#GIRL my low blood sugar self is already shaking
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so i got my second sem schedule finalized, which i was hoping would be kinder, but yk.. it's-
#⋆𐙚₊˚ niki says !#the 7am to 7pm classes is gonna end me#esp with the lack of breaks in between for the lectures in the morning#GIRL my low blood sugar self is already shaking#abt to start gaslighting myself that i'm a baddie to get through the second sem#I HAVE ONSITE CLASSES ON SATURDAYS NOW TOO and its calculus and physics??#but tbh more scared of anaphy and inorganic chemistry
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hello, just wanted to tell you how wonderful your work is, keep it up and keep rocking :)
I was wondering if you could do a yandere Peter Parker x reader oneshot where the reader has powers and she's completely badass? But she kinda has self esteem issues and thinks her feelings aren't important. I'm sorry if I made you sad TvT
I will try my best! And thank you so much for the compliments ♡
Silent Shadow. That’s what she was. At least that’s what it was before the Avengers came. She was a assassin for a group called Hydra. Hydra was all she knew and that’s all she thought there was for her. She was there strongest asset, she was even able to rake down the Winter Soldier. She had beaten every hydra agent in a fight and she had many skills. You’d think she would just run away since she was able to overthrow them but Hydra made sure she would have no one to go to outside of them so they killed her parents and took her. She was alone. At least that was until she grew a relationship with her partner. A platonic one. She thought she had no one.
Until the day they showed up.
“Cap, how’s it looking out there? Need Code Green?” Bruce said from inside the quinjet.
“No, I think we are good Bruce. Tony is taking out the rest alongside Thor. Guess this base wasn’t as important.” Cap replied through the coms. It was true. It was a pretty easy mission, that was until they went towards the cells.
Bucky Barnes alongside Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver got rid of every Hydra Agent in the cells. At least the thought they did until they reach the very end cell with a complex lock. Bucky nodded at Wanda and she quickly used her powers to undo the lock.
Once inside they see a girl. She looked around 16 years old. Bucky froze.
Another assassin.
He knew her.
He rushed to the cyrochamber and opened it to the dismay of the team. They didn’t need another Hydra Soldier to deal with but he was not going to leave her in there. Steve walked into the room and saw him opening the chamber.
“What are you doing Buck?”
“I’m getting her out of here.” He spoke leaving no room for arguments.
“What if she’s dangerous?”
“I know her. She was my partner. She never wanted this. She always fought.”
“How do you know she will still fight?”
“I don’t.”
and finally it was open and he grabbed her then made his way back to the quinjet. The team that didn’t go to the cells were already there.
Tony was the first to notice Barnes carrying a girl.
“What do you got there?”
“...” Bucky didn’t respond. He wouldn’t explain back at the compound. He just wanted her to wake up. He wanted his little sister back.
Back at the compound
Her senses slowly came back to her and she woke up to her hand resting in somebody’s. She opened her eyes and saw.... Bucky! She lightly shook his hand making him shoot up.
“Doe!”
(I thought Doe would be a cute nickname since it forms from the only name they know which is Shadow.)
“Snowy!” She said happily. She was free. She was with her older brother. Everything would be okay.
And it was. For awhile. They took a blood test from her and found out she was Tony’s missing sister who was taken after the car crash with her parents. Her name was Y/N but some still called her Shadow or Doe in Bucky case. She didn’t blame Bucky but he sure blamed himself but he wouldn’t let himself cut her out of his life because of guilt. She developed relationships with the team. Tony and Bucky were her protective older brothers, Steve, Bruce, Clint and Thor were like uncles. Natasha was her aunt. Pietro and Wanda were like siblings. Then there was the day she met Peter. She had finally worked back up her courage and bravery, not to mention her cunningness. She was herself again, just more confident than before the accident. She walked around in stride, almost matching up to Natasha. She would work on her powers with Wanda and then make sure to spend time with her family.
He had come over to the tower after hearing about the new person at the tower from Tony. He had invited Peter to come over and meet his sister, Peter being addicted to pleasing his idol said of course and made his way over.
He was of course expecting a older woman since he knew Tony’s parents had died many many years ago, he was not prepared to see her.
Peter made his way up the elevator of the expensive tower after telling Jarvis what floor he wanted to be on. The elevator opened and there the team was in all their glory sitting on the couch waiting for him and the other guest to be ready.
“Hello Man of spider!” Thor boomed loudly as Peter stepped out of the elevator. Peter waved shyly at Thor and the others followed with their hellos. After a little more waiting Tony was impatient and called his sister to come down.
“Alright, Alright I’m coming! I didn’t even take that long! It would take longer to say your full title thing you like to say about yourself. Isn’t Genius, Billionaire Playboy, Kiss ass?” She smirked as she walked into the room. Peters eyes widened.
She was Tony Stark’s sister?
“Who’s did you want me to meet?” She questioned her brother as she smiled at him cheekily after forgetting the name of the person for the billionth time.
Tony rolled his eyes but he couldn’t stay mad at the sister who came back miraculously from the dead.
“Peter meet Y/N my little sister and Y/N meet Peter Parker aka Spider-boy.” Tony introduced and Peter stepped forwards almost in a daze and held out his when to shake formally.
“Nice to meet you.” Y/N said cheekily as he continued staring. He lightly shook his head and blushed embarrassedly.
“Nice to meet you too.”
She was more confident now away from hydra and he liked her personality.
And it truly was because that was the day that started his obsession with the one and the only
Y/N Stark.
He always came over to the tower to hang out with her as they had grown to be friends but Peter wanted more. Sometimes he came over and stalked her outside of the windows. Peter had hacked the tower from the inside to not detect him as Spider Man on the outside of the tower. Whenever he was in her room he’d touch everything he could and he secretly undid the latch to her window. He snuck into her room every night just to watch her sleep, watching as her chest raised and called from her steady breathing . He took pictures of her whenever he spied and had a secret collection of them filling his closest. He had even entered the room when the other Avengers had decided to run to the store for groceries dressed in their typical jacket, sunglasses, and baseball hats disguises. He cuddled into her blankets and breathed in her scene as he held into her pillow.
He was undeniably in love with Y/N Stark.
And he wanted her to be his.
His plan was soon put into action. He knew her schedules, wasn’t too hard she was required to stay at home as it was too dangerous because of Hydra.
One day he just got lucky, the team had to go out on a mission and she was required to stay home but Tony didn’t want her by herself so he called his trusted intern, Peter Parker. He was asked to go over to the tower to keep Y/N company and he immediately said yes.
And the day started off as usual for Y/N. She woke up and had breakfast, then sat by the tv watching her favorite show Once Upon A Time. She always like watching it because the character Jefferson reminded her of Bucky. She was halfway into episode 16 when Peter arrived in the Elevator.
“Hey Peter!” She called from the couch. She didn’t even look at him. It made him slightly mad. He should be her one and only. Not the stupid tv show.
“Hey Y/N.” He replied after he got over his anger.
“What do you want to do?” She questioned looking at him with a eyebrow raised.
“There are so many things I’d like to do.” He thought to himself but restrained from saying.
“It’s up to you.” He replied shortly continuing to think through his plan. He was confident it would go right if he followed each direction.
They went to the gym and she began to work on her powers while Peter watched her intently. He needed to know her powers if things were to go south with his plans. She first turned invisible then made force fields.
She continued to make the force fields bigger and Peter had to continue to back up to avoid getting hit with it. He began to get too far away. He also didn’t want her to thing that she could push him away like this.
“Y/N stop. You need to get food in you before you continue practicing. Your low on energy.” He faked looking concerned in order to manipulate her to feel bad. Of course she was usually defiant but she just wanted Peter to be happy. So she gave in.
“Alright.” He nodded in praise at her giving in. He knew how to get her now. She needed to please others. Probably a side effect from Hydra but it could be used to his advantage.
They then began baking... well more like Peter while she watched he made her sit down after he was worried about her burning herself. She needed to be taken care of. He also didn’t need her catching onto his plan, taking a pill out from his pocket and crushed it onto the cupcake he was going to give her. It looked like sugar. After being at hydra you’d think she would check her food before she ate. But she didn’t. She had to trust Peter of course. That’s what her brother wanted from her. She felt bad not being able to help around the tower. She felt as if she wasn’t contributing enough. Y/N thought it would help if she did what she thought was expected of her, not what she wanted. She wanted to bake. But if Peter didn’t want her to then she couldn’t deny it.
Then they watched tv but Peter hated it because again her attention was somewhere else. Halfway through Star Wars he turned off the tv and waited for it to work.
Just as he looked at her he could see her eyes be going to droop.
“Oh Y/N are you tired?” He questioned with fake concern.
“Oh, I am. Just a little bit. I slept well last night-“ she was cut off by a yawn. “I don’t know why I’m so tired. I’m sorry Peter. I knew you came over to hang out.”
“It’s fine Y/N. Just got to sleep.”
Just as he said that her eyes shut and he smiled victoriously. She was his. And she wasn’t ever going to leave.
He picked her up bridal style and took her into her room and sat her down on the bed while he changed into his Spider-Man uniform and packed her some clothes. They wouldn’t be coming back here. After packing clothes into a small back pack he picked her up once again and they went swinging out of the tower with Jarvis not even alerted because of Peter hacking it before to not detect his suit.
He arrived at a small house in the middle of the woods and carefully opened the door and brought her inside. Peter glanced around the rooms just in case then sat her in the bed, attaching a chain to her ancle. The clasp part of the chain had a little padding so it wasn’t hurting her but it did keep her there. He kissed her on the head and quickly changed out of his suit. Then got into the bed wearing boxers climbing in next to the sleeping girl. He wrapped a arm around her waist and sighed content.
She was finally his.
The Avengers got back to the tower and saw no one there. No struggle. Nothing.
Tony Lost his sister. Again.
Bucky lost his little sister. Again.
And
Peter had taken the love of his life to be all his.
At least until they check the tapes.
Sorry it’s taken me forever to write this. This was my first shot at a Yandere and I hope it’s good. Sorry if I should have done less back story and more Peter but I hope you like it. Anyways thank you for the suggestion. ♡
#peter parker#yandere peter parker#bucky barnes#tony stark#spiderman#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#Peter Parker x Stark!reader
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Smoke: VII | Stay Awhile
SUMMARY: After vanishing for four years, you return to the place you once called home, to the people you once called family. We all carry our baggage in different ways, using different techniques to hide it. You just happen to hide it in cigarette smoke.
CHAPTER SUMMARY: While the antique book shop on Fifth Avenue may have burned down long before your return, the owner you never forgot is still making an impact on your life, and she doesn’t even know it.
SERIES WARNINGS: cigarette smoking; underage drinking; gang activity; violence; swearing; blood; self-hate
MASTER LISTS in BIO
The air is warmer now, than it was a few hours ago. Your windows are open, floors freshly swept, dishes freshly washed, bed freshly made. Outside is crisp and clean, and you've decided the inside should be too.
Only a lamp illuminates the room, the setting sun does the rest, leaving the corners of the room bathed in comforting shadows.
You’re in the middle of sorting out the good food in your refrigerator from the bad when he arrives.
Three knocks exactly, no particular rhythm. You leave the decidedly shamefully rotted takeout in the trash and close the heavy white door before you answer the door. “Hey,” you greet fluidly, welcoming him inside without a second thought.
“Hello,” he replies, stepping past you to escape the chill in your building’s halls, only to be sorely disappointed in your home. “Is your heating out?” he asks pointedly. You note his coat is buttoned, behind the stack of five books he holds in his arms.
You stare blankly for a moment, before you shut and lock the door behind him. “No,” you answer slowly. “I thought it was pretty warm out, so I opened the windows. Are you cold?”
He doesn’t answer verbally, just rolls his eyes. He makes his way to your ratty leather couch. “Anyway, I brought your books.” He sets the the stack of literature in the coffee table as he sits down.
You nod. “Thanks. For driving all the way over, I mean.” You pick up an empty white mug from the end table by your recliner. “Can I get you anything? I can put the kettle on, if you want tea.”
He declines, and watches you pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee. Then, you take your seat in the recliner.
You pull the stack of books across the table, curiously skimming the titles on the spines. Griffin’s Castle, The Dragon Queen, Catcher in the Rye, Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children. An odd group of books, you think. At the top, you open the cover of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.
“Where were you today?” Damian barked from the bottom the tree. You peered down at him from your claimed branch, marking your page with a finger. He looked angry, messenger bag still slung across his torso, glaring up at you with his hands on his hips.
You rolled your eyes and stubbed out a cigarette, flick it away so he doesn’t catch it. “Jesus, you sound like Nick,” you gruffed. “I’ve been here, mostly. What’s it to you?”
He threw you an incredulous look. “You were supposed to cover for me in Lit, remember?”
You heaved a heavy breath. “No, actually, I forgot.” The edge of annoyance to your voice is gone. “Sorry.”
You heard him grumble something about you never listening, as he started climbing up to his branch, next to yours. He situated himself there, and hung his bag on the chopped stub above him. “So, what? You spent your whole day up in this tree?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“What are you reading?” He reached over and pushes your book one way, to read the cover. “The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland?”
You nodded, rough bark of the tree scraping against your scalp and probably knotting your hair. “Yeah, Granny Crockett loaned it to me. She said it’s a crime that I haven’t read it already.”
“Sorry about the dust. They’ve been sitting in a box in my closet for some time.”
You gaze shoots up to meet his. “The dust-? Oh, yeah. It’s fine.” You brush off the thin gray film from the title.
“Alfred sent this, as well,” he adds, pulling a piece of paper from the inner pocket in his jacket. “He thought you’d want it, for whatever reason. Found it when he was dusting, apparently.”
You accept the thin paper and turn it over. It isn’t a piece of paper at all, actually. It’s a photograph, of you, and Damian, and Nick, all dressed up and ready for the Freshman Dance.
You smile down at it, shaking your head at the bright purple, sequin speckled dress your past self wears. “I can’t believe you let me go out in that thing.”
“I did no such thing,” he argues. “I told you the sequins were too much, but you wouldn’t listen. You never did, anyway.”
You laughed. “I’m the one who doesn’t listen? Which one of us took Rebecca Tacks?”
He shook his head. “You encouraged the whole ordeal. I would have much preferred to stay home and beat you at checkers until you flipped the board,” he countered, leaning back against the cracked leather.
“I told you to get a date, not ask out the rudest person you could find!” you defended. “I told you the night would end in tears, now didn’t I?”
“Maybe you were in tears, but I sure wasn’t,” he chuckled.
“Only because you didn’t think the junior class president dumping green punch all over the pageant girl was as funny as I did!”
You left it at that. A long moment stretched on, both of you lost in quiet laughter and memories of screaming teenage girls and a howling student body.
You stare fondly at the photo still pinched between your fingers. You wonder what prom was like. You wonder who he took.
“On second thought,” Damian says suddenly, retaking your attention, “I’d appreciate a cup of tea.”
You blink. You don’t just hear the request, but the ask lying between the lines.
Can I stay awhile?
“Really?”
He nods. “If it isn’t a problem.”
You smile. “Of course it isn’t.”
The corners of his lips tilt. “Do you have any-?”
“Earl Gray,” you say confidently, practically jumping out of your chair, “two scoops of sugar and fresh lemon.”
When you look back at him from across your kitchen island, he’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost.
You grin teasingly. “Do you know how many times I had to make it for you when we were younger? It’s practically ingrained into my memory.” You turn away to get a mug down from the cabinet. You don’t dare mention the number of times you made an extra cup because the smell reminded you of home that first year you were gone.
While you stand in the kitchen, your back to him, as you wait for the kettle to reheat, he steals the moment to look around your apartment. He hadn’t really gotten the chance last time.
It isn’t a place he ever imagined you to live.
It’s nothing like the place you dreamed about growing up. You always spoke of a big balcony, high ceilings. Big windows, but some that could be left open in the spring and the fall to flood the place with fresh air. You wanted large rooms, an open floor plan, and pictures of friends and family on every wall. You wanted a place that felt like home, with soft furniture and plenty of places for visitors to sit. Somewhere big, but not so big that it felt lonely when no one was there with you. Somewhere to go after a long day where you could relax. Somewhere warm, where your family would come to visit for the holidays, wasn’t so close to home that they’d visit too often.
This is not that place. This place is dark, the wallpaper is peeling in patches, the ceiling is cracked in sport. It smells vaguely of must, beneath the air freshener. Your furniture, while sentimental, is old and warn and falling apart. There’s no room for entertainment, the ceilings are low, the windows are small, the kitchen is dingy. Worst of all, it doesn’t feel like a home.
With a quick glance, yes, the place has a specific feel that he can only attribute to you, but upon further inspection, it tells an entirely different story. It reminds him more of a safehouse than a home. Somewhere Jason would store space weaponry in a neighboring city. He can count the number of personally decorations on one hand. The more he looks around, the deeper dread burrows beneath his skin. Anything sentimental could be cleared out and packed up in less than an hour.
Your words from the cafe echo in his mind. When you said you were thinking about leaving, he didn’t think you meant at the drop of a hat.
Thick glass hitting wood jerks him from his thoughts. Your warm smile is familiar in a way he can’t ignore.
“It’s hot, so give it a minute,“ you warn. “I know my interior design skills aren’t the greatest, but I didn’t think it looked that bad, all things considered,” you try sparking a conversation, but you look a little nervous. You must have caught him staring.
He shakes his head. “It looks fine.” He feels as though he’s about to choke on words he isn’t ready for you to hear, so he looks around in a tempered frenzy for something to divert your attention. A framed picture on the wall between your windows is just what he needs. “Who is that?”
You don’t have to look at the picture to know which one it is. You’d debated on hanging that one. You smile sadly, eyeing it anyway. You swallow thickly, and to stall for a little time, you get up to get it.
You take the flimsy wooden frame down, gently, as if your afraid it will break under your gaze. You hold out the 7x10 photograph to him.
He takes it, gingerly staring it down while you find your seat again. It’s an image of you and a man, standing together in front of a grand fountain. His arm is hooked around your shoulders, both of you grinning happily. Something stirs in his chest- he doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen you smile like that. The man his tall, dark skin, black hair, kind eyes. A tattoo is peeking out beneath the sleeve of a denim jacket.
“His name was Kennedy,” you finally relay. “Kennedy Walter. I always called him Kenny.” You sniffle, and decide to stall a little longer. “I was living in Detroit when we met. I was working as a bouncer at a club. Had a nice little apartment with massive windows on one wall and a loft bedroom on the other. There was this nice little theater down the street from me. They had a theme for every night of the week, and sometimes they’d run these marathons of classics where you could buy one ticket and sit for the whole day.”
You’re rambling, and he knows it. It’s something you used to do when you were upset: talk about the good things before the bad. He glaces at you. Your voice sounds strained. You’re staring at the coffee table, but he knows you aren’t really looking at the wood. “Were you and he . . ?”
“Engaged,” you smile. “We were engaged. But, um, a little over a year ago, I was, uh- I got a call while I was at work.” Your voice breaks, eyes dropping to your lap. You pick up your tea and take a few gulps to relieve he tension of grief. “There had been a car accident.”
He nods morosely, staring down at the man in the image. He must have been something, to have caught your eye. You barely dated through high school. “I’m sure he was a good man.”
You nod. “He was. I had to leave all my furniture when I moved, because of him,” you laugh, and it doesn’t sound forced, but it’s dying. “I had this ugly orange couch, you see. God, it was such an ugly color. It was only thirty dollars at Goodwill, which is why I got it. It didn’t match anything else in the house, literally. But it grew on me, so I never replaced it. It was like that, um- what was it? That stupid stuffed cat I got from Amusement Mile, remember? On Spring Break?”
He nods. You’d enlisted him to help you get it. It was quite possibly the ugliest toy he’d ever seen in his life, but it had a place on your bed for the following two years.
“Yeah, it was like that. He always teased me about it, but after awhile it grew on him too. We named it Fungus, because it grew on people.” You laugh again, a little looser this time. “God that couch was hideous.”
He smiles. It falters though, because he understands now that you weren’t just gone. You weren’t away from Gotham. All this time, you’d been building a new life. You’d been living, not running. But none of it had anything to do with him.
“If you don’t mind,” he starts, quietly, “why did you leave Detroit? You talk about living there as if it were a fairy tale.”
You take another gulp of tea. “Because that’s what it was,” you answer hoarsely. “It was too perfect. And then Kenny was gone. And my apartment was too big for me.” You stare down at your hands, fidgeting with your fingers. “And I missed home.”
His chest feels tight. He doesn’t really know why. Or maybe it’s more than he isn’t willing to admit how much it hurts to see you so pained over this. He swallows it. “Home?”
You nod hesitantly. “Gotham. I grew up here, ya know? You and I owned these streets back in the day,” you chuckle. You steal a look at his face, but he isn’t smiling. “I missed you. I don’t think I ever told you that.”
When you look again, he looks somewhere between stricken and conflicted. His face is pinched as he stared through your picture. “No. You didn’t.”
“Well, I did. I missed you a lot. And your family. And mine. I didn’t want to leave you, Damian. You have to know that.”
His body tenses, and you feel his energy shift. “No, I don’t. You left me in a burning building-”
“I know,” you interrupt quietly. “And I shouldn’t have. I should have kept a better hold of your hand, I should have drove you home, I should have told you everything that night. I should have done a lot of things. But I didn’t, and I’m trying to apologize for them before I lose the chance.”
That stops him. He relaxes into your couch again. “Before what?”
You blink slowly, turning your gaze toward the window across from you, which connects to the fire escape. “There’s a reason I had to leave, Damian. Shit happens.”
His eyes soften. His mind races, realizations dawning. He opens his mouth to reply, but the sharp beeping of his phone cuts him off.
He answers it without moving from the couch. “Hello?”
Your apartment is so quiet that you hear Bruce on the other end. “We have an emergency. We need you home. Now.”
His eyes meet yours. He seems remorseful. “I’m on my way.”
You divert your attention, excusing yourself to the kitchen with your half empty mug. You hear him pocket his phone and the remaining leather of your couch groan as he stands.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “If I could-”
“I know,” you assure. “Probably best anyway,” you brush off, “I'd probably be a blubbering mess of runny mascara and tears if we kept talking about this any longer.” You’re only partly joking.
He looks at you for a few moments. Standing in your ratty apartment, between your living room and your front door, staring. His eyebrows are slouched together as he works his jaw.
You turn around at the sound of approaching footsteps, but you’re just a hair too late. You collide with a broad chest, long, warm arms wrapping around you tightly. You’re overhwelmed by he wonderful smell of leathery cologne and bourbon shampoo. Your brain short circuits and crashes like a 2007 laptop trying to run The Sims.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he says slowly, genuinely, surely.
He’s gone before you can react. By the time you’re ready to hug him back, your front door is already clapping shut.
With your apartment once again left in silence and you to your own devices, you brace yourself against the counter, mind whirling thoughts a million miles a minute and heart hammering so hard that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears.
TAGS:
@howcanibreathewithnozaire @avis-writeshq @mello-10 @ukuleleatnight @chikorita-stuff @idkmanicantenglish
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VIGILANTE/S V
part five // 4.0k words // superpowered!au // (sort of) gang!au // series masterlist
summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.
warnings; swearing, mentions of death, weapons and killing, gang shit really
notes; this is just a filler bc the whole thing ended up being way too long but !! hope u like anyway <33
One week into living in the warehouse, you’ve got your own routine. You know what times to avoid the bathrooms, you know not to eat Chenle’s cereal – a tip from Donghyuck, who informed you that Chenle once set him on fire for doing just that – you know that Jaemin is the only one who cooks breakfast, and most of the meals eaten in the warehouse are from local takeout stores with shifty delivery guys. You know that 15 pizzas are ordered for one meal – because Jaemin eats at least 5 of them.
“My metabolism is crazy,” he explains to you on your third day there. “I’ll be hungry again in, like, 2 hours.” Mark had laughed and said that was normal for anyone here.
Donghyuck had whispered to you, “Jaemin carries around jellybeans all the time for his blood sugar. If you want to piss him off, call him Jelly Baby.”
You know that every time Jaemin is given an assignment, he brings a girl back to the warehouse, something you’d discovered when you saw Jeno sleeping on the couch in the main room the next day. You know the boy named Renjun doesn’t train, and hardly leaves his room. You know that Donghyuck sometimes snores in his sleep, now that you’re sharing his room, which actually hasn’t been so bad.
Jaehyun had you move in together the day after you met him, and he’d been really nice about it, moving half of his clothes from his wardrobe so you had space, and boxing up most of his stuff to allow more space for your things. He’d even offered to take down his sketches and drawings so you had some wall space. It was a sweet gesture, but you found his posters interesting, so you told him to keep them up.
