sub bucky on a leash?? ugh torturing him w a vibrator as he calls you ma'am and begs you to let him come, using the leash to pull him forward so you can slap him and coo at your little puppy 🥺

I can’t get this fucking thought out of my head, why is this so hot?

Like subby Bucky who just wants to be totally dommed with a pretty pink collar around his neck that's attached to a matching pink leash. Maybe little dog tags that tinkle when he moves. Maybe they have your name engraved on them too, just so he remembers he's fucking owned.

And the way he'd whimper when you tug on the leash and press his face against your pussy. He'd lick you like he's starving, moaning with every sharp tug on his hair and thriving off the way you taunt him. "Stupid little puppy, aren't you? You just want to lick until you've had enough." You try to keep your composure as you're teasing him but God, it's too good. He's frantic, almost overwhelmed and he looks so beautiful like this.

"Yes ma'am." He pants breathlessly, looking up at you with tousled hair and blown out pupils. You know he's achingly hard. You don't even need to see him to know his cock is heavy and twitching between his thighs, begging to be touched but all his attention is still on you.

"You're fucking pathetic." You hiss, tugging his hair back so damn hard, making him look up at you before your free hand strikes his cheek. You don't hit him hard, just enough to sting pleasantly but it's enough to make him moan like a slut.

"Please. Fucking. Touch me." His voice is soft, barely louder than a breath because all that composure he usually has is gone. He's not far off begging but it's so much more fun when you get him all the way.

"Why would I touch you? You're my slutty little puppy, aren't you? You're just here to please me." The gentle reminder makes his eyes roll back in his head and he's humming nice and low because his resolve is slipping. "You forget that this collar means you're mine? Even with the pretty tags? Fuck, you go stupid when you're horny like this."

You're not far wrong and he knows it because he feels stupid. The only thoughts in his head are of getting you off and getting himself off and he knows that exact order will be the most rewarding.

"P-please let me cum." He sounds so broken, looking up at you with the gentlest eyes and oh, that's him begging.

You can't help but smirk at him, watching how he trails kisses up the insides of your thighs like that will change your mind in the slightest.

"No, baby. I want to cum first and I want to cum so fucking hard you make me see stars." You smirk, tugging his head back where you want it and while it's not exactly what he begged for, it's the next best thing.

Steve Rogers - Promise

A/N - So, this is my first marvel imagine? I haven’t watched all the films yet, I’m halfway through and watching them all in chronological order, but I couldn’t resist because I love Steve Rogers. So much. Once I’ve finished watching, I'll probably realise a shit tonne of mistakes in this, but please don’t judge. Apologies for any typos and incorrect information. GIF credits to owner.

Warnings - angst, smut so 18+ please; fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do it), borderline ‘captain’ kink, 5k.

Summary - you’re an admin worker in stark tower, an average working girl except for one thing, you have a superior memory, one that has aided you many a time. But when you’re leading Cap on a mission and it gets cut off, is it because of your memory, or are you just letting your crush on Steve cloud any reasonable thinking?

YOU LOVE YOUR JOB, there’s no denying it. You’re young, a Brit in America, just working to help with your future, but after how well it’s been going recently? You don’t think you’ll want to leave. 

You’re an admin at Stark Tower. Not that one is really needed with all of Tony’s tech, and the fact that everyone is more than capable of sorting themselves out, it’s just fun to be around. Not only do you complete all the stenography and spreadsheets that don’t necessarily have to do with anyone specific, but you also do many of the more artistic plans and are everyone’s personal therapist. You probably don’t help your own cause - leaving your door propped open with a book to let anyone drift in and out of their own accord at any given time, unless you’re properly working, and then they know to find you in your office. Yes, your very own office.

Recently, with you becoming more and more familiar with the workings of all the residents, growing more knowledgeable of their work lives, picking up the lingo and everyone’s gladness at your perfect, imperturbable memory, you’re slowly being given more tasks. This could be anything from mission reassignment to looking through months old footage, but you’ve been helping out over the system on a couple of missions. You really feel like one of the team even though you know you’re far from it. Sleeping in the tower helps, as well as being welcomed by everyone every meal time that you sit together, especially the way they test your memory trick and always seem completely amazed at how you remember the most obscure details. Anything from the exact positioning of a birth mark on someone that Natasha took down the first week you began working, to the precise measurement of metal that Tony needed to complete a new project, to the freckle on Steve’s bare ass that one time he had to use your shower-

That escalated quickly. 

Currently, you’re in your office, daydreaming and completely wistfully thinking. You have no trouble remembering every conversation you and Steve have ever had, not that many admittedly, but he’s always been so kind to you. He was the first one to truly make you feel part of the team, welcoming you with a hug before holding you at arms length and brushing a crease from the arm of your blouse. You’re not really sure if he’d seen anyone dress that way, since all the girls he was around were always in their kick ass clothes, gym shorts or comfies, so you wandering around day in day out and wearing frilly Victorian-era blouses paired with short, tight pencil skirts and Louboutin stilettos may have been a shock to his system. It wasn’t with any agenda in mind that you did this, merely a mix of modesty and business woman style. Every word Cap has ever said flies through your mind, the impeccable memory of the way his exquisite nylon suit clings to him in all the right places... 

Steve is the only guy you’ve fancied for a while, the only person you’ve ever really gone for emotionally, and all of that is because he’s such a cute human being; so genuine, so upbeat around you, so supportive, and his smile. Goddamn his smile. He’s just too cute for life, which is also why you should really be concentrating, considering you’re supposed to be monitoring his mission. 

