shoulder and neck muscles. Time for a bit of self-pampering.

You had a long relaxing bath, gave yourself a leisurely mani-pedi, ordered in some pizza, and began to go through some layouts for work the next day.

You were a digital content editor at the newspaper both you & Karen worked for. It was okay as jobs went, but it didn’t set your world on fire. However, what did excite you was that the newspaper’s parent publishing house was about to launch a travel magazine, and you’d applied for a transfer.

What really made butterflies pop up into your stomach, though, was the fact that the magazine’s content editors would also be contributing instead of just collating. You’d already had an interview with the Editor in Chief, and should be hearing back within the next few days.

If someone else got that position you’d applied for, you’d just have to shove them out of your third floor office window at the very first opportunity.

While you were thinking of potentially becoming a murderer, there was a familiar pattern of raps at your door. Your heart sank straight through your boots.

You knew it was Billy before you opened the door. It sounded ridiculous but he had a certain way of knocking. Peremptory, demanding, with military precision.

He stood outside your door, tensed up and rigid, with a carefully blank look on his face.

“You alone?” he barked, by way of greeting.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Why, hello Billy. How are you? I’m fine, Y/N, how are you? Yeah, I’m great.”

He glared right back. “I asked if you were alone.”

“That’s highly unlikely, Billy, seeing as how I’m so needy!”

He huffed and marched inside straight to the sofa, sitting down and leaning his arms on his spread-apart thighs. He clasped his hands together, letting them dangle loosely between his knees.

“You said I was needy first.” Sulky face.

“Hey, are we back in school or something?”

He looked up at you, dark eyes staring into yours intensely. “Why d’you get with another guy, Y/N?”

Straight to the point, then. OK, you were going to return the favour.

“What, I’m not allowed to have a life? D’you think I’m going to just sit around, waiting to gratefully receive 5 minutes of your attention every few weeks? Like some kind of fucktoy, to be picked up and dropped at will? Seriously?”

He clenched his fingers until the joints went white. “I thought you were happy with the way things are between us!!?... our... our arrangement. You’re important to me. And you know I care about you!” Not meeting your eyes at this last comment.

“Huh!!!” You leant against your kitchen island, you weren’t going to get into Billy’s orbit. Too risky.

“So important that you spend all your time at work, while bedding half of Manhattan? Leaving me with the crumbs from your table, as someone put it recently.”

He shot up from the sofa, fury in his eyes. “Who fuckin’ said that?!”

You shrugged, “It’s not important. What is important is that our arrangement, as you call it, is over. Since you put it in such business-like terms, think of it as a contract which has been terminated.”

Billy stalked across the room until he was an inch away from you, eyes boring into yours. “No.”

You laughed in disbelief, eyebrows arching. “You think that just cos you say ‘No’ it’s not gonna happen? Because no-one ever says no to Billy Russo, is that it?”

He grabbed you, lips finding yours in a ferocious kiss. One hand crept up the nape of your neck, his fingers running through your hair, while the other hand pulled your hips to his. He had an impressive erection. You gasped as you felt the pressure of it against you, but pushed him away, escaping to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Just go, Billy. Please.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed, those dark pools of his looking suspiciously glossy. Was he...? No way.

Billy turned on his heel and slammed out of your apartment. Again.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy knocked his beer bottle off the table with his elbow, as he leant forward to drunkenly wave a finger in his friend’s face. Luckily, it fell onto the grassy verge below, rather than the decked patio they were sitting on in Frank’s back garden.

Frank grabbed his finger. “Russo!!! Chill out, man.”

“She tol’ me... t’go, Frankie, I was kissin’ her an’ she jus’ said Go!” slurred Billy. Frank squeezed his eyes shut at the whiny tone then looked back at him.

“Bill! We all warned you she wouldn’t put up with your bullshit forever. You should’ve known this was comin’ bud.”

“Bu’ I... I... love her,” he blurted, then stared at Frank, eyes wide, part horrified, part terrified.

“Got a strange way of showin’ it, Bill. Picking other women over her, until you decide it’s time to hook up. Surprised she’s stood for it so long!”

Billy swayed slightly in his garden chair, just staring back at him, nodding repetitively like a bobble head every so often.

“I gotta get her back, Frankie.”

“Whooo,” Frank huffed out a big breath, “well, ya always did like to choose the impossible missions, Russo.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were beginning to understand what having a stalker was like.

When you left work the following day, the first person you spotted on the sidewalk outside your office building was Billy Russo.

You hesitated, shocked, then nodded and said quietly, “Hi Billy,” before continuing your short walk to the subway.

He fell into step alongside you. “M’gonna show you just how much I care about you,” you heard, then he was gone. Just gone, into the crowd of commuters around you.

That was just the beginning. Every morning, one single rose of the palest pearly pink would be delivered to your office, laying in a swirl of black chiffon within a silver gift box.

Texts would drop into your phone at unexpected hours. “Please forgive me. Let me back into your life. I love you, Y/N.”

The first time you saw those words, you nearly dropped your phone. What the....?

Gourmet meals and bottles of rosé prosecco would be delivered to your door, precisely 30 minutes after you’d get home. Was he watching you or something? A little shiver ran up your spine. He was still a sniper, after all.

You would catch glimpses of Billy when you left the office, and outside your apartment. Without a shadow of a doubt, he meant you to see him, he would never be so visible on a real surveillance job. But he didn’t ever approach you.

Then you got your dream job. You, Karen and a bunch of your colleagues went to your regular bar after work for a quick celebration. There was a toast proposed to your new job at one point, and one of your male colleagues grabbed you in a friendly bear hug after they’d all shouted “Cheers!”

You were looking past his arm as he hugged you, and found yourself staring into Billy Russo’s dark eyes. Casually dressed, he was leaning on a high table near the door, a beer in front of him.

Billy lazily pushed back from his table, strode over to you, swiped you out of the guy’s arms, wrapped his own arms round you and planted a kiss on your temple, with a nonchalant, “Hi, sweetheart.”

Karen, who had heard all about your last encounter with Billy, looked thunderstruck. You’d be getting interrogated later, that was for sure.

He, meanwhile, landed another kiss right next to your lips and said, “See you later at home,” giving you a quick squeeze before walking off.

Your female colleagues meanwhile were swooning over Billy, one of them commenting that she wasn’t surprised you’d kept so damn quiet about your hot boyfriend. You gave Karen a meaningful look and just smiled back at them all, neither confirming nor denying anything.

However the feeling of Billy’s body against yours, the delicious smell of him, his lips on your skin, had set your heart racing at a dangerous speed. You really did try to push those thoughts aside.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Flopping down onto your sofa when you got home, you laid your head back on it and thought about that evening. As expected, Karen had questioned you ruthlessly as you left the bar together, like the perceptive investigative reporter she was.

Talking as you walked to the subway, you’d given her every detail of all the deliveries, glimpses of him and texts you’d received in the last few days. Karen had stopped walking, looking at you in surprise. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell me about all of this before now? Hell, Frank told me he had some crazy plan to win you back, but I never really thought...” her voice trailed off.

“Is it working?” she asked next. “Mmmm, yes and no, to be honest,” you said. “Don’t let it!” she said firmly, “This is what he should have been doing all along, instead of treating you like a total afterthought.”

You nodded, “Can’t argue with ya on that,” you agreed. “Is he going to turn up at your place, d’you think?” she asked. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” you laughed, “I think that was Billy giving me a heads-up.”

So as you’d been 90% expecting, the familiar knock at the door came about 15 minutes after you’d got back. You got up and after checking the peephole, sighed and opened it. “Hi, Billy.”

This was like déjà vu. Billy brushed past you and sat himself down on the sofa, in the same pose as the last time. Head down, hair falling forward and hiding his eyes from you. This time, you bit the bullet and sat at the opposite end, leaning against the armrest so you were facing him.

“Well, Billy.... leaving aside the stalkerish overtones, I guess I should thank you for the roses, gourmet meals and prosecco.”

He swung his head towards you, eyes wide. “They were just to get your attention. Frankie told me it’s what I shoulda been doin’ anyway, all along.”

You nodded, “Yeah, he’s not wrong.”

Billy heaved out a big sigh, head dropping. “I know I’ve been a complete shit to you, Y/N. Took you for granted.” He met your eyes again, “Truth is, I was fallin’ in love with you, and I really didn’t know how to handle it. I thought it was... just sex to you, so I... I was a coward and tried to ignore it, and acted like I didn’t give a shit about you. I just couldn’t have you kick me to the curb if I told you how I felt.”

You were genuinely shocked - Billy had never talked about his feelings before. You’d accepted this in the past, telling yourself it was due to his upbringing in the system.

“So you meant what you said in your daily texts, then?”

He nodded, still looking straight at you, “Yeah...I meant it, I do love you, Y/N.” Then he quickly looked down again.

Before you could stop yourself, you’d leant along the sofa and your fingers were pushing that silky hair off his forehead. He looked up at you, taking hold of your wrist and kissing your pulse point softly. You stood up, saying “C’mere, you,” and took hold of his hand, pulling him up along with you.

He put his arms round you, burying his face into your hair and just holding you. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled. You laughed, “What?! Even though you hadn’t seen me for weeks before the night you landed on my doorstep?!”

“I know, I know, you don’t need to remind me I’ve been a complete prick. I’ll be honest, I think it took me seein’ you with that guy, and him actin’ like you were his, to give me that kick up the ass I needed.” The dark eyes looked down at you, and he sniffed, “He still around?” You shook your head.

“Nah. I think he thought I was completely insane for still being with you.”

Billy laughed, “Maybe he’s right....” he looked at you, serious again. “You willin’ to give me another chance, Y/N? I promise you I’ll do it right this time. The whole dating thing, asking you to be my girlfriend after three dates, all that stuff... everything.”

“Everything? Like, what if I say no sex to start with? And no running off to other women to scratch that itch? You’ll swear to all that? Really?!”

“I swear to you, on my Ka-Bar.”