Doyoung had gone with you to empty out your apartment – not that it had much in it – and convince your landlord to break your lease. “Your landlord has a very weak mind,” he’d said in a monotonous tone, when he was carrying a box to his car, a flashy black thing that certainly did not belong in your neighbourhood at all. The dilapidated, crumbling buildings surrounding you were brown and dirty, the streets grey and filled with potholes, the people who inhabited the area looking just as worn. Doyoung, on the other hand, was clean and sharp, wearing fitted black jeans and a clean white tee. His shoes were almost as shiny as his car, which made you feel slightly self-conscious when you noticed how much he stood out here.
“He’s pretty much given up on life,” you’d agreed, which earned you a smirk from him. It was true, your landlord was a chubby, pot-bellied man who wore nothing but baggy, ill-fitting jeans and old t-shirts with various food stains on them. You’ve never seen him leave the building, and you often wonder if he knows what a shithole the place is.
“I can’t believe you actually lived here,” he looked up at the building, at the brickwork that was being held together by mould rather than concrete, at the wooden window frames that were rotten and splitting apart, at a window that was recently broken, now being blocked by a curtain taped across the panel – at the place you once called home.
Well, not necessarily. It hadn’t felt like home since your dad had died, if you were being truthful.
“You live in a warehouse with criminals,” you reminded him.
“We live in a warehouse with criminals,” he cracked a smile at you, taking the box from your hands and placing it in the boot of his car.
“At least my roommate only kills himself,” you mumbled on the drive back.
“Donghyuck wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Doyoung laughed. “He’d probably kill himself if a fly started a fight with him, just so he wouldn’t have to fight it and win.”
You watched the buildings go by – Doyoung drove slower than the elderly, you were sure – and all the industrial warehouses with cute, bright signs advertising children’s toys and courier services, wondering how many of them were a front for another operation, like Jaehyun’s. “Do you think Donghyuck can die? For real?”
Doyoung was silent for a moment, then, slowly, he said, “We have our speculations. We can’t know for sure, though. And none of us really want to.” You gave a small smile to him, though he was too focused on the road ahead to see it. When you’d first come to the warehouse, you were sure no one liked him, since no one seemed devastated by the fact that he was dead. Now, you knew he was family to them.
“You have a cassette player?” Donghyuck was supposed to be helping you unload your stuff into your now shared room, but he was mostly just being nosy, going through your boxes and not actually putting anything away.
“Uh, yeah,” you throw a glance over your shoulder, seeing Donghyuck sitting on his bed, rifling through one of your boxes. “It was my dad’s.”
He nods, gently putting it on the bed. He doesn’t ask any questions about it, or your family, which you’re grateful for, but it makes you think he doesn’t have any family of his own.
You know Donghyuck is the most open out of all of the team, but you also know not to ask any personal questions.
You know a lot of things after living in the warehouse for a week. You know that Jaehyun drinks tea in the mornings and coffee at night, that Doyoung cannot access Chenle’s mind. You know that Donghyuck is definitely not a morning person, and that he exclusively wears black, as if he’s always ready for a funeral. Maybe that’s exactly the reason; some kind of sick joke surrounding his immortality.
Most importantly, you now know how to survive Johnny’s training sessions. You’ve trained with most of the team, mostly the Shields – Jeno, Jaemin, Mark and Chenle – as their powers manifest physically, and are easier to control, but Johnny has also been helping you use his ability. “You’re smaller and weaker than the rest of the team, and most Shields in general,” he’d said, eyes roaming your body. It was the first time anyone’s ever looked at you like that without making you feel objectified. “If I’m around, my ability may be the difference in whether you win or lose a fight. Try again, and focus on me.” As if you already weren’t.
He’d hunkered down and gestured for you to begin. With the other members around, you could take Johnny down in less than a minute now. Alone, it took you upwards of 10 minutes.
The day you officially move into the warehouse, you’re exempt from training with the Shields, but Donghyuck takes the opportunity to teach you gunmanship.
“I’ve used a gun before, you know,” you say, but after 10 shots you still haven’t managed to hit the target. The firing range isn’t small, located in the basement of the warehouse, which you didn’t even know existed, but you should have been able to at least hit the target once.
He laughs, picks up the gun and nails the target’s centre 5 times in a row, “So have I. Do you want to be able to actually hit your target, though?” The hole in the centre of the target looks about twice the width of the bullet, made from the bullets hitting basically in the same spot each time.
He puts a hand on your shoulder, adjusting the position of your shoulders, then places one on your lower back, adjusting your posture. You’re stiff, and you know it. He clears his throat and steps back, “Go.”
You brace yourself and shoot, the bullet going straight through the target’s stomach.
“Not too bad,” he nods in approval, holding his hand out for the gun and easily changing the clip in three quick motions. He offers the gun back to you, “Again.”
“You sound like Johnny,” you say when you take it from him. You deepen your voice as low as possible to mimic your trainer and the short, efficient way he speaks, “Again. Stop. Go. Try again. Up.”
Donghyuck lets out a loud laugh that immediately brings a smile to your face. “That was amazing.” He sits down and leans back, a hand pressed against his stomach as he laughs, mimicking your imitation. You join him on the floor, resting your back against the wall and leaning over to grab the bag of potato chips he’d brought down with you. “Have you ever shot someone?”
He reaches over and steals a few chips, as if it was the most normal question in the world. But, there’s a slight shake in his voice when he speaks, “Shot? Yes. Killed? No.”
“Who?” He shoots you a sideways glance and you lower your head, “Sorry.” No personal questions.
The heavy stench of awkward silence settles over you. He breaks it, “Johnny.”
You don’t know what to say except, “Shit.”
“Yeah,” he swallows thickly. “It was an accident. Obviously.”
You’re about to ask what happened when you’re interrupted by someone coming down the stairs. Neither of you had bothered to shut the door to the firing range, giving anyone going up or down the stairs a full view of what you were doing. Jaehyun stops when he sees you both, sitting on the floor of the firing range, sharing a bag of potato chips. He doesn’t look at you, focusing on Donghyuck. He clears his throat, “Are you training, Hyuck?”
Donghyuck’s eyes are wide and innocent when he answers, “Teaching Y/n how to shoot.”
Jaehyun’s eyes move from the two of you to the target and back again, but he doesn’t say anything about the lack of holes in it. “Johnny’s ordering Chinese – if you want anything, let him know. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
He continues and you turn to Donghyuck, “Where’s he going?”
“Garage,” Donghyuck says, through a handful of chips. “Do you want the rest of these?” He offers the bag to you. You shake your head.
“What else is down here?”
“Weapons vault, garage, the range,” he answers distractedly, too focused on getting the last of the flavouring from the bag. “The gym…” his voice trails off.
When he’s satisfied that the bag is indeed empty, he stands up, offering his hand out to you to pull you up, “Jaemin takes ten minutes to pick what he wants to eat, so if you have a preference, we should probably tell Johnny now.”
You take his hand and let him pull you up, reaching for the gun that lays on the ground, “Where-?”
“I’ll take it,” he takes it, quickly turning the safety on and reaches around to his back, tucking the weapon into the back of his black jeans.
Your second day of training was with Chenle, in the gym, which looked more like the inside of an asylum than anything. Everything was clean and a pale, almost-white shade of grey, and the entire ceiling was a cloudy glass panel that illuminated the room, giving the room a bright and energetic yet sterile feel. The equipment was state-of-the-art, a dark contrast to the overall lightness to the room, and floor to ceiling mirrors took up two of the walls. There was a stack of clean towels in the corner, and a few televisions across the room, visible from each machine. A smaller version of the Super fight ring was situated at one end of the long room. Yet, the thing that shocked you the most was the bright blue flooring, an odd design choice.
Chenle was the least helpful out of the Shields in the team, watching you train with his ability, critiquing your control and your movements with a stern eye. “Wrong. Try again. Make it hotter this time, or you’ll do no damage.” As if to gloat, he held a hand up, and a dangerous blue flame engulfed it. Your own flame, a measly bright orange, wavered.
The entire time you’d trained with him, he’d done nothing but glare and criticise you. You were sure he hated you, or maybe it was just the fact that he wasn’t the only one who had his ability anymore.
Yet, as he was leaving to eat, he’d nodded in approval at you, “Good. We’ll train together again soon, I’m sure.” It was the most he’d said to you. Actually, if you added up everything he has said to you, it would still be less words than were in that sentence.
Basically, he hadn’t spoken to you much all week.
Jaemin, however, was the opposite, and the person you’d trained with the day after Chenle. If anything, he was too kind and too understanding - he barely helped you.
“It’s okay if you can’t run as fast as me, yet,” he’d assured you with a smile, his hands on your shoulders. His smile was wide and encouraging, his eyes kind, and you instinctively knew he was a heartbreaker. No one with a smile like that has ever been heartbroken, you’d thought. His flirtatious manner was also a dead giveaway.
Your suspicions were only confirmed when he’d been sent on an assignment at the Den, and entered the kitchen the day after looking a little too happy. A girl had snuck out a few minutes later, looking only slightly embarrassed as she tried to pull her shoes on and find the exit at the same time. Jaemin had just stood in the kitchen and smiled at her as he ate his toast, not even bothering to show her out.
“You’ll have to eat a lot tonight,” he informed you at the end of your training. “And make sure you don’t have any training tomorrow morning, because you’ll be out for a while since this is your first time testing your stamina with my ability.”
He was right; you were exhausted after only two hours with him. When you’d told him just that, his smile widened and he winked at you. You laughed and shook your head at him, throwing your towel at him, “I’m going to shower.” He opened his mouth but you shot him a stern look, “Do not ask to join me.”
His easy-going smile remained on his face as he shrugged nonchalantly, “Worth a shot.” He bent down to pick up his drink bottle and began tidying up the gym as you left.
The person that surprised you the most was Jeno. His ability was easy enough to control, since you could control when you wanted the super strength, but he was happy to train you in preparation for your own training with Johnny.
“I guess it’s easy if you can control when you want to use someone’s ability, since your emotions don’t get in the way,” he’d said, as he wound his fist up with tape and gauze. “But if we’re not around, you need to be able to defend yourself with just your, uh, body.”
You nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Keep a clear head and be logical. Johnny is the only one that can see what you’re about to do, so unless you’re fighting him, think about what you’re doing.” The intense look is back in his eyes when he looks up from his wrapped hands, checking to see if you’re listening, as you haven’t said anything. You can easily see why the others would hate fighting him – he’s smart and he’s dangerous. “If you don’t think, you’ll… you’ll get hurt.” Something in his voice has changed, but it’s gone when he speaks again, “You’re no use if you’re dead.” You quirk an eyebrow at him and he juts his chin up at you, “Hold out your hand.”
You do as he says and he steps forward and begins wrapping your hand delicately. It’s far neater than you’d expected.
“Were you a boxer?”
He lets out a humourless laugh, “No. I’ve just been in a fair few fights.” You try not to react, but he can see what you’re thinking when he looks up. “Relax, most of them walked away just fine.”
“Most?” He doesn’t respond, and you take the hint that he does not want to talk about it.
He’s actually quite a good trainer, you discover, and teaches you the strongest ways to take someone down. He’s less talkative than Jaemin, but his instructions are clear and easy to follow, and at the end of your session, you’re able to do basic sparring with him.
“It’s 6,” he says, looking up at the wall of the gym. Without even a goodbye, he grabs his drink bottle and gym bag, lightly jogging up the steps to head to his room.
That night, you ate dinner with Mark and Jaemin. Well, you ate while they played video games. Jaemin shared a room with Jeno, but you hadn’t seen him since your training session. Empty pizza boxes were stacked by the door, and you counted at least 5. Your own box was sitting beside you on Jeno’s bed, while Jaemin and Mark sat side by side on Jaemin’s bed, their eyes glued to the TV screen that hung on one wall. Their room was a lot more… normal than you’d expected. Donghyuck’s was a giveaway that he was a Super – or a psychopath, either worked – with the blood and the diagrams and the journals and the weapons stacked in boxes around the room.
Jeno and Jaemin’s room was fitted out with their beds, desks, wardrobes, bean bag chairs, an old gaming console and a flatscreen TV. A few movie posters and celebrities were on the wall, and old photos. Only Jaemin had photos, and even so, there were only a few taped to the wall above his bed’s headboard. You couldn’t make out any details from where you were sitting.
Mark’s reflexes were no match for Jaemin’s, and he lost almost every round, making you wonder why he still agreed to play.
“Hey, should I save some of this for Jeno?” You asked, staring at the pizza still remaining in the box. There were only three left, and part of you wondered if it would even be enough. The other part of you thought it would at least be polite to offer.
“Nah, he won’t be back til tomorrow,” Jaemin doesn’t even turn around in his seat, his eyes frantically following his character as it moves across the screen.
“Huh. Okay,” you pick up another slice just as the game ends and Jaemin turns to throw another wide grin at you.
“That means my room’s free for the night, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He laughs at the look of exasperation on your face.
When his attention is away from you again, you say, “Jaehyun sure keeps you guys busy.” There’s only a little bit of bitterness in your voice; you’d been with the team for four days and the only time you’d left was to sort out your apartment. Apparently, you weren’t ready for any assignments yet.
“Huh? Jaehyun has him on an assignment?” Mark’s confusion gets your attention, as he turns to look at Jaemin with a furrowed brow. This was clearly unusual – or, at least, news to him.
Jaemin barely glances at you as he responds, “Nah, he’s visiting his girlfriend.”
“Jeno has a girlfriend?” You ask, only slightly shocked. It wasn’t like you’d thought about their love lives, but you’d just assumed everyone was single. It went with the job description.
“Yeah,” Jaemin nods. “She lives on the other side of the city somewhere. At one of the colleges. He normally goes after trainings on Fridays, since it’s the only night she’s not studying.”
Even without seeing your face, he can sense your surprise.
“Don’t ask him about it, though. He’s very reserved when it comes to her. Doesn’t want any of us to know much about her. I don’t even know her n-”
Mark laughs when he finally manages to kill Jaemin, and Jaemin pouts and rolls his eyes, insisting he was too focused on you to play. “You’re such a baby,” Mark laughs louder, and Jaemin swats at him. His hand moves so fast you barely even see it hit Mark’s arm. “Ow! Dude!”
“One more game, come on,” Jaemin insists, turning back to the screen. Then he raises his voice, “Anyway, Y/n, he won’t even tell us her name, let alone anything else about her. So don’t bring it up.”
“Or he’ll literally chokeslam you,” Mark adds, which, for some reason, makes them both laugh loudly.
You nod, despite the fact they can’t see you, and go back to eating your pizza, “I’ve got next game!”
Mark sighs in relief, “Gladly.” Jaemin’s competitiveness was beginning to wear him out.
The following day, Mark taught you the basics of shape shifting. He was the latest addition to the team – other than you – and his control was even worse than yours. “Shape shifting is really difficult,” he giggled, nervously. “If you’re not 100% imagining what you want to be, you’ll turn into something way different. But don’t panic, it will restrict your ability to change back.”
Over the course of the day, you’d shifted into birds, mice, elephants, leopards, any creature you could think of. Though, you had humiliated yourself when he went to get snacks during your break, greeting and talking to the large dog that came trotting down the stairs, as if it were Mark.
“What are you doing?” He’d laughed when he walked back into the gym, snacks in hand.
You’d been at a loss for words, your cheeks immediately becoming inflamed. “I- I thought that was you,” you pointed at the dog, which was panting as it sat down on the stack of towels in the corner of the room.
“That’s Bruce, Renjun’s dog,” Mark explained, tossing you a can of iced coffee. “Don’t tell Jaemin you drank his coffee.”
You paused, the opened can raised to your lips. You lowered it, slightly, “Why does Jaemin need coffee if he already operates at like 10 times the speed we do?”
“For after he crashes,” Mark shrugs. “Sometimes speed isn’t everything.” He laughs at his own joke, “If he doesn’t sleep enough, he’ll still be exhausted. Sometimes he can’t afford to sleep more than 12 hours, so he relies on coffee.” He cocks his head to the side as he examines his can.
Later, when you’re sitting on the floor after successfully shapeshifting into cockroaches, you ask, “Have you ever tried turning into other people? Can you do that?”
“Yes, but – I really have to know what the person looks like. Like, I can imagine a dog and turn into a dog because any small details that I remember incorrectly will go unnoticed by a human,” he gulps down his cola. “Humans are more complex – one small detail could make me look totally different to the person I’m trying to copy.”
“Change into me, then,” you sit up straighter. “If you can see me, surely you won’t have to rely on your memory, right?”
He shrugs and locks his eyes onto you. You’d seen him transfer from human to horse, from sheep to frog, but somehow seeing him change from himself to you was more disturbing. His skin ripples and his bones make disturbing popping noises as they change, and you wonder if it hurts, even though you had shape shifted multiple times and knew it didn’t hurt at all.
Within a few seconds, right before your eyes… is you. “Hello,” he says in your voice.
“Okay, fuck that, change back,” you tell him, looking away. “That’s so creepy. Brilliant, but creepy.”
When he laughs, it sounds like him again, and you let your eyes drift back to where was sitting. He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. His eyes, not your own.
You could have so much fun with this ability, reminding yourself to try it on Donghyuck later.
You tell Mark this as he tosses a piece of popcorn into his mouth, and you both stretch out on the gym floor, laughing at all the pranks you could easily pull on the other members of the team.
#nct#nct gang au#nct superhero au#nct mafia au#nct antihero au#nct superhuman au#nct superpower au#nct angst#nct dream#nct 127#nct scenarios#nct drabbles#nct fluff#nct smut#nct suggestive#NCT Dream gang au#NCT Dream superhero au#NCT Dream angst#nct 127 angst#nct 127 fluff
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Lamb
***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.
Summary: In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.
To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.
Their bond created all life as we know it.
C/N: 18+ only; mythology AU; implied genocide; physical violence; self harm; bloody bloody blood
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: Well, here I am again, and here we go again. Please take the content warnings seriously because I am not a nice girl; and herein, may lie not-nice-girl things.
This is my first foray into world building, and I welcome all feedback, critiques, and comments. :)
Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump and @bexterbex for helping me develop this idea and get it ready for sharing.
***
In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.
To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.
Their bond created all life as we know it.
You ran your fingers over the intricate gold leaf pattern on the book’s cover, remembering your lessons as a child. This Scripture, your grandmother’s most treasured possession, was the only part of your life you’d brought on this crusade. It was the only thing you couldn’t bear to abandon, even in the face of certain death.
You exhausted every avenue before taking on this last of your options. You demanded justice from the law only to be told you should keep your mouth shut. You went straight to the throne, but it shut to your caste, your people too low to deserve even an audience.
Selling every item of value, you had barely scraped up enough for the one-person craft, but it served its purpose. You were here. You landed the shuttle on one of Chandrila's famed rolling hills, overlooking The Demarcation. You exhaled, shallow and nervous, and looked out over the horizon. The pilgrimage to this place, this day, was long and harrowing, but the sacrament itself would be quick.
Your fingers quaked as you shucked everything identifiable about yourself: blue pants your mother bought for your birthday; green shirt that belonged to your brother, found in the rubble of what was your family home; jade hair clip handed down from mother to daughter for generations. None of it would serve you now, and it would only be in the way. Trading the vestiges of civilization for religion, you donned your grandmother’s ample amethyst robe, lacing the silk ties that held it together, and grabbed up the athame she’d bequeathed to you at your initiation.
She enveloped you, your grandmother, and you buried your nose into her sacred garment to inhale the lingering scent. They were your world, lovely and loving, ground to dust beneath the machine of a war none of you pledged to fight. The Resistance descended upon your planet like a plague, and they left a great nothing, a slate wiped forcefully clean in their wake.
It was for them you made this trek, that you abandoned all logic and reason for faith. They raised you to share their doctrine, but it never served a single purpose for you in life. Your grandmother and mother believed everything they’d ever taught you about the Twin Fathers. They wove the fabric of their lives, and yours, around it; and now, you clung to their prayers, your last hope in the face of something horrible and wholly dismissed by the universe.
There was no one to remember them, their faithfulness and devotion, but you.
Fathers, we pray. Bless this our food to the nourishment of our bodies that we may be strong in your service. Bless these our hands that we may share your great instruction with those in need. Bless our hearts that we may find the balance you have so righteously set for us.
Their prayers spilled over your dry lips, the only eulogy they would ever receive, and every holy word strengthened your resolve.
Clutching book and blade in one hand, you punched a series of numbers into the keypad nearest the bay door, extending the ramp. When it finished descending, you issued another command, the tiny keys lighting up with each pressed digit.
“Self-destruct sequence initiated.” The robotic voice vibrated the tiny craft’s walls. “Confirm.”
“Confirmation,” you cast one last look around the shuttle that had been your home for a month, “Bravo Echo 2-4.”
“Countdown 2 minutes.”
Sunlight, warm and inviting, welcomed you as you stepped off the ramp. Squinting into its brilliance, you recalled the way your brother would read to you on lazy afternoons and how your family would picnic on similar grassy knolls. The beeping over your shoulder grew faster with each passing second, and you lifted the cumbersome dress around your knees, wasting no further time jogging down the hill.
You were out on the flat land for just a second before the shuttle exploded into a fiery ball. You watched the blast shoot debris and columns of soot into the perfect sky. In another life, it would have scared you, shying you away from the destruction. Silent, stoic, you tracked plumes of grey smoke and the fall of ashes, comparing it to the devastation you found after the Resistance found your planet.
Days after the attack, you roamed fallen buildings and picked through still warm rubble. You had been too late, too far away. Knowing you could have done nothing to stop the strike was empty consolation.
You could have died with them. You would rather have died with them. Now, all you could do was die for them.
On bare feet, you crossed the flowery field, taking in the array of purples and yellows. You lingered on the blue-green grass, feeling the soft stick of it underfoot, and you basked in the wispy clouds overhead. This was life, teeming with vibrant colors, but it all felt hollow, dampened. You wondered if everyone who came here felt this way, grateful that this beauty would be one of their last memories but unable to fully appreciate what they saw.
Pressing your lips into a determined line, you steeled your will and turned to The Demarcation, The Great Divide.
Grandfather Sky Walker tasked the twins with creating and maintaining The Balance. One would usher life; one would usher death; both harbingers of fate.
It was striking, a sudden upheaval of vitality in deference to darkness. Tendrils of fog mingled with melancholy dusk, and you spent a long moment admiring the space between one and the other. This spot, this one impossible convergence, was balance. It was what every man strived to achieve, and no man could boast.
On the other side of the billowing veil, where you were coaching yourself to go, was The Ren’s territory. People far and wide spun countless tales about the land and its Master. It was a bottomless hole, they said, that would swallow you up steps past the boundary. It was an unending bog, and all who journeyed there were lost. All of its structures were built from the bones of the dead, and The Ren was the vicious king of an unforgiving wasteland.
Your grandmother, however, believed The Ren to be a merciful father, wise and misunderstood. He was the bringer of ends who did not differentiate between rich and poor. No creature was safe from his touch, and that made every creature equal in his eyes.
Whatever that land may be, whatever The Ren may be, there was nothing on the other side of that shroud that could compare to what you’d already endured. It was the way forward, your only way, and you bid yourself to go forth on deliberate steps.
Mirroring the track of your life, a balmy day gave way to a wintry gloom as you moved through the gauzy curtain, passing from one kingdom to another. The living world fell away, replaced by slender black trees that shot up to winking stars and stood adorned with wide, scarlet leaves. A ghostly breeze blew, shaking the leaves to delicately fall and blanket the spongy ground. You trod upon them carefully, uncertain what might lurk beneath the crimson carpet.
You took your time on the winding path, drinking in every otherworldly detail. Light pooled from a clandestine moon, and the very air shimmered under its grace. Midnight-colored blossoms dotted the road, mingling with swaying ferns. The stars shone so bright you could almost hear the twinkle, a delicate song tapped out to echo against the trees. Every inhale was laced with morning mist and rich earth.
The stories were wrong. This was no forlorn place. It was luminous, hallowed. Absent the touch of civilization, this land had bloomed unharmed, untainted.
This world felt more real to you, more easily understood. Colored with variations of shadow, it was peaceful in its ashen palette.
Reaching the altar, you stared, both reverent and curious. How many had come before you to lay their lives down for The Ren? How many had died as a sacrifice? Surely, its ruddy color came from generations of blood spilled in offering.
It was a chalice to which you would soon be adding.
The stone was cold and damp, raising gooseflesh on your nearly naked form. It curved down in the very center, a macabre cradle for all those laid here. A blending of emotion and chill cast your skin in shades of flush and set every digit to trembling. It was as though the thing waited for you impatiently, its very existence demanding an offering.
Your skepticism at your grandmother’s faith dwindled when confronted with an exact duplicate of the altar upon which you’d taken your initiation rites. It was larger, but the ridges were the same. The slab of your childhood did not bear such a florid hue, but the sacrifices it received had been sugar, water, bread.