“Y/N, are you there? I think somethings happening, someone’s here that we didn’t know about, where do I go?”

His usually soft voice is frantic, and you can tell he’s a little scared, since this was supposed to be a simple solo mission, in and out, but now you’re having to recite an escape route. 

“Turn left at the end of that corridor, half way down there’s a grate on the wall. Pull it off, climb inside.” You tell him as calmly as you can, but even your heart is beating out of your chest, breathing laboured and a slight sweat forming on your forehead. 

“I’m in, sweetheart. What next?” Not the right time for your heart to flutter at his words, especially not the time to imagine the way his raspy morning voice would curl around those very same Few words...

“Follow the route, it’ll bring you out in a downstairs kitchen area that was empty last time I checked, I’ll look again...” you trail off, clicking off the one screen with the dot of his whereabouts to check the surveillance, and he seems to be safe. 

You hear his breathing calm down as he crawls through the ventilation system, but even as you flick through every camera that you’ve been able to access in the building he’s in and the surrounding area, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary apart from a couple of unconscious, probably dead blokes scattered across stone floors.

“I’m in the kitchen, but there’s no doors in here, no way out.” He says. 

Fuck.

Your heart sinks to your feet.

“Yes there is Steve, it’s on the north wall beside a faux, oversized spice rack. It has a silver handle and it’s an oak door, exactly like my bedroom door.”

He pauses, his heart rate thrumming heavily, “sweetheart there’s no door here, there’s no spice rack, just old built in cabinets and flat walls. You must have misremembered.”

“Shut the fuck op Steve, I’m doing what I can,”

Your usual eloquence is out the window along with all of your chill, sounding mildly like a road man as you frantically tap between the screens. He’s right though, his only way out is to climb back in the vent and hope to god, well, or Thor, that no one finds him there, but that may be too late.

“Try the cold tap on the sink, I don’t know exactly what was said but I distinctly remember someone talking about it. Stay calm for me Cap, please.” You want to beg for him to be ok, to come back in one piece, because this isn’t a normal mission, you’re emotionally attached. 

He takes a deep breath and walks over to the tap, but as soon as he touches it, all surveillance is cut off, your computer goes black, and you can’t even hear his breathing anymore. 

“Steve? Cap, come back to me, can you hear me? Steve?” With each call of his name to which he doesn’t respond, you grow more frantic. The lights are still on so you know that it’s not the mains, but you’re not educated with circuits, so you do what you can to reboot your computer, only for it to show up with your bland screen of spreadsheets, sans anything about the mission or Steve.

Your hands start shaking, lip quivering and mind overwhelmed with stress. It’s over, you’ve lost Steve, fucked up the mission, you’ll be out of a job, and the worst part? You broke a promise. 

“Promise you’ll keep me safe out there Y/N?” Steve asked, his cute little smile twinkling in his eyes and making your whole body go giddy.

“I promise, but you have to promise that you’ll come back in one piece.”

“That I can do, for you.” He murmured, wrapping his arms around your body and placing a kiss to your hairline. 

You haven’t been at the compound long enough to know whether this is normal for Steve, or for anyone, or if he’s just a natural flirt. Whatever it is, you feel too guilty to face him again if he even comes back alive. 

Slowly, soft sobs start to escape your lips without you noticing, tears slipping down your cheeks and dampening the neck of your blouse. You can’t help the guilt that overtakes you, the fear that you can’t even reason, and that’s when you hear a soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?”

It’s Natasha. You nod gently as she takes a seat in the corner of your room, throwing her feet up on your coffee table so nonchalantly that it’s almost not a challenge of authority. 

“What’s up? Didn’t you have to radio for Cap?” Once again you nod, hastily wiping the tears from your face and smoothing your skirt out. “So, why are you crying?”

You like Natasha, of course you do, but you have normal people emotions and a little more conscience, unable to stand the thought of anyone even getting a papercut on your watch. 

“He went off, the computers crashed, and it’s all my fault.” You say, standing up and moving to shut your office door, locking it for safekeeping, because if Bucky finds out then you’re dead. 

Natasha grabs a lollipop from your sweet bowl and sticks it in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s flirting. She’s not, that’s just Natasha. “Care to elaborate?”

You take a sharp breath, “someone was there that we didn’t calculate, I had to get him through the ventilation system to an abandoned kitchen that I KNOW had a door, my memory doesn’t glitch, so in the time it took for Steve to get through the vents, someone must’ve closed off the door, but I’m not sure how. Then he just went when he touched the only possible thing that could be an escape route. Fuck, what if he’s dead?”

You feel tears bubbling up in your eyes again, blinking harshly to keep them away. 

“So what if he is? You’re smart, you’re panicking, so you’ve obviously done everything. It sounds harsh but you can’t get too attached. Just listen out and he’ll come back of his own accord, but if he doesn’t then we’ll have to deal with that later.” She says, grasping a hand around your shoulder before  stepping over the threshold to the main compound, leaving you alone with your thoughts. 

Maybe she thought tough love would work, but she has a point. You’ve done everything you can, so now it’s just a waiting game.

You keep an ear piece on you but shut your office for the night, heading out to the bar to pour yourself a more than healthy sized glass of wine. You unbutton your shirt a little and slide down the wall to your favourite reading spot, in one far corner, you set up some cushions and bedding. You’re the only one that uses it, but you could swear that you’ve seen Steve eyeing it up before. So you sit, tears streaming down your cheeks and leaving you with mascara-stained tear tracks, the first few buttons of your shirt recklessly undone, and your heels flung elsewhere. You bring the bottle over with your glass, and you pick up a book to keep you distracted. 