“Wow,” you said, knowing that the knife was never out of Billy’s possession. It was an integral part of him. Maybe he was serious after all.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A small kiss on your cheek woke you the next morning. Those eyes, those dark liquid pools, stared into yours, while a thumb ran over your cheek. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” smiling down at you. Reaching up, you ran your fingers into his hair, moving it off his forehead. “Morning, sweetheart,” you echoed, smiling back.

You and Billy had shared a bed but nothing else, except hugs and hand-holding. You were in your PJ’s - well, camisole top with matching shorts - and all Billy had on were his boxer briefs. You couldn’t deny you’d had thoughts of just leaping on him during the night... let’s face it, he was one hot dude. And he knew how to ‘look after’ a woman in bed, as he himself put it.

But no, you were determined he was gonna have to work for it, just like he promised he would. So you’d had to show some self-discipline, well, a lot of it, actually. He’d passed the first test - he’d actually stayed all night. Usually he was gone before the morning light stole through the curtains.

Now, he kissed your bare shoulder and leapt out of bed, like he was back in the Marines. He stood still for a moment, sideways next to the bed, having a leisurely full body stretch. Billy knew full well you’d be totally enjoying the view. A little tease from him to remind you what you were missing.

The sunlight, which stole through a small gap between your curtains in the otherwise dim room, picked out the sculpted muscles on his back & torso. Then he turned slightly more, ensuring you wouldn’t miss seeing the hard-on he was currently sporting. You shook your head, with a slight smile on your lips. The cocky big bastard.

“Where you off to, Billy?” you asked, thinking to yourself, if he’s headed to Anvil, he can fucking shove his second cha......

“I’m gonna make my beautiful almost-girlfriend a cup of good Italian coffee.”

You smiled at his departing back as he disappeared out of the bedroom. “Oh, Billy?”

His voice drifted back through from the kitchen, “Yeah, darlin’?”

“Can I please get some toast with that, too?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

You stretched luxuriously, nestling your head into your pillows.

Looked like you were going to find out what having a panther on a leash was like.

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo fanfic #billy russo imagine #billy russo x reader #billy russo fanfiction #that swept back hair

[passivenovember]

Walking Home (v)., the  Tourniquet

For you @thursday-knight. Lysm

They’re going to let Billy out of that horrible, gray padded room on Tuesday, which Steve snorts at over the phone. 

“What, you think that’s fuckin’ funny or something?”

“No, It’s just.” It’s kind of funny. Steve wraps the phone chord around his hand. Nice and tight, like a tourniquet. “Tuesday’s weird.”

“Tuesday’s...weird?”

“Yeah.”

Steve can hear something, like. The clack of a pen. It’s a common nervous tick, a way to cope, but. Steve’s never seen any one hold a bic the way Billy does. 

Barrel in his palm. Clicking the register with his pointer finger, like. He’s pressing Reagan’s Big Red Button. The one to blow up the world.

“What’s so weird about a Tuesday release, man?”

“Ruining the start of a week by spending it in the hospital and then having to use the rest of it adjusting to life outside?”  Steve shrugs, remembering that Billy can’t see him. “They could at least give you a Friday. Then you’d have the weekend, right?”

Billy’s grin is somehow manifested in the honey drip of his voice. “Been locked up for six months, Harrington, what’s two more days?”

And that could be true.

Steve doesn’t feel like so much time has passed. The rise and fall of the moon, the turn of the seasons, the way Billy has to wear fuzzy socks with those little grips on them to stay warm in beige corridors, have been lost on Steve. 

Tainted. Wrapped in paper the exact shade of survival. Surgeries and afternoons carpooling the kids to Hawkins general, paying Barry Mildred to do Billy’s algebra homework for him, and. 

Convincing everyone.

Himself, too.

That Billy would be alright. Steve had to do everything he could to get Billy ready for the world, or.

The world ready for him.

“Has it really been that long?” Steve wonders.

And Billy laughs. “Maybe not for you, King Steve. Some of us had to spend the whole of it in one room.” It doesn’t sound as painful as it usually does.

Steve just nods again. To himself.

He remembers the leaves changing around the time Billy learned to walk again. Halloween. Bringing left-over contraband to spoil Billy’s strict diet of organic bullshit while his body healed itself. Amber leaves complimenting blue eyes as they made unsteady laps around the courtyard together. 

Steve holding his arm out time and time again, and. Billy taking it. 

Christmas. Snowball fights with the kids, crystals on long blonde eyelashes while that stubborn mouth fought to return every smile Max threw his way. Those very same lashes, wet with tears, when Billy opened a vintage copy of Cider House Rules, on Christmas Eve. 

All, you really shouldn’t be spending the holiday in a psych ward, Harrington.

But they held hands for the first time that night. Steve said, where else would I want to be?

And Billy, just. Took what he could get--nothing more.

Steve remembers a lot of things. Happiness. Rocky, at first, unearned, a slide into friendship which turned into peachy cheeks that rivaled the setting sun.

Summer, Fall, Winter, and.

February.

Steve must have missed it. All of it, while he was busy being grateful that Billy was alive. 

He checks the calendar.

“You’ll be out in time for Valentines,” He says. Because that’s important, somehow. “Got any big plans?”

“Oh, for sure.” Billy clicks his pen. One-two-three. “Got a girl waiting for me on the outside, thought we could catch a movie.”

Steve knows. 

He knows it isn’t true, that Billy’s just yanking his ridiculously short chain, but. Steve’s heart beats in time with the click of a pen. Advancing and overtaking the tempo to orchestrate a symphony of worry.

Of fear.

It used to taste like copper. Black slime and dirty snow, but now it tastes like mashed potatoes served on a hospital lunch tray. Contraband sweets. Change and forced endings and--

Steve chokes on something. A laugh that falls wrong halfway through, like a sob colored to fit summer days. “What are you doing after?”

The clacking stops. “Just fucking with you, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Was a joke, I’m not.” Billy clears his throat. “Everyone who matters came to see me while I was here.” 

Steve just nods. Frantically, because he hears words that aren’t there. Meaning that couldn’t possibly color his life in broad strokes. He thinks about what Billy’s saying, what he really means. 

Everyone who matters.

“Where are you staying? Like, when you get out,.” Steve mutters. The chord is wrapped around his hand again. He leans against the wall, wincing as the pins from his bulletin board pinch his shoulder blades. “You got a place to crash?”

Billy doesn’t say anything. 

Steve clears his throat. “You aren’t going back, right? You’re not going. Home?”

“To Neil’s?” 

And Steve gets the distinction. Feels it settle like an axe between his first three ribs. “Yeah.”

Billy sighs. “No, fuck that. Figured I’d ask around. See if there are any beds open at RCA.” Recovery Centers of America, that’s. 

“That’s in Indianapolis.”

“Yeah,” Billy says flatly. Steve thinks, distantly, that he sounds almost. Annoyed. “Owens says there’s a car. It’ll take me wherever I want, long as I stay in State.”

“You want to go away?”

“Sure,” Billy says bluntly. “Wouldn’t hurt to leave this place behind, you know. Maybe go somewhere new--”

“Stay with me.”

Steve’s heart is beating in his eyeballs.

The world falls silent. Only for a moment, for as long as it takes for Billy to drop something on the ground and then swear under his breath. His voice shakes, like strands in the wind. “What?”

“At my apartment,” Steve clarifies. He untangles the phone chord which has somehow worked its way to his elbow. “It’s small and shitty, and the couch only has three legs, but.”

Steve closes his eyes and hopes against hope, praying to every god who has ever existed since the beginning of time and everyone who will come after, that Billy can hear every meaning, every hidden word.

“You could.” Steve says softly. “If you wanted to.”

The clacking starts up again, slow and measured. Steve can hear Billy’s breath. The ragged intake of air that sounds painful, like a boy clinging to life in smoke filled memories. Holding on to his hand, saying, I don’t want to die, Steve, please.

It plants Steve’s feet in an ambulance. It tips the string of a tourniquet, bloody and wet with slime in his hands. It makes him remember. 

Pull it tighter, kid, come on.

And.

He’s losing a lot of blood.

And.

Steve, we’re losing him. 

And.

Kid, step away from the body.

Billy clears his throat. “You mean it?” He asks, and.

Steve lets go of a breath. “Of course I do.”

“You’ll get tired of me.” Billy’s voice, it sounds like shattering windows. Steve doesn’t say anything. Can’t respond, because. Nothing in life is more impossible. 

The world falls silent.

Only for a moment, as long as it takes for Steve to close his eyes. “I can’t watch you get in that car and walk away, Billy.”

It’s nothing. Only a part of how he feels. Only a drop of what he wants, but. It sets things in motion again. 

Billy clears his throat. “Alright,” He says. “Give me the address.”

--

Steve wants it to be something other than what it is.

He buys new sheets. Fern green satin, five-hundred thread count and worth a third of what he has in savings. 

They aren’t what he’d usually go for, color or texture, but. The lady at the department store says muted colors are good for preventing overstimulation after trauma and satin is gentle on the skin. Warm, too, which is always a good thing.

Billy says it feels like winter, now. All, I’m a goddamn human snow globe.

Buying sheets on Valentines, it.

Makes Steve hope that this is something else. 

That Billy will insist on putting his new sheets on Steve’s bed instead of the couch in the living room. That they’ll sleep together here, just how they always did in Billy’s hospital bed. 

Chest to chest. 

Billy’s head tucked under Steve’s chin, but.

Mostly Steve being eaten alive by the guilt.

For feeling like this is the start of their lives. That everything before now--living with his parents, fighting monsters, feeling useless in every sense of the word...

All of it was a dream. 

Preparation for the day he would open the front door and find Billy there, waiting.

Steve takes the sheets back to his apartment. He makes up the living room, rearranging the furniture so Billy can have his own space. The couch as a bed and the coffee table as a book shelf.

Billy has a lot of books.

More than anyone Steve’s ever met, more than Robin and Nancy Wheeler combined and Steve doesn’t own any books himself, or. A place to put them. His apartment is the size of a shoebox.

He’ll get rid of the stuff he doesn’t use anymore. 

He’ll make room. 

In his apartment, in his miniscule life, so that Billy has something of his own. 