This shrine’s very construction felt haunted, a cauldron of souls made solid.
Hoisting yourself up onto the behemoth, you arranged your tools in the very center. You set the athame at your right and spread the weighty purple velvet over the shrine, laying the fabric and yourself out as you would for a lover.
Your lips trembled. Your knees knocked together. The cloak barely covered your body, and the little satin bows lent an air of innocence you could hardly claim as truth. You hoped, swallowed a handful of prayers, that The Ren accepted sacrifices as the stories told. Today, confronted with the reality of this place, you believed it more.
Tenderly, longingly, you ran your fingers over the tome once more. You lifted it and pressed a gentle kiss to its cover. It would lie beneath your head during this last of your chores and for however long your body would remain here.
Closing your eyes, you conjured memories of your grandmother bearing witness to so many dead over the years and how you, filled with doubt and agony and hate, had failed to do the same for your family, your friends, your people. It had been too great of a thing, too much sorrow to compact into a single prayer.
The words came easily now, having been swirling and growing in your chest for weeks.
Into thy hands, Great Fathers, do we commend this soul, departed from the body, in payment for the souls still yet to come. We pray that you welcome her, keep her, and enter her into the great Balance so we may again feel the light of her love.
Swallowing your grief, you gripped the wicked blade tight. You had no more tears to cry. You brimmed with an awful energy, this ceaseless anguish bubbling up from your very marrow.
“Dark Father,” you brushed fabric away from your right leg and sliced a deep gash into the supple thigh before you could change your mind. “Hear my prayer.”
You hissed at the burn but smoothed your features into a stolid mask. You would do this for your family and people, who received no warning, no choice to convert or flee. You would make your entreaty to The Ren; or, you would die here and reunite with them. Whatever the outcome, this was your end.
“I commit my body to your hands. As your brother has given it to me, I give it now to you to use as you will. Grant me the grace of your ear that I may plead my case.”
Your breath stuttered, and you fought back the roaring in your ears so you could concentrate and carry on. Fixing your eyes upon the trickle of blood, you watched it turn to a pool and hurried to match it with another slash at your left forearm. Benumbed, you tracked the redness as it crested and spilled in every direction.
The callous cold seeped into your very bones, and you fell back against the altar with a gasp, fingers grasping for the book’s corner. You blinked, heavy lidded, as your face fell to one side, staring into the great forest beyond.
In your delirium, you thought you could see them, smiling and holding each other. Tears you thought you no longer had rushed forth, and you shook. Weakness or acceptance broke open the gate on your heartbreak, releasing a torrent of sobs and screams. There was no one to hear, to care, to chastise you for its futility.
You heard her voice, your grandmother’s tone the same that had been soothing your fears since you could remember, rubbing over you like a comforting balm.
More than yesterday, beloved. Less than tomorrow. Find me in the Balance.
“Nona, I’m coming.”
Your fit rode your wounds and bled away to faint sniffles and glassy eyes. You stared up at what you felt had to be an eternally night sky and pushed your fingers through the growing sticky puddles.
This was death, and you welcomed it. You would slip away into a dreamless sleep here in such a place as you never knew existed. Fatigued, breathing slow, your face fell to one side, eyes unfocused but still dancing from beauteous flower to leaf to timber.
He was a charcoal smudge, nothing more. His movement was so subtle your addled brain took him for a tree, black clad and too tall to be a man. He stepped through the maze, and what little tenacity you had left drained away.
He came to sit upon the side of the altar where you lay dying, tilting his head to look at you. You stared, bewildered and confronted with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen when you had been expecting The Ren, the great storied monster. He passed his hand over your face, and the sting of your wounds abated. The heaviness of your limbs lessened, and the burden of your body eased.
Feeling and consciousness and awareness flooded back into your senses, and you bolted upright. Understanding dawned, and you gaped at him, struck dumb by every mesmerizing feature. Ebony tresses crowned him brilliantly, and he looked back at you with deep, glittering eyes. His fair skin was sprinkled with twilight constellations, and his lips were full, lush, slightly pink.
This was The Ren.
Troubled by the absence of death, you surveyed your situation, shaking both tense hands into fists. The ritual robe clung to the altar more than it did to you, swirling lurid with your blood. Blood that still flowed, you realized. Wide-eyed and amazed, you studied this unnatural phenomenon. The wounds at your thigh and wrist still wept; they should have killed you, but there was now a sanguine loop wrapping each injury around to feed into itself.
“Why have you called me here?” His voice was gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in millennia.
“Am I dead?” It was a staggeringly stupid question, but it was the only clear thought in your head as you stared at the vermilion ouroboros around your wrist.
“If you intend to answer every question with a question,” his enormous hand shot out to capture the flesh just above your forearm laceration, “you will be soon.”
He squeezed the wounded limb until you shrieked and tried to tug away. Deciding that he would not let you go until you appeased him, you licked dry lips and worked your mouth into a measure of moisture.
“Why did you come?” Your query shocked even you, and you snapped your mouth shut hard enough to hear the clap of your jaws.
True to his word, The Ren’s hand connected with your throat so fast you couldn’t say for sure he’d moved. In one moment, idiotic inquiries filled your muddled mind; and in the next, you were choking at the end of his arm.
“Your howling,” his fingers tightened at your throat, thumb rubbing into the pulse almost delicately. “The next question will be your last. Why are you here?”
Licking your suddenly too-dry lips, you studied him, wrapping both of your small hands around his wrist. This man, this deity, was walking death, and that he sat here with his hands upon you changed the very foundation of everything you believed to be true.
“I-I came to ask your favor, Dark Father.”
He shoved you away and stood from his perch. Death’s gravity pulled you down again, and you whimpered, reaching for him as though it would prolong the inevitable. Your mouth worked on a plea, but none came.
“You’ve wasted your time. And mine.” He turned away and spat the rest over his shoulder. “Sparing virgins their lives or the lives of their lovers lost its allure long ago.”
Glancing back, he must have seen something, perhaps the abject apology in your face and on your outstretched fingers, because he snatched you from oblivion in a blink. You broke into wretched sobs, each lung-full of air quaking and painful.
“I came here so you’d come for me.” You dug bloodstained fingertips into your eyes to staunch the tears. “And to ask for your help.”
He was ethereal, his presence just a step out of sync with the rest of the universe, and it was difficult to look upon. You turned your face to one side and tried to compose yourself. You were battling the significance of your loss against the staggering truth that The Ren was real and here.
“You come to ask favors but cannot even look upon the beast?” He closed the gap in a blur, and you shrieked, leaning away. “How do you plan to beg if you will not even open your eyes?”
Crowding in aggressively, he leaned over and braced himself with both sturdy hands on either side of your head, an effective cage. His gaze traced over every curve of your face, and you couldn’t move under the oppression of his scrutiny.
“You think you will make demands of me?” His voice changed, dropping to a malicious whisper as he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing it to its origin in your hairline.
He would eat you; you were sure of it. Razor-sharp teeth hid just behind those beautiful lips, and he would tear you to pieces. Bolstering yourself, you drew in a shuddering breath and looked up into the galaxy-filled eyes. You had to say the words. You had to tell him what brought you here, but you weren’t sure you could do it.
“The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.” His suddenly gentle tone belied his impatience and interminable power. “Tell me why you are here; or, I will leave you to die.”
You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, losing yourself in his resplendent gaze. It was like staring straight into the sun, and every part of you felt branded by him.
Your reasons for coming here meant little to him, you were certain. You pictured your family again and the horror inflicted on them.
The tension in your body loosened as purpose flowed through your veins once more. Your trembling lips blew out a steadying breath, which seemed to please him. He traced your lower lip with the very end of his thumb, waiting for you to speak.
“Retribution.”
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As Sweet as Your Joy (Jimin/Reader)
⏤ Pairing: Siren!Jimin/Reader
⏤ Genre: Angst, some fluff, fantasy, mythology
⏤ Word Count: Around 3.7k
⏤ Warnings: Suicide, discussion of blood, mentions of drowning, death, angst, Jimin is a siren and sirens kill people. Death is discussed and sometimes in a very cavalier way.
Rating: Mature themes, but not 18 +
Summary: You’ve been alive long enough to know what you want, and he can see it in your eyes from the moment you meet. Still, he refuses to give it to you.
Italics is flashback.
Thank you @wwilloww for beta-ing, and being a supportive Queen, @jamaiskook same to you, my confidence needs you both to function.
Tagging: @ezralia-writes @ladyartemesia @dreamystuffers
They say dangerous things lurk in those waters. In the darkest depths just off the reef, out by the light house. A place only fools like you dare to venture.
Dangerous, but beautiful things. Things with skin so thin you can see the odd blue-green of their veins and sugar-spun smiles that reveal teeth that are just a little too sharp.
Dangerous things with luminous, haunting faces and voices that tune to the melody of your soul, pulling you closer and closer to madness, that will promise you your heart’s desire, calling you further, further away from shore, till your toes don’t touch the bottom and you can no longer see land.
Dangerous things that steal your breath from your mouth and leave you washed up on shore days later, skin mottled with bruises like flowers. A lilac, lavender, deep tyrian warning to anyone who sees, a warning...don’t come too close, don’t be tempted as these fools were.
But unfortunately, you yourself have never been good at heeding warnings. You would wade waist deep into trouble if it meant brushing your hand against the shining scales just below, captivated by the swirling rainbows just beyond your grasp. Nary a storm or murky water could stop you, venturing out a little further each day, undeterred by the steady stream of bodies that appeared on shore.
Some would say you had no sense of self preservation. A foolish little thing, others would echo in the town, tutting their tongues and shaking their heads. A girl without parents to guide her or husband for counsel.
It was a surprise to everyone you weren’t dead already.
Still, the day came that you pulled yourself onto a rock several meters from the shore, an ugly jutted pillar that smoothed out on the side facing the water, ignoring the ache in your bones as you stood to full height -
And you waited.
Waited for the deadly creature who could grant you your heart’s desire. Longing for just a moment, wanting to see his face as you had that one night.
The choppy water did nothing to stop you, reaching your waist as you dove in. The sea was a clear green, an unnatural emerald that you could see through, that you could get lost in, and getting lost was just what you wanted to do. The setting sun’s reflection was lost on you as you swam further from shore, deeper in. The darkness grew with every yard you conquered.
It wasn’t that you wanted to die, it was just that on that day you had nothing to live for. The persistent, unnatural pound of the heart in your chest, and the curiosity for the unknown - it was enough.
Your gasping breath was muffled as you submerged your head again, swimming further into the depths till your lungs cried out.Then, like a flash, something caught your eye, a flittering of scales, pearlescent rainbow. You turned your head sharply, hand brushing the bottom of the murky depth.
And meeting the smoothness of bone.
Your gaze lingered, a sort of horror in your bones, contorting your features into fear as you realized what you had stumbled upon, the settling silt revealing a field of skeletons. A siren’s graveyard. Clothes decaying, but bright gold still shining, precious jewels capturing what was left of the light.
And just to your left, the glittering creature.
A strong hand gripped your wrist as you stupidly gasped, sending water pouring into your throat, a choked sound following.
The creature tugged you to his chest, lavender eyes capturing yours, flaxen hair a shade of sickening green underwater.
He smiled, and all you could remember were his too-sharp teeth
______________________________________________________________________
“I know you’re here!” You crowed, no sound but the waves against the rock responding. It was sunset. The same time you had seen the creature that first time. “Why won’t you come out?”
You groaned, glad that the sun was no longer beating down on you, but frustrated nonetheless. “Please?”
“Pretty birds like you shouldn’t beg.” A melodic voice cut through, sending you almost teetering off the rock. “Nor should they try to tempt fate” You stared at him, those beautiful blue eyes of his, eyes that seemed to fade and shift to purple with the light, drawing you in. Unconsciously you leaned closer to the water, closer to him, perching precariously on the edge.
He was beautiful now, in a different way from before, his blonde hair hanging about his shoulders, muscles glistening with seawater.
He flicked his tail, the bottom fin breaching the water, revealing his rainbow scales dancing in the light. You stared as though in a trance, the world slowing down as you saw yourself reflected in his eyes. Feeling lightheaded you shut your eyes, the feeling ending as you met the darkness of your lids.
“Closing your eyes won’t hide you from me.” You heard the shift of the water, felt the coldness of his skin against yours as he brought his hands to your face. “You came out here to die, didn’t you?”
“N-No.” You tried to pull away, but he was strong, his nails sharp against your face. “No I don’t want to die.” He chuckled, a low sound that contrasted dreadfully with his sweet face.
“My dear, if that is really the case, why all but throw yourself at me, here to kill you.”
“Because you won’t kill me.” Your voice was a whisper, lost on the salty breeze. He tensed, the truth of your words catching him off guard.
“I won’t kill you.” The siren affirmed, his touch weakening till it was nothing but a gentle caress. “But I won’t give you what you want either. No, my beautiful bird, you won’t get that from me.”
______________________________________________________________________
His name was Jimin.
Jimin liked shiny things, baubles, bracelets, trinkets. He especially liked the silver necklace you always wore, trailing down reveal a locket set with a single shining sapphire. He liked flowers, and he liked to braid those flowers into your hair, soft pinks to the darkest shades of blood. His nimble fingers wove them thickly into your hair, till the heady scent made you lightheaded.
“You are as bright as a Starling.” He said, his voice soft and sweet against your skin. “A beautiful thing. A fairy, even.”
“You lie.” You mumbled, the blush on your cheeks hidden by the flush placed there by the hot sun. “Only one of us is that beautiful.” You reached over, tucking the last rose into his own hair. “And it’s you.”
“You only feel that way because you refuse to see me as I am.” His tone turned dark, eyes shining unnaturally in the sun. “For what I am really.”
“Jimin-“
“A monster. A monster who kills you a little more each time I touch you.” His fingers squeezed yours in affection, in pain. “I won’t give you what you want. You have to know.”
“You don’t know what I want.” You challenge, the proud tilt of your features almost makes him smile...almost.
“I do know, I’ve known since the moment you sought me out. Day after day, your wish has always been there.”
“Please, don’t say it.” You begged him, tears brimming in your eyes. “Don’t break this spell just yet.”
“This has to stop.”
___________________________________________________________________
“Do you know how sirens are born?” He had asked you one day, before you knew his name. You had shaken your head, unsure of the exact mythology behind his existence, only really knowing that he was there and that somewhere in the great expanse of the oceans there were more like him.
“How are creatures like you created?”
“We are born in death. Unjustly killed in the very waters we haunt. Doomed to drag others to their deaths as revenge against the humanity that wronged us.” He was perched on the edge of the rock, his chest exposed down to his waist, where his scales just began to peek out from the water.
“Who wronged you, then?” Your first question, perhaps callous in the face of the agony in his tone. Yet, your hands swiped the skin of his cheeks, attempting to sooth his ills, marveling at the coolness of his skin even in high summer. “Why do you hunt these waters, siren?”
“A friend. With hair as red as blood and eyes I learned to trust. Trust didn’t come easy to us, in our line of work.”
“What sort of work?”
“Oh, my little starling. I was a pirate.” Though his eyes were dark, his smile was sweet and soft, masking those teeth that haunted your dark dreams. “A savage of the seas, but that was many years ago, long before now.”
“You don’t look savage.”
“Trust nothing that you see.” He sighed, a sound so sad your heart broke for him all over. “Trust nothing of my face. I am still just as savage as I was then. Only a little more refined.”
“Refined?”
“See, little bird, you don’t even realize that with every moment that you let me touch you, I’m killing you.” His breath was in your ear, his face at the crook of your neck. You felt them, the teeth, sharp and jagged, lingering just above your pulse point. Your breath hitched, terror bleeding into your veins. He wouldn’t kill you, would he?
“The fear is delicious.” He murmured, tongue laving over your skin. “I can smell it in your blood.”
“P-Please-“
“Have you come to your senses about me? Do you see what I can do?” His smooth voice was harsh now, and you wanted to flinch.
“I see that you can do many things, but you still…won’t kill me.” He tensed at your words, and you could feel the tremor that traveled up his body.
“Why did you die, siren?”
“Jimin.” He breathed, eyes glassy. “My name is Jimin.”
“Okay. Jimin.” You tried your best to keep your voice a soothing, dulcet tone.
“I died because of love.”
“Love?” Quiet as a mouse you whispered the word back to him.
“Love for the man who killed me.” The chasm between you in that moment seemed insurmountable, and only a step, all at once.
“You loved him?” You prompted, uncomfortable in the silence.
“Loved him. Some would say, madly. I killed for him. I bathed in blood to satiate his desires. I grew honed like a knife to please him. Then, when power was just in our grasp, he decided that only his grasp was worthy.” You followed every word, eyes wide with sadness. “Love means nothing. That’s what he said when he plunged a sword in my belly.”
“Jimin…”
“I took my final breath as a man drifting to the bottom of the sea floor, eyes wide open, choking on seawater and blood, the sting of betrayal burned into my heart.”
“And?” You gripped at his hands, entwining your fingers with his. This- This feeling in your stomach never seemed to fade when you were with him. Even if you knew he could kill you.
Even if you hoped he would.
“And I awoke at the bottom of the sea floor, hungry for the souls of the damned who should lurk in those waters.” Damned like you? Still you smiled at his seriousness, shaking your head as you reached over, hand finding his - rewarded when he squeezed your fingers.
“And without any legs.” You couldn’t stop the laughter in your throat, even as his eyes widened, an abashed look on his face. Till he too was laughing, a sound as clear and beautiful as bells that sent a rush of feelings into your chest.
___________________________________________________________________
One afternoon, about a month after he told you that he wouldn’t see you again, he breaks his promise. Or perhaps you forced his hand.
You couldn’t lie to yourself now, the trek to the rock made your lungs ache like it hadn’t before. It took you a moment to catch your breath, your chest burning as coughs wracked your body.
There were some truths better left unspoken. Not by you, not by the people in your small little town who covered their mouths with kerchiefs as you walked by, not even by the gentle sea breezes that whispered secrets into your ears and lulled you to sleep at night.
This was one of them.
You settled yourself on the warm rock, wishing that it could remain summer here forever. Winter brought icy winds that curled up inside of you and wouldn’t leave. With winter came chopping firewood with chapped hands and gasping breaths, praying that you made it home.
With winter came water that was too cold for you to touch, choppy and biting.
You heard a familiar splash, a smile forming on your face. You knew he would come today. Knew that he was like you, unable to stay away.
Because he knew too, with winter you wouldn’t see him again.
“Starling.” His smile was free of the annoyance of before, a soft look of melancholy on his features. “You don’t look well.”
“Ah, well, it’s just the heat.” You smiled back, patting the hard surface next to you. “Come sit.”
He didn’t, choosing instead to rest his head on the warm stone, his lower body hidden in the water. You frowned, leaning over till your stomach was resting on the rock, your nose almost touching his. “Don’t be difficult.”
“Oh, my darling one.” Those lilac eyes, tender and solemn, pulled you in so easily, your heart rate rising, fingers clenching against the rough stone. You could see galaxies in his eyes, swirling shades of blue fading into purple. Unnatural pools that tugged you closer to the edge… to the end. Looking into them left you feeling breathless, dazed...liable to succumb to madness every time you saw them.
You felt your breath quickening, an unnatural sound leaving your lips as his eyes widened, his hands coming up to clutch your shoulders. “Not now.” There was an edge to his voice as he clutched you, his nails digging into your skin painfully, reminding you where you were. “Don’t succumb like this.”
‘Why won’t you let me?” You demanded, voice hoarse. “Please, just let me.” A tear slipped down your cheek and you felt his tongue drag a rough trail up your skin.
“Your despair doesn’t taste as sweet as your joy.”
__________________________________________________________________
You loved him. The easy confession did not startle you, didn’t frighten you. It was like waking up after a long sleep, feeling refreshed and new.
Of course, you also knew there was no future for the two of you.
No future for you at all.
Still, you made the trip, until summer began to fade again and autumn took its place.
Until the rattle in your throat grew too hard to ignore.
“There was one like you before.” He confessed one day, hand resting in yours, letting you nestle your tired body against his chest. It was daringly intimate, shocking in its kindness. “A man, hardworking and diligent.”
“Why like me?”
“He wanted me to take his burdens from him.” Jimin curled a piece of your hair around his finger, humming lowly. “Day after day he would come out to me, and day after day, I refused.”
“What burdens did he have?” You were sleepy, barely awake, there was a chill in the air, and it made your bones ache.
“He lost his wife and child, sickness had worked its way through your tiny little village, and left him with nothing.”
“Why didn’t he take his own life?”
“Why don’t you take yours?”
“I don’t- I don’t want to die.” You murmur softly, burying your face into his chest.
“Neither did he.”
“But he did die?”
“All mortals die.” The implication that he was not in that category was not lost on you.
“Did you kill him?”
“He gave me no other choice.”
“And if I gave you no other choice?”
“Starling, killing you would be the end of me.” You didn’t dare ask why.
______________________________________________________________________
The graveyard that lurked just below your feet had stopped frightening you. You got braver each day, bolder with him, more brazen.
It was hard to ignore how seeing his soft smile as you stared down at him from your perch made you feel.
Perhaps also you had started coming to terms with the truth.
The truth he had known from the moment he had seen you, months earlier, first standing on the beach, staring for hours at the vast expanse before you. The truth you knew he had felt as you caught sight of those luminous scales just below the surface.
That is why you kept going, to the point that you spent your afternoons there more often than at home.
Not that you had anyone at home to wait for you.
You never asked him about it though, about the skeletons, the precious jewels. They felt detached from his beautiful face. Even at his most sullen, they seemed too dirty to be any fault of his.
Even if you knew that wasn’t true.
____________________________________________________________________
People, often enough, don’t throw themselves off lighthouses, you mused, the winter wind beating at your skin. But, people often enough weren’t you.
Standing at the top of the ancient building, you glanced out at the angry waters below.
It felt like it had taken you hours to climb the steps, and just as long to hoist yourself onto the edge, teetering back and forth like a scarf caught on a windy day.
You didn’t want to die.
You used to be afraid of heights. Memories of clutching at your mother’s skirts every time you had to walk across the tall, swaying bridge that took you to the mainland swirled in your head.
It wasn’t so bad now.
You couldn’t swim, your body wouldn’t be able to take the water, the cold would seep into your bones too quickly, and surely, you’d drown before you ever even reached the rock.
But this, this would negate that altogether. You could effortlessly fall, let the icy water envelope you, and know he would come to you, like he always had.
And even if he didn’t, the prospect of seeing him again was enough to make you take that breath, letting the wind sway you naturally, closing your eyes as you leaped —
____________________________________________________________________
“I’ll never be able to live again if I have to see you die. If I have to be the one to do it.” Jimin’s voice was a harsh, tear soaked whisper, and you could only smile, reaching up to brush his cheek lovingly.
“Then die with me.” You coaxed, the ultimate act of cruelty. You were selfish, you knew, if you had to die, and you were going to die, you wanted to keep him with you. “Neither of us has to be alone anymore.”
“Would that make you happy?”
“I wanted to see you one last time, and I did. So I’m already happy.”
“What a darling little bird you are.” His voice is so distraught, for a moment you let yourself feel bad for what you’ve set in motion. Just for a moment.
“Don’t you trust me?” You coughed. “I trust you.”
“Don’t say it.” He was begging. You kept the smile on your face.
“Don’t worry, my dearest, I won’t say it.” You didn’t say it. Didn’t say it even if it burned in the back of your throat.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
There was black along your vision, and one last thing you needed to do. You weakly held on to him, clinging like you so wanted to cling to life. You pressed your lips to his, sealing your fate, embracing the swirl of warmth that fell around you, as your hands went lax, falling away limply from his form, you knew that you had all but thrust the sword of fate into his belly this time.
Maybe you were sorry he trusted you.
_____________________________________________________________________
Growing up, you heard the myths, tales woven into your childhood of the danger of sirens. Beautiful creatures that lured the unsuspecting to their deaths with the promise of their hearts desire.
Heart’s desire…
You rested on the rock, the height of summer beating down on you.
Was this a memory?
You took a breath, feeling no ache, no pain. A soft bark of laughter leaving your throat.
Two summers ago maybe? Back when you were still healthy. Back when-
“My little bird, my Starling.” A soothing, peaceful voice broke your thoughts. He was smiling like the sunshine itself, beautiful and clear.
“My love!” You called back, reaching out to him, letting him tug you into the warm water.
Love? Your thoughts became fuzzy, trailing off as the scene progressed.
His hot mouth on yours, the feeling of his taut skin, his sharp teeth. His whispered sweet nothings.
“Come with me.” You grinned against his mouth. “Lets go to shore.”
“I love you.” He pulled you closer, farther away from the life you knew.