You’re not sure how long you sit there, guilt slowly building, occasionally calling Steve’s name to check if he’s come back on the system, but there’s nothing. Nothing until the lift doors open, and out walks a very bloody Cap with his suit half on and a skin tight white t-shirt clinging to his upper body.

The tears don’t stop falling from your eyes, but you close your book anyway. You would stand up, run to hug him, but your legs can’t hold you up, so you stay seated, all your words caught in your throat as Steve edges further across the common area towards you. 

He offers you a shy smile, virtually collapsing into the carpet only metres from you. Slowly his head lifts, hair falling into his eyes, and he holds his arms out. 

“Oh god Steve,” it’s him. Really him. You feared he’d be a hologram or something, your eyes deceiving you from their soreness post crying. But he’s here, you can tell from the overly memorised display of veins in his bicep when he offers you his arm. 

“It’s me,” he nods, edging a little further towards you as you crawl closer and settle into his grip. 

Your tears flow freely, dampening his shirt. Neither of you says a word, he just grips you closer to him, cuddling your legs into his lap to soothe you.

After a while, Steve fidgets, and you find your eyes dry. 

You angle your head upwards, your well kept chignon completely haywire. Steve’s face is covered in bruises and dried blood, but his eyes don’t look at all worried. 

“What happened?” You whisper, words vibrating through his chest. 

“The tap was a trick, or maybe I twisted the wrong one, but all the lights went out and I was shocked, I had to attack a few guys but I made it out, albeit bruised.” He swallows, running a shy finger over the curves of your face. “Were you worried about me?”

You nod, clutching him close. He chuckles and draws circles on your back through your shirt, just his soft touch more comforting than anything else. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart, is my nose broken though?”

You look at his nose, softly smoothing over a hell of a bruise, before placing a gentle kiss to the bridge. 

“No, trust me. In British comps, fights happen daily, and my ex was in with a bad crowd, always in fights. I had to deal with all kinds of injuries, and your nose is not broken. Be grateful because it hurts to sort it out.”

He laughs and brings you in.

“You deserve so much better than someone like that. I was worried about you when I was out there you know...” he says.

A strange conversation transition, but who are you to judge. 

“I was so scared, I thought you’d died,” ah shit, here come the tears again, “Natasha told me to just wait it out like I wasn’t completely emotionally attached to you. Bloody hell, Steve, I’d be responsible if you died.”

He cooes sweet reassurances in your ear, wrapping his arms entirely around your torso while the join between his neck and shoulder becomes your sanctuary.

“I’m emotionally attached to you too if that helps,” he whispers in your ear, so quietly that he hopes you didn’t hear, instantly regretting it. But with the soft kiss you place on the sweet spot just below his ear, he brings up all his courage to angle his head just right, capturing your lips in his in the sweetest of kisses. 

You gasp into the kiss, your reaction giving Steve means to believe you didn’t like it, instantly pulling away and dropping his hands from around your body.

“I-I’m sorry, you’re upset and I took advantage of that, and I haven’t really been with anyone since, well...”

“Shut up and kiss me, Steve.” You command, cutting off his rambling, your hand cupping his cheek. 

His hands slowly make their way around your body, fumbling for the bottom of your blouse and subsequently unable to find where your shirt ends and your skirt starts. You giggle a little into the kiss, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss by delving his tongue into your mouth. You place your hands over his and guide them to your chest. For a second, he seems confused, his lips halting their massaging movements on your own, until he finds the open buttons at the top of your blouse. He pulls his lips away for a moment, breath mingling together in the air. His smells of strawberries, you note. He glances at you for reassurance, something which you eagerly give, so he begins. His hands slowly work their way over your chest, fingers fiddling with your buttons as you wait patiently, completely submissive for Steve to do whatever he wants to you. 

He pushes the material from your shoulders, and you untuck the back of it from your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing your bra. Though now you see Steve eyeing it up, you realise it’s not really a bra at all, rather two triangles of flimsy fabric with some bands and strings attached, one of your only bras that doesn’t show through a sheer blouse. The way his eyes are boggling at your tits though, you guess he likes it. 

An unwitting blush creeps up your neck and cheeks, suddenly feeling cold under his scrutiny.

“You can touch them if you want,” you chuckle lightly, fearing that you’ll sound like an inexperienced teenager if you say more. 

Steve blushes as crimson as you, his large hands leaping at the opportunity to feel you. You throw your head back in pleasure as his cold thumb rubs over your nipples, making them hard to the touch, and the rest of his hands get to work massaging and kneading your boobs, pulling down the fabric to softly kiss your bare skin. 

Although he hasn’t done this in a while, well, a lifetime, he still knows how to do it realllly well. 

Your hands fly to his heart, keeping him there, his lips switching between your breasts until you grow a little more needy, grinding down on his bulge. 

“You wanna do this?” He asks, voice a little hoarse but still silky. 

“Yes, Steve. Fuck, just take me.”

“Language,” he chides jokingly, but despite that, he agrees. 

Clearly he doesn’t need to be asked twice, because he has you flipped beneath him with your back on your cushions in your reading corner, his lips attaching your neck. 