And maybe after they’re settled in and the bills are paid for the month, Steve will pick up extra shifts at the video store until he can afford buy one. 

A nice, big oak bookshelf for Billy to house his favorites. 

--

He locks himself in the bathroom an hour after moving in.

Which, you know. Throws the evening for a loop. 

He seems happy when Steve opens the front door, dropping his box of books by the shoe rack and toeing his boots off with a grin. 

His body is loose, and. Open, Like he’s comfortable. Billy pokes around the apartment, making fun of the weird shit hanging up on the walls while Steve cooks dinner.

“You gotta get some real art in here, man.” Billy says. It sounds like he’s by the record player, digging through the stack of vinyl's Steve keeps in a shoe box by the T.V. “And some real music, holy shit. How have you been living like this?”

“I’ve been living just fine, fuck you very much.” 

“You have three copies of Waterloo,” Billy snorts. As if that proves something.

He’s crouched by the mosaic of finger paintings left by Holly Wheeler, studying a particularly abstract piece when Steve hands him a glass of sparkling cider.

“Everyone’s gotta have their backup copies of Waterloo, you know, extra in case you gotta dole them out to strangers.” Steve clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Billy swishes the drink around with a lift of his eyebrow. “You trying to get in my pants, Harrington?”

“It’s not alcohol.”

“Why is it bubbly?” Billy accuses, lifting the glass to sniff at it suspiciously. His nose wrinkles, like a bunny rabbit. 

Steve laughs. “It’s sparkling cider. Cherry flavored.”

“Cherry?” Billy snorts, his cheeks glowing pink like little love hearts. “That’s definitely a sex flavor.” 

“It’s a celebration flavor, you dick.” Steve chuckles again. He files through the records he does have, selecting one he thinks Billy can tolerate. “What do you think of Rumours?”

Billy’s wandered to the kitchen. “Hate the activity, dig the album.” He calls.

The sound of cabinets opening and slamming shut echo through the space while Steve figures out the settings for this vinyl, fiddling with the tiny knobs until Songbird filters through at a pace that seems right.

“Ice is in the freezer,” Steve announces, and.

Billy rounds the corner with a bag of chips, happy little smirk on his face. Steve frowns.

“I’m fixing dinner--”

“I haven’t had Doritos in almost a year, Harrington.” Billy says roughly. He rips open the bag, collapsing next to Steve on the floor by the music stand. Billy takes one and licks the cheese dust off the chip, holding the bag out, like. “Want one?”

Steve face hurts from smiling so much. “Nah, I’m good.”

Billy leans back against the wall, rolling his eyes. “What, don’t eat carbs after four p.m. or something?”

And Steve filters through a million answers, all of which make it sound like he’s trying to get laid, so. He settles in next to Billy, letting his eyes fall closed with the sway of the music.

“No, just. Don’t wanna ruin my dinner.”

Billy snorts, bag crinkling loudly as he dives in for another handful. “I could eat twelve bags of this shit and still go ape on whatever rich boy thing you whipped up.” Billy asses him, head cocked to the side. “Bet the cheese makes you fart.” He concludes.

Steve blinks at him. “You’re disgusting--”

“Processed cheese makes everyone shit their pants, man, that’s like.” Billy wipes his hands on Steve’s leg. “Common knowledge.”

Steve makes a noise like a runover chicken, wiping frantically at the trousers he bought at the Goodwill, just for tonight. 

He wets his fingers with spit, wincing and scrubbing at the bright line of orange nacho cheese that stains his corduroy flares. 

The shape of Billy’s fingers is unmistakable. “I’m starting to regret asking you to move in.”

“Thought I was just crashing here until--”

“Now that you’re here I’m no letting you leave,” Steve smiles at him, the weight of it softening when Billy’s cheeks glow pink again. He knocks their shoulders together. “You’re stuck with me.”

Billy falls silent after that.

Shoveling in handful after handful of Doritos and crunching so loudly that Steve can’t get wrapped up in the bass line on the Chain. 

“Dude, you gotta chew so loud?” Steve asks, shoving Billy’s hand away when he reaches to smear nacho dust down the length of Steve’s neck. “My god, you’re a menace.”

“You love it,” Billy giggles, and.

They stare at each other for a moment. Sort of watching the brush of eyelashes against cheekbones while the music plays. 

A backdrop to the start of something Steve doesn’t have a name for.

--

Night falls and Billy doesn’t come out of the bathroom.

The food has been stored, the dishes put away, but the light which escapes like neon strips of gold to kiss the mouth of the hall carpet never flicks off. Never giving way to rest.

Steve thinks about waiting for him. 

He thinks about going to bed, jiggling the handle to make sure Billy’s okay, breaking the door down when two hours turns to three but that seems intrusive. 

If Billy wanted company he would ask. And if he wanted to come out he would, right?

Steve feels like an idiot. 

Pacing back and forth between the living room and the hallway, trying not to make it obvious that he’s right in the thick of gut-wrenching worry. Violent, intrusive images of brain splattered tile fill his mind. 

Billy could be hurt, or. Asleep in the bathtub. Maybe he slipped out the bathroom window while Steve was turning down the couch for him, making the space comfortable.

Maybe he was never here to begin with. Maybe Steve dreamt him up.

Steve paces back and forth, back and forth, wrestling with the urge to call Dr. Owens and ask what he should do, until the clock above the stove reads 11:34 pm and he has no choice but to call it a night.

His knuckles sound like a machine gun when he taps on the door. 

From behind the oak barrier, Billy makes a noise like he was startled out of sleep. Steve can hear him moving around, when he asks, “You okay? Been in there for a few hours.”

Billy opens the door.

His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks a little flushed, like.

“Have you been crying?” Steve doesn’t want him to cry. Tears and hallow feelings, they have no place in the stretch of nightfall that Steve has built for them. 

He feels himself reaching for Billy on impulse, trying to pull their bodies together, but Billy steps back. 

Away. 

To make room for Steve in the bathroom or to make a run for it, Steve isn’t sure. He knots his fingers together for safe keeping. 

“Of course not, don’t be fucking.” Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle, like. A loaf of bread that has been in the oven for far too long. His eyes are glassy when he looks up, and.

Distant.

Steve feels like an asshole. He leans against the door jam. “I can call Dr. Owens, if you want.” 

Billy stares at him. “Why would I want that?”

“You just seem--”

“I seem like what, Steve?” Billy spits. “You gonna psychoanalyze me too, huh?”

Steve grits his teeth against the urge to. Fight back. “It’s just when I started getting the couch ready, you seemed.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. “Nervous? Afraid, maybe, just a little. Which is alright. It can be scary sleeping alone in a new place, and--”

“I’m not five years old, Harrington, I can handle a sleepover at my friends house.” Billy snarls. He pushes against Steve’s chest until there are rivers between them. Mountains and oceans.

It’s the first time since Starcourt that Billy seems.

Like himself.

The old self, the one that used his fists to keep wandering eyes from getting too close. Figuring him out. If Steve were a younger man he’d fall for it, hook and line, but. 

He knows better.

Six months and a lifetime with Billy Hargrove have taught him a thing or two. He nods, stepping back down the hallway. 

Billy’s eyes track him. Wide and nervous and so, so blue. 

“‘M going to sleep, dude.”  Steve waves a thumb over his shoulder, taking a deep, needed breath. He calls over his shoulder to give Billy some space. “Come to bed when you’re ready. I’ll leave the light on.”

Billy’s footsteps don’t pass his bedroom door until Steve is settled under the covers.

--

He’s starting to think Billy won’t show.

The t.v. is on in the living room, tinny sounds of Yogi Bear filtering through the wall and Steve wonders if he made a mistake in assuming, that.

Look.

Just because they slept together, like, actually slept together  while Billy was in the hospital doesn’t mean anything. 

Maybe Billy is just scraping the bottom of his energy reserves. Maybe he’s getting to the end of the rope when it comes to his friendship with Steve, and didn’t want to move in but had to.

For lack of better options, and like. 

Income and shit--

“Scoot over.” Billy says.

Steve jumps, poking his head out from under the covers to glare wildly at him. “When did you--”

“Move over.” Billy insists, eyes burning like flame in the darkness.

Steve does, all, “Jesus Christ, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” But there are butterflies in his tummy. Gently flapping wings that turn into stinging wasps when Billy manhandles his way into the bed, yanking one of the extra pillows out from under Steve’s legs to punch into shape on his side of the bed.

Steve squawks. “I was using that.”

“It was under your knee caps, dork.” Billy mutters, bullying his way into Steve’s space like he did so many times on warm summer nights at Hawkins General, stiff as a board on his government issued mattress.

Steve’s bed isn’t anything like that, it’s like. A marshmallow. Swallowing the two of them whole when Billy presses his face into the length of Steve’s neck, legs coming up to pin him in place.

“I got weak ankles.” Steve pouts. 

Billy doesn’t say anything as he goes limp and heavy on top of his human pillow. Steve instantly feels like he’s over heating; the guy’s a fucking furnace, but.

Billy’s eyelashes are tickling his collar bones.

His breath fans out over Steve’s skin, like cool breezes on summer nights, and. When he starts crying Steve is there.

Like always, Steve sings him to sleep.

#harringrove #valentines day #billy Hargrove #Steve Harrington #please enjoy my trash

[mrwinterr]

Happy

Pairing: Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader

Summary: You meet your favorite artist and get more than what you bargained for. 

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual and protected sex, oral [male and female receiving], vaginal fingering, belly bulge, light degradation) dirty talk/language and recording. Mentions of drugs and alcohol and a tiny bit of angst.

Disclaimer: I don’t smoke regularly, so anything that has to do with drugs mentioned are techniques I’ve outweighed based on what I’ve been taught by different people. I don’t know which method works best nor am I encouraging the activity. It just came with this fic’s territory. It’s not that deep. You do you, boo. 

Title Inspiration: “Happy” by The Maine 

A/N: I might or might not have based some of this on true events. All I can say is, life is short, shoot your shot! Enjoy! 

A/N #2: There’s a Part 2 now!