“I love you too, I”-
_____________________________________________________________________
The girl was mad. It’s all the village whispers about.
Mad enough to drag her dying body to the top of a lighthouse. Mad enough to jump into the sea in midwinter.
When they finally find her, a week later, her body lying still in a small cove almost a mile from where she jumped, there is more to talk about.
She looks peaceful. More so than most can ever remember seeing her.
How content she rests! With her arms folded at her chest. Her clothing perfectly draped. Her skin so cold it seems almost like porcelain.
The men who find her, spend weeks in the church afterwards, praying to whatever spirits they are worried they angered when they disturbed her. Praying for absolution, when there is no real forgiveness to be sought.
But there is one thing no one talks about.
The one thing no one even dares to whisper about is the single rainbow scale that she clutches to her chest, her fingers frozen in death around it for eternity.
#ficswithluv#park jimin#bts#bangtan boys#bts fic#jimin fic#bts fanfic#jimin fanfic#bts fanfiction#jimin fanfiction#pjm#fanfic#fic#fanfiction#siren jimin#mythology#mythology au#angst#tw: suicide#sometimes fluff#sort of neutral#practicing poetic prose
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Dreamgirl [part 6]
ReaderxBucky Barnes
[part 5]
Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away?
Warnings: blood/violence-ish, therapy sessions, talk of mental instability, self-hate galore, Bucky is very distressed, what is plot (general series warnings include noncon and dark themes)
A/N: Part 6 is here in record time and no one is more surprised than me. The chapter didn’t actually cover as much plot as planned, but I guess that’s the terrorbeauty of writing. Enjoy the tiny little glimpse into Bucky’s past as HYDRA’s Asset for now. Thank you as always for reading and being patient with my inconsistent self ♥♥♥ And a special thanks to @cake-writes for helping me out when I was stuck! You’re the best! ♥
When the soft sound of his shoes echoes on the hallway to Dr. Trevelyan's office in the westernmost part of the compound, Bucky is as always taken aback by how loud he is. No matter which shoes he wears, he just can't seem to walk silently down this particular corridor. He tried barefoot once, just to test it, and the floor still dutifully announced his arrival. It’s the only place in the compound he can’t seem to conceal his presence.
He’s not surprised when Dr. Nadia Trevelyan, at the sound of his footsteps, opens the door to her office all the way and comes out to greet him. She does that sometimes. What does surprise him is the look on her face.
“Mr. Barnes. I was afraid you wouldn’t come today.”
Bucky frowns.
“I didn’t think I had a choice.”
The side of her elegantly painted mouth twitches and Bucky is certain it’s not from amusement. The way she proceeds to cross her arms only solidifies that certainty.
“You know there’s a choice. I just thought the general appeal of a barred cell had finally surpassed that of my office. It seemed like a reasonable conclusion to make, given your usual punctuality.”
Her calm, dry words feel like the verbal slap that they are, but at the same time a slower, more blunt feeling is oozing from them like the raw, cloying smell of an infected wound: dread.
With a shaking hand he takes his mobile from his pocket and unlocks the screen. The dread explodes into alarm. Starkly outlined against the black background, the white digital numbers of the phone’s clock perfectly justifies Dr. Trevelyan’s annoyance.
It’s 12:21pm.
It’s happened again. Bucky feels as if an ice cold fist is squeezing his insides. He’s lost time. He left the coffee shop, he ran straight back to the compound and now he’s standing here more than twenty minutes late to an appointment he’s usually early for. As if the hours just vanished in the blink of an eye.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, blood rushing to his cheeks until they physically hurt. He can't quite meet Dr. Trevelyan's big disapproving eyes.
It's his own fault, he knows. If only he had been more forthcoming in their sessions, she might have been willing to cut him some slack. But he has persistently worn her patience down over the past few months and now he fears there's nothing left. She'll have to report that he is late for a mandatory session and he'll have to undergo another full psychological evaluation, questions will be asked about why he wasn't on time, his sentence might even have to be renegotiated, Stark will be down his throat about the forest that'll have to be cut down to cover the paperwork…
Nadia Trevelyan seems to be considering these facts as well and to Bucky's immense relief, she finally sighs and uncrosses her arms.
"Since it's the first time it's happened, I suppose I can let it slide," she relents. The hard stare that follows the words tells Bucky exactly how much she likes it and he knows he'll have to grovel. Quid pro quo.
She steps aside to let him into the office and he sits down in his designated chair almost timidly.
"Thank you," he manages and she looks at him for a long time before she closes the door and sits down herself.
"So why are you late?" There's the adjusted voice of a professional shrink he's become so accustomed to by now. Bucky tries not to cringe.
"I just… lost track of time," he admits tentatively. "I was out running and I… I thought of S… Steve," he quickly amends, clearing his throat. His mind hasn't actually been near Steve since he entered the park early this morning, but somehow it doesn't feel right telling Dr. Trevelyan about Sugar. He wants to keep her to himself.
Of course, as his therapist, Nadia Trevelyan is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, but because the sessions are a part of his sentence, that confidentiality only stretches so far and Bucky doesn't doubt for a second that anyone he talks to outside of the compound will be submitted to SHIELD's meticulous scrutiny the moment they hear about them. Sugar didn't agree to that and she sure as hell doesn't deserve it. No, Bucky wants to keep her out of his world for as long as he can. Keep her all to himself. Just Sugar and James, no complications, no messed up baggage, or spies or super soldiers or the end of the world. Just a regular guy who met a nice girl in a coffee shop and asked her out. That's all he wants.
"Bucky?"
He looks up and realises Dr. Nadia is looking expectantly at him. Shit, did he miss a question?
"You said you were thinking about Steve?" she supplies helpfully, if slightly irritated, when all he does is stare at her.
"Yes, uhm, well…" Bucky tries to regain his footing. "He, uh, left this morning for… work-"
"Yes, I'm aware," Dr. Trevelyan says, making Bucky raise an eyebrow. "My clearance is higher than yours, Bucky. How else could I be of any use around here?"
She doesn't say it, but he can hear it clear enough in her voice. You might have thought about that sooner if you ever actually bothered to talk to me.
"So you… you talk to Steve as well?"
She sighs.
"You know very well that I can’t tell you that."
But the sound of her heartbeat speeding up just a little is all the answer he needs. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she even gulped ever so slightly.
He can't figure out why, but it surprises him. Somehow he can't imagine either Captain America or Steve Rogers talk about their feelings. Not to Nadia Trevelyan anyway. Steve might look like an underwear model now, but he certainly doesn't have the confidence of one when it comes to women. And this therapist happens to be undeniably gorgeous. Tall and elegant, with long shiny black hair, she's the type of woman that turns heads; Bucky knows he would have tried his luck himself if he had met her back in the day when he wasn't broken, wasn't a monster. How Steve even gets a coherent sentence out in her presence is beyond him.
"Do you talk about me?"
There's something in her eyes when she answers.
"Whatever I may or may not discuss with Mr. Rogers isn't something I can disclose without his consent. And definitely not to another patient."
"Oh, so you do talk about me." Bucky can't help the smug little grin when Dr. Trevelyan actually relents a smile.
"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Mr. Barnes. You'll have to ask him."
"When he gets back."
"Indeed."
Bucky sighs.
"Whenever that might be." He regrets the casually bitter words the instant they're out of his mouth. Dr. Trevelyan's eyes gleam.
"You're worried about him."
"Of course I am!" Bucky nearly hisses. "He's a reckless, righteous idiot with a saviour complex and a stupid star-spangled frisbee, who can't tell when to quit. If his bleeding heart isn't going to get him fucking killed, his heroic dumbassery will. And I just…"
The sentence dies on his tongue. This is one of the reasons he hates therapy. Dr. Trevelyan barely has to say anything and the outbursts line up like a firing squad inside of him. And then he ends up saying things he doesn't mean, not really. Or worse, he starts to talk about something he can't voice. Literally can't get the words out without choking and feeling like his throat is completely tied up and his eyes are full of memories that he doesn't want to have. If he starts to dig into all of those ugly, horrid nightmares in the depths of his mind, Bucky is afraid he's never gonna emerge again.
His fragile, desperate hold on reality is fraying with every hour in this office, every sleepless night, every second he's on his own, but he is sure as hell not going to let go.
“He’s my friend, so of course I worry,” he dismisses instead, looking at the wall behind Nadia’s chair. There’s a stark white square to the right of her head, as if a painting, or a picture, has been taken down after a long time, leaving behind only a faint outline of its presence in the shade of the original paint.
There is a tiny black hole at the center of the top of the white square from where a nail must have been. Bucky is surprised at the detail. He can’t quite believe something as low-tech as a nail exists in Stark’s shiny, new building.
“There are chinks in every armour if you know where to look.”
The nail is right in front of him. Held up close to his face between two silver metal fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see the Asset lean down behind him, lips close to his ear.
“It’s not like any of us wants to be here.” He twirls the nail in front of his eyes. “What do you say? We’ve gotten out of tighter quarters with less.”
Dr. Trevelyan nods sympathetically, but Bucky has already forgotten what he said. He barely even sees her anymore, his eyes are glued to the nail between the Asset’s fingers. For one terrifying moment, he sees the intent of his shadow self, sees Dr. Trevelyan on the floor with the nail sticking out between her eyes, blood silently trickling down her temple and he almost gags.
“Don’t,” he blurts out before he can stop himself and Dr. Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. The Asset just smirks and goes to stand next to her, leaning on her chair.
“What?” she inquires in an even voice.
“Yes, Bucky. What?” the Asset mimics mockingly.
"Just…" Bucky tries, fighting to regain some kind of control. He has to close his eyes and swallow, reaching back for the conversation Dr. Trevelyan is trying so hard to make him engage in. "Don’t act like you care. You don’t know what… how… what I’m like.”
Dr. Trevelyan sighs and rubs her temples, her long, elegant fingers uncomfortably close to the Asset.
“Believe it or not, Mr. Barnes, but I actually do care quite a lot. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. When your sentence was being negotiated, I volunteered to lead your therapy programme.”
That throws him. She normally doesn’t mention his sentence if she can avoid it and now she’s gone and done it twice in one day, but Bucky reckons he is being difficult, more so than usual.
“Yeah, well, no one asked you to,” he finally mumbles and Dr. Trevelyan’s mouth sets into a hard, painted line.
As soon as the words leave him, Bucky wishes he could take them back, but with the Asset grinning at him, it’s almost impossible to focus. The nail between those silver fingers is still too close to her temple, but Bucky knows he can’t move. The Asset will be quicker.
Dr. Trevelyan regards him in silence for a long while then, before she sighs.
“Mr. Barnes, would you rather speak to a male therapist?”
Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise. What?
“Something is keeping you from confiding in me. Is it the fact that I’m a woman?” He has never heard her sound defensive before, but at this point he figures she’s well beyond caring.
“N-No, I…” He swallows when the Asset barks out a laugh.
“Oh, you’ve really charmed this one, Barnes.”
“Is it my skin then?” She gestures irritated with her cool light brown hand. “Or perhaps the accent? I realise things are very different from before all those atrocities happened to you, but that is why I am here. To help you adjust.”
“I thought you were here to cure me,” Bucky says slowly, willing himself not to look directly at the Asset.
“And I am trying, Mr. Barnes, but you have got to let me. If you don’t want my help, then there really isn’t much I can do.” She closes her eyes harshly for a moment. “Forgive me. That was very unprofessional of me. If, for whatever reason, you want a new psychologist, just say so. It’s very important that you feel comfortable with the person you talk to.”
Bucky winces so hard he almost thinks he can hear a few bones splinter beneath his muscles, but it has nothing to do with her words.
It’s the blood pouring out of her mouth as she speaks.
Down her chin it trickles onto her navy blue blouse, staining the silk black. The Asset has jammed the nail into the side of her throat. It's sticking out far more than it should given its size, as if it has somehow grown from the thin, clean, needle-like little tack into a rusty 6-inch coffin nail.
Bucky has to fight against at least a dozen different instincts telling him to run or to attack, to help, to defend or just do something other than what he does: sit still in his chair and try to think of something to say.
"Remember this?" the Asset asks, stroking Nadia's hair almost lovingly. She doesn't even flinch. She just sits there with her blood gushing out, waiting for him to reply.
Yes, Bucky remembers all too clearly. It’s as if the miniscule scar in the junction between his shoulder and neck pricks at the memory and if he didn’t feel sick before, he really does now.
The girl in his memory doesn’t look much like Nadia Trevelyan. She’s younger, with pale skin and even paler eyes, a mop of dark brown curls, tiny freckles around her eyes and nose…
But the coffin nail is exactly the same.
“I don’t need a new shr- a new therapist,” Bucky forces out as evenly as he can. “I… It’s not you.” He stops to swallow around a throat so dry and thick he’s sure it must be about to choke him. It’s nothing less than what he deserves.
“She was quite a little wildcat, that one,” the Asset reminisces and it’s all Bucky can do to not vomit on his running shoes. HYDRA’s dark soldier is obviously enjoying the torment his words are nurturing in Bucky. “Gave us quite the fight. Do you remember her name?”
Miriam.
Two of the three wheels under Dr. Trevelyan’s chair are now situated in a shallow pool of blood that only grows larger by the second. It’s covering the ground beneath the Asset’s feet and is creeping closer and closer.
He draws his feet back just a little.
“I just can’t talk about her. It! I can’t talk about it.”
Triumph at his slip-up is evident in Dr. Trevelyan's dark eyes, a sparkle of relief that she has finally gotten something out of her stubborn patient. Well, that's all she is going to get. Bucky clenches his teeth to the point of pain, vowing not to slip up like that again. No matter how badly the Asset rattles him, no matter what cruel tricks his mind is trying to play on him. Even if the bleeding woman in front of him is looking less and less like his doctor and eerily more like a girl twice buried many, many years ago.
"Who is it you can't talk about, Bucky?"
It feels almost worse knowing her sympathy is real.
"Doctor, please. I can't."
"Why not?"
His hands must have made indents in the arms of his chair with how tight he's grasping at them. Dr. Trevelyan doesn't push for an answer, but he's sure she captures and analyses every little movement he makes, most likely correctly too.
“I just… I wish that…” He has to swallow so hard his throat ought to rupture with the motion and his eyes are awash with the pressure of tears. “It’s too… too painful and I- I would rather be dead. If I’d just died back on that train, then… then everyone would be better off.”
His whole body trembles, but the words are out, hanging there between them as if he had shouted them.
“Would Steve?” The question is almost tender, as if she’s afraid to break the silence. It still feels to Bucky like a punch to the stomach.
“Steve’s fine,” he mumbles, not quite meeting her eyes. “He did just fine before I came and screwed things up. Should’ve just shot me on that bridge. Or let me drown.”
“Bucky, you have to stop thinking like that.” The genuine concern in Dr. Trevelyan’s voice is of a very different kind than the one he’s used to. Perhaps that’s what makes him listen. “I know there’s nothing I can say at this point to change your mind, but I still think you need to hear it. Whatever HYDRA made you do was not your fault. Now, we both know I can repeat that until I run out of breath and it won’t make a difference, but… I mean it. You are not guilty of what happened to you. What was done to you was vile. Cruel. You deserve this second chance more than anyone. The fact that you think you don't only makes it that much clearer."
She sends him a smile that would have been reassuring if it weren't for her bloodied exterior. If she weren't his doctor he's almost sure she would have reached out and squeezed his hand too. For a moment, he wishes she would. He wants to feel the touch of another human so badly he aches with it, but he doesn't deserve it. Right?
He recalls Sugar's soft, pliant lips and the comforting warmth of her skin. Would she have let him kiss her like that if she knew who he really is? What he has done?
The pressure becomes too much and before he knows what's happening, the tears have trailed warm tracks down his cheeks.
"It will take a while, but I can help you if you’ll let me.”
“I don’t want to feel this way…” The admission is so quiet and so soft that for a moment he isn’t even sure it has even left those hidden depths of his soul where it has stubbornly refused to be snuffed out by the heavy hands of his guilt. He’s almost ashamed of it. “But I don’t know… I just don’t know how not to.”
“It’s okay, Bucky,” Dr. Trevelyan assures him. “That’s why we’re here. So that you can figure it out.”
Bucky dares to look up and take in her face. Her lips and chin are still caked with semi-dry blood and the rusty coffin nail is jutting out from the softness of her neck.
But the Asset is gone.
Alhabor smiles at the tall Frenchman as he sits down across from her at the small café table. He's as handsome as ever, even with the bottle blond hair that drains him a little bit. It gives him a haunted edge that makes his face even more interesting. He looks like a lost Romantic poet, she thinks longingly when he sends her a smirk and lowers his small black sunglasses to look at her.
"Good morning, mon coeur." They haven't seen each other in over three months and she knows it's her fault. Her job always comes first. Sometimes she wishes it wasn't like that. Sometimes she wishes she could run off with Christophe and let him take care of her the way he always promises he will on those few precious nights of passion they manage to steal from time to time. Sometimes she wishes she wasn't such an idealist.
"Good morning, my love. It’s a beautiful day in Paris, don't you think?”
He reaches out and places a brief kiss on her knuckles over her lukewarm cappuccino.
“I prefer Marseille. Fewer tourists. One day perhaps you will forget about those secretive morons and let me take you there.”
“Can you even show your face there?” Alhabor asks with a raised eyebrow and Christophe chuckles, shrugging.
“Pictures get lost, money changes hands, files disappear… I wouldn’t worry.” The sly smile on his perfectly shaped mouth makes her heart beat ten times faster, but she tries to compose herself. This is work.
“You know that I do.” She takes a miniscule sip of the cappuccino. “Did you get what I asked for?”
Better to get this over with fast and get back on track. She tells herself she’ll have more time for Christophe and his charms once this assignment is completed. Deep down, she knows she’s lying to herself, but it makes her feel better.
“Most girls want flowers or diamonds or expensive perfume.” He grins as he reaches into the lining of his trench coat and retrieves a small box. She can’t help grinning in exchange when she takes it and quickly confirms its contents.
“Oh, you know I’m never one to turn down diamonds,” she teases, making the box disappear into her own coat. Their gloved fingers barely even touch at the exchange. “But as romantic gestures go, you’ve outdone yourself this time, my love.”
"Anything for you, mon coeur." His smile isn't as brilliant as it usually is and it makes her frown.
"What?"
"Is it true you have the Lazarus assignment?"
"Yeah, like I said." She tries to sound casual, but they both know she can't fool him. He reaches out and takes her hand before she can pull away. His grip is hard, insistent.
"Promise me you'll be careful," Christophe says quietly and she can feel her heart come to a full stop in her chest. "He's still dangerous."
She can't quite meet his eyes when she answers.
"I know. But the order is very clear. We need him back. The Wakandans may have tampered with his head, but there's no telling what might still be in there. We simply can't risk it."
"You really believe that, don't you?" He sighs and squeezes her hand, but he doesn't let go.
"Are you surprised?"
"I like to think I know you too well for that. Just please tell me you know what you're doing."
"Oh, don't worry, my love." Alhabor pats the inner pocket of her coat where the little box is now hidden. "It's all going according to plan now. And you of all people know how persuasive I can be."
Tags will be added in reblog ~
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes angst#marvel fanfic#dark!bucky barnes#dreamgirl
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A Jasper/Bella Fanfiction I wrote
“ Bella Swan's daydream brings her into reality-- complete with golden eyes and a razor-sharp promise. “
Warnings: Almost no plot!, almost smut? (Teen+ audiences), cuss words (minimal)
Sometimes I think I’ll start screaming if he doesn’t touch me. I think of all the air between us like a counter overcrowded with bright yellow lemon peels. I can only imagine the citric burning at my throat, the sting of venom sliding down. A mouthful of bitterness. Of something like blood. My top lip, curled, clenching in time with my lungs as his own wait beneath the curve of my neck. His tongue heavy with tinges of regret and guilt and lust. The blond’s emotions seeping into my rib cage from his mere presence at my back.
I want for the inhuman slick of his palm against my hip, cooling my overheated skin like an ice bath. The pads of his fingers dipping below the relaxed waistband of my jeans– the anticipation biting at my beating heart. Each inch he covers placated by the harsh edge of a silver ring. A second following in its wake.
A tiny girl dressed all in white. Hands like a doll’s, clasped in his large ones.
I shake myself from the malevolent daydream like a dog brought in from a storm. My eyes start to refocus on the worn copy of some state-required novella laid out before me. The chipped edge of the desk becomes concrete beneath my palm.
But the intense gaze aimed into the curve of my spine is hard to ignore.
A quick glance over my bundled shoulder sticks me to my seat. Eyes like glass look directly into the crease of my own. Black as asphalt after a downfall in Forks, the rain swirling around a clogged gutter. I can almost feel the ancient hunger seeping into Jasper’s irises like an ink well. I feel like prey. A rabbit in the mouth of a rabid dog. The clench of his stone hands around the poster of the already small chair speaks for the carnivore in him.
I was afraid the entirety of homeroom English, nor Edward, could keep him from plunging his teeth into the flushed flesh at my collarbone. And in some fevered state my heart whispers, ‘you’d throw yourself at him– as long as he’d hold you while he drained you dry’.
My lids falter, stuttering like a shutter in a hurricane, quickly trying to lose eye contact with him, only to see his chest fail to rise. His throat, blanketed by a restricting linen collar, refuses to inhale again.
My brain drifts only slightly to the thought of the scarred skin underneath. Hundreds of sets of razor blade smiles gunning for mouthfuls of him. The bands of immortal skin suturing itself over and over, self ‘healing’ instantly.
I wondered what it felt like under human fingertips… what it tasted like.
Again, booted off of a train I hadn’t thought I had boarded. This time a pale hand, littered in familiar wounds, covered the front of my novel. The silver rings were missing from his fingers. I could easily make out the gleam of pressed opal buttons climbing up his wrist. From under my lashes, I followed the line up– slower than he wished.
“Darlin’, If you don’t stop suffocating this tiny box of a classroom with all that longing, Imma’ have to drop you at my brother’s feet myself.”
My eyes snapped to his in the middle of his hushed complaint. His brows folded intensely over his soft glare. The blond’s canines were hidden well beneath his upper lip– looking both angered and unsettled. As if I had personally uprooted his ass from his seat. I hadn’t even considered his ability to read the emotional heat I was giving off.
If he had a need to breathe– he would’ve been spread-eagle on the linoleum by now. Every other word in his speech punctuated with a sharp exhale through the nose.
My accidental silence only led him to more truthful conclusions.
His teeth uncovered themselves through an almost snarl. “Or maybe…,” he took a true inhale for the first time, “I’ll take you myself. Where should I start, hmm? Against the lockers behind Molina’s office or maybe right here on this shitty excuse for a desk, how does that sound sugar?”
A feral chuckle bubbled up from his chest. My mouth went dry trying to process every word he drew out. Each syllable more surprising than the last.
“I… uh… Jasper… what’s gotten…” gulp, “into you?”. My vocal cords wavered with an unfurling desire I hadn’t even heard in my dreams. I could almost feel the muscles in my abdomen clenching, fire pooling in my gut. And in my Levi’s.
The students in front of us sat unawares. Ears stuffed with greying headphones, minds and hands focused on finishing whatever homework we’d been assigned. The bell, only minutes from blaring. The comfortable silence seemed to be compressing the room, embracing both his low drawl and my strained response.
Locs of golden curls fell into his darkened line of sight as he bent down beside my pained face. Our stark height difference apparent in his almost crouch.
His ragged breath hits my face. “You know I can smell your arousal, right Isabella? It hangs in the air like a flag of surrender.” His lips had sunk even closer to mine. “And I’d like to know the source of it.” I thought I had heard a growl over the last phrase. Something primal– which only caused the flame to catch an inferno.
With a last inhale, his perfect marble face angled away from me entirely. Leather cowboy boots carried him out of the door just as the bell rang.
The hunger polluting his tall form– I was sure– mirrored mine. The confusion started to take a front seat in my mind as the other students shuffled out.
He had never even touched me.
#jasper x bella#jasper hale x bella swan#jasper hale#jasper whitlock#jasper hale fanfic#twilight fanfic#twilight fanfiction#bella swan#bella swan fanfiction#smut#tw smut#tw language#tw cussing#thetwilightsaga#mine#writing
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Arms
More for my Miguel Galindo story! I need to find a common title to call this verse... Quick pre-note: This part occurs before Eyes, I italicized the Spanish, but there are a few parts were the characters are conversing in Spanish and I didn’t want to have you guys scroll to the bottom for translations, so I just italicized the whole section.
WARNING: mentions of cheating, my first time writing the MC boys, language
*gif not mine*
You were fucking freezing. In order to sneak back into the U.S, you had to hitch a ride in a frozen meat truck, and your jeans and jacket weren’t thick enough to keep you warm. The truck delivered you to the MC, and you let the guys fuss over you—more concerned mother than collective dangerous bikers—as they led you into the clubhouse.