You fumble with the bottom of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head between kisses and suckles to a sensitive spot on your neck. He’s carved like a Greek god, abs toned to perfection, his tanned skin rippling with any given movement. He feels so soft too, skin tender beneath your fingers, trailing them gently across his back and torso to simply feel him. The contrary of gentle skin and solid muscles is one that makes your mouth water with desire, bringing Cap’s lips back to your own, palms pressed firmly against his back. You go in deep this time, licking his mouth and devouring his taste. To your surprise, he kisses you back with even more fervour, so passionate that you lose track of any thought swirling in your mind. 

“Suit off, now.” You call breathlessly, watching on as Steve clumsily tries to peel off his trousers by using the sleeve of his suit. He’s moving so recklessly that with an abrupt movement he’ll snag the fabric, ripping the suit that makes him look heaven sent. 

“Here,” you giggle, offering a hand out which he gladly takes, letting you shimmy the tough material down his legs, only blocked by his clunky boots which he kicks off at the same time as the suit, haphazardly leaving them wherever they fall in the lounge. “Fuck.” Is all you can choke out. The serum worked on everything. Even with his briefs still on, you can see his cock twitching within its confines.

“You’re wearing too many clothes now,” he faux scolds, leaping atop you again, kissing your collarbone as his hands work their way down your body. 

First he unhooks your bra properly, throwing it off and you both hear it land on the glass coffee table from the way your clasp knocks the glass. Next he moves onto your skirt, unzipping it, your hips raising of their own accord to accommodate his actions, slipping it off alongside your tights, revealing your bare legs to him for the first time. He doesn’t care about any of the natural marks that grace your skin, merely that you’re sitting in just your panties and only for him. 

“God you’re so beautiful,” he says.

He runs his palms over your thighs, just feeling your skin beneath his. His touch is soothing, as is his presence, allowing you to feel open towards him. You tilt your legs a little more open, revealing to him the small wet latch that graces your not-so-sexy work underwear. 

“All for me?” Steve asks, eyes innocent and doe like. 

If he’s really this sweet and naive then you’re gonna fucking ruin him. Sweet Jesus what you wouldn’t do to that man, starting with your incredibly well hidden Captain kink, though it may not be hidden much longer.

He brings a finger up to your core, pushing your panties to the side to run a finger up and down your slit. He audibly moans while collecting your slick from between your folds, fingers rough in contrast to the part of his body that you’re gripping onto, though you’re not sure quite where from your eyes fluttering closed. 

“Ready?”

You nod, bracing yourself as he rips your panties off and pushes one finger inside you. He feels brilliant, his fingers so much longer and better than your own, already bringing you jolts of pleasure from its presence. 

He draws it out before pumping back in again, continuing his movements. Your forehead falls against his bare shoulder, small gasps of pleasure escaping your open mouth.

“More,” you pant, ready to feel more of his intoxicating ministrations. 

He nods obligingly, slowly adding a second finger, continuing his gentle assault on your pussy. God, it’s been so long since you’ve had sex, just his two fingers pumping in and out of you brings you more pleasure than you’d care to admit. 

“S-stop,” 

He looks up at you, immediately withdrawing his fingers, covered in your juices and glistening in the moonlight. You flush far too deeply at such a simple thing. 

“I need to feel you already, please.”

You sensually drag your finger all over his bare chest, hearing his breath hitch in his throat. He nods vigorously, hair falling in his line of vision, but scrambles to be on top of you properly, hands either side of your head on your array of cushions and his legs steady, trapping you completely beneath him. 

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna take advantage of you, y/n. You’re so beautiful and perfect and I want your first time with me to be something you’ll remember forever.” He says sweetly, but despite his kind words, you can’t help but chuckle for a solid few seconds before he realises what he’s said. 

“Ok, but are you sure you wanna do it here rather than my room? Yours is out of the option, everyone will assume you’re dead if your book isn’t there anymore...” 

once more you chuckle, as does he, bringing your hand up to cup his jaw. 

“I’m sure, Steve, now get inside me before I change my mind and wake Bucky up,” you quip. 

He knows you’re joking but gets to work anyway, swiftly getting rid of his brokers and ungracefully kicking them off as you watch him. He may be hot but even Loki’s magic may not be able to make him elegant. 

As soon as he’s back in his previous position and you see is dick slapping against his stomach, hard and already a little red, you can’t help but gape. His too-tight boxers didn’t do him justice because now you’re worried he won’t even fit. 

He sees your worried face and panics, “We can go back if you want, we don’t have to do this.”

“I want this Steve, shitting hell-“

“Language,” he chides, interrupting you, allowing you to cock your eyebrows at him, a look to say ‘is this really the time?’

“I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, just go slow because you’re huge.” You finish, smiling at his dorky smile and flushed cheeks. 

Of all the things he could blush at, he chooses a compliment. Such a dork, you think to yourself, unable to stop the contagious smile creeping onto your face.

“I’ll be careful with you, I promise.”

And that he is. 

“Oh, and call me captain.”

That’s something you knew he’d have a kink for, making you smirk a little too. 

He runs the head of his cock through your folds to father a little lubrication before pushing in, very slightly and very gently. He bends his arms and kisses all over your face with the new leverage, feather light kisses of pure affection before you give him a breathy whisper, resembling of a ‘more’, so he pushes in a bit more again, repeating the process until he’s buried to the hilt inside your aching core, clenching around him without Steve even needing to do anything. 

“Can I start moving?” He asks, awkwardly shifting his weight above you, but you nod vigorously, kissing him urgently as his lips begin to move. 