“You owe me.” Your friend next to you said for probably the third time this hour. You learned earlier in the day to tune her out. She had been saying that since you persuaded her to accompany you on the weekend long road trip to the neighboring state just so you could see your favorite band…again.

Growing up your parents thought this was just another phase, but as your teenaged years passed on by and you’re now well into adulthood, you’re still a bigger stan for The Avengers as ever.

The Avengers consisted of three members: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Everyone had their take on each of the guys, Steve was the nice one, Sam was the goofy one and Bucky was the bad one. It was silly. They weren’t *NSYNC or The Backstreet Boys, but the fangirls will be fangirls.

Their music wasn’t exactly mainstream, but they did very well within in their genre’s scene. They graced the covers of a couple of magazines, garnered thousands, close to millions, of views and streams online, were featured on TV every now and then, toured around the globe, sold a bunch of records, even independently, but despite all that notoriety, they stayed true to their sound and that’s what kept you around as a fan.

That and the band’s front man Bucky Barnes. 

He was hot – plain and simple. Ok, maybe he was just that to most, including your friend who couldn’t deny it, but you didn’t want to objectify the man. What their music had done to get you through the years, they were more than that. There was a level of respect there. You also didn’t buy into the “bad boy” gimmick the fans have dubbed for him. They were human beings just like the rest of us. Imagine being called something like that by the public? They just so happened to be fortunate enough to share their talent to the rest of the world.  

“You’ve already seen them. I don’t know why you think you need to for what a tenth time?” She clearly wasn’t amused by your infatuation with the band, but she was still your friend and she would always be by your side through thick and thin even if she didn’t have the same taste in music as you. You loved her for that. Who else would stand for hours in a dark room full of loud, sweaty, smelly, rude even, and sometimes drunk people with no self-control for you? She really was the real MVP.

And she was right though. You’ve already seen The Avengers perform. It was probably more, but you’ve lost count. Whenever they’re in your city or two to four hours in the next one over, you loved this band alright!

You both were polar opposites standing next to each other in line waiting for the venue doors to open. She was calm and still, arms crossed with an unamused look on her face – she could almost play as the “mom that tagged along and didn’t want to be there” – but you knew she wasn’t really mad. There was a bar inside she could occupy herself at. You on the other hand were trying to contain your excitement. You tried your best to not fidget around in anticipation so much. You didn’t want to sweat off your makeup that you managed to apply on point or get an embarrassing stain on your clothes.  

“It doesn’t matter,” was always the response you gave her, “their music means everything to me. I’ll always come out to support them.”

She playfully rolled her eyes and scoffed a bit at that. She wasn’t trying to knock you down. She knew you deeply liked the band, but she also knew another side of you, and she liked to pick at it. “Yeah that and you’re into Bucky,” she said and just flat out poked at the side of your breasts. The bra that you chose to purposely wear tonight gave your boobs an extra push and it didn’t go unnoticed by her. They were out there, tastefully, since you were hardly the flashy type. 

“Okay, but who isn’t?” You flare back swatting her hand away and trying to shut her down. You didn’t need to have this conversation with her while other fans were around. You didn’t want to sound like a fangirl. You weren’t 13 anymore.

“Chill.” She said raising her hands up in surrender. She wasn’t going to fight you on this one again.

When the top of the hour hit, the roar of the crowd signaled the doors had opened. Once inside, you hit the line to the bathroom considering you’d been outside for a few hours. You didn’t just have to pee, but you needed to freshen up. Your cheeks were a bit flushed from standing in the heat. You dabbed lightly at your face with a small blotting sheet, sprayed a bit of body spray and finished putting every hair back into place before finding your friend, who was already at the bar.

You sported a 21 and up paper wristband that was handed at the entrance, however you weren’t planning on drinking. Usually you had one or two drinks at most, but you were assuming you would be the designated driver tonight. You just always flashed your ID to the bouncer for the wristband to emphasize that you were of age. Unfortunately, some bands have had a bad reputation of fooling around with underaged girls, who lied about it.

She held up her drink to you with a smile on her face. Yeah, you were going to be the one driving back to the hotel, but at least she’s happy. She tried to coax you into ordering a drink of your own, but you only shook your head at her nonsense and stood away from the crowd.

As an avid concert goer, you’ve been to enough shows that you’d been in every section of the crowd. Hell, you’ve even gone crowd surfing before! Plus, you couldn’t hang with those vicious and hormonal fans in the crowd anymore, so you learned to enjoy the show from the back with a full view.

The opening bands were decent. You’d never heard of them, one was probably local, but you always believed live music was just as good, if not, better than opposed to being recorded and remastered at a studio. 

During their sets, you caved and bought a drink from the bar, hoping it’d help to pass the time before the headliners came on. Your friend was seemingly on her phone when a random guy approached you asking if he could buy you a drink. The house lights were on. Did he not see the can of beer in your hands? You politely declined his offer and further advances until he gave up and walked away.  

“Girl. He was cute!” Your friend said shoving you lightly.

“I wasn’t interested,” you shrug and taking a swig of your drink. 

“You’re not being fair,” she started and seeing that you weren’t catching on continued, “you can’t wait around hoping that one day Bucky will notice you. Honey, he came here to play a show and make money not look for a girlfriend.” Okay, maybe that was a bit harsh, bursting your bubble like that and all, but her intentions were good. Bucky Barnes just set the standards too high.

She wasn’t wrong. Guys like Bucky meet new people every day, met girls probably way prettier than you. The majority of their fans were female because let’s face it, the guys had sex appeal and you know what they say…sex sells.

Looking around the venue, you took in the kinds of girls you were going up against. There was a mixture of women of different backgrounds and sizes decked out in different styles, but the ones who won most of the time were the ones that looked good dressed in risqué clothing and heels. Some of them probably even wore less make-up than you or none at all. You couldn’t understand how it was effortless for some people.

It wasn’t that you had low self-esteem. You had your fair share of internal struggle, so sometimes your insecurity played its part. You had your good days and you had your bad days.

You decided upon wearing something simple that you would be comfortable in while still serving a look. And the only other significant thing you did to your make-up was add in a little more shimmer. Yeah you wanted to impress, not sell your soul to the devil.

“Okay, but I just really wasn’t interested,” you said again hoping she’d understand. She did, aware you wrestled with that demon in your head always taunting and ridiculing you that you could look better when you’re perfect just the way you are. With an added bonus of telling you that Bucky was missing out if he hasn’t noticed you already, she ordered another drink in time before the lights dimmed and ear-piercing screams erupted to alert that The Avengers finally took the stage to headline the show.

Like each of the shows you’d previously attended, they were amazing. They poured their hearts out with each beat and belt. Every lyric resonated with you so deeply. There was just so much raw emotion packed into their performance. The beauty of concerts was that they were designed to let you forget about all the bullshit happening in the world for a few hours. They were therapeutic for you.  

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d say your friend secretly liked The Avengers’ music because she broke you out of your shell and had you swaying along with her to their songs…that or it was the alcohol taking over her. You didn’t fight it and you allowed yourself to let loose.

You tried to give each member equal attention, watching them as they played, but you couldn’t help but keep your eyes on Bucky the most. They were just trained on him. His cheeky smile and onstage presence were electric. The mere sight of him, all sweaty as his clothes stuck to his skin accentuating his toned body so well, all but had you shuffling trying to ease your body’s frustration and mind.

The only time you looked away was when you swore you thought he looked at you. Making eye contact with someone on stage was kind of awkward sometimes, but with him it was almost intimidating. Believing he was probably staring at the girl behind you, you downed the rest of your drink, pushed that thought away and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.

A full set of songs that showcased their albums and a two-song encore later, you were driving yourself and your buzzed friend back to your hotel room. It wasn’t that far from the venue, electing to stay within its vicinity. Upon entering the room, you tossed the shirt you bought at the merch booth on your bed before removing your leather jacket while she face-planted down on her bed, arms wide open, letting out an exaggerated sigh of relief. You couldn’t blame her. It felt great to rest right after standing on your feet for hours.

Your back rested against the headboard, you knocked your boots and socks off a while ago and had your bare feet up on your bed. You hadn’t changed out of the rest of your clothes or even wiped off your make-up yet. Instead, you sat there skimming through the timelines of your social media accounts while you waited for your friend to get out of the shower.

You had posted a few photos and videos of the night to your story, like your outfit, a few of you and your friend sightseeing, and of The Avengers’ set. You refreshed your timeline and noticed Bucky’s account pop up before everyone else that you followed. It’s no surprise that you were following them on social media. You liked seeing them share the personal moments of their lives. They used to be interactive with their fans. Bucky had even once commented on the old photo you had with the band years ago.   

You met them after a show when they were just starting out with their first full-length album debuting that summer. Now, they hardly came out because all it took was one crazed fan to ruin it for everyone else. Their popularity sometimes deemed it unsafe for venues to let them stick around so late, restricting them from meeting their fans.

You click on Bucky’s account and go through his story. There was one of a view of the open road from their tour bus, a clip of a song he liked, a cryptic quote with a deep underlying meaning to it, him getting ready to go on stage and then of the show.

He had taken a photo of the crowd towards the end of the set, asked fans to tag themselves if they could, because the crowd was amazing…as if they didn’t say that in every town they played in.

His caption read: “Awesome crowd tonight! Probably our best show yet!” topped with how much he loved the city. Sometimes you wanted to reply to his posts like he was one of your friends, but then you second guessed yourself knowing he’d never see the message, or he would and just ignore it because he was busy. You knew it was a long shot, but what did you have to lose and what is it that they said these days? Shoot your shot.

You didn’t linger on the body of the message for too long, settling with a “Great show tonight! You guys were amazing as always! :)” hitting send and closing out the app thinking it would conceal any embarrassment that might come out of it. It was a ridiculous thought.

After surfing through the channels of the TV and picking at the food you had delivered to your room, your phone pinged. You saw that it was a notification from your social media account, but once your face unlocked the phone and the subject appeared, you nearly choked on the drink you were sipping on.

Bucky Barnes sent you a message.