“Adelita’s on her way with Galindo and his crew,” Bishop informed you as he held the door open for you, “We’ll meet with them and come to some kind of agreement on our next move.”
“Yeah, sure,” you hugged yourself, not even trying to keep your teeth from chattering, “Sounds good.”
“You want a drink, chiquita?” Angel asked, already heading to the bar with Coco and Gilly.
“We got that nasty prison wine you like,” Coco added, grinning.
“I can’t help that I have taste,” you laughed back, “but nah, I’m good.”
“How about a coffee?” EZ asked, coming over to you with a soft smile. “I can get you a hot chocolate if you’d like.”
“Coffee would be great,” you replied, “thanks, Prospect.”
“No problem… here.” EZ took off his hoodie and offered it to you, shrugging his kutte back on with his free hand. “You look cold,” he explained.
You smiled. EZ was a sweet guy. “Thanks,” you put it on, laughing when you both saw how big it was on you, “’Preciate it.”
“Don’t mention it,” he led you to the bar, going behind it to make you some coffee, “So… A meat truck?”
You shrugged, smirking. “Adelita gets a private tour through the tunnels with Miguel, and I get to crouch down between dead cows. But that’s what it means to be Number Two.”
“Eh, you’re not missing much with Galindo,” EZ said, leaning against the bar, “He’s a prick.”
You bit your lip; you liked EZ, but you didn’t want to get into the whole Miguel Galindo thing with him. You knew the two of them had bad blood between them, and the MC wasn’t that fond of him in general, and even Adelita only worked with him because he was the lesser of two evils, but you… You kind of liked him. He wasn’t at all what you imagined he’d be like: he was poised, smart, witty and exhaustingly attractive. A part of you thought maybe Adelita thought so too, but you saw the way she was with Angel, so you knew she’d never actually go for Miguel. And neither would you—he was El Diablo, after all. You would just lust after him in secret like any self-respecting rebel would do. “Yeah,” you said, zipping EZ’s hoodie up, “he is…but he’s kind of… interesting, too…”
EZ raised an eyebrow, and you regretted giving Miguel a compliment to the one guy with a photographic memory. “Interesting?” He repeated. “You think Miguel Galindo, the cartel boss, is interesting?”
“She thinks he’s got an interesting cock,” Coco butt in, coming to sit beside you. He grinned at your glare. “What? You think we don’t notice the way you look at him, chiquita?” He tapped the bar twice, and EZ supplied him with a beer.
“Yeah,” Angel added, standing next to Coco and taking the beer EZ was drinking out of his hands, taking a sip as he spoke, “Every time you see him, your pants catch on fire.”
Your eyes narrowed. Your friends were more perceptive than you thought. “At least I don’t trip all over myself when I talk to him like you with Adelita.”
“What? I don’t do that—”
“You do, man,” EZ chuckled.
“It’s cute!” Coco added.
“Anyway,” Angel turned back to you, “Galindo’s married…” He glanced over at EZ quickly before looking back at you. “So if you hook up, you’re gonna have to do it on the other side where his wife won’t find out.”
“Or, you know, not at all…” EZ muttered.
“Why?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Are you jealous, Ezekiel?”
“Oh, he’s jealous, just not of you, chiquita,” Angel smirked against his beer bottle.
“Don’t you two have something to do?” EZ asked Angel and Coco. “A secret to keep or rumors to spread?”
“What are we, the chicks from Mean Girls?” Angel asked back.
“Nah, we do have some shit we should handle before the meeting,” Coco said, standing up and pushing away from the bar, “Let’s give the two lovebirds some alone time.” He winked at you before walking away, a laughing Angel at his side.
“Fuckin’ idiots,” EZ muttered with a smile, turning to pour your coffee, “You take it black or with sugar?”
“I take it any way I can,” you grinned, laughing when EZ rolled his eyes.
He made your coffee, handing it over to you, shaking his head. “I know you speak Spanish and English, but is flirty your native language?”
“I got a talented tongue, Prospect,” you purred.
EZ said something back, but you didn’t hear him because the door behind you opened and the air changed, and you knew…
…Miguel was there.
You didn’t turn to look, but your hunch was confirmed by the frown on EZ’s face.
“Your boyfriend’s here,” he muttered.
You sipped your coffee, flipping EZ off as you did. You could hear the sounds of hands on hands and the slapping of backs as the men greeted each other. Adelita was with them, and you saw Angel practically run to her from the corner of your eye. Because Miguel never went anywhere alone, you heard Alvarez speaking to Bishop (“good to see you, primo”) as Nestor and Taza shook up.
“He’s looking at you,” EZ said as he pretended to wipe the counter, “I don’t think he likes us talking.” He smirked, that classic Reyes smirk. “Oh, he definitely doesn’t like us talking.”
“He could give a shit,” you said, rolling your eyes. But your heart was starting to speed up a bit. You hopped down from your seat. “Come on, Prospect. We have to say hello.” You waited for EZ to come around the bar so you could walk with him.
You went to Adelita first, and she—in an unusually open show of affection—hugged you. She was frowning when she pulled back, and she put her hands on the side of your face. “You’re chilled to the bone, lobatita.”
You shrugged. “I came via meat truck.”
“You’re shivering,” Adelita noted, speaking in English and frowning over at Angel.
“It was the only way to get her here undetected, Adelita,” Angel explained sheepishly, even though the method of your transportation hadn’t even been his idea at all.
“In a meat truck?” Miguel asked, eyebrow raised and voice unimpressed. “That was the best you could do?”
“Well next time, maybe you can handle the minor details,” Bishop shot back.
“Why don’t we have a drink,” Alvarez interjected smoothly, putting his arm around Bishop and already leading him away, “then we can discuss business, eh?”
“We need to get you warm,” Adelita said, dropping her hands to your arms and rubbing them.
“I’m good, Adelita,” you smiled, “The Prospect is taking care of me.”
“Supplying her with caffeine and dirty clothes,” EZ reported with a grin.
Miguel eyed your outfit, and you saw his eyes narrow. Maybe EZ had been right when he said Miguel didn’t like the two of you talking. You turned to EZ, deciding to test his theory. “My hero,” you bat your eyelashes again, and you could see Miguel cross his arms over his chest, “Hey, EZ, can I hang in your trailer while I wait for Adelita to be done?”
“Yeah, no problem,” EZ grinned, dropping his arm around your shoulder, “Chucky will come get us when it’s time.”
You let EZ lead you out of the clubhouse, but you glanced back to see if Miguel was maybe looking…
…and he was. His arms were still crossed, the fancy material of his shirt straining against his muscles and a frown on his face. His dark eyebrows were furrowed, and he was glaring at you.
The meeting ended up taking much longer than you’d thought, and EZ left the trailer to do some chores before being scooped up by Felipe and disappearing into the night. EZ had told you to make yourself at home, so you took a nap on his couch-bed, snuggled in his hoodie, still cold from your ride. You figured EZ wouldn’t be back for a while, and you didn’t know how/when/if you’d be going back to Mexico, so you wanted to catch up on some sleep. You were still in that hazy state between consciousness and unconsciousness when you felt hands on your arms.
“Wake up, princesa.” You blinked yourself awake, eyes widening when you saw Miguel leaning over you, his hands running up and down your arm.
“Miguel…” You said, voice low as you sat up. It was very rare for you to be speechless, but you were. His eyes were boring into yours, and there was an intensity in his gaze that you hadn’t seen before. “…What are you doing here?”
“I came to get you,” he said simply, looking down at his hand on your arm, “and to see what you were doing with the Prospect.” He looked back up at you, and his grip on your arm tightened a bit. “Aiming kind of low there, don’t you think?”
“What?”
“With the Prospect. EZ.” His hand moved from your arm to the zipper of the hoodie under your chin. “You’re too good for him.”
“How do you know that?” You asked, staring at Miguel as he stared at his hand on the zipper. “That I’m too good for him?”
Miguel looked up at you, a small smirk on his face. “I’m good at reading people.” He unzipped the hoodie, and your heart was pounding so hard, you thought it might beat out of your chest. “Most people,” he amended, his hand moving slowly as he tugged the zipper down, “You’re not so easy to read…” He paused, having successfully unzipped EZ’s hoodie, and looked up at you. “Did they really have you in a meat truck?”
You nodded. “It was fucking freezing.”
“Yeah, I bet.” His hands went to your shoulders, and he slid the hoodie off of you, letting it fall to the floor. “That’s the last time that’s happening,” he promised, “I thought it would be smart to have you and Adelita travel separately, in case anything happened, but…” He shook his head. “I’m making the arrangements for you from now on.”
“You or Nestor?” You teased.
Miguel chuckled. “Me, princesa.” He raised his chin. “So you can tell the Prospect to take his shit back.”
You bit back a smile. “But I’m so cold,” you whined, putting your arms over your chest.
“I got something for that,” Miguel said. He pulled you to him and wrapped his arms around you, making you melt against him instantly. Miguel was warm and solid; he smelled like expensive cologne with hints of exotic spices and sandalwood, and you dropped your head on his shoulder.
You closed your eyes, trying to commit this moment to your memory because you were certain it would never happen again. “This… Is much better than the meat truck.”
Miguel laughed, pulling back. He laughed again when he saw your frown. “I’ll escort you back to the other side myself,” he promised, and you knew he meant it, “I’ve been meaning to have some… one on one time with you…” He shrugged off his jacket, and you licked your lips.
“You want one on one time with me?” You asked. “Why?”
Miguel looked at you, his dark eyes traveling down your body and back to your face, making your heart skip a beat from the heat of his gaze. Carefully, he draped his jacket over your shoulders, engulfing you in his scent. He put a hand under your chin, and you leaned into his grasp. “Cariño,” he said, his voice low and deep and intoxicating, “I think you know why.”
“You’re married,” you whispered back.
“I am.”
“You’re the Devil.”
He smirked. “Depends on who you ask…”
You leaned in closer, and so did he. It would only take a small nudge to move you from your position and back into Miguel’s arms, and you wanted back in his arms—bad. “What exactly is it that you want from me, Miguel?” You asked, trying to think smart about this, even though you wanted nothing more than to crawl onto his lap and defile EZ’s trailer with him.
He laughed, shaking his head as he did so. “I don’t even know,” he said honestly, “I just know that I find my mind wandering back to you more often than not, and that I can’t keep my eyes off of you when we’re in the same room… And I think it’s the same for you, too, isn’t it?”
You swallowed. “It’s… similar.”
Miguel smirked at you, and you had to remind yourself that he was the Devil, and everyone knew the Devil was beautiful. You couldn’t let yourself fall for that face. “So, what should we do about our… similar feelings here?”
“I—”
A knock on the door had you both separating quickly, Miguel jumping to his feet, and you ripping his jacket off and sitting back.
“Y/N? Mr. Miguel Galindo of the Galindo cartel?” Chucky called from the other side of the door. “Adelita is looking for you both.”
“Coming!” You shouted back, handing Miguel his jacket and picking EZ’s hoodie up from the floor. You moved to walk past Miguel, but he put a hand on your arm and stopped you.
“Keep it,” he said, referring to his jacket. He took EZ’s hoodie and dropped it back on the floor, handing you his jacket. Then he leaned down, his mouth almost on your ear. “We’ll continue our conversation later.”
You nodded, once again unable to speak—a frustrating symptom of Miguel’s closeness. He watched you put his jacket on, his eyes taking you in, lingering on your arms in his sleeves. He put a hand on the small of your back and steered you out of the trailer, opening the door for you and rolling his eyes at the sight of a smiling Chucky.
You couldn’t help but stare at Miguel’s arm on the door as you walked out…
…wondering what it would feel like to have those arms wrapped around you with no jacket or hoodie or single piece of clothing in the way…
*******************************************************************************************
So my intention is to post some of my oneshots for this verse, and if you guys like it, then I’ll write some connected fics and put in a little more detail. Just let me know what you think, cause I have a lot of ideas for this pairing! Also, if there’s a specific scenario between them that you’d like to see, just let me know, maybe I can fit it in somwhere.
Translations: chiquita- little girl/little lady/shorty El Diablo-The Devil lobatita- little (she) wolf
I’m still working on updating my taglist, but here’s what we got now:
Current/Old EverythingTaglist: @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily @fanfictionrecommendations-com @maxslime-blog @songforhema @lucielandss @themadhatter92 @the-blind-assassin-12 @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @littlemermaidprobz @ashkuuuu @luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @iaintnofurry @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19 @binbons-is-theloml
New/ Working Everything Taglist: @jigsawlover10 @gollyderek @charlylama @realduckvader @teacuplotus @whovianayesha
Nick Amaro/Miguel Galindo Taglist: @glimmerglittergirl @cococruz-mayansmc
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One Constant
Summary: It's been five years without Bucky. You and Steve travel to Vormir for the Soulstone to bring him back.
Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes
A/N: 3.5K word count. Post-Endgame. Angsty!
It’s absolutely insane the lengths Steve Rogers would go to in order to save the ones he loves. He is feeling this sentiment now as you clutch his hand in one and grip the edge of your seat with the other, warping at top speed into the depths of inky black space. Kaleidoscopic lights zoom by, and he feels dizzy just thinking about the fact that he is traveling through space.
But just a few moments ago, he had traveled through time, so space could have well been a logical next step.
If he is feeling nervous, or possibly about to vomit, he doesn’t show it.
He only grips your hand a little tighter, strokes the bone-white knuckles of your fist a little slower, leans over and kisses you a bit harder.
“We got it, baby.” He soothes, “He’ll be back soon.”
“I swear to God, Steve, if he isn’t, I will personally remove every single one of Thanos’ teeth with my bare fucking hands.”
Steve grins and brings your palm to his lips, kissing the creases. He knows you well enough to trust in your promise. Vormir lies only a half hour away as they reach their destination and descend slowly into the rusty red atmosphere.
You strap the sleek black Ka-Bar to your thigh, fingers running over the handle lovingly, as if you were touching a part of him. And in some ways, you are. It’s one small reminder the two of you have had for five years. His favorite knife. A reminder of the love lost in the snap.
For the first year, you refused to even say his name. You railed against any possible attempt to return your days to normalcy, and even frustrated Steve on nights when you’d stumble through the empty compound completely in shambles, gripping that Ka-Bar, slamming it into the wall, livid and drunk, screaming and crying.
A part of him felt a little sting of jealousy and curiosity. He wondered if you would have cared this much if it was him that had been lost.
The same part of him also felt ashamed because at the end of every episode, you would be curled up on the floor, or in the bed, or sometimes in the shared closet, hugging Bucky’s clothes, repeating the same broken phrase to his ghost.
Come back. Come back to us. Come back to us, please.
Us, not me.
Steve would wrap his arms around you, pull you close, tell you he’s got you now.
Even though he’s clean shaven and carefully coiffed, a picture-perfect representation of his moniker, even though he leads sermons at the VA about moving on and forward, he knows a part of him would never let Bucky go. You would never let him.
Steve isn’t only saving Bucky on this journey; Steve is also saving you.
“Steve.” You whisper, “Steve.” A little firmer the second time. “I love you.”
Then you’re in his lap, forgoing your own seat and squeezing him so tightly his breath gets lodged in this throat. “Don’t go, too. Promise me.”
Steve wraps his arms around you, the lover he always dreamed of having—sweeter than sugar, doe-eyed, a goddess in human form, one part of the third of his heart. You and Bucky had been so close, even in your shared relationship—he always felt a little left out. Even though it was him first. Even though Bucky came later.
The ship whirrs mindlessly forward, autopilot on, technology beyond his understanding steering itself. You shake in his arms. “Take it off.” You mutter, suddenly clawing at his suit, fingers desperate to find his buckles and zippers.
“Take it off, Steve!”
He does as he’s told, albeit confusedly, but soon enough he’s stripped down and you are shedding your clothing too, straddling his waist with frantic breaths.
“I want to fuck.”
“Sweetheart—“
“Now. Steve.”
He always lets you have what you want. Against the backdrop of inky darkness and muted far off stars, swirling planets colored in shades he doesn’t know how to name, you palm him and glide on top.
There are tears in your eyes when you lean your head on his shoulder. “I miss him.” You sob, “I miss him so much.”
“I know.” Steve kisses you deeply, rocks up into you until you shudder all over. He presses his lips to your eyes and cheeks, traces the line of salt down to your chin, and rolls deep strokes of his cock in and out until you both come.
“I love you.” You sigh against his neck, landing a chaste kiss to the lobe of his ear.
It’s been like this for five years, oscillating between tender and torn, high and low, and not much in-between. Before the snap, you had been their shy girl, lover not a fighter, even though your hands could crush granite. Pressed between them in a feverish haze, you were still soft, and they were gentle as a result.
They would always be gentle with you. Even Bucky, who had the pent-up sexual energy of an animal in rut. You would put his fingertips in your mouth, lick the pads with slow flicks of your tongue, and he would melt. Sugar, he’d croon, gorgeous girl, how’d we get so lucky?
Now, when Steve gets you into bed you put his hand to your neck and make him squeeze. You ask him to hurt you and he hates it.
You’re different. Things have changed.
The ship descends, blowing clouds of dust all around and Steve is so beyond thinking about this landscape that he doesn’t give a shit anymore about how they can even survive the atmosphere. Four boots trek on wordlessly until they reach the peak of the lonely jagged mountain.
A billowing cloak and gaunt cheeks appear.
“Schmidt.” Steve hisses, gearing back for a fight, but you put your hand up and step forward instead, that Ka-Bar already in your hand.
“Don’t fuck with me, Skeletor. You know what I want.”
-
He’s a self-sacrificing asshole and he almost killed you to launch himself off the cliffside. The crack of his skull echoes and is smothered by your shrieking hundreds of feet above the site of his death.
“No! You fucking promised! You fucking promised you wouldn’t fucking leave!” You howl and howl and slam your fists into the rock until it cracks and crumbles into dust.
Those will be the last words he’ll ever hear. Your throat gone raw and the venom and disappointment and hurt inside of you sputtering out wet with blood.
You launch yourself at Schmidt and pass right through his shadow.
“Superhuman or not,” his voice is a ghostly warble, “You cannot kill me. I am free now to roam and leave this planet.” The tight skin peels back to reveal his teeth.
Your head is falling apart. Both of them, gone, and even if the stone will be used to bring one back, you’ll live again with a piece of your heart missing. The tears blur everything, turning it into one giant blotch of orange. The speck of red and murky black stills and whips around, in shock.
“What-- how?”
You wipe your eyes as Schmidt peers over the edge. The planet rumbles and shakes, wailing an ear-splitting shriek and your head spins until there’s nothing left but the pounding of your brain rattling loose.
It’s wet when you wake up. Water laps over your face and for a second you forget where you are, how you ache, but when it rushes back the sea feels like tears.
There is no stone in your clutch.
But there is something else. Soft. Small. Delicate bones and skin so pale, it could be a child’s.
Steve’s right hand reaches over his torso, shrunken, now too small to fit rightly in his suit and it wrinkles and warps around him. The gangly fingers open and reveal the amber gem, shimmering against the darkness of the water and your eyes.
“You’re alive.” You rasp. “You’re here.”
“I-I’m back... t-to before...” He’s half in awe and in shock. There is a disappointment that mars his brow and tilts his mouth down deep until it looks like it could fall off his chin. His hands pat his chest, pulls the bunched Kevlar and neoprene away from him. “I--” Steve clenches his jaw.
You’ll never see him the same again. He’s different now. You’ve never known or loved this version of him. It’ll be just you and Bucky, like he’s always thought and feared. Steve’s mind flies a mile a minute, swirling in self-hatred and pain.
How could you look at him like this? Tiny, fragile, sickly thing that he’s been before. He’ll be invisible again, sinking into the backdrop, eclipsed once more by James Buchanan Barnes’ tall frame and fine figure. You’ll never--
You leap into his arms, knock him backwards with a splash. “Thank god!” You cry, dripping salt down his face, soft lips trailing all over him. “Oh, fuck, baby.”
If he wasn’t so stubborn, you’d pick him up, but instead you settle on dragging him by the wrist back to the ship where you tear off the stupid too-large suit from him, push him on the smooth floor and giggle as the engine rumbles back to life.
The jerk of the ship taking flight smashes his chest into yours. Steve burns red with embarrassment and tries to push you off, but you won’t budge.
He’s too weak now, something that turns him almost purple with shame.
“S-stop— I’m--”
“Don’t fuck with me, Rogers.” You hold his wrists down, “I still love you, no matter what you look like. I love you, you little asthmatic shit.” You kiss him and undress and he’s baffled, heart hammering in its cage- short of breath and wheezing. Your hands make quick work of him and he’s hard like a rock when your mouth goes south.
“Still the same down here, baby.”
When he comes a stuttering, blubbering, mess all over your stomach, Steve’s eyes roll so far back he thinks he needs to add blindness to his list of ailments.
-
Bucky’s head is wrenched backwards as soon as you find him over the hill. Among the chaos and terror of an enormous battlefield, aliens screeching, guns and blasters, and sizzling ancient magic, you leap, legs wrapped around his torso and kiss him with too much tongue.
“Shit, baby!” He laughs before ducking down, taking you with him, “Fuck! Can ya save it for later?”
You’re different. Your once-blue suit is black and your eyes are painted all the way up to your brow with soot colored shadow, reminiscent of the way he used to as Soldat. Usually, your hair is pulled back and away from your face, but now it hangs all around, whipping over your cheeks with the wind. You look fearsome.
And, God he thinks, you’re beautiful. Although you might have once been a pink and blushing rose, you’re now suddenly bleeding red and silky, overgrown with thorns, still beautiful.
Then, his head turns back and forth, “Wh-where is he?”
You smile shyly and kiss him on the cheek while readjusting the strap of his gun. For a brief second you look like the pink flower again.
“Don’t worry,” You say, “He’s okay. He’s got to sit this one out, but I told him I’d bring him back two presents.”
Bucky squints.
“Two?”
-
Jesus fucking Christ on a stick Bucky’s heart is going to drop right out of his ass. You are straddling Thanos’ neck with your thighs. The Titan—the semi-god or whatever he is—you are on top of him and wrenching his jaw open.
Bucky doesn’t know if he should scream or cry or faint.
Next to him, Danvers is matching his expression. “What the hell?” She breathes and he has no fucking idea. Mantis is shrieking and you are shrieking right back.
“Don’t be a pussy! Hold the motherfucker!”
Bucky could cross himself right now because their sweet girl, their angel, is digging into Thanos’ mouth with his Ka-Bar and pulling her hand back out drenched in blood.
-
Afterwards, you’re still sticky. The blood coats all five fingers but you skip past the ash and dust and grab his face with your hand and plant another kiss on him. Wilson shakes his head, mutters about how it used to be the other way around and a part of Bucky abruptly catches up to the truth.
You are different. You’re hard and lethal and it hurts him so much to think that he wasn’t there. The fact that he wasn’t there is all he can think about. His absence left you raw and moldable. It must have hurt so much, for their girl to transform from satin to steel.
“Come on,” You say with a grin he’s never seen before, “Let’s go get Steve.”
And then it hurts differently. The guilt starts eating him through his stomach and up his throat because Steve has been with you all this time, watching helplessly—all because Bucky got dusted. It must have killed Steve to see you crumble and rebuild into who you are now. Killed him to not be able to do a damn thing. Killed him for five years, even though Bucky is the one who died.
-
Back at the compound, Steve sits nervously in the shared room, chews on every inch of his mouth until the skin hangs from his lip and then he chews it off, too. It used to smell like all three of you: brisk pine and cedar with the faint drift of freesia.
A part of it still does, dusky and sweet, but salty too. Acrid, if he breathes too deeply. Stinging and dark, like bourbon.
Huh. Steve thinks, maybe he’ll have a drink. Now that he can again.
By the time you swing the door open, Steve is piss drunk and wheezing sprawled out on the floor. Bucky’s breath lodges in his throat as you stumble over to Steve’s collapsed body.
“What the fuck!” You cry, patting him down, checking his pulse.
“S-Stevie?” Bucky breathes, “Is that you, pal?”
With a shuddering breath, you turn around and show him your teeth, a wet laugh springing forward, “We— we had to go.. to Vormir. Get the damn stone back in time and— I could have died.”
Steve wheezes again, “Wouldn’t have let you.” He hiccups, fingers lazily reaching up to poke you in the nose. “Nope.”
He pops the p.
Bucky steps cautiously forward, resurrected only hours ago and has no idea what Vormir is. Nor does he care. All he sees are his lovers, transmuted entirely by their loss— by their love for him.
It’s all changed. Everything is different and terribly new. You wipe the dark streak from your eyes and wipe Steve’s face too as Bucky stands speechless. The two of you together, leaned against each other on the floor. Bucky thinks, how many nights did this happen? How long did his two lovers suffer and cry for him?