He starts off slow, gradual thrusts, ensuring that he finds every weak spot inside or you, making your toes curl already and your legs knot around his waist, his tongue still dancing with yours. 

He increases his pace after a while, bucking into you faster, making you moan out his name and clutch onto his wonderfully broad shoulders.

You pull your lips away for a moment, “more Captain,” you ask, nothing more than a breathy sound, but Steve obliges. 

He breaks the kiss as he begins snapping his hips into yours with fervour and purpose. His balls are hitting your bare ass, his cock stuffed inside you and making the most delectable sounds from how wet you are, all for Steve. He looks down, tearing his gaze away from your pretty little face with your die eyes and parted lips, only to watch as he sinks into you again and again, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin.

“Steve, Captain, please, talk to me,” 

Your words come out as a strangled cry, a beg mixing with his moan at the name, oxygen lessening as your eyes flutter shut, too engrossed in the pleasure to even care that your voice has gone up in pitch while his has gone down. 

“You’re such a tease, walking around in that tight skirt all day, those long legs always crossed. All I want is to pull them apart and go down on you, under your desk, in the kitchen, just anywhere that I can have you for my own.” 

His voice is low, raspy and needy as he trails his tongue along your collarbone filthily, forcing your eyes open with some unearthly force he must possess simply so that he can meet your gaze as he bites your nipples, his cock continually hitting that sweet spot inside you. 

“It’s not just that though,” he continues, resuming his dirty talk between caresses of his lips all over you, “you’re so perfect. So stunning, so intelligent, the reason I wake up every day just for the hope that one of these days I’d be able to kiss you.”

his hips halt just for a moment, long enough to unwrap your legs from his back and throw them over his shoulders, lust filled eyes boring into your own with an uncharacteristically devilish smirk. 

He kisses you again, fleeting but passionate before he nibbles your earlobe and purrs,

“And now I get to have you at my mercy, and believe me, that desk fantasy is gonna come true every day.”

With that sentiment, he starts ploughing into you even more ferociously than before, making you scream his name, a lot of murmured ‘Captain!’s and curses mingling with the cries. 

The new angle hits spots you forgot even existed. Your nails take his back, tugging in and clinging on for mercy, the burn of your legs in such a contorted position only adding to your pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout breathlessly, chest heaving, your boobs moving up and down of their own accord and Steve is unable to take his eyes off them.

You feel the coil ready to spring in your stomach, a climax that’s been steadily building since he first kissed you. 

“Tell me what you’re gonna do with me tomorrow, and then you can come.”

His words are something forbidden, coaxing you off the edge, daring you to hit that wave of pleasure. Just the thought of your past daydreams make your walls clench around him. 

“I’ll wake you up by sucking your magnificent cock, then I’ll ride you harder than anyone has ever before, and then I’ll ride your face before we have intermittent sex in my office, at least twice.”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, your imagination running winks with the thought of Steve having you in his lap in your desk chair, pressed up against the glass of your office for everyone to see as he fucks you senseless. You’re insatiable. The thought of his dick twitching in your mouth is too much to handle, especially as he brings his thumb down and presses on your clit, moaning unintelligibly at your apparently sexy words, and you feel it. 

Your orgasm crashes over you so hard that you feel it on your bones, thrashing around beneath Steve, screaming out his name as he dudes your high out only seconds before coming too, his muffled cries of your name drowned out as he bites onto the juncture of your neck, bruising it and rendering you unable to wear anything other than polo necks for a good few days. The pleasure he’s given you is unrivalled, and you can’t waist for more.

His body collapses onto yours inelegantly, wrapping you unto his body warmth in your cosy little corner, both forgetting that you’re completely naked in the common area after having rather loud sex. 

“Was that good?” Steve asks sheepishly, fingers running through your tangled hair.

“Yes, incredible. And for you?”

He thinks for a moment before answering, “exquisite, sweetheart.”

Your heart glows a little at his sleepy voice. You run your thumb over the bump of his nose and the blood residue still on his face, but you think you may like Steve a little roughed up. You stay close to each other, breathing together and sharing kisses in the night time, so absorbed in your own bubble that you don’t hear someone come in.

“The fuck is this, Steve?”

Fuck, Bucky. 

“Couldn’t you have been a little better at aiming your clothes? We’re all glad you’re finally together, but loud and untidy as well as sex in the common area? Come on.”

You can hear the humour in his words, but they do hold some sincerity, making you blush and chuckle. Next thing you know, your bra is being thrown at the pair of you, landing in Steve’s messed up hair.

“Thanks buck...” you say with a meek giggle, kissing Steve and removing your bra from his face.

“Round two? My room?” He suggests, eyebrows wiggling. 

“Promise you’ll let me clean you up first?!” You insist, kissing his shoulder and beaming at him. 

“Promise.”

Do More of What Scares You: Parts 10 & 11 of 11

After your night out with Freddie goes awry, you finally make a decision about the future of your relationship with Roger.

💡Catch up: 1&2 ~ 3&4 ~ 5&6 ~ 7&8&9 💡

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I’m going to be finishing this fic for NaNoWriMo this November, so keep your eyes peeled! It’s going to be adorable.

[10/11]

Roger’s face contorted. He grasped the bedhead to steady himself as his thrusts became unrelenting. “Did he fuck you like this?” He grunted. “That fucking bartender?”

That question hurled a blade of shock through the moment. Just when you were starting to overlook what Roger had done. What you had done. All you needed to focus on was enjoying the night you were spending with Roger. It had been days since you last slept together, burdened by guilt and inability to forget. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the fierceness with which Roger tried to reclaim you. You tried to block out his words.