Your heart pathetically started beating really fast. The phone almost slipped from your hands as you opened up the toxic app again to read what he said. He probably just sent you an emoji or something.

“Thanks for coming out.”

That was it. Okay, what did you except? A proposal. That was a fair response. He probably had some downtime and was able to reply to people. You couldn’t be that special…but thinking you could strike gold again, you started typing up a response.

“Of course! Will always be out there to support you guys! Hope the city treats you well and have a safe rest of the tour.” Yeah, that was a good one. You say to yourself thinking that would be the end of it…except it wasn’t.

“Appreciate it. You know of any good spots around here?”

Nope. You did not. Do you look up some recommendations for him? No, that’s too much. Great, you’re having a conversation with him through DMs and you can’t even genuinely contribute enough to hold it down.  

“No, not really. I’m not from here actually. My friend and I drove here just to catch the show. Maybe YELP?” Shit. You just might’ve effectively got rid of him with turning him to the Internet instead.

“No way! That’s love. Good thinking.” They came through in separate text bubbles.

Why were guys so short? You couldn’t work with that. You thought about it for a while but came up with nothing, so you sent the sassy ‘girl sticking her hand out’ emoji as a reply. Damn, you were really bad at this.

Several minutes passed by and thinking you were really done with him; you got another message. It was Bucky again and he sent you a photo. It was from your own feed; the group photo of you and his band mates all those years ago.

“I thought I recognized you.” You sat up straight as you read that message over and over, eyes bugging. Thankful your friend was taking her sweet time in the bathroom, so she wouldn’t see you all strung up.

What? There’s no way. That was a long time ago. Your thoughts spiraled at his words that had you blushing. He’s pulling your chain.

“Impossible. That was forever ago!” I guess two could play this game then.

“I swear. You tripped and fell into my arms that night.”

What the hell? He actually remembered that? Yeah, that did indeed happen. You had been waiting outside surrounded by a bunch of other chatty girls, pushing and shoving their way to get to Bucky first. By the time he turned to you and you stepped forward, you lost your footing and fell straight onto him. He played it cool, but then you heard Sam, who was trapped in his own circle of girls, signing and taking pictures away, that Bucky has girls falling for him all the time.

“OMG. That was so embarrassing, and I was so awkward!” You couldn’t even speak to him when you managed to hold your own ground. You were young then, you thought you effectively put that behind you.

“You weren’t awkward! You were cute and that’s what has stuck with me since. One of the most memorable moments.”

Yup, he was definitely pulling your chain. While you were ecstatic that you were interacting with your favorite artist, you couldn’t help but wonder why you. He was a public figure and you were just a fan.

“Is this weird?” Came through as his next message after your silence. 

Oh, no. I hope I didn’t offend him. You might as well tell it like it is and get it off your chest.

“I don’t know...just a bit. Probably because I’m just a fan? I feel like you should be careful. I mean I should be too…” You really did wonder though. How was it that people of his status were willing and freely open to people they barely knew only to get threatened of being leaked and blackmailed by their own nudes or messages? What made them trust the other party so easily with that kind of stuff? They couldn’t be that dumb. Well, you got your answer.

“I don’t think of you or anyone as just a fan, but you are right…at the same time I feel that you’re grounded enough and a good person that we can trust each other. If that makes sense.”

You weren’t sure if it did. He still didn’t really know you.

“Awe, well that’s really flattering. I totally understand that because that’s how I feel.” Did you? There was a pause between that message and the next that would come.  

“What’s your cell?”

Really? It was just that easy? Oh, okay then. Nonetheless, you still gave him your number. The DMs stopped and transferred over to text messages. You have Bucky Barnes’ phone number. What fan fic were you living in? Shit like this doesn’t just happen, does it?

The texts between you and Bucky went back and forth, some playful and some slightly suggestive, but you were completely oblivious to them thinking that was just in his nature. You found out the band was staying in for the night before heading back out on the road tomorrow afternoon off to the next city. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath when you stared at his most recent text asking if you wanted to hang out. It was kind of late, but you didn’t get a guy like Bucky Barnes asking you to hang out on the regular.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questioned breaking your train of thoughts. You could see her from your peripheral that she was towel drying the ends of her hair even though you’re still staring at your phone.

“Bucky sent me a DM inviting me to his hotel room.” You answered in a stoic demeanor, but it felt really strange coming out of your mouth.

“Okay. How long was I in the shower?” Your friend asked with her hands on her hips wanting an explanation.

You recount the details and show her the messages you and Bucky had been sending to each other. She scrolled through each of them and you could see the look of apprehension forming on her face.

“I don’t know,” she said her words trailing before giving you a worried look, “shouldn’t you be the slightest bit concerned?”

“About?” You ask taking your phone back from her.

“All of this!” She exclaimed her arms outstretched in exasperation and not understanding why you were so blinded by Bucky. “You briefly met the guy, years ago might I add, and you decide it’s okay to meet him at his hotel room in a city you don’t even live in?”

Alright, it did raise a couple of red flags, but you were a consenting adult and you lived a life of being cautious and in fear a little too much you wanted to be reckless for at least one night.

“I know you’re only looking after me, but I got to go for it. You know I like him! Sure, I may not know him on a personal level, but I’m allowed to have some fun, right?” You try reasoning with her. Just how different was all this compared to what people around the world were already doing with each other anyways?

She was a bit skeptic before reluctantly agreeing and letting you go but with the promise from you to be careful, share your location and his room number with her just in case she needed to save you or come after him. You thanked her for understanding and assured her that you’d be back before check-out in the morning.

On the drive to his hotel room, you thought about how you always imagined the different scenarios of what it’d be like when you’d ever meet Bucky again. What things you’d do differently or say. How you’d make sure to not trip or do something to embarrass yourself the next time. How you’d be more confident.

Parking was a pain in any city’s downtown, you ended up having to pay for parking twice in one night. Not surprising to you, they stayed in a nice hotel. It wasn’t over-the-top nor was it fancy, but it was definitely clean and a slight step up than of what was in your budget for booking a room.

When you’re finally at his door, you wonder if you were going to be catfished. Were there other people in his room? Were you really that special? Fuck it. Was the final thought, putting an end to the rest, and knocked at his door.

You hear a click and sliding of the chain door unlock, then you’re face-to-face with Bucky. He’s dressed down in sweats and a zip-up hoodie. He shoots you a smile and steps aside for you to come inside, there wasn’t much light offered to illuminate the room other than the ones the lamps attached on the wall between the beds and what little the TV could provide.

“Oh, thank God. You’re real.” Motherfucker. Did you really just say that?

Bucky laughed at that and you explained, honest with him, that this whole thing just felt surreal. He nodded in agreement, offering to take your jacket from you and a drink. It was alcoholic. Not denying him, you accepted it and waited to see what he would do next.

You watch him sit down on the king-sized bed with his feet up, one foot over the other. You’re standing there next to the dresser that also served as a stand for the TV he was watching a random show on. Not sure what to do, you set the drink aside, kick off your boots, leaving them next to the luggage rack, and sit on the spot next to him with a considerable amount of distance between your bodies.

It’s quiet and you’re trying to hush the voices in your head. Did he really invite you to just watch TV with him? Is this awkward for him? Oh, no. He’s going to realize I’m boring.

You feel the bed shift and you see Bucky is leaning over, opposite of you, to grab something from the nightstand. You don’t see much of what he’s doing as your view was blocked by his large back. When he changes positions, a brief spark of a flame emits from his hands. Your eyes trail up from his hands to his lips and notice it was a blunt. You were pretty sure this was a non-smoking room, but it wasn’t under your name, so it didn’t really matter in the end.

Of course, he did that kind of stuff. It was part of the lifestyle to be exposed to it. He took a steady hit and you watched as he exhaled slowly, a cloud of smoke disappearing into the air in front of him.

“Want a hit?” He asked passing and offering you the blunt.

It’d been a while since you last smoked anything. You tried it a few times and even then, you didn’t think you did it right. You stare at the neatly rolled blunt in between his thumb and forefinger, but not too long as to not let it go to waste and ash up all over the bed.

You steadily take it from him and carefully attempt to take a puff. Wrong. That puff was anything but steady. Not realizing how close you were actually sitting next to Bucky, when you tried to exhale you ended up coughing – terribly. Bucky’s face scrunches up as he braces for the impact of white smoke to hit his face.

“Oh my God,” you say covering your mouth in disbelief, but it was a bad idea because your body didn’t like that, and you ended up coughing even harder.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to get out in between your coughing fit while passing him back the blunt and trying your best to waft at the smoke. Well, if you thought your first encounter with Bucky was embarrassing. This had to take the cake. It wasn’t proper etiquette to blow smoke in the other person’s face.

He waves it off letting you know that it wasn’t a big deal before taking another hit. He even begins to give you a few pointers to inhale in increments, until you get used to the smoke. You don’t even notice the long looks Bucky gives you hit after hit. You take a second to let the smoke stay in your mouth before you give it a second inhale, letting it process through your system before gently exhaling. It was a lot of fucking steps to remember.

“Don’t try to put too much emphasis into the exhalation,” he said as he watches you take another hit, almost perfecting it and with each puff and pass being deeper and longer than the previous, “see, you’re getting the hang of it!” He whimsically lifts his hand up for a high-five that you softly pat in return, but he seizes that moment to hold your hand instead, intertwining his fingers with yours.

The more you breathed in the more your body started to relax. All the edge was taken off and you felt good. You and Bucky continued to pass the blunt, smoking whatever was left of it and what he had with him, as you told random bits of information about yourselves to one another. By now, you and Bucky were leaning on each other, backs against the headboard, the TV barely audible as it continued to play a rerun of whatever that was on earlier.

“You know I really do remember you?” He says causing you to turn your head to look down at him. He has his gaze fixed on your hands, his thumb barely grazing the back of your hand. He’d been playing with your hand, drawing random shapes on it.  

“That’s hard for me to believe,” you answer back truthfully.  

“Why?” Bucky questions while looking up at you. He was in a slouched position, his hoodie and shirt rising up, allowing you a thin glimpse of his skin, while you sat a little higher up than him. 