Softly, he pads forward, kneels, and takes each hand into his. “I love you. Both of you.”
Steve looks away and so do you, nostrils flaring to hold back the torrent of tears threatening to explode. “I’m sorry.” Bucky whispers, kissing your cheek and then Steve’s feeling the sharp bone of him through the face he had known so well long ago. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
The room is so still Bucky’s afraid he might be getting dusted again, back into that terrible split second where the world stops, and he knows nothing else but the speck of sand suspended in motion. Then, a snort.
“The hell’re you sorry for? S’not like you wanted to turn into dust. Or ash. What’s another—hm. Baby powder. Buck, ya got baby powder-ed.”
Even though he’s small and asthmatic again, Steven Grant Rogers is undeniably more of a little shit than ever. It doesn’t help that he’s drunk as a skunk, breath spicy warm with the heady draught of liquor.
To his right, you laugh and ruffle his hair. Steve flinches at your touch and pulls away with a scowl. You freeze and glare right back at him, grabbing his shoulder until he winces, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You hiss. “He’s back. He’s right here and what the fuck, Steve?”
“Yeah.” Steve grunts, shrugging off your hand, “He’s back. So be with him. Be with him like you’ve wanted to for the last five years.”
Bucky watches the tension roil in waves, emanating from your bared teeth and Steve’s downcast eyes. He doesn’t know when to step in or how to begin to stop the train wreck unfolding in front of him. Steve is piss drunk and pissed off—haven’t had a drink probably since 1942 and is completely off his rocker. You look like you’re ready to snap his neck like a pretzel stick.
It scares Bucky.
It scares him when you dig into your pocket and pull out the tooth he watched you wrench from Thanos earlier. For whatever blessed or cursed reason, it remains as it is, enormous like a half-dollar, shining dully and crusted with Titan blood.
“Here’s this, asshole.” The tooth bounces off Steve’s sternum with a dull thud, landing in his lap. Then you take Bucky’s old Ka-Bar and throw it at Steve, too. “And here’s this, you self-flagellating shithead.”
Bucky winces at your words. He’s never heard them before. Ever. Tears well up in your eyes.
“If you hadn’t come back on that dusty ass planet, I would have thrown myself off too. Fuck the stone. Fuck Earth and Vormir and fuck everyone else, too. I would have died with you.” A choked sob escapes as you glare into the side of Steve’s face, suddenly pinched with embarrassment, “You’re an idiot.”
Bucky sighs in relief when Steve looks up and leans forward onto your shoulder, resting his golden head against you. “Sorry, baby.” He mutters, “I just—I hate… this. I’m not… Captain America anymore. I’m just… Steve.”
Bucky starts to laugh, despite the moment. He laughs and leans back until he slips off his knee and foot and falls back on his bottom. You and Steve turn, bewildered at the sound of him, slight smirks on both of your faces because regardless of it all, Bucky is alive, and he is happy.
“Captain America was an asshole.” Bucky exhales, mirth in his eyes, “Tightwad. Stick so far up there he was chokin’ on it.”
Steve sputters an indignant response.
“I like you much better.” Bucky says, leaning forward and placing his hand on Steve’s jaw, pressing a soft kiss onto his swollen red lips. “This guy… dumb Brooklyn kid who didn’t know when to give up.”
“That’s not the quote goes.” Steve hiccups, drawing from an old memory. His head hangs low, embarrassed at himself, leaning into the warmth of Bucky’s palm.
“Well, I wasn’t there in the forties, but I like this new quote just fine.” You grin, reaching forward to smooth Steve’s disheveled hair back. “You done?”
He nods, reaches out and takes your hand and you return his gesture with a light squeeze.
Bucky grins at his two lovers, sitting cross-legged on the floor. One, who used to be soft, hardened like diamonds, and one, reverted completely... but to Bucky, Steve hasn’t changed at all. He was telling the truth when he said this version of Steve was his favorite.
Five years and the changes have stripped all he’s known away—the transformation of the lives around him makes Bucky sigh with uneasiness. He can’t help it. He feels like he’s always in a state of falling asleep and waking up to an entirely new world.
Steve kisses your mouth, kisses Bucky too. The three of you share quiet gazes at one another before you begin to unhook your vest and look at him behind long lashes. Your hands work nimbly, just like he remembers. Steve strokes your arm, guides Bucky forward to help you with your clothes. That’s familiar too.
Bucky smiles and presses his lips to the apples of your cheeks. Still soft.
“Did you miss us?” Steve asks, steering him further, “Buck?”
“Yeah. I did.”
You moan faintly into his mouth, strip down until you’re naked and then move to help Steve, too. Bucky watches in awe of those deft movement, swallowing when both bodies are revealed to him in the lamplight glow of the bedroom.
When he sheds his clothes to match, he can’t help but smile at the two faces contemplating back at him.
Maybe some things are different now, Bucky thinks. But the love is still the same.
You and Steve run your hands all over his body, kiss him everywhere your lips can touch. Bucky blooms all over with heat and electricity. He melts into twenty fingers and two hot mouths.
Yeah. The love is still the same. And it is so goddamn good.
--
taglist: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes @crist1216
#stucky#marvel#mcu#stucky x reader#steve rogers#bucky barnes#steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes#steve rogers x reader#bucky barnes x reader#avengers endgame#fanfiction#reader insert
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for the prompts: 6 or 23, whichever you like best! any pairing (:
A Shrinkyclinks AU where Steve works at SHIELD based on the prompt “Is this the moment that we kiss?”
— —
“Mission report?” Steve asks the Winter Soldier.
The Winter Soldier looks at him for a long moment, eyes bored, taking in what must be a wholly unimpressive office compared to what he does and, frankly, where he usually debriefs. Then he rattles off the details of his mission, which Steve takes down the best he can.
“Are you new?” the Winter Soldier asks when he’s done. “You’re shaking.”
Steve is, in fact, shaking a little. He didn’t expect the Winter Soldier to notice. “It’s from my blood sugar being low. I’m late to lunch,” Steve admits. Though, he’s not so much late for lunch as he hasn’t been able to stomach it. He was so nervous about his first debriefing with the famed Winter Soldier that he didn’t feel like he could eat a bite. Now, he’s regretting it.
He’s only been working at SHIELD for a few months, seeing if he can make a difference in the world somehow. Except, he hasn’t done much of anything until today: he’s filling in for the person who usually writes down the Winter Soldier’s mission report. If he does well, apparently he’ll be asked to do this whenever the Winter Soldier comes back from a mission. It is apparently a very big deal.
Steve doesn’t want to screw it up.
The Winter Soldier reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small chocolate bar. He hands it to Steve. “Here,” he says.
It’s non-descript, generic. The sort of thing included in SHIELD’s meal rations “Thank you,” Steve says, surprised. “But I can’t really eat this. I’m allergic to dairy.”
The Winter Soldier snorts. “I tried,” he says, taking the candy bar back. “Can I eat this, then?”
“Sure.”
He rips open the packaging with his teeth then eats the small bar in a few tidy bites. “Almost forgot last time. They didn’t save it for after.”
A little distracted, Steve nods. “Good thing you’re eating it now.”
“Yeah.” He stares at Steve for a long moment and says, “You have nice hair.”
“What?” Steve asks, a little shocked. His hand self-consciously flies up to his hair to see what’s wrong with it.
The Soldier’s brow furrows, like he’s confused at Steve’s skepticism. “It’s nice. Shiny.”
He realizes that the Winter Soldier… isn’t making fun of him. “Oh.” He drops his hand. “Thanks. I guess I’m just not used to people saying nice things about it,” he says with a chuckle.
“People should say nice things about it.” The Soldier deposits his candy wrapper in the trash, then sighs. “See you next time,” he says.
“Yeah, sure,” Steve says, already looking forward to it a little bit.
— —
“Everyone says he’s so scary and awful. He barely says a word to anyone,” one of Steve’s coworkers says later that day.
“He said he likes my hair,” Steve says.
His coworker just stares at him, then laughs. “Nice joke, Steve,” he says, slapping on the back just this side of too hard.
Steve laughs, too. Though, it’s not a joke.
— —
It’s another six months until Steve sees the Soldier again.
He’s just come from medical treatment this time, a large cut on the side of his face. “Are you okay?” Steve asks, standing up from behind his desk, concerned.
The Winter Soldier blinks, his hand going up to gently prod at the cut. “I’m… fine?” he says, sounding like a question. “It will be longer before I can go back in, but it’s fine.”
Steve can relate to that; he’d been out of commission himself with a sprained ankle for a few weeks after he fought with a guy who’d been giving a girl a hard time in a bar.
Still, there’s something about seeing the Soldier hurt that Steve… doesn’t like. He’s spent a lot of time between their last meeting and this one reading up on the scant information available to him about the Soldier and just thinking about him. His coworkers all have some horror story or another about him, which didn’t fit with the image of a guy who gave Steve his chocolate bar and complimented his hair. None of what Steve’s found out would make him think that the Soldier’s nice. But he was. Maybe he still is.
“Well, take a seat,” Steve says, gesturing to the seat on the opposite side of his desk. The Soldier hesitates for a long moment, then does. “Can I get you anything? Do you need ice? Or a soda or something?”
The Soldier hesitates a moment. He looks around Steve’s office for a moment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Coke,” he says, voice quiet, nearly croaking.
Steve nods, then turns to the mini fridge he’s got in the corner of his office. He has a few Cokes stashed in there for when he needs a quick sugar fix. He’s happy to pull one out and present it to the Soldier.
The Soldier smiles, really smiles and it’s bright. “Thank you,” he says, grinning as he pops the tab of the Coke. He takes a small sip, then a larger one. “It’s great,” he says. “Thanks,” he adds, like he hadn’t already said it.
“No problem,” Steve says, a little confused as to why a can of Coke is bringing him this much happiness, but not questioning it. The Soldier looks really good when he’s happy. “You have beautiful eyes,” he finds himself blurting out.
“I do?” the Soldier asks.
Steve nods. “They’re very blue.”
He grins again. “Thanks,” he says, then takes another sip of Coke.
Later, Steve will wonder when it was that he started falling in love with the Soldier. He thinks maybe this was the moment.
— —
Three years. Eighteen meet-ups. It takes that long before Steve’s supervisor tells him he’s ready takes him to the cryo chamber, shows him where the Soldier is stored, where he’s kept on ice like one of the Cokes in his fridge, ignored except in case of emergency.
He thought the Soldier had a home, a life, an existence outside of the work that he does for SHIELD.
Steve was wrong.
— —
He gets access to the records he was never allowed to see. Instead of marveling at SHIELD’s ability to eliminate threats, all he sees is the torture, the pain, the way that the Soldier has been used and abused since World War II.
He reads that the soldier’s name is James, but that he went by Bucky.
He decides that he’ll help Bucky escape.
— —
“We don’t have time,” Steve says in lieu of explanation as Bucky stumbles from his cryogenic chamber.
“Steve?” he asks.
Steve nods. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“I want to go,” Bucky says. “I want to go with you.”
The small part of Steve that had worried that this wasn’t what Bucky wanted, that he was actually the machine that SHIELD thought he was, stops screaming at him to stop. He knew from the beginning that Bucky was just a man with a particular set of skills caught in the middle of something evil.
“Okay, let’s—”
Bucky grabs his hand and pulls Steve to him. “Is this the moment that we kiss?” he asks.
“We don’t have much time. The cameras will only be disabled for so long.”
“Then I’ll make it quick,” Bucky says, moving his head down to kiss Steve. His lips are cold. “Thank you,” he whispers against Steve’s lips. “I’ve been dreaming of this. Of you.”
“Me too,” Steve admits, then takes Bucky’s hand. They have an escape to make; they can dream when they’re done.
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Let me love you- Part 2
This is the second part of my new slow-burn Roger Taylor series which I hope you will all enjoy.
Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @rogahs-drowse
Summary: (Y/n), Brian’s younger sister, finds herself falling for Roger but he has a thing going on with someone he used to date. There is something off about his relationship with his ex and (Y/n) realises it is affecting Roger.
Series masterlist
Enjoy.
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Turning her head to the side, (Y/n) found herself smiling as Freddie's delicate fingers danced along the keys of the pain along with her own. Their hands brushing as they both reached for keys next to one another.
Freddie was easily the better piano player but he was also very modest when he was playing, even going as far as to say that he was only an amateur pianist when it was clear he was much more than that. (Y/n) knew a few chords and songs but she liked when Freddie played with her, it was calming and he could teach her the new songs he had come up with. Since she knew how to play it was easy for her to pick up the chords and play along with him.
(Y/n) found it nice to have a friend she could play piano with or just talk to and be close with like this without there having to be anything romantic between them.
(Y/n) bit down on her lip to stop from giggling and messing up the tune when she heard the familiar clicking of a camera signalling her big brother was deciding to snap some memories. Brian had a thing for capturing the moment, it was very confusing to find him anywhere without his trusted camera hanging loosely around his neck or clasped between his fingers.
When the song came to a slow finish, (Y/n) leaned her head on Freddie's shoulder, taking a few moments to bask in the silence they were comforted with. The band were at the studio they normally recorded at and were trying to put together the songs that they had come up with and see what worked and what didn't. Since they weren't properly recording as of yet, Brian had said when she had spare time (Y/n) could come down to the studio and join them.
"Do you want a drink?" She asked quietly, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him as he smiled.
"I'm fine, thank you."
With a nod of her head, (Y/n) pushed herself to her feet, patting his shoulder before she left the recording room the pair of them had been sitting in for the past half hour. Leaving the room, she smiled at her brother and nodded her head in acknowledgement at John before passing the pair of them. There was a drink and food table set up in the back room which was mainly just tea and coffee with a few biscuits and snacks.
Grabbing a cup, she poured herself a small cup of coffee before her eyes set on Roger. He was sitting with a cup of what she already guessed was tea, his head leaning back against the red leather of the sofa he was sitting on.
Deciding to take a chance, (Y/n) slowly approached the drummer who seemed like he was sitting in a world of his own, not even noticing her presence until she was standing right beside him.
Since her talk with Freddie, (Y/n) had thought about and debated getting closer to Roger. Her heart told her it was the right thing to do and her brain said go for it but there was something that always held her back. Something that made her keep a small space between her and the drummer, that stopped her from sitting next to him after shows or trying to strike up a conversation.
Jo.
She was like Roger's sidekick, she was always helping him and knowing what he wanted to drink or eat, knowing when he needed his insulin and helping him have the injection. She knew what kinds of foods he should eat or avoid to keep his blood sugar at the right levels. He drove her home when she had too much to drink and he was level headed. Roger always asked her for advice and laughed at her jokes.
(Y/n) always decided that not getting too close to Roger was the right thing to do because she knew that if she got closer, her crush on him would develop into something more. And if Roger didn't end up feeling the same (Y/n) would have set herself up for failure and would give herself unnecessary pain. Staying away seemed to be the best choice for everyone.
And yet, here she was. An opportunity to sit with Roger and get to know him better, to get to talk to him without people being around or listening in or making her back away.
This seemed just too good to miss.
"Mind if I sit?" (Y/n)'s voice was calm but quiet, indicating if he said no she would simply walk away like she was anticipating that would be his answer. Roger seemed to snap out of whatever daze he had been sitting in because he smiled upon seeing her standing next to him. Instead of him motioning to the seat in front of him in the small booth like she thought he would, Roger nodded and shuffled over to make room for her to sit next to him.
"Of course not."
When (Y/n) sat down next to him, she felt her heart jumping in her chest when he rested his arm over the back of the booth behind her neck, almost resting on her shoulders. It made her think of the movies where the guy would slowly creep his hand onto the girl's shoulder and tug her closer into his side and although she knew Roger wasn't going to do that, the thought still made her giddy.
"I saw you and Fred playing the piano... it sounded lovely." He commented, turning his head so he was looking at her.
Roger was prone to seeing and hearing his friend play the piano, Freddie played on a lot of their songs and during performances from time to time. The drummer thought it was amazing, Freddie could play so quickly it was like the tyres on a car, not being able to see them move as fast as they were but the sound the keys made was beautiful.
It was nice to hear Freddie playing a slow song after being so prone to listening to his fast-paced but amazing melodies and to hear them both doing a duet was a lovely change.
"Thanks, it was Freddie's song, he just taught me the chords." (Y/n) shrugged but Roger simply smiled, he knew she was good at playing the piano and regardless of whether she created the song, she still played it beautifully.
"Fred taught you some piano, I know Brian taught you guitar... why don't you let me teach you the drums? They're the most important instrument." Reaching out, he grabbed his cup of tea and took a swig as he looked at (Y/n), something in his eyes telling her he wasn't joking around.
"I'm sure they are... if you get a chance I'd love to learn." (Y/n) wasn't going to get herself hyped up and excited about him teaching her the drums if the band suddenly had to knuckle down and finish the album leaving no time for him to teach her. But leaving the offer open meant if there was a scrap of time and he remembered, he would most certainly teach her. She knew she couldn't get her hopes up about this as well as not getting her hopes up about her chances with him.
(Y/n) couldn't help but lean the tiniest bit closer to Roger as they started to chat about anything and everything. Both of them knew sooner or later they would have to get back to the others so Roger could get back to working on the album but for now, it was just them and any topic they could come up with.
A flutter appeared in (Y/n)'s chest like birds wings flapping against her ribs when Roger moved his arm from leaning on the sofa to rest it on her shoulders instead. Tightening his arm around her when a joke passed her lips and caused his chest to rumble from laughing. She had never felt so relaxed around him before. Normally when (Y/n) was with Roger she felt anxious about herself, desperate not to make a fool of herself or screw up whatever she was doing.
But sitting here with him like this, she didn't feel worried, she was simply having fun.
"Do you have to get back?" (Y/n) couldn't keep the slight disappointment out of her voice when she noticed Roger glancing to the watch strapped to his right wrist that was resting on her shoulder. His eyes darted from the watch to look at her, his eyes softening as he shook his head.
"They can suffer without me for five more minutes... I think I just need my insulin." Roger didn't want to leave just yet but he could tell it was about time he took his insulin before he either got too low sugar levels or they got a bit too high.
(Y/n) pressed her lips together when he slowly retracted his arm from around her shoulders and moved so he was sitting up straight. She thought for a moment they were going to have to get up to go and get his insulin but he simply reached into the bag sitting on his other side and pulled out a small black case. Her eyes watched with intrigue as he opened it up to reveal a very small bottle with a clear liquid in and two needles.
"Do you mind? I'm not so good at doing it myself." Roger had done biology in university, he knew how to properly administer a needle and he knew which vein he should inject it into. But self-medicating with a needle wasn't something he was good at. He got the shakes last time he tried to give himself his insulin and it was always weird when doing it himself since he was causing himself the slight pain that came with the needle.
He watched (Y/n)'s eyes widen and thought for a moment that he had gone a bit too far but he felt relieved when she slowly took the needle from him.
"Fill it up to there." He commented lightly, watching as she did as asked with slow but steady hands. "Just push it a little so there's no air and then I'll show you where to inject it."
(Y/n) pressed her lips together as she lightly tapped the syringe before pushing the end until a small amount of the insulin was released. Any air bubbles she knew would cause injury to Roger and air in the veins could be fatal. She tried to keep her hand steady as Roger rolled up his sleeve before holding his arm out to her. Nodding when she held his underarm to keep the limb straight and steady before he pointed to where the needle wanted to go.
"Do you two need any help?"
(Y/n) locked her eyes with Roger's when he gently held onto her wrist, brushing his thumb over the skin to calm her down when Jo's voice clearly surprised and shocked her. He turned to look at Jo who was standing opposite them, the usual calming smile on her lips as she rose a brow. She was normally the one who helped Roger with his insulin.
Lowering her head, (Y/n) went to retract her hand from Roger's hold, knowing Jo was the better person to do this because she had done it for Roger so many times before and therefore she would have a steadier hand and know what to do. But Roger was having none of that, he simply tugged her wrist closer as he turned his attention back to her.
"I think (Y/n)'s got this, right little lady?" His eyes were willing for her to do this but (Y/n) didn't know why.
Why was Roger insisting she help him when Jo was the more experienced in doing this and she was always the person he went to for help?
But whatever the reason was, he wanted her to help and (Y/n) didn't think she had the power to pull away from him now. She slowly nodded her head which caused Roger to let go of her wrist, pointing back to where he needed the needle to go. (Y/n) held her breath as she pushed the needle into his skin until he nodded that it was in far enough. Her eyes followed the liquid as it disappeared in the blink of an eye before she slowly retracted the needle from his skin.
Without thinking, (Y/n) brushed her thumb over the pinprick mark left in the crease of Roger's right elbow. Smearing away the small trace of blood that appeared.
"All done. Thank you, little lady."
"I-it's nothing... I'll go back to the boys, see you there." (Y/n) dismissed herself, but not before Roger had a chance to gently take her wrist again and press a gentle kiss to the back of her hand in thanks for helping him out.
(Y/n) quickly left the booth before the drummer had a chance to see the faint blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. Her heart soared in her chest as she turned right into the small corridor that led up to the recording room. But (Y/n) couldn't seem to help herself, she had to stop and have a small peak around the wall to glance back at the pair. She didn't know why she did it but she felt compelled to take a lasting look at Roger.
Jo was sat right where she had been sitting moments previously, already sweeping in and helping out. Placing a circular plaster over the small pinprick in his arm as a rather charming laugh escaped her lips at something the drummer said.
It felt like the very same needle had just punctured through (Y/n)'s heart when she watched Roger lean his forehead against Jo's temple, a goofy but still sweet smile on his lips as he seemed to be chiding her or making fun of her in some playful way.
It was as if (Y/n) had never been there at all.
#roger taylor#roger taylor imagine#roger x reader#imagine#queen band#freddie mercury#Brian May#john deacon#let me love you
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After having a very rough life that makes her want to risk it all at the age of 12. Elaina receives a call from her older brother begging for help with his new born daughter. After watching the fiasco Ari and Aaliyah, her little sisters started in Crenshaw and knowing they needed to lay low for a long time. They head to a Freeridge California and meet a little beat up boy named Cesar. After awhile they start to rebuild the never put together family that she's always wanted but what happens when his older brother finally gets out of jail?
Show some love if you like it! I do not own on my block or any of its characters. I only own my own ocs. I also dont own the pictures. If you don't like the book don't read it and I'm always welcome to nice criticism but if your an ass you will be removed. I also dont speak spanish so I'm gonna do the best I can.
...................................................................
Driving to get to my new house in Freeridge was tiring as hell with my mija in the car. Dont get me wrong I know this is the first time we've got to spend time together in awhile but, I also know the girls hyped her up on candy and soda from the way she practically vibrating and jumping in her purple and black car seat. Fortunately she crashed from her sugar high about 40 minutes back and I would be able to carry her big head into the house.
Tapping my hand in the steering wheel, I pull through tagged up streets until I arrive at my new house in Freeridge, California. There were little trees and bushes blocking all edges of the house at the end of the street giving it a very good privacy setting. Its walls a off white concrete with beige tiles on the roof. There was a big yard big enough to store some of the cars Juju and I like to work on, a small garage and a doggie house for my dog Cerberus. As my eyes roam the house I let out the sigh that seems to have been on the tip of my tongue since I left my old home in Crenshaw.
I notice there were no lights on in the house and that I will have to get black out curtains, considering the amount of windows there were. It wont be good when I have to drink my self to sleep only to be woken up by the sun wanting to show how much holier it is than I. The houses off white cemented walls shined in the fading sunlight the light reflecting off the windows giving it a warm and cozy look thankfully along with the sun going down so is the famous unforgivable heat.
Stepping out of the car was a little more challenging than I thought it was going to be considering how my skin wanted to mend into the car seat. So, after I finally was able to surgically remove myself I was able to start walking up to the reinforced door one of the first things I noticed.
'That was probably one of Vin's ideas.' A bitter smile came at the thought....missing mi familia. I honestly don't even know where he is right now. 'I'll find you when it's safe again.' Already knowing the words were lies before they even left his mouth.
The second thing I notice was the cameras discreetly pointing at every angle surronding my house. So if a lizard crossed my yard I would know about it. I opened the door and propped it open with one of door stopper that was right next to it. Not even bothering to look further inside Going back to the car and I pull out mi hija without waking her while also grabbing whatever else we needed to spend one night in an empty house.
Quickly grabbing my silver .9mm from the glove department, I place it in my waist band of my black yoga shorts and start walking in the house and once fully inside, I put Nena and the bags down in the living room on the deep brown wooden floors before rubbing her hair. Glancing at her mixed cream skin with crazy black curly hair I secretly admire her beauty. 'She deserves this fresh start more than any of us. ' I quietly think to myself continuing to take in her peaceful sleeping face that looked so much like her fathers.