But he was making it hard for you.

“Did he?”

Your stomach tied itself in knots with every single word he uttered. 

“Did he fuck you like this? Tell me, baby,” Roger continued. 

Something inside you snapped, sitting bolt upright and forcing him off you. His features were cloaked in hurt as he glared at you. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, widening your eyes. The panic began setting in, bearing down on your chest as you attempted to suck some air into your lungs. 

Roger noticed. But he couldn’t meet your line of sight. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the sheets, shaking his head.

Your voice faltered as you repeated the question. “Roger, why are you doing this?” The rushing in your ears surged above the unease in the room. 

“It was just…I just wanted…” Roger choked, thumbing at the sheets. Then the words poured from him. “How could I compete? After everything, I’ve done? How could I possibly compete with that guy?” When he finished his excuses, he returned to looking down at the sheets, pouting as he did.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes as you rolled them. It was perverse. The way he spun the situation. The fact that he ignored his own betrayal to lay the blame on you. It dealt you the mother of all blows. You swallowed hard, lifting his chin, forcing him to look you in the eye. “That’s been my life ever since I met you, Roger.”

You had no sooner finished that sentence, but Roger lowered his eyes again.

“What right do you have?” you questioned, your voice growing louder by the word. “What right do you have, Roger?”

It was like talking to a brick wall. You could see the heat seeping its way from his cheeks down to his chest. He heard every word, but it was as if he knew that he would never be able to say the right thing to deescalate the situation. 

Throwing your arms down by your sides in resignation, it was clear. You weren’t getting any semblance of understanding out of him. 

Being stranded here, somewhere in Washington, was at the forefront of your mind. It raced with potential escape routes, each more absurd than the last. At this rate, you could have worked yourself into tears if you remained trapped in that room with Roger. So you took action.

“I’m going to sleep in Freddie’s room tonight,” you muttered, getting to your feet. Your legs tried to buckle underneath you, but it was imperative you left. 

Roger intuited this, staying well out of your way. All he could do was watch you pack your bags and leave. He didn’t feel bad for you. He just pitied himself for driving you to it. 

The walk to Freddie’s room felt like an eternity. The floor stretched on for miles in front of you as if you were on a never-ending conveyer belt surrounded by doors. But finally, reaching the end, you got to Freddie’s room. Out of breath, with a dull sheen on your skin, you knocked frantically on the door. 

When Freddie answered, he was clad in just his robe, with clothes strewn across the room in the background. He was jovial until he read the situation. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, placing his hand on your shoulder and furrowing his brow. “What’s Rog done to you now?”

Being in Freddie’s company was surreal. Like being transported into another plain of existence as he imprinted the idea that nothing could hold you back on you. It made you forget Roger altogether as he thrust a flute of champagne into your hand.

“I’m going to a party tonight, my dear,” he began, flourishing his hand through the air as he returned to the full-length mirror beside the window. Then he turned to you, giving you a knowing look. “Would you like to join me?”

You nodded, draining your glass.

“Good. Open up that suitcase and let's see what we can squeeze you into.”

———————— 

Roger waited outside the tour bus, bouncing on the balls of his feet. A few moments passed, and he looked at his watch. Then he braced himself against the cold once more. Repeating the process. 

Autumn was on the way. A chill in the air descended in the darkness as he looked around. His eyes swept over the car park. Nothing. 

His bandmates had already transferred themselves from their beds in the hotel, into their respective bunks. All asleep in drunken stupors. 

But, not Roger. 

He had been awake all night, having it in his mind to barge through into Freddie’s room to resolve the situation with a grand gesture and a dramatic kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t play out like that.

And now, you were late.

That was always his thing. Not yours.

“She’s probably already on a plane home,” Crystal reassured, throwing down a spent cigarette and stamping it out. He turned away, hauling himself on to the bus. “Come on, mate. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us! Don’t worry about her.”

Roger huffed and shivered. He knew this didn’t add up. Something wasn’t right. 

He followed Crystal inside, ordering the driver not to move just yet, before wandering up the bus. The aisle was shrouded in a pale orange glow from the streetlamp outside, and quiet snores droned out from curtained bunks containing his closest friends. He arrived at the one he was looking for. Pulling back the partition, he felt no remorse about his actions. “Get the fuck up,” Roger snarled, punching Freddie in the arm. “Up!”

Roger smashed through Freddie’s drunken haze. The previous night’s debauchery hit him like a tonne of bricks. A dull, pounding pain gripped his consciousness. 

“Up! Now! Fred!”

Freddie’s eyes snapped open, and, still under the influence, he dangled his legs out of his bunk, sitting upright. “What is it?” he yawned.

“Where is she?” Roger pressed, shaking Freddie’s shoulders. His eyes were wide, his face just inches away from his friend’s.

Freddie shrugged. “She was with me all evening, at the club. Why?”

Roger growled, nose to nose with his bandmate. “I need you to do better than that. Where the fuck is she?”

“She’s not here?” 

“No! She could be dead in a fucking ditch right now, and you couldn’t even care less!”

Cutting through the commotion, a mop of dark curls poked out of the next bunk back. Brian peered out. “What’s all this bloody noise?”

“Oh, you shut the fuck up!” Roger hissed, jabbing his finger in Brian’s direction. 

Brian just groaned, retreating back to the comfort of his six by four bed. 

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Freddie reassured, batting Roger away from him, making him stumble back. 