You admired his handsome face, the crease lines in his forehead, the faint and not so faint marks scattered all around it, his wet lips that shone when he ran his tongue over them and the stubble that surrounded it all down to his adorable nose. Then there were those blue eyes that once put you in an overawe of intimidation, were now a bit alarming in a new sense. They were swirling and growing darker.

“You meet new people every day, Bucky. There’s no way that I could’ve been that unforgettable to you.” You just couldn’t wrap your mind around that. Staring at him, you tried to read him, but you were too faded to concentrate.  

“But you were,” he tells you in a low voice just before you notice his eyes shut and he leans in to place an experimenting kiss to your lips. He pulls back to quietly study your expression, and when you don’t show any sign of disapproval, he goes in for another.

This time with added pressure, more emotion, Bucky pulls you down by the back of your neck and casually slips his tongue in your mouth the moment your lips parted. Your heart started racing when you reciprocated his kiss, trying to keep up with him. He definitely liked to dominate. You could even slightly taste the blunt you both shared moments ago as his tongue tangled with yours.

He slips off his hoodie leaving him in a dark gray shirt. Navigating his body over yours, he pulls you down into a more comfortable position. He’s cradling the side of your face as your lips continue to move one another, getting hungrier and hungrier.

The movements cause your top to ride up, exposing your midriff. His hands wander down to caress your skin before you feel his fingers grip at the waistline of your jeans. You instantly grab his hand and stop him. This was moving all too fast for you.

Bucky didn’t press on it for too long and slipped his fingers out, running his hand back up your side and this time underneath what your tank top was covering left of your upper body. His hand snuck back out and started tugging at the material bunched underneath your breasts. When your top was finally discarded to reveal your red bra, he latched onto your neck, kissing up along your jawline and nipping at your ear, the sound of his harsh breathing sent a tingle at the contact and shivers through your entire body.

You winced when you suddenly felt one of his hands at the back of your head, yanking a handful of your hair causing your head to snap back. It gave him more access and you closed your eyes letting the sharp pain run its course and turn into something pleasurable as he practically devoured your neck. You could feel him inhale deeply, getting high on you, and possibly the lingering aroma of the drugs, and sucking tiny splotches onto your skin then licking to soothe them.  

He pushed aside the straps of your bra as his lips travelled down your shoulder before stopping at the curve of your breasts. You briefly opened your eyes to see him fixated on your chest. He uses both hands to grope them.

“You think I didn’t notice these from the stage?” He asks now looking at you, squeezing and releasing them before pulling your bra down, your breasts spilling out of the cups. He instantly latches his mouth onto a nipple, while the other hand digs in between the mattress and your back to unclasp the bra. His tongue swirled around the nub, teeth lightly grazing and sucking at the skin around it.

You run a hand through his hair, it was a little sweaty and you couldn’t blame him. It was getting hot; you could feel the heat radiating off of him. It became even more apparent after he got rid of his shirt and you feel his clammy skin on yours.

He pulls back, straddling your waist, most of his body weight falling on his knees, careful to not to crush you. Your hands cascaded down his chest and rested at his thighs. You gave them a shy squeeze, something you’ve always dreamed of doing and you were only slightly satisfied.

Bucky flashes you another smile before he braces one hand next to your head and leans back over to fish something off the nightstand. When he pulls his other hand back you notice he’s going through something on his phone. Curious, you look at his face trying to get another read at him, but this whole night was just full of surprises. He finally looks at you before speaking.

“Can I ask you something and you promise not to freak out?”

It depends.

“Yeah…” Who were you kidding? You’d gladly get on your knees for this man. He swooped in for another hard kiss, your mind turning into mush just before you could get anything else out.

“I think it’d be so hot if we recorded ourselves,” his face was so close to yours making sure that your focus was on his and only his. He must’ve felt you shift because he allowed more of his weight to drop; he was closing in on you and it was like you almost had no chance of escape. You weren’t going to lie. The way his weight was crushing you and sinking you deeper into the bed felt really nice. You were speechless. He wanted to record a sex tape with you.

“I travel so much,” he starts listing off reasons why while still cradling the side of your face again, your hand bracing his forearm, and starts kissing your face, “it gets really lonely being on the road.” At this point, he’s probably kissed every inch, “I’d love to have this...it’d be so much easier for me to come thinking about you.”

Motherfucker. His dreamy voice speaking those words into you did one hell of a number because you were aching down there plus the way his hips dragged at your still jean-clad lower region didn’t offer much relief.

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate for a bit. What if his phone got hacked and the footage leaked?

“It’s just for me, baby. I swear,” he asks with hopeful eyes.

Sure, you could’ve had the strength to say no, but you were more than willing to be everything he desired. With your consent, he sealed it with another wild kiss. The magnitude of it setting you ablaze.

Bucky sets his phone back on the nightstand, propping it upright, camera on front face mode to display the both of you on its screen, and at the perfect angle he hits the red record button.

It’s showtime.

He revisits the mission of removing your pants and is this time successful. If you both weren’t so faded, he’d probably have an easier time taking them off, but they were tight, and you were grateful he didn’t clumsily break your ankles in the process. Chucking them somewhere off to the side, with his fingers, he traces the top pattern of the matching red lace panties you had on.

He let out a faint chuckle commenting on how red is his favorite color. Oh, you knew. You precisely chose this set just in case you got lucky. He plants kisses to your hip bones, his lips evading the area that cried out for his attention the most, and slithered down the bed, so he had your calves now placed over his shoulders.

Bucky laid gentle pecks on them and came back up to start nipping at your inner thighs, most likely leaving his mark there also, until you felt the tip of his nose hit your center. Your panties were definitely a deeper shade of red at this point. He pushed your panties to the side enough to get started.

You feel the pads of his fingers begin to rub circular motions at your clit. The first wave causing your hips to jolt involuntarily. You feel the smirk that formed on his face against your thigh at your body’s response.

“So sensitive,” he says pushing your hips back down to continue his task at hand, “and so wet,” he added while pulling his fingers away to examine your arousal that coated his long digits. You don’t take your eyes off him and you almost forget how to breathe when you watch his lips wrap around his fingers, noting his eyes closed and how his cheekbones become more prominent on an already perfect jawline as he sucked them off clean.

When Bucky opens his eyes, they’re darker than before, clouded with lust. He roughly yanked at your panties, still in his other hand, effectively tearing the overpriced garment. After giving it a few more tugs, it was long gone. Headfirst in between your legs, Bucky craved for more of you. He licked a broad strip, down up, to your clit. His tongue teased your folds before dipping inside you, the intrusion causing you to gasp. Your body withered around desperately searching for a path to release. Bucky kept at it, his nose nudging your clit with each plunge his tongue made.

Not denying you of a finish, he adds his fingers into the mix, curling them to find that spot. Noting that your eyes had closed sometime during the act, he stills, and you whine at the sudden halt. Your hand aimlessly reaches out to his face. When you find it, you open your eyes and pick your head up to find out why he had stopped. Bucky offers one of his hands for you to hold on to before speaking.

“Baby keep your eyes on me,” he orders, and his eyes don’t leave yours as his head lowers back down to your pulsing heat. You struggle to keep your eyes open and head from lolling back in ecstasy because you desperately wanted to come. Fuck, he was so talented.

The noises as a result of his onslaught were downright sinful. Bucky’s hips started to ground into the bed trying to relieve some friction of his own. His moans tremble across your entire body. There’s no warning when you come, and you don’t even give him a chance to escape your thighs that clamp around face. Not that Bucky minded, feeling you clench around his fingers as he drank in more of what your body had to offer. Bucky only then emerges when your legs fall limp against the bed.

He plops back down next to you, but as he does so, he pulls you on top of him. Your lips reattach themselves with his and the raw nature of tasting yourself on his lips drive you both mad. He hadn’t even wiped around his face, so you feel the wetness on his chin scrape across yours, staining you with your own arousal.

Your hands moved on their own from planting themselves on his firm chest then working their way down the ripples of his abs, through the trail of hair leading to the top of the waistband of his sweats. You tauntingly pulled the drawstring to loosen it before letting it go and instead grip him through the soft material. Bucky grumbled at your actions, but let you carry on.

You palmed him, getting a feel of how thick and long he was. Bucky was growing whiny with each passing move your hand made, he took matters into his own and grabbed your hand, shoving it into his pants. Your hand instinctively wraps around his hard cock and you give it a light squeeze and a few strokes, generating long drawn out moans to spew from Bucky’s mouth.

His cock felt even better with nothing separating you two. Bucky’s pants and boxers easily slide down his muscular legs, which spread apart to give you room. You maneuver south to lie on your stomach, still in between his legs, and grab his member that was curved resting at his stomach and bring it your face.

“Wait,” he says almost breathlessly. Your mouth is only inches away from the head already weeping profusely. He sits up to rest on his elbows and retrieves his phone from the nightstand. Oh.

“Okay, smile for me,” he directs, and you follow his lead before your tongue darts out at his slit and follow the ring around the tip of his cock. You pull back to savor his taste for a moment, your hands spreading the pre-cum around his shaft. Your strokes are then accompanied by the long licks you give at the sides and to his balls that your other hand had been playing with. Bucky’s head rests on his pillow so his other hand could rest on the back of your head and guide you down his length. Your mouth immediately started to water, but it made it easier for you to bob up and down. He let you move at your own pace for the most part. Bucky pushed your hair off to the side, away from your face to get a better view of the outline of his cock poking at the inside of your mouth. You let his cock drag across the inside of your cheeks a few times until it audibly popped out of your mouth.  

“Fuck me. I knew you’d be perfect.” His words mixed with his incessant moans were like honey pouring into your ears. He loved the way your eyes looked directly at him through the camera lens when you come up with a long tantalizing lick to the underside of his cock and crawling back up to straddle him.  

Bucky gets a good shot of your flushed face and breasts that had some of your drool combined with his pre-cum running down your body before dropping his phone beside him. He sits up causing you to fall back down at the other end of the bed. He picks out a condom from the nightstand and you watch as it rolls down the length of his cock. You bite your lip watching it twitch.