She has such an innocent face but, that's just what lures you in about her. She has such a devilish smile when you get past her angelic eyes.
Rubbing her hair once more I walk out and grab a few more bags before placing those bags around her as well. I go back and lock the door before going through her night bag and pulling out her pajamas.
Picking her up to wake her only causes her to start groaning and whining as she lazily opens her eyes and gives me a sweet soft kiss.
"We have to change your clothes before you go back to sleep Nena." I say quietly to the 3 year old.
"Tía" she said with her quiet rarely used voice it coming out soft and toddlerish. Her tired eyes trying to close despite my best efforts. God this girl could try to sleep through anything!
"You cant call me that anymore mija." I said to her softly with my soothing voice while looking into her deep amber eyes. My mother always said that I had the voice capable of putting anyone to sleep. I remember when I was 4 she told me one night that she wanted me to sing for her every night to chase away the nightmares. Unfortunately the next morning I found her overdosed in the tub covered in urine and throw up.
"Yes mama." She said starting to get a little excited but still in her sleep haze.
"I love you mama." Nena said burying her head into my shoulder. Secretly trying to go back to sleep from what I could tell by the way she started to slump into my arms.
"I love you too Nena. We have to get you changed before you go back to sleep plum."I said chuckling to the half asleep toddler before looking away and turning to my phone when I hear the gun shot notification. Clicking my phone on. I see a blaring picture of Nena and *Bang!!* another new text message. This one from the moving company. [ We will arrive Tomorrow at 7 am] Alright. Not that bad and there's really nothing I could do about that right now.
Scrolling to my other messages I see one from Abuela.
[ We are 30 minutes out. She is in a mood driving us all loco.] Chuckling when I finished reading.
'She just lost her sister, nana.' I thought to myself. Before shaking my head to get rid of the thoughts of her. Putting down Nena on the floor unconsciously bringing up old unwanted memories of before the beginning of all of this bullshit.
*Flashback 2 years ago*
Sitting here with my hands bruised, slashed, and bleeding all over the place from the street fights I've had that past week. The dark purple and yellow bruises seeming to do a puzzle the way they fit on top of each other.
Kissing my teeth and looking far out of space while throwing my head back, and letting out a small scream while standing up to let out my frustrations. Today was not a good day, but it seems like bad days are the only days I'm allowed to have anymore honestly. Turning my head around to fully take in my shitty surronding of an abandoned apartment building with dried blood on the walls, broken glass bottles everywhere, and dirty couches and mattresses. The whole place stunk of mold, anemone, and shit. A scoff escapes me.
'What am I even doing here?' I think to myself but in reality I already know why I was not home..... trying to get too fucked up to remember anything. This is not where I am supposed to be doing that though. I pry through the existing migraine to get to the depressing things I'm forced to call my thoughts. While pulling out my phone to check to see if I have recieved any messages, nope but it is 02:30.
'I should probably go home.' Although, as soon as that thought went though my head it was already gone. My mind being too filled with the existing numbness and static to absorb anymore thoughts of home.
Not now.... 'Theres no one there to return to anymore.'
Walking though the trashed old and moldy apartment building somewhere in NY blood territory if the tagged up place was anything to go by I stepped out side. Looking around I notice the tagged up neighborhood and my 2014 purple and black Dodge Charger. Stepping in the car with a groan I start the car and look at my phone again to connect the bluetooth and start playing Leroyce -Forever before I take off toward a destination not really caring where as long as it's not here.
Opening my glove department I pull out a blunt and light it before coming to a stop. 'Got to get off the road soon dont want to get pulled over again.' I sigh, even though I look older than it I am still only 10. One that really is tired of this worlds sandeces 'I really dont want to call Vin to tell the officer to let me go if I get caught.' I add another sigh to my day as I pull into a parking space and turning off the car. I continue to smoke my blunt while listening to the music letting it vibe though me. 'I haven't eaten in 3 days' I think with, yeah you guessed it another sigh not particularly having an appetite or craving anything to eat.
Putting out the roach that was left while also making sure my silver glock is by my side, I get out of the car and walk to the nearest store. Walking up to the 711 I open the door and notice there were three young chicos in the candy isle and an Arabian at the register. Going to the bakery isle I grab two banana nut muffins before going to grab a beer and some chips.
"Can I get a black and mild wood tip?" I asked as I walked up to the Arabian girl at the register. Her big brown eyes first going to my holstered gun before looking into my hazel green eyes. Looking like she was having a debate with herself on whether or not to ask for an armored mixed girls Id. Flipping her fake blonde hair it seems like she made the decision that she doesnt care about my life.
"That will be 9.34."
Placing a 10 on the counter I walk away leaving the change. Going straight back to my car rolling another one and, staring off into space letting my mind wonder into the depths that would only bring and leave more scars. The only thing that brings me back is the sound of my ringer going off. Looking at the screen I see a picture of my hermano Vin and I on the screen. My long curly black hair pushed to the side my eyes closed and a bright smile on my full lips showing off my pearly whites. Vins tattoed arms wrapped around his hermanita as tight as possible knowing that would be the last time we would see each other for awhile.... and it's already been 8 months. "Qué?" I demanded. As soon as I picked up the phone.
"Elaina."
"Hm?"
"Te necesito." His deep voice says hesitantly over the phone.'Really....now you need me?'
"Por qué?"
"We can't speak about it on the phone. I need you to come to me." His gravely deep voice demanded on the phone. Not really giving me a choice in the matter in my head.
But now, what could be so important that you cant tell me over the phone. Well the only way I was going to find out was by going to him.
"I'm in New York right now, get my location and set it to the nearest airport. Make sure you keep the cops from my route I dont want any problems. Order me a private jet and set it to where ever you are."
" Thank you Elaina."
Humming, then ending the conversation. I recieve the route not even a minute later. Taking care of my family is a full time job that I didnt even sign up for....but without them I would have given up a long time ago. I sighed pulling out of the parking lot finally lightin the blunt.
'This finna be some bullshit.Well at least I get to go to London.'
*Present*
Hearing a truck pull up outside the house. Walking to the door I peek out the bullet proof window to see Abuela's black truck outside. The short mexican lady is cursing my hermanitas the hell out I notice with a small smile. Knowing them they probably deserve it. Shaking my head I start making my way to the door unlocking the door and stepping onto the second brick step.
"THATS YOUR MOTHERFUCKING EXCUSE FOR GETTING ALL THAT SHIT ON MY SEATS!?" oooh car problems...... Walking right back inside grabbing Nena who found her toy bag and was currently sleeping on a stuffed animal. But she was already dressed in her pajamas so imma just count it as a win-win situation. I already did what I needed to do which was open the door.
"Sissy save us!!!!" I hear both my other twin sisters yell. No. You fucked up her truck. You did this to a crazy Mob grandma.
"Let's go find somewhere to sleep Nena." Walking off not listening to the distressing calls of "Sissy!" from all three my sisters now.
I end up picking the empty master bedroom mentally cursing my brother for not having furniture arrive before his family did. 'Pendejo.'
Laying down on the carpet floor while putting white headphones in my ears and using a giant panda stuff animal as a pillow I pull an already asleep Nena over me and, put her head on my chest before closing my eyes.
I stayed like that for hours my insomnia not letting me sleep and my mind never truly letting me rest. I sit, wait, and listen to my sisters and grandma put away the little things they had before going to sleep. Well at least two of them do.
Looking up to my door as I hear the door click open. My younger sister Juju is there with a burning blunt and bottle of Hennessy...... our sleep medicine.
She's wearing a faded purple spaghetti strap crop top and black pajamas shorts. Most of her tattoos being shown off due to the lack of clothes. Pushing a deeply asleep toddler off of me and onto the panda. I watched her wrap her arms around the toy before turning and grabbing my phone.
After making sure my bebé was still fully asleep, something I honestly dont know why I even questioned, I stand up.
Following my younger sister outside to the back yard we hop on the concrete railing facing opposite of each other with the bottle between us and pop it open. Taking out my phone I start to play Say yes by Floetry. Before I really start to look around the back yard. Cerberus was going to have the time of his life fucking shit up back here. He will be arriving tomorrow along with the furniture, he doesn't do well with long road trips at all so we decided to just drug him and put him on a plane along with the rest of the stuff.
"I thought Vin said he would be here?" Her raspy tired voice said drawing me out of my thoughts and making me turn towards her. Big puppy dog hazel eyes that had dark circles from lack of sleep and brown curly hair made her look like a sun goddess. Her light carmel skin basically glowing in the moon and pool light. Out of all of my siblings I connected with sisters the most. Maybe because I went through a lot of bull shit with them? Maybe because they shared the womb at the same time with me? Either way I'm happy for it considering how much the world seems to hates my guts its good to have sisters that actually care if I die or not.
"You know why he can't come here." I said hitting the blunt. Knowingly about to start an unwanted argument.
"Wouldn't you say to protect his girls he would actually be here with us?Not there trying to get himself killed?!"She asked irritated and worried.
"Hm." Taking the bottle she chugs down the liquor with no regrets. Before handing it to me when she is done, I do the same thing until I feel somewhat alright.
"What school are we going to go to? Will you do football?" Now why would I be thinking about doing football? This ain't my home.
"We will be going to sign up for school soon I guess and no I'm not doing football."
" You might be able to start a new life, have friends, find love." She continued. Her mind filled with nothing but romance, roses, and bullets. She already knew that we shouldnt really get attached to anyone out here. It was far to dangerous to get anyone evolved in our lives but right now on this railing she can dream.
"Are you listing out Liyah's to-do list or mine?" I said laughing and fully feeling the effects of the alcohol. Not wanting to be the one to state the facts.
"All of ours fool!" She says laughing. Her smile showing off her small dimples. The smile slowly going away putting her head on my shoulder before shaking it.
"After everything that's been going on we deserve it.........How did we get here hermana?" Sighing I dont answer, knowing that question was more towards the Angels than to me.
"This isn't fair, for him to send us to one place while hes halfway around the world." She continues with a slight whimper in her voice. Taking another sip out of the bottle before passing it and lighting a black and mild.
"He's trying his best." Those soft spoken words could've been yelled at the poor girl with how quickly she quieted down.
Looking over at her down casted head.
"Yeah he is trying his best....but, his best could be with us there to help." She said damn near sobbing. The medicine is working.
"You know why we cant do that Juju. Come on." I said picking her up from the railing and stumbling back into the room after I placed her next to Nena before turning around and locking the door. Poor girl was already asleep when I turned back around.
What could I expect though after everything that's been going on. Quickly checking my phone for the time to see 02:45. I finally lay down next to them and let the alcohol in my system drag me into Morpheus's arms.
#oscar diaz#on my block#sad eyes#cesar diaz#netflix#gangs#love#freeridge#spooky#santos#prophets#Spotify
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Lightning in a Bottle
Note: Because I’m falling deeper down the My Hero Academia hole and @lovingempress‘s commentary gave me the inspiration. Another sequel to all my Shinsō content. Empress, this is for you.
And for once, Kei doesn’t even show up or get mentioned in this fic! I feel like that’s an achievement, if Lang’s observations of my recent writing are any indication. Somehow. Please don’t ask me why I’m shaking while writing this note.
First time writing the famous Eraserhead here. And a little bit of EraserMic if you’re looking hard enough.
Please listen to this theme while reading. I’d like to think it as Tomoko’s theme when she gets to know someone well.
So, here we go!
------------------------------------------------
Aizawa Shouta stares down at his newest problem student.
Although fidgeting, Hoshino Tomoko raises her head to stare back, bangs framing her face almost defiantly. If Aizawa didn’t know any better, it felt like he was looking down at Uraraka or Yaoyorozu. “Um,” she says, timidly but still audible, “C-Can I help you, Aizawa-sensei?”
Nearby, Shinsō is looking caught between laughing and staring himself. “S-Sensei,” he says around the hand covering his mouth, “What are you doing?”
Aizawa looks away. “Nothing much,” he says to Shinsō, and then walks past Hoshino while lightly bumping her shoulder with his hand. Not enough to be rude, but at least to get her attention without startling her. “You came here to watch Shinsō train?”
“Y-Yes,” she stammers, but Hoshino hardens her posture at the questioning. “My friends used to train him before you, Sensei, uh, no offense intended,” she waves her hands a bit, “and I just wanted to come by and see if he was okay.”
“And did you get Recovery Girl’s permission to do that?” After all, the so-called “Chocolate Fairy” was assigned to Recovery Girl for a reason. Stuck in General Studies or not, the health benefits that came with chocolate, as strange as the conclusion was to come to, couldn’t be ignored, especially with trouble students. Chocolate could calm people down. Aizawa couldn’t deny that.
Hoshino, though… This isn’t like her to be without the School Nurse.
At the question, Hoshino jolts before hunching in on herself, completely reversing whatever image she had at her previous answer. “Well… no,” she admits, quieter. She could’ve been a mouse from how small her voice went. Still, Aizawa could hear her. “I wanted to come here by myself. Hitoshi-kun is my friend.”
Shinsō stops whatever snickering he was doing to stare at her in amazement. “Tomoko—”
“I… I just wanted to see how he was doing, Sensei, that’s all. I lo— I care for him, a lot.” Hoshino raises her head to look at Aizawa again, and it immediately strikes Aizawa on how, for the first time this year, her blue eyes actually reflect the flames of a hero. There’s no mistaking the light blush on Shinsō’s cheeks at the girl’s answer either. There was history here. “I can leave if it troubles you.”
Aizawa stares at her. The flames are still there in her eyes even when Hoshino starts shaking from apprehension. Then he sighs. Yep. There’s no convincing her otherwise and man, he really is getting too soft. “You don’t have to leave.”
“Eh?” And just like that, the shy schoolgirl was back, and this time, Shinsō doesn’t even hesitate to run over to Hoshino’s side, his hands very close to taking a hold of hers for the sake of comfort. Hoshino looks towards him and smiles weakly, reaching over to pat Shinsō’s nearest forearm. I’m okay, she seems to mouth towards him, and Shinsō gives her a single look before gripping her hand anyways.
Both teenagers blush, but smile at each other.
Yep. Even if Aizawa wasn’t involved in the situation at this point, he could clearly see it now, USJ injuries or not. When Aizawa wasn’t looking, Shinsō had changed, and it was all because of this schoolgirl who was standing up and looking back at him.
He sighs. “As long as you stay somewhere safe, you can watch.” Aizawa rubs the back of his neck through his capture weapon. “It looks like there’s more to your reasons than just that, Hoshino, but I won’t stop you. Watch as much as you want, considering you’re going to need self-defense at one point.”
“…Oh.” There’s a pause. “Thank you? I-I mean,” Hoshino’s voice gets a bit louder, and she sounds confused. How easy was this girl to read? “I do have chocolate approved by Recovery Girl for you and Hitoshi-kun if you need it too, Sensei! And some…” she shrinks again, clutching her bag, and Shinsō gently pats her shoulder. “Bentos. For lunch. Yeah.” Her voice cracks. “They’re homemade and have cat-shaped onigiri if you like those…?”
Aizawa stops pacing. And it was not because of the cats. “…What kind of chocolate?”
“D-Dark chocolate! With some low-calorie almonds and peanuts to help give protein and fiber after a workout. I-I made sure to lower the sugar content too so it won’t clash with any energy drinks you two take.” Hoshino fidgets again, but there’s confidence in her reply now. “I’m sure of it since I taste-tested it this morning before coming.”
“Really, Tomoko?” Shinsō sounds amused, and Aizawa spares a glance to see him resting a hand atop Hoshino’s hair. Was Shinsō this gentle with other people before? “You didn’t pass out in bed after cooking again, did you?”
Hoshino’s puffing her cheeks at Shinsō, but it’s definitely not in any ill intent as she weakly attempts to bat his hand away. “I-I didn’t! I made sure to get to sleep early last night! I wanted to see you!”
Aizawa does not miss how his student’s cheeks flush a little. Shinsō tugs at his own capture scarf to hide it before Hoshino could notice, saying, “Not that I’m not happy about that, but what time did you go to bed?”
Hoshino doesn’t falter in her answer, still trying to bat at her friend’s hand. And yep, she doesn’t notice Shinsō blushing either. Wow. “10 pm!”
Shinsō rolls his eyes while moving his hand down to wrap around Hoshino’s shoulders in a side hug, promptly stopping any further hand-batting. “That’s better than me.”
A pause, and then there’s a smile on Hoshino’s face. It does not take long for her to lean into his side and the hug, but her expression quickly drops as a realization dawns in her eyes. “I… woke up at 5 too?” Hoshino adds timidly. And honestly.
Aizawa pinches the bridge of his nose to try avoiding the incoming headache. The second it took for Hoshino to answer his student’s question already proved her having a rare sense of honesty that could only lead to trouble in the future. This was starting to sound like a mix of Uraraka and Midoriya, and Midoriya was a problem child already. And not to mention, this girl looked like she had been sheltered. And from how she had full-heartedly trusted both him and Shinsō, it’s been going on for far too long for his liking. How has she survived? Hell, how did she make it into UA High like this?
Then again, he couldn’t talk considering he was still teaching Bakugo.
It does not take long for Shinsō to put his forehead into the palm of his free hand. “How are you human, Tomoko. I woke up at 7. Why did you put yourself through that.”
Hoshino giggles in a way that convinces no one. “…Cafe work?” she says sheepishly.
If anything, her weak attempt at amending any anger only deepens the eyebags on Shinsō’s face. “When you’re out here with me and Sensei already? Tomoko.” Shinsō sounds reprimanding at this point as he taps the back of her head again with his free hand, a bit harder this time. She squeaks a “Fwah” of protest, but it does not stop Shinsō from pulling her in and hugging her a bit more anyways. Huh. “You are a massive dork. The hell that goes through your mind, I swear.”
Hoshino pouts, but leans back into him anyway, reaching over with one arm to hug him back. “I missed you too, Hitoshi-kun. Thankie for being here.”
Yep. Shinsō is blushing now.
Aizawa holds back a sigh. They were already looking like teenage lovebirds. If Mic saw this, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. And Mic already gushed more than enough about Hoshino being cute in his off-time because of one time he caught her singing. “Shinsō. Enough with the scene. Let’s get to work.”
Hoshino jolts first and Shinsō slowly pulls out of the hug, but not before sending her a crooked smirk. “Sure thing, teach,” he says dryly to Aizawa before turning back to Hoshino. “You better keep those chocolates safe, Tomoko.” There’s no missing the honest spark in his student’s eye, directed only towards that girl.
Hoshino blushes, but smiles back. “Aye aye, Cap’n Hitoshi,” she says, saluting him happily while taking a few steps back to lean against a nearby tree. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Sure,” he says coolly, but by the time he runs over to Aizawa, the pro hero doesn’t miss the slight bit of matching pink still on his face. “Let’s get to practicing, Sensei.”
“Alright,” Aizawa sighs before glancing past his student. If there was going to be a guest here, he might as well ask since she offered. “Hoshino.”
Hoshino startles, but looks at him with wide blue eyes. “Y-Yes, Sensei?”
Aizawa ignores Shinsō’s incredulous look and raises a hand anyways. “Throw one of those chocolates over here, will you? I’m hungry.”
Might as well make a student feel more comfortable and less like a stone statue.
“What the hell, Sensei—”
Hoshino blinks, glances at the bag in her hands, then shuffles through it to pull out a small container of tupperware packed full of chocolate bars. She fumbles with the lid for a single second before choosing one medium-sized square and, shutting her eyes, throws the small thing as hard as she can.
“Tomoko, that’s a waste of food—”
“I-I’m sorry, I tried!”
Aizawa catches the square with his capture scarf before bringing it down to his hand. The sweet didn’t even melt in the entire trip through the air and it smelled nice. He popped it into his mouth before chewing slowly. “Hm,” he muttered. “Crunchy.” He could easily taste the almonds and the bitterness that came with dark chocolate. The energy boost that ran through his blood afterwards was almost like a blessing. Aizawa can’t help but nod in Hoshino’s direction, smirking. “It tastes good, Hoshino. Thanks.”
And for the first time that day, Aizawa sees Hoshino’s signature bright smile directed towards him. “No problem, Sensei!” she chirps.
All he can think of in that moment is that she’s too bright.
He can definitely understand why Shinsō likes her now. Hoshino reminds him of Mic. Just quieter and shier. The light was all still the same.
Hoshino glances towards his student anyways and asks in the same happy high-pitched voice, “Hitoshi-kun, do you want one too?”
Shinsō had just put on his mask, but still turns without skipping a beat to say, in a gentler voice too, “I’m fine, Tomoko.”
Hoshino pouts. “Okay.”
Eraserhead sighs, closing his eyes. He needed to see Mic later, or so help him with teenagers. “You might need one when I’m done with you, Shinsō.”
“You always say that, Sensei.”
Aizawa charged first.
------------------------------------------------
“Eh — Hoshino-chan! I didn’t know you were here with Eraserhead!”
“Um,” Hoshino turns a bit red because having Present Mic in your face does that to some people, “Yes? I mean, I wanted to visit Hitoshi-kun, and Aizawa-sensei let me watch, so…” she raises her hand in a weak fist-pump, “I’m here?”
“That,” Shinsō says dryly from her right side, “is the worst All Might impression I’ve ever seen.”
“I-I tried!” Hoshino squeaks.
“YEAAAAAAAH, SHE TRIED, SHINSŌ!” Hoshino flinches in time with Mic’s shout, Shinsō laughs, but Aizawa is far too sleepy to move as soon as Mic gets close again to grin. “SOOOOO, HOSHINO-CHAN! ARE THERE CHOCOLATES FOR MEEEE?”
“Ummmmm. About that…” Hoshino is turning redder by the second. Shinsō being caught between more laughter and poking Hoshino’s cheeks doesn’t help anything. “A-Aizawa-sensei,” she says very weakly, glancing past Mic’s spiky shoulder pads in clear panic. “Help please?”
Huh. She squeaks too. Maybe Aizawa should tell her to invest in a cat cafe job to avoid Mic.
Instead, he gets up from his sleeping bag with a groan. Not the greatest idea, but he was still a teacher. “Mic, lower the volume. You’re scaring Hoshino. And last I checked, she only brought enough chocolates for Shinsō.”
“WHAAAAT? NO.”
“If you want to scout her for your radio show, you need to do it more discreetly.”
The grateful look in those blue eyes is something Aizawa doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting any time soon.
Hoshino wasn’t going to be a Hero, but as a teacher, he’d be damned if he left her alone to the mercy of Mic. His special other could be outlandish as hell anyways.
#hoshino tomoko#shinsō hitoshi#writing#long post#aizawa shouta#yamada hizashi#erasermic#eraserhead#present mic#my hero academia#alternate universe#oneshot#chocolate seashell
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The soundtrack of my life so far
Sweet Child Of Mine-Guns N Roses
Take on me- A-ha
Don't stop believin'- Journey
More than a feeling-Boston
Enter Sandman-Metallica
Dumb-Nirvana
Bohemian Rhapsody- Queen
I wanna know what love is- Foreigner
Dark side of the moon-Pink Floyd
Far away-Nickelback
Janie's got a gun-Aerosmith
Simple man- Shinedown
Snuff-slipknot
Voodoo- Godsmack
Fuck Authority- Pennywise
Be Tommorow- Madlife
Hey Jude-The Beatles
Hotel California-The Eagles
Satisfaction-The Rolling Stones
Stayin' Alive-The Bee Gees
Stairway to Heaven -Led Zeppelin
Free Bird- Lynyrd Skynyrd
Pour some sugar on me- Def Leppard
Money for Nothing- Dire Straits
You shook me all night long-AC/DC
War-Guess who
Wake me up when September ends-Green Day
Scars-Papa Roach
Unwell-Matchbox 20
Learn to fly-Foo Fighters
Fat lip-Sum 41
Bored to Death- Blink-182
You sexy thing-Hot chocolate
Africa-Toto
Hash pipe- Weezer
Lick it up-KISS
Shout-The Isley Brothers
Let it be me-The Everly Brothers
Can't you see-Marshall Tucker Band
Paranoid-Black Sabbath
I wanna rock-Twisted sister
Please stay-The Drifters
Yakety Yak- The Coasters
The house of the rising sun-The Animals
I'm a believer-The Monkees
Turn!Turn!Turn!-The Byrds
Zombie-The Cranberries
Rock around the clock-Bill Haley and the Comets
Maybe Baby- Buddy Holly and the Crickets
Free Fallin'- Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Monday Monday-The mamas and the papas
Dust in the wind-Kansas
Never been to Spain-Three Dog night
Nights in White Satin- The Moody Blues
Accidentally in love- Counting Crows
Crying Lightning-Arctic Monkeys
People are strange-The Doors
I know it's over-The Smiths
Full time Cutie-Summertime Dropouts
Odds Are-Barenaked Ladies
Addicted-Saving Abel
Puzzle Pieces-Framing Hanley
I can see for miles-The who
Should I stay or should I go-The Clash
Don't fear the reaper-Blue Oyster Cult
Roxanne-The Police
Sugar, we're going down-Fall Out boy
Demons-Imagine Dragons
Migraine-Twenty One Pilots
I'm not okay-My chemical Romance
The Strays-Sleeping with Sirens
My Girl-The Temptations
Blue-The Birthday Massacre
Bounce-System Of A Down
The Greatest show Unearthed-Creature Feature
Bodies-Drowning Pool
I don't wanna die-Hollywood Undead
Weightless-All time Low
Animal I have become-Three Days Grace
Take it out on me-Thousand foot Krutch
Amnesia-5 Seconds of Summer
You don't know you're beautiful-One direction
Secrets-One Republic
She will be loved-Maroon 5
Animal-Neon Trees
Chasing Cars-Snow Patrol
Battle Scars-Paradise Fears
Hey there Delilah-Plain white T's
Why don't you love me-Hot Chelle Rae
Pumped up Kicks-Foster the people
Stereo Hearts-Gym class Heroes
First-Cold war Kids
Bones exposed-Of mice and men
I of the storm-Of monsters and men
Take it all back-Judah and the lion
Little lion man-Mumford and sons
Use somebody-Kings of Leon
Miserable at Best-Mayday Parade
Nice guys finish last-Cobra starship
Stutter-Marianas Trench
Shadows-Breathe Carolina
Welcome to my Life-Simple Plan
Crawl-Breaking Benjamin
Alone in a Room-Asking Alexandria
Sad song-We the kings
Voices-Motionless in white
For the likes of you-Woe is me
Forgive and Forget-Miss may I
Machines-Crown the Empire
Broken Heart-Escape the Fate
Iris-The Goo Goo Dolls
Shut me Up-Mindless self Indulgence
Immortal Love-Vampires Everywhere
Bewitched-Blood on the Dance Floor
Can you feel my heart-Bring me the Horizon
Wake me up before you go-go: Wham!