Roger glared at Freddie as if the more ill he willed him, the faster he would be able to remember where you were. “Which club were you at?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie mumbled. “I think it was called The Den or something. What does it matter? She’s a smart girl.” 

It was no good. Freddie’s best efforts were futile. There was no talking to Roger when he was like this. Freddie hadn’t even finished his sentence, but Roger had moved ten paces towards the front of the bus. He spun back around to glower at Freddie once more. 

“If anything’s happened to her, I’m holding you responsible.”

Freddie slunk towards the front of the bus to join Roger as he instructed their driver to find The Den. Freddie gave vague directions based on what he thought he saw last night in the car over there. Every time he spoke, Roger flinched. Escalated in word increments. Every single time.

Half an hour of ‘turn left, left again, right,’ had led the tour bus further into the city. Day had broken, and the streets were bathed crimson. Eventually, the bus found the doorstep of the club where, just hours prior, you and Freddie were drinking anything, taking everything and flirting up a storm with everyone in sight. The bus hadn’t even ground to a halt, but Roger had jumped out to find that the club had long since shut up shop. The street was deserted. Not a single drunken reveller in sight. Just flyers and empty bottles strewn across the pavement, spilling out on to the empty road.

He looked around, searching for a sign of life as Freddie hung out of the bus. 

An alleyway caught his eye at the far side of the building. Hope and dread twinged in his chest as his footsteps gathered momentum. Roger stared down the strip of pitch black night. A dip in a pile of rubbish bags called to him. Urging him closer. His pace slowed.

He dropped to his knees when he saw you. Pale, sickly. But still breathing. The tension in his body disappeared. Relief. You were safe.

[11/11]

You couldn’t put your finger on what stirred you. Whether it was the harsh reading light, dancing above you. Or the rumble of the bus as it raced towards its next stop. But the one thing you were sure of, was that you felt dreadful. Your insides burned with the intensity of a white-hot blaze, and your throat threatened to close, to choke you to death. And the rushing. The rushing in your ears killed the hustle and bustle outside of your six-by-four resting place. Your mind had finally made the decision to wade off into the sea, never to return.

Someone took your hand. You recognised that gentle, calloused touch anywhere. It was comforting. Grounding. It felt like home.

“Roger?” Even his name caught on the barbs in your throat. “Roger?” It was torture.

He broke into your field of vision, hovering over you. Dark rings lined his eyes. “It’s ok, my love, I’m here. I’m here now. It’s gonna be ok.”

You knew the mantra he repeated was more for his benefit. He never would never forgive himself if anything had happened to you. The weight of your own guilt piled on to your chest with every word.

You grabbed Roger’s wrist and moved it away as you hung your legs over the edge of the bunk. You slunk to the floor with a thud, you looked at him, gauging his mood. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, attempting to pull you into a hug. 

You halted him. “We really need to talk.”

Roger sank into himself. You could see that his mind was scrambling, searching for something to tell you to make it all ok. You could see over his shoulder that his bandmates were craning their necks to observe from the lounge. Spying them, you took Roger’s hand and led him to the front of the bus. You sat opposite each other in a booth. He couldn’t meet your gaze. He looked so small. Like he was waiting to be condemned.

“Roger,” you began, struggling to find words to convey everything you felt. But it needed to be said. Gulping down a breath, you sat up straight, fully aware of how ridiculous you looked. Makeup smeared across your face, hair sticking up in every direction. Not so long ago you would never have allowed him to see you like this. It made you fixate on how far you had come. All because of Roger.

Reaching across the table, you took his hand. You never noticed how much they shook when you held them. He tried to squeeze his fingers around your own. “Roger,” you sighed again. Then it came out in one garbled mess: “Thisisn'tgoingtowork.”

Roger’s eyes were still glued to your hand, his thumb gently tracing over the back of it. He nodded. He was expecting this.

“I need to go home,” you explained, your voice cracking. “I can’t stay here.”

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly. He glanced up, still nodding. Tears had formed in the corners of his glassy blue eyes, some trailing down.

Your eyes grew at Roger’s lack of resistance. “What?”

“Listen,” Roger began leaning over the table. “I love you so much. And if this is what you need, I’m not going to stop you. I’ll buy your plane ticket home.”

You leaned back in your seat. A rush of relief hit you. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting you go too readily. “Did you really love me?”

“I still do,” Roger said, widening his eyes.

“I loved you too,” you admitted, staring up at the ceiling. “But we’re too different. It was fun for a while, though. Never thought I’d go skinny dipping with a complete stranger. Or get on a plane, halfway across the world.”

“It was nice to have something to care about. Maybe we’ll find a way to be friends after all of this. I’ve got to admit, you were a good influence,” Roger half laughed through the tears he frantically tried to wipe away. Eventually, he gave in, lurching forward to cover his face.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. Your fun, lively, outgoing Roger was a broken mess. His face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. You couldn’t be around him like this. 

Getting to your feet, you ran your fingers through his hair. It felt brittle and matted like he hadn’t combed it since last night. “I’m sorry, Roger.”

Taking refuge in Roger’s bunk, you waited out the rest of the ride to Seattle. You spent the journey flitting between burying your face in one of Roger’s shirts and listening intently as Roger lay blame on Freddie. You had no animosity towards him. Hell, you couldn’t even remember what had happened at the club. None of it was Freddie’s fault. But it was typical of Roger to point the finger at anyone but himself. 

It was all his fault that your relationship had gone sour.