He’s on his knees, but sitting on the balls of his feet, you are lying down patiently waiting for him. He swipes his cock through the wetness of your pussy, prepping himself to slide in. He’s watching your reaction with each pass his dick makes. Your body is yearning for him to be inside of you, to hit that fucking spot over and over.

Just when you think he’s about to do it, he’s reaching over for that damn phone again. Out of habit, you cover your face with your hands. Not only showing the last shred of humility you had left, but also because you probably looked like a fucking bitch in heat.

Bucky pulls your hands away, he still has the phone in his hands, and he’s got it angled to playback from his point of view before he finally pushes into you. He’s big, much bigger than what you’ve experienced, you think you need a moment to adjust, but he never gives you that opportunity and you find that it doesn’t matter when he feels so good. Too good that you find it hard to breathe with each thrust he’s making because he’s hitting it so deep. You push your hands out in front of you to his lower abdomen and attempt to slow him down. Bucky shakes his head and knocks your hands out of the way.

You let out an abrupt yelp at his retaliation to your failed efforts in trying to stop him with a particularly harder and much forceful thrust. Instead, your hands grab fistfuls of the hotel bed’s white blankets and just let him have his way.

“So beautiful,” he says spreading you further then coming down on you to reclaim your lips with his. He rips your hands from their tight grips on the bed sheets to pin them down next to the sides of your head. You don’t care where his phone went, just happy to have both his hands on you. The skin-to-skin contact just hit different sometimes.

The kisses become so feral you start to feel a burn around your mouth from his stubble. Bucky rolls his hips into yours deliciously, a damn true artist, the rhythm he’s got going sends you just about over but never fully beyond the edge to prolong the climax.

Much to your dismay, Bucky withdraws away from you again, back into his previous position, a new idea popping into his wicked mind. With his hard cock still inside you, he slides his hands under your hips and hoists your lower half up towards him, resting your ass on his thighs, effectively bottoming out. You don’t hold back at the way that made you feel and let out an embarrassingly loud moan. He holds still for a second and you’re not quite sure why. You try to move by wiggling your hips, but he holds you still.

He’s staring at how close your bodies are, connected, he moves just the slightest. It causes your pussy to contract and your stomach to tighten up. He does it again in different intervals, his eyes surveying the entire thing. The next push is a little harder and when you see the devious smile breakthrough his face, he does it even more. The thrusts are much sharper and almost painful, but it quickly subsides when you feel the head of his cock probe at the right spot.

Bucky lifts your hips up higher, your back arching in bridge fashion you weren’t aware you could even do until he resumes his new pattern of thrusts again. This new position aided his cock in hitting your sweet spot a little better. He’s filming you again and resting one of his palms on your stomach. He’s not only watching, but he’s feeling the bulge in your belly from the distension caused by the jabs of his cock.  

“That’s my girl,” he praised, continuing to pound into you, “you take this cock so well.” The sight boosts Bucky’s ego and for you it actually probably wasn’t a good thing, but you’d be damned the angle did so many wonders to you right now.

“You love watching your cock go deeper and deeper inside me, Bucky?” You ask trying to look up at him from that position. Where did that come from? Your words cause him to freeze momentarily, but you could still feel his cock throbbing inside of you. He liked that.

Another impish thought running through his head, Bucky pulls out, picking you up so you’re also knee-height with him, giving you another searing kiss, then he’s behind you. He gently pushes you down, you on your elbows, Bucky leans over behind you, his soaked cock sliding up your ass resting on the small of your back as he places his phone back on the nightstand in the same position it had been in the beginning.

You don’t dare look at the screen in front of you, so you look down until you feel Bucky enter your pussy once more from behind. Your head rises and it wasn’t due to the surging pleasure, but because Bucky uses your hair as a rope to bring your body upright with his.

He thrusts up into you while he mutters incoherent slurs and lewd noises into your ear. He peppers the side of your face with wet and uncalculated kisses, his hands massaging your breasts before one of them migrates down to cup your pussy. His fingers dip in and starts another assault to your clit. You’re already tethering off the edge and on the brink of succumbing to him, but he just knew when to let up and keep you starved for more.

“Look at you,” he says, using his other hand to turn your head to face the small screen, the numbers continuing to go up. “You’re such a fucking slut for my cock,” you don’t argue with him and instead moan his name. “You like watching yourself fuck this huge cock, don’t you?” You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore; watching the two of you was hot. Your uncontrollable moans now muffled into Bucky’s palm. And he just kept egging you on, “I know I do. It’s gonna remind me just how tight this fucking pussy is.” Damn him. 

“You want to come, baby?” He asks, the speed of his fingers picking up a notch.

You pull down Bucky’s hand to respond, “Mmm, yes. Fuck! Please let me come, Bucky,” you don’t know what has possessed you, but it spurs the both of you on even more. Your next words do it for Bucky, “I want to come all over your cock,” and he’s immediately coming and spilling into the condom, still inside you, you feel his release pump through him. He’s biting your shoulder, some of his weight coming down on you, his thrusts becoming erratic, but one did the trick for you and you finally let go.

And what drives Bucky even more wild, is that you don’t stop. You keep rolling your hips into him, riding it all the way out. Bucky’s trying to hold on, with a bruising grip on your waist, his forehead resting on your back; the aftershock of his release proving too much. Your release pours out freely, you feel some of it slide down the inside of your thighs mixed with sweat.

You sag against Bucky, each of your body weight balancing against the other. You feel him scatter lazy kisses up your back and pull your face towards him to press one against your lips, moaning in satisfaction. He slowly pulls out of you with a low groan, your body feeling numb when you fall forward to lie down on the bed. Bucky discards of the condom and shuts his phone off before settling next to you.

He pushes the hair out of your face, and you, facedown, peek an eye open. He has a more than content look on his face, you notice his eyes were back to their normal color. He allows some time to pass for you both to calm down. Sleep wants to overcome your body, but it doesn’t when Bucky’s touch puts you on notice again. He runs his hand up and down your back. He’s insatiable, but he didn’t anticipate your comeback in the end and put him in a daze. He could get addicted to you.    

“Is it weird if I fly you out to Brooklyn?” He said out of nowhere. Brooklyn was thousands of miles away from where you lived. He wanted to pay your way to see him again. It was such an outlandish request. You’re starting to regain a more balanced sense of perception and thought, and you ponder on this for a few seconds. “Never mind. You think it’s weird,” he says lifting the blanket over his head turning his back to you. You could tell he was just trying to be cute.

“Oh, come on! You caught me off guard. You can’t blame me!” You respond, but he doesn’t budge. You muster up enough strength to sit up to lean over the side of his body, resting your chin on the top of his shoulder, and try to grab at the blanket. You pull it over his head and see the lazy smile etched across his pretty face. All you do is return the smile and close your eyes, basking in the post-coital bliss.  

“Stay for the night,” came as his last request and turning to lie on his back, wrapping his arms around you.

You don’t think about your car, that’s still parked nearby or care if the parking rate is probably going up by the hour and start eating at your bank account. You don’t think about how pissed your friend would be when she wakes up in the morning and you’re still not back in time. You just think about how tomorrow he’d be far away. You scoot up to give him one more kiss before laying your head to rest on him and make the best out of the present. Happy that you went with your gut on this one.

A/N: This could flop. At first, it was easy to write, but then the ending tripped me up. & while I have your attention, please let me know, anonymously or not, if there’s an interest in a Chase Collins fic? Charles Blackwood smut, anyone? Anyway, I hope this delivered! Thanks for reading!

#mrwinterr writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #marvel fic #rockstar!bucky barnes #rockstar!bucky #rockstar!au #happy

[the-fiction-witch]

IVY P6 Cosy

TV SHOW THE QUEENS GAMBIT COUPLE: BENNY X READER RATING: SWEET AF!

I had grown rather used to having my little audience. Y/n came over almost everyday for at least an hour just to sit and watch me play chess making all her little notes and working on ivy as she slowly brought her equipment over every time she visited so I know had half a computer in my living room. But today honestly I wasn't expecting her there was a horrible storm over new york.

The subway has been down for days, no taxis working, barely a car could get thought, my poor little beatle is burried under the snow, my apartment as cold as ice as the heating was now working but not working all that well, at least I had hot water now, the windows blocked completely by snow and where one slightly leaks it has frozen shut with icicles on the inside as the water leaking in had frozen on the way in, I could hear the wind rushing through, the news reports I was getting on my tiny tv weren't good so I turned it off trying not to think about the cold.

I had two pairs of socks on, fluffy socks. My jeans on with a blanket over my legs, my black t shirt, then my black turtleneck shirt, then my green button down then my jacket and I still had to wrap a blanket around my shoulders to stop me shivering. I jumped as I heard the phone I begrudgingly got up from my chair and went to answer it trying not to loose a blanket on the way I picked it up trying not to shiver in my voice

"Hello?"

"Hi Benny" I heard her familiar voice but she had called me before from her dorm but it sounded different

"Hey y/n, what's up?"

"Quick question do you have heating?"

"Well yes. It's not very good but yes. Why?"

"Uhhh could you maybe put it on full. And also put the kettle on"

".... Ohh my god you crazy girl are you actually coming?'

"Yes"

"I thought we'd work from your from today on the phones and all"

"I was going too but most everyone else has gone home for the holidays and the dorms are so so cold."

"Where are you?"

"Uhh the payphone about a block down the street from yours"

"You're walking! Y/n you must be frozen half to death get off the phone get here as quick as you can I'll get the kettle on" I told her quickly hanging up I didn't want her on the phone any longer then she had to be I got up going to the kitchen to put the kettle on hell I'll have a hot drink as I'n turning it on and soon enough I heard fast shaking little taps, I rushed over and quickly pulled the door open having to fight against the ice around it but I got it open and she stood there on my doorstep covered in an inch of snow shivering in her usual purple coat "oohh get in here you silly girl you'll freeze" I laughed quickly letting her in and shutting the door behind us to keep the cold out

"Benny I can't feel my toes"

"I imagine you can't. Those boots don't look like snow boots?"