How to save a life-The Fray
Break even-The Script
Mr. Brightside-The Killers
Dead Hearts-The Stars
Born for this-The Score
Sweater Weather-The Neighborhood
Unsteady-XAmbassadors
Ho hey-The Lumineers
Say Something-A great Big World
Why-Rascal Flatts
Stay-Florida Georgia Line
If I die young-The Band Perry
Monster-Skillet
Carnivore-Starset
Broken-Seether
Faceless-Red
The scientist-Coldplay
Hated-Beartooth
Madness-Muse
We are young-fun
Pompeii-Bastille
50 ways to say goodbye-Train
Let her go-Passenger
Scream-Get scared
Good left Undone-Rise Against
Frozen-Within Temptation
Zombie-Bad wolves
Unstable-Chaotica
I don't care-Apocalyptica
Starstrukk- 3oh!3
Thank you-MKTO
I can't breathe-Dead By April
I will follow you into the dark-Death Cab For Cutie
Cute without the E-Taking back Sunday
No way Out-Bullet for my Valentine
Jekyll and Hyde-Five finger death punch
Hospitality-Funeral for a Friend
La la Lainey-Forever the sickest kids
Rescue me-Hawthorne Heights
It hurts-Angels and Airwaves
Do not Resuscitate-Icarus the Owl
Don't threaten me with a good time-Panic!at the disco
Fashionably Late-Falling In Reverse
The kill-30 seconds to Mars
Hero/Heroine-Boys like Girls
Lithium-Evanescence
Cool kids-Echosmith
still into you-Paramore
Love bites(so do I)-Halestorm
Kill everybody-Skrillex
Technologic-Daftpunk
It's my life-Bon Jovi
I, Dementia-Whitechapel
This is now-Hatebreed
I ran-A flock of seagulls
Darling-Eyes set to kill
Alive and kicking-Simple minds
Laid so low-Tears for fears
Castle of glass-Linkin Park
Behind blue eyes-Limp bizkit
with or without you-U2
Hostage-Chelsea Grin
The Anthem-Good Charlotte
Do better-Say anything
Bite to break skin-Senses Fail
Alive-P.O.D.
Snow Cats-AFI
Cheatercheaterbestfriendeater-Nevershoutnever
The taste of ink-The Used
Outside-Staind
Headstrong-Trapt
Door to Door Cannibals-Chevelle
Wolf-First Aid kit
Monster-Meg and Dia
All Star-Smash Mouth
The Middle-Jimmy Eat World
Blurry-Puddle of Mudd
Stacy's mom-Fountains of Wayne
The bitch song-Bowling for Soup
Flavor of the weak-American Hi-fi
The Sky Under The Sea- Pierce the Veil
In the end-Black veil brides
I'm already gone-A day to remember
Fuck away the pain-Divide the day
Bruises and bite marks-Good with Grenades
Shake it-Metro Station
Feel good Inc.-Gorillaz
Just a girl-No doubt
Heroes-The Wallflowers
Intergalactic-Beastie boys
Get down-Backstreet boys
Psycho killer-Talking Heads
Butterfly-Screaming Trees
Useless-Panic Era
Juicebox-The strokes
creep-Radiohead
Wake up-Rage against the machine
Can't stop-Red hot chili peppers
Nutshell-Alice in chains
Loser- 3 doors down
Hurt- Nine Inch nails
End of the world as we know it-REM
Arms wide open-Creed
Sorry-Buckcherry
Halfway Gone-Lifehouse
Ocean Avenue-Yellowcard
Bug Bytes-Alien Ant Farm
Adorable-Artist Vs. Poet
Survivor-Destiny's child
Hey ya-OutKast
Angel with a shotgun-The cab
You're gonna go far, kid-The offspring
Too many words-sick puppies
Kickstart my heart-Motley crue
Wide awake-Audioslave
Love hurts-Incubus
Prison sex-Tool
Take me-Korn
Don't go away-Oasis
Bartender-Rehab
Paralyzer-Finger 11
Inhale-Stone sour
Bloodclot- Rancid
Click click Boom-Saliva
Just because-Jane's Addiction
Sick Fiction-Jamie's Elsewhere
Bruised-Jack's Mannequin
Down-Stone Temple Pilots
We exist- Arcade Fire
Feathers-A perfect Circle
Trailer Trash-Modest Mouse
The Lovecats-The cure
Amber-311
Dear God-Avenged sevenfold
We're going to be friends-7 nation army
Hold me down-Motion city soundtrack
Steady as she goes-The raconteurs
Bad Decisions-2 Door cinema Club
Zero-yeah yeah yeahs
Lips Of An Angel-Hinder
In my head-Queens of the Stone Age
welcome home-coheed and cambria
Limelight-Rush
That's all-Genesis
Stormy clouds-The verve
Pom poms-Jonas brothers
Muzzle-Smashing Pumpkins
Holiday-Vampire weekend
Out of time-Blur
Toy Box-Insane clown posse
Dead skin mask-Slayer
Tornado of souls-Megadeth
To bid you farewell-Opeth
God of Emptiness-Morbid Angel
Little secrets-Passion pit
You enjoy myself-Phish
Mutilated lips-Ween
Sick of you-cake
Doll parts-Hole
White room-Cream
Trouble-Cage the Elephant
Eventually-Tame Impala
I've given up on you-Real Friends
Wonder-Honey water
Cherry-Moose Blood
Communist daughter-Neutral milk hotel
I am a nightmare-Brand new
Howlin' for you-The black keys
Meadowlarks-fleet foxes
Spiders-Wilco
Shut up and dance-Walk the Moon
Face down-red jumpsuit apparatus
Chainsaw-Family Force 5
Knife party-The Deftones
No hope-The vaccines
Get out-CHVRCHES
Colors bleed-Pop evil
Make me wanna die-The pretty reckless
I'll be ok-Nothing More
Legs-ZZ Top
Big Bad wolf-In this moment
Lights out-Royal blood
Sex-The 1975
God's not dead-The Newsboys
Don't stop-Fleetwood mac
Lie to me-Depeche Mode
You're the one-Greta van fleet
broken-lovelytheband
Please come in-Black stone Cherry
Daddy-Badflower
Are you bored yet-Wallows
Picture this-Blondie
Hallowed be thy name-Iron maiden
Rock you like a hurricane-Scorpions
Killed by death-Motorhead
Walk-Pantera
Every rose has its thorn-Poison
I wanna be sedated-The ramones
Bye bye beautiful-Nightwish
Liar- Sex pistols
Infectious- Imminence
Signs-Captives
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The only place he doesn’t feel alone is the moment after a goal at home. An entire city’s roar of approval, his teammates crashing into him, ecstatic shouts lost in a blur of sound that hits his chest like a blow.
The rest of the time, all Zhenya can seem to feel is the ways he’s disconnected from everything else, English a yammering cadence he fishes scraps of meaning from like an exhausted prospector.
I’m smart in Russian, he wants to tell them, when his coach raises his voice to him like he’s talking to a child, or when he teammates snigger at whatever mismash of words that just came from his mouth. I’m funny, in Russian. I’m all kinds of things.
His own teammates don’t mean it in a cruel way. He sees mostly amusement or confusion in their eyes, and they clap him on the back and invite him to eat with them with elaborate pantomimes that make his cheeks burn with embarrassment but also make him grateful. That they keep trying at all.
They have a reason to keep him happy, he supposes. He’s got the hope of the franchise laid heavy across his shoulders. The twenty-one year old Russian kid who defected to play for Super Mario, to try and drag the Penguins back from the brink.
Other teams, though? They’re nothing if not vicious. He knows enough English to understand just how bitter the vitriol spewed at him is. The better his hockey is, the worse it gets. He screams at them in return, the darkest curses he knows, and seethes when they just laugh. It’s just noise to them.
He can hold his rage back, most of the time. He fucking better, because he’s always angry on the ice these days.
But sometimes.
Like tonight. The NHL-sized ice is feeling particularly small, the insults thrown his way particularly scathing. They’re down by one. He’s just bought a house, and there’s nothing but too-empty rooms and a cold bed waiting for him when the game’s over.
“ Fucking big dumb --, go home to Russia” is spit from a gap-toothed mouth, and he sees red. He barely gets his gloves off before he’s on the guy, whaling at him, the hapless asshole taking the form of all the myriad of hurts and frustrations he’s been facing.
He’s hit in return but he barely notices the stinging blows, doesn’t hear the whistle from the ref, or the bloodthirsty howling of the arena crowd.
He’s so lost in it that when a hand grabs his arm and yanks, he automatically throws his elbow back as hard as he can. There’s a sickening crunch, and a gutteral “uh!” and he half-turns only for his rage to drain from him as quickly as it came, leaving him shaky and sick. Fuck, he elbowed the fucking ref.
The ref’s down on one knee on the ice, holding onto his face, blood pouring from beneath his fingers. Zhenya stands over him, not sure what to do. The arena’s even louder now, and the other ref and the linesmen have arrived, and one of them’s grabbed his jersey to tow him to the box.
The ref he punched looks up, and all Zhenya can register besides blood is that he’s fucking young, Zhenya’s age or even younger. Zhenya didn’t know you could be an official that young. The ref swipes the back of his hand under his wrecked nose, and smiles. Fucking smiles, as if in reassurance.
As Zhenya is chivvied to the box, he keeps twisting around, trying to see if the ref gets up, how hurt he is.
Zhenya doesn’t like hurting people. He gets angry, but he doesn’t enjoy any part of it.
Guilt sits heavy and cold in his stomach. For punching the ref, for the disastrous penalty kill his team is forced to endure.
For the game itself, which they lose by three.
***
He gets a deserved dressing down from Coach Therrien, with Sergei pulled in to translate just so that Coach can get across how astronomically stupid Zhenya has been. He hunches his shoulders and takes it.
Coach ends his diatribe and eyes Zhenya coldly. “Back-to-back games. Let’s see you try and fucking get your head straight for tomorrow night.”
It’s late when Zhenya finally is able to leave the arena. There’s a cold, sharp wind blowing across the parking lot, and his hands fumble with his keys.
When he starts the car, his heart sinks at the idea of going home, alone. Not yet. He doesn't want to go home yet. Not feeling this low. He doesn’t want to bring this miasma of self-recrimination home.
He doesn’t have a lot of options this late. But there’s a little cafe two blocks from the arena, that stays open late. He’ll go and get something to drink, sit under the fluorescents and try to…
He doesn’t know what.
***
The cafe is quiet. There are a couple guys at a table near the window and a tired barista, but that’s it. Zhenya comes here fairly often and the he knows how to order black tea with milk and sugar in it. He practiced.
He leans against the counter, feeling exhaustion settle in his bones.
“Rough night?” the barista askes. She has tattoos and a nose ring and doesn’t seem to recognize him. “What ——- to your face?” She gestures at him.
Zhenya touches his cheekbone, which feels tender and hot. Probably bruised. He shrugs.
“Must be ———- going around,” she says with a laugh and a gesture towards the table of guys by the window. “You’re the ———- dude to come in here with a ———- face.”
Zhenya glances over his shoulder, and freezes. He’s not sure, not out of the striped shirt and black helmet, if it’s the ref he hit. How many guys can there be wandering around near Mellon Arena with bandaged noses in the middle of the night, though?
He feels a fresh wave of guilt. He’s wondering what to do, if he should go over and apologize, when the barista calls out (unnecessarily, he feels): “Large black tea for G?”
One of the guys glances up, does a double take, then whacks the shoulder of the guy with the bandaged nose so that he turns around. Zhenya stands there with his tea, unable to move. He feels his face flush with embarrassment.
It’s him, it has to be. Zhenya can see his eyes from here, the same clear, bright color he remembers from the ice. His black hair curls over his forehead and he has startlingly red lips, pretty as a girl’s.
Zhenya swallows, and makes himself move forward. Maybe apologizing will make him feel better.
He feels like he’s looming over their table, and he instinctively pulls his shoulders in, trying to take up less space, to make himself smaller.
“Sorry,” he manages. “For hit face. Not try to do.”
For all his nose is bandaged and swollen, the ref is still good-looking, and his smile is kind.
“I know,” he says. “I know how things get ———. Guy was ——— for you all night. Between you and me, he kinda ———- that punch.”
Zhenya blinks. He didn’t get all of that but the ref’s tone was sympathetic and commiserating. He fidgets with the cardboard sleeve of his to-go cup.
“Nose okay?” he asks. “Broke?”
“It’s not great?” the guy says, laughing a little, before wincing at the way it moves his nose. “I’ll be okay.”
“Should you two ——- be talking?” One of the guys at the table says. “We’re gonna ———the game tomorrow too, you know.”
The pretty ref shrugs. “Won’t tell if you won’t,” he tells Zhenya. He tugs out the unoccupied chair next to him. “Want to sit for a second?” His tone is a little anxious, overly casual, like he’s expecting Zhenya to say no. But Zhenya looks at the odd, hopeful light in his eyes and the gentle curve of his half-smile, and sits.
And that is now Zhenya ends up sitting in a cafe at 12:14 at night, drinking tea with the referees and linesmen of the game he just lost.
“Oh my god, Sid,” one of them says, and rolls his eyes at Zhenya’s ref. But Zhenya’s ref just flips his collegue off and turns to face Zhenya.
“I’m Sidney,” he says, offering his hand to shake.
“Evgeni,” Zhenya says, somehow wanting to hear his own name on those lips, not the nickname his agent had foisted upon him.
“Yev-geni,” Sidney repeats quietly, then smiles and introduces Zhenya to the other officials. Zhenya doesn’t bother to try and retain their names, but he nods politely at them in turn. They’re all a lot older than Sidney and he wonders again at his age.
“You…” he falters, not sure of the word. “Not old. Why?”
“You calling us old, ———?” one of the other officials sputters, and Zhenya flinches at the laughter. Sidney doesn’t laugh, just smiles again, still kindly.
“He’s a damn ———-” one of the older guys says, clapping Sidney on the shoulder. “Sid the kid. ————- referee in the ———- of the NHL.” There’s more laughter, and some chirping directed at Sid that Zhenya doesn’t catch.
Sidney rolls his eyes. “Don’t listen to them,” he tells Zhenya.
“Don’t worry,” Zhenya tells him. “Can’t understand English, so easy not hear stupid.” Sidney’s eyes widen and he practically cackles, eyes sparkling green and gold at Zhenya over his poor bandaged nose.
“That would be ——-” Sidney says, and his laughter doesn’t make Zhenya feel set apart. He laughs like Zhenya’s in on the joke.
“For fuck’s sake,” one of the linesmen says. “Keep it in your pants, Sid.” Sidney turns red and looks down at the table. Zhenya decides he doesn’t like the guy much.
Sidney mutters something noncommittal, and Zhenya has a ridiculous, sudden impulse to touch him. A hand on his shoulder or a nudge with his foot. Or.
Well. He’s very beautiful.
Sidney catches Zhenya’s gaze, and makes a wry face, wrinkling his nose and then flinching.
“Sorry,” Zhenya says again, softly, just for Sid to hear. The other guys are already talking amongst themselves.
“Not the first time I’ve been hit in the face doing this, won’t be the last,” Sid says, and shrugs. “Part of the job.”
Zhenya wants to ask him about that, about how he became a ref at such a young age. He wants to ask him all kinds of things, but he feels afraid of his poor English. He has the strangely sure feeling that Sid would be kind about it, and yet.
Before he makes his excuses and leaves, he takes a risk. He pulls off the cardboard sleeve of his drink, and covertly uses one of his omnipresent Sharpies to scrawl his cell number on it, hidden under the table where the others can’t see. He slides it into Sid’s palm.
Sid jumps, then looks down at his hands, then blushes. Deeply. The shy look he gives Zhenya makes Zhenya feel warm and light, and he walks out of the cafe feeling better than he has in weeks.
***
So, your number, huh? Is waiting on his phone when he gets home.
Can translate on phone he answers. Talk more.
I have no idea if this is a ———- of ———— Sidney responds.
Zhenya looks up “conflict” and “interest,” and his heart sinks. Like you he confesses. There’s a pause.
I like you too Sidney replies, and Zhenya lets out a whoop that echoes through his empty foyer.
I’m still going to —— your ass to the box if you pull any bullshit Sidney says, but adds a smiling emoji.
Fine)))) Zhenya sends back. No penalty play best
😄Sidney sends back.
The game the following night is without major incident. Zhenya is only a little distracted by Sidney’s powerful, tireless skating and his revelation of an ass in those black referee slacks.
Zhenya is self aware enough to know he’s a show-off, and he nets two goals in his effort to impress Sidney. He searches for him over the shoulders of his teammates during the celly for his second goal. Sidney glides by, a smile playing about his lips.
Zhenya feels elated about more than the goal.
***
The shut-out win and the fact that they have a rest day tomorrow means that the team wants to go out. Zhenya’s all for it. He loves dancing. And nobody expects scintillating conversation in a club, anyway.
We go club tonight he sends to Sidney. You come
Forgetting the question mark sounds a little pushy, he realizes too late. He doesn’t expect Sidney to agree, but wonder of wonders, he does.
Ok he sends. I can’t dance but it —— be fun.
Might be? Zhenya’s going to make sure it is.
***
Even though Sidney said he’d come, Zhenya isn’t quite sure he will until he gets a text that he’s in line. Zhenya goes to fetch him and Sidney rolls his eyes at Zhenya walking him past the velvet ropes with a nod to the bouncer.
“Mr. Bigshot, huh?” Sidney laughs, and Zhenya grins back at him, feeling shivery with excitement .
“Yes, am most big,” he says innocently, just to watch Sid blush deep red and try to act like he doesn’t notice the innuendo.
Zhenya snickers. His English is shit but not that shit.
Zhenya goes to get Sidney a drink, but Sidney shakes his head. “I’m only twenty,” he half-yells over the throb of the music. “I can’t drink here yet.” Zhenya gives him a look. Not like being underage stopped Zhenya last year, but Sid holds firm. “A Coke, please,” he tells the bartender. The insistence on following the rules paired with the cute, stubborn set of his jaw is too much. Zhenya wants to wreck him.
Sidney sips at his Coke while Zhenya leans into his space and tries to follow his stream of talk, with only limited success. He gives up after a while and just ends up staring at Sidney’s lips, watching them purse around his words.
He realizes with a start that they’ve stopped moving. He quickly brings his gaze back up but Sidney is silently staring at him, his eyes dark and inscrutable under the neon wash of the club lights.
Carefully, deliberately, Sidney sets down his glass. Zhenya moves even closer, so that Sidney has to tilt his head back a little to look at him. Sidney seems to weigh his options for a long, excruciating moment, then inclines his head towards the dance floor.
Zhenya grins.
***
He doesn’t need English to pull Sidney into the darkest corner of the club, and doesn’t need English to understand the way his mouth falls open when Zhenya settles his hands on Sidney’s hips, pulling him too close to leave any doubts as to what he wants. To understand what it means when Sidney turns to lean back into his chest and let his head fall onto Zhenya’s shoulder.
Zhenya doesn’t need English to tug him into a cab with him, to take him home, to suck possessive bruises into his pale skin.
To understand his own name cried out in ecstasy when Sidney comes.
***
The next morning, Zhenya wakes up and just watches Sidney for a while. He looks so good in Zhenya’s bed, all smooth, pale muscle and tousled dark curls. He gives in to the tenderness welling up in his throat and presses a line of gentle kisses up Sidney’s spine to his shoulders.
Sidney stirs, and mumbles something unintelligible before blinking his eyes open. Zhenya can see the moment his brain wakes up enough to register where he is and remember what they did last night. A spike of fear goes through him. He doesn’t want to see that look turn into regret, or disgust.
He rolls them, and plasters himself to Sidney, burying his face in the join of his neck and shoulder. Hiding his face. Please, he wants to say. Don’t wish we hadn't done this. Don’t leave me even emptier than I was.
He feels Sidney reach up to card his fingers softly though Zhenya’s hair. “Good morning,” he says, voice sleep rough, tone soothing, as though he can understand that Zhenya’s upset about something. They stay like that for a long moment, Sid still stroking Zhenya’s hair, Zhenya still afraid to look up.
When Zhenya finally raises his face, Sidney smiles at him. Soft, and warm. Zhenya’s insides feel achy. He wants to wake up to that smile again.
“You okay?” Sidney asks.
“Feel bad?” Zhenya says.
Sidney frowns a little. “No. You?”
“No,” Zhenya says emphatically. “You like?”
“The sex?” Sidney asks. “Sex with you?” At Zhenya’s nod, he reaches out to touch Zhenya’s face. Zhenya leans into his palm like a cat. He’s not sure what’s wrong with him. It’s like he’s starving for touch.
“It was awesome,” Sidney says, then blushes, which is hilarious, as they’re both naked together in bed.
Zhenya lets out a long, shuddering sigh, and with it a lot of the tension he’d been feeling. He snuggles back down into Sidney.
Sidney laughs. “You’re not what I expected.” But he throws an arm around Zhenya’s shoulders to pull him even closer. “ ———- ————-,” he says affectionately, and gropes one-handedly for his phone when Zhenya makes a confused noise.
“Прижиматься монстр,” Google Translate informs him, and Zhenya snorts. Well. A weird way to put things, but not inaccurate. He’s reveling in how Sidney is letting himself be held. Zhenya’s had a lot of partners that haven’t liked his octopus tendencies but Sid doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“My flight is at noon,” Sidney says, stroking a hand down Zhenya’ back, then back up to tangle through the hair at Zhenya’s nape. He sounds regretful.
“We do again?” Zhenya asks. “Text? Talk on Skype?” Too much, he thinks. Too much, too fast. But he doesn’t want to let Sidney go.
Sidney hums. “If you want. I know you have to be careful. But, uh. I. I really like you?”
Zhenya raises himself up on his elbows, so he can look at Sidney’s face. There’s that blush, again.
“Yes,” Zhenya says fervently. “Yes, yes, yes.” He punctuates his words with kisses until Sidney is laughing and even redder than before.
***
Zhenya sends him off at the door with a travel mug of coffee. He takes smug satisfaction at the Pens logo emblazoned across it.
Sid kisses his cheek, then just looks at him, as if he wants to commit Zhenya to memory, ratty sleep pants and bedhead included.
“I’ll be back in Pittsburgh next month,” Sidney promises, and Zhenya feels happy enough to burst.
***
Two hours later, he gets a text from Sidney: a photo of the plane’s wing as it sits on the runway, then a screenshot of Sid’s phone, some app with a green owl on it.
Привет Sidney texts him. Как дела?
Maybe not so alone after all, Zhenya thinks.
#sidgeno#sidney crosby/evgeni malkin#hockey rpf#only tangentially related to the photo this time#oops#dana writes a thing
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