"There not I didn't have snow boots so I just put my thermal boots and some extra socks"

"Here let me get your coat off" I smiled helping her with her coat knocking all the snow off her revealing how cute she looked she had a little purple hat under her hood, and a long purple scarf wrapped around her about four times and had a long knee length knitted purple dress with pockets, she had little black mittens and what looked like four or five layers of thermal tights and these little boots I helped her get her boots off as somehow she had gotten snow inside her boots and she had three pairs of socks on top of her tights she slipped her mittens off and her scarf sitting them with her coat

"May I steal a blanket?" She asks noticing I had two

"You may" I laughed giving her one of my blankets

"You wanna mini hot water bottle?" She smiled pulling a pocket sized hot water bottle out of her pocket I took it curiously and it was hot I held it close feeling how warm it was

"Uuummm I will sell you my car for this tiny hand sized hot water bottle"

"It's okay Benny you can borrow it while I'm borrowing your blanket" she smiled we went over to the sofa having a sit together trying not to be too far apart as we where both warm, I feched her a tea and a I had my usual coffee "clink" she giggled tapping my mug with her own

"Clink" I laughed "fuck it's cold. Sorry I made you walk all this way"

"It's okay I wanted to come"

"I'm really not in the mood for chess today. Which sounds nuts but I'm just way too cold. Sorry for making you walk all this way for nothing"

"Not nothing, I got to see you" she smiled "and steal your blanket"

"I guess so. Guess it's kinda nice to have someone to wait out the storm with"

"Yeah someone to wait the storm out with" she smiled "why don't you get the duvet?"

"The duvet!" I jumped dashing to my bedroom and getting my duvet we both readjusted our blankets and then I threw the duvet over us both I smiled looking at her wrapped up so well against the sofa with the blanket around her shoulders and my duvet tucked up to her sipping the tea that she held so close "I like your scarf. And your little hat"

"Aww thank you" she blushed "I knitted them myself"

"You did? that's impressive. Can you make me a scarf?"

"Yeah, actually. I did bring my stuff with me" she laughed grabbing her bag getting some large needles "I have… black and white wool?"

"Can you make me a chess scarf?"

"Uhhh I don't see why not" she smiled sitting her tea on the side

"I'm going to get a book, want anything as I'm leaving the warm corner?"

"No thanks benny, Im cosy" she smiled

"Alright" I smiled back giving her temple a little kiss before leaving the duvet I already hated it I'm so cold out here, I grabbed a book or three before I remembered I jumped in my wardrobe and I saw it "ohh my god! I forgot about you!"

"About what?" Y/n giggled

"My long hot water bottle" I laughed showing her the thing i bought it years ago before going to Moscow on the assumption moscow would be cold and I ended up leaving it here it took a while to fill up as it was almost a meter long but I did it up and put the fluffy cover over it and came back beside her getting under the duvet and in the blankets laying the bottle across both our laps between the duvet and us I smiled as I sat getting cosy watching her slowly knit

"Why was your dorm so cold?' I asked her

"Most of them have gone home for the holidays, cheap place only keeps the heat on if more then two people are there and it was just me" she says "I tried to get on the bus to come see you but I had to walk"

"Why didn't you go home? For the holidays?"

"Not really much if a home to go to?"

"What do you mean?"

"My mother died in childbirth. My dad looked after me alone for most of my life. He passed away a few years ago now." She explained

"Ohh y/n. I'm so sorry, his did he die?"

She smiled slightly "he was working at nasa. In the space race and all, he was an engineer so they sent him onna test flight but… they never came back" she explained

"Must have been an amazingly smart man. I see where you get it from"

"Thank you, what about you? Why aren't you flying off somewhere to see your family?"

"Don't really have a family. Never really did. My dad died before I was even born, my mum like yours died in childbirth so my uncle took care of me he was a single guy no kids or anything but he had a heart attack when I was ten, been on my own since"

"I'm so sorry Benny"

"Its okay. Life goes on you know. Of course I miss them but… me sitting here bawling isn't gonna bring them back, lifes going to go on weather I sit here crying or weather I get on with it. So I better just get on with it"

"Yeah I see what you mean" she says "how about we play a game" she smiled

"Sure" I laughed

"Truth or dare"

"Damn it okay truth"

"Do you really love chess?'

"Not as much as I did once. I do really love chess but there is bullshit too it, the traveling sucks, there's alot of snobbery around it, I think I adored it once but… I still love it just not as much as I did" I explain "truth or dare?"

"Truth"

"... Do you really think ivy will work?'

"I'm sure of it. I know it. More then anything else in this world" she smiled "your turn"

"Okay truth again"

"What's the last thing you cried at?"

"Cried? Uhhh ohh god ugh lord of the rings"

"What?'

'the ending makes me cry okay"

"Awww that's so sweet. Yeah I cried when I read it too"

"I think everyone does. If you don't cry your kinda a dick" I laughed "your turn"

"Uhhh dare"

"Oooohhh uuuuuuughhh…. I dare you to," I began before I spotted an empty note pad so I grabbed the page and crumpled it up "eat a page"

"Why?"

"Because I dared you"

"Fine" she sighed taking it ripping it up small and slowly swallowing it "oww. That was mean"

"To be fair I really didn't have a dare set. Uuhh and I pick truth"

"You have to pick dare at some point Benny"

'ill pick dare next turn"

"Fine." She smiled "... Did you love beth?"

"What? How do you know about me and beth?"

"It's not a secret. I read about it in chess review"

"No. Honestly I don't know how I feel about beth. I don't think I love her. She's ignoring me at the moment anyway, I don't know. No. I think. I care about her but I get the feeling she doesn't care about me all that much"

"You shouldn't be with someone who doesn't care about you benny. Your better then that your worth so much more then that. You deserve a girl who adores you."

"Aww thanks y/n" I smiled "your turn"

".. truth"

"Do you…. Have a crush on someone?"

"What is this Benny a girl's sleepover?'

'come on I'm curious?"

"No"

"No you don't or no you don't wanna answer the question?"

"The second one"

"If you don't wanna answer it means you do"

"I never said that"

"Who is he? Some boy in your science class? Some cute boy who lives in your dorm?"

"No" she giggled "your turn"

"No you never answered my question"

"I do but I'm not telling you"

"Why not?" I laughed but I saw how red she was "y/n… do you"

"It's not your turn to ask questions Benny" she says hurrying her head in her knitting

"Fine. Dare"

"I dare you. To… not ask anymore questions"

"Why not?"

"That's a question"

"No, that's not how the game works. A proper dare"

"Fine I dare you go up there an stick your dick in the snow"

"Ahhhhh nooooo I don't wanna do that"

"I didn't wanna eat paper"

"NOOOO"

"Go or no questions"

"Fine" I sighed getting up already too cold without the duvet around me maybe I can just go up and climb I did it but she put her knitting down and got up too wrapping her scarf around her and getting her gloves and hat on as well as her coat keeping her hood down this time as she slipped on her boots I put some shoes on and begrudgingly unlocked my door the snow was now building up badly down my stairs so much it was up to my knees each time I took a step y/n using my holes in the snow to walk through till we got to the street it really was a blizzard I could barely see anything, my car burried the lights not even working on that streets

"Go on" she says

"No looking" I warn her undoing my jeans she looked away already turning red my whole brain screaming at me every self preservation element in my brain going nuts why am I getting my dick out in a Blizzard! I did it and by God I had never been colder in my life I of course screamed making her giggle like crazy I quickly did my jeans up in an attempted to get warm again shw tried to run inside from the cold but I grabbed her "ohh no you don't if I had to go in the snow your going in too!" I told her pushing her in the snow

"Ahhhhh!! Benny" she squealed "this. Means. War" she glared grabbing some snow and throwing it at me luckily she missed

"Ha you-" I began but she got another and got me right in the face before I even finished "fine. You wanna play this game. Fine let's play"

"No no no! You can't hit a girl Benny" she giggled

"Ohh no you threw first that rule Is irrelevant" I told her grabbing some snow and throwing it at her and it managed to get her just as she was getting up right on the butt

"AAAHHH! Benny! That went up my dress!" She screamed before she ran at me with a handful of snow and shoved it down the back of my jeans

"Ahhhhh! Y/n!" I complained grabbing as much as I could and filling her hood with it throwing it over her

"Ahhhhh!" She screamed pushing me into the snow so I pulled her down with me and we ended up with her on top of me on the snow "hi"

"Hi, you wanna go back in before we freeze to death?"

"Yes please" she nods happily getting up and helping me up out the snow too we hurried down and locked the apartment up hangout stuff by the door and getting cosy back on the sofa trying to warm up again

"So… I did my dare."

"Yep"

"So, it's your turn"

"Truth" she rolled her eyes as she began to knit again

"Do you have a crush…. On me?"

"Maybe"

"Maybe?"

"Maybe" she blushed

"No come on yes or no answer?"

"Yes" she blushed "I just… I saw you in the tournament a few years back and I just, I kinda did and when we met I couldn't help it"

"That's really sweet" I smiled giving her head a kiss "uhh y/n"

"Yes Benny?"

"The snows got no sign of stopping and I really don't want you walking back to your freezing cold dorm"

"What are you saying?'

"I'm saying. I think you should stay here tonight. Are how the snow looks in the morning."

"Where will I sleep?"

" I'll make the airbed up for you if you want, or… you can come cosy in my bed with me so we keep warm"

"I'd like that Benny" she smiled shuffling closer and resting her head in my chest I smiled wrapping an arm around her

"Y/n?"

"Yes Benny?"

"... I kinda had a crush on you too"

#benny #benny fanfic #benny smut #benny x reader #benny imagine #tqgbennywatts #bennywattssmut #BENNYWATTS #benny watts #benny watts imagine #benny watts smut #tqg benny watts #the queen's gambit #The Queens Gambit #tbs #tbs au #tbs sex #tbs smutty #tbs smut #TBS Imagine #tbs imagines #thomas #thomas sangster #thomasbrodiesangster #thomassangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomas broide sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster imagine #thomas brodie sangster i #thomas brodie sangster smut