Or was it?

Curling yourself up into a ball and squeezing your eyes closed, you hoped to ignore the onslaught of ‘what if’s’ that your mind was about to hurl at you. Your limbs became cold at the thought that maybe if you had been enough for him - prettier, confident, normal - then things might have turned out differently.

It was time to tap out for a while, you thought, flopping on to your back.

 —————————————— 

“Darling, we’re here,” Roger whispered, prodding your arm. 

Your eyes instantly opened. 

“Your flight leaves at seven,” he explained. “I’ve packed all your stuff. All you need to do is freshen up. We’ve got a couple of hours to spare.”

 ————————————————- 

Roger left you alone in his hotel room. He went to the bar to give you some time alone to gather your thoughts. You dumped your bags in the centre of the room and stood in silence, drawing in deep, laboured breaths. The one thing that kept you going was the knowledge that this particular journey was nearing its end. You would be home, away from this nightmare soon enough.

A quick shower and a change of clothes were all it took for you to feel slightly more human again.

In the space of half an hour, you were back down in the foyer, where Roger sat, staring absentmindedly out on to the street as the sun began to crack the skyline. His teeth dug into his knuckles. His foot bobbed steadily. 

“I’m ready,” you announced, standing in front of him.

Roger took his sunglasses off and stood up. “Car’s waiting,” he mumbled, picking up your bags.

“I can get those.” 

Roger was already out the door. You had to jog to catch up. 

You didn’t want a grand, emotional goodbye. You hadn’t even said farewell to Brian, Freddie or John. But that didn’t matter, you thought, trying to gather yourself in the backseat of the taxi, waiting for it to speed off, hoping you didn’t have to say another word to Roger. Your eyelids drooped closed, and your head sank back. Breathing through it.

And then Roger got in beside you. “Let’s go,” he instructed the driver.

You were in no mood for prolonging the process of leaving him. “You didn’t have to come-”

“Making sure you get on the plane ok.”

You said nothing else on the way to the airport, or as you barged through the terminal. Roger was just a heavy presence stuck by your side as you navigated towards the departure gate. You half expected him to let you go without a proper goodbye. But he grabbed your wrist, stopping you. 

“Wait.”

You turned to look at him one last time. Those rose-tinted glasses were perched on his nose. You couldn’t resist going to him, feeling a swell of sadness growing inside you. Just one last time, you delicately lifted them from his face to get a better look at his eyes. 

“Great,” he chuckled, bowing his head, “everyone’s gonna know I’m a blubbering mess.”

“I liked you better without them, remember?”

Roger smiled, sending tears racing down his cheeks. “I remember,” he said, pulling you closer. “I’m gonna miss you.”

You couldn’t help it. Your head found its way to his chest. And his arms wrapped around you. Through the rushing in your ears, you could sense his body brimming with nervous energy. “Thank you, Roger.”

————————————————— 

Roger stood hunched over the sink. A lighter in one shaking hand, a crumpled piece of paper in the other. He lost count of how many times he sparked up the lighter to torch it. He lost count of how many times he couldn’t bring himself to do it; every time his tired, glassy eyes scanned the page, he bottled it.

The show had been terrible. In Roger’s mind he managed to fuck up every single song. Whether that was through the sheer amount of booze he burned through after leaving you at the airport, or the fact that he was now a free agent, was anyone’s guess. But he couldn’t contain his hurt from bubbling over in the most spectacular and public fashion, leaving his kit strewn across the stage. He didn’t stick around for a debrief at the venue. He didn’t even speak to his friends.

Wanting to be alone as quickly as possible, he threw himself into a taxi - not a private car - and went back to his hotel, sweating and still in his stage clothes.

It wasn’t until he got back to his room that he found the note at the top of his suitcase. A dainty, crisp white sheet. Folded once. With his name spelled out in capitals on the blank side. His heart sank when he realised whose writing it was, one last reminder of her.

“Roger, I know we didn’t end things on the best terms, but I really wanted to tell you this. One last time: thank you for pulling me out of my shell. You’ve done so much good for me in the short time I’ve known you. I really did - and still do - adore you. And I’m never going to forget about the time we shared. You and I were - are - so different and for a minute it was nice to believe you and I could make this work. Life always gets in the way and I’m so sorry it did. I love you, and I’ll never ever forget about you.”

By the time he had finished reading the note, Roger found himself on the floor, his tears slicing through the words on the page. Before they could do any more damage, he balled the paper up in his fist. That was the moment he knew he had blown it.

He fell asleep like that. And now, it was five in the morning. Deacy would be rattling on his door soon for their bus call and Roger was still wearing his stage clothes. He hadn’t even showered. Or brushed his teeth. Or even tried to make himself look like he hadn’t cried himself to sleep. Instead, he lost track of the amount of times he looked from the lighter, to the paper, remembering every little detail of what had left him the day before.

A piece of fic I’m working on, I’m particularly proud of this. It’s a Reno/Tseng fic, in the previous chapter Reno is tortured, in this one he and Tseng need to have a chat about how it’s changed their relationship. Under a read more due to length but I’m excited about this. :D

Rude finds Reno standing by the massive picture window in the staff rooms, he leans against the glass with one hip and his arms folded over his chest. The other staff give him a wide berth, their eyes constantly darting to his silhouette as they mutter in low voices to one another. Rude pushes through a small crowd of minor scientists and reaches his partners side. “You ok?” Reno doesn't look back, instead watching Rude's reflection in the glass, “Fine.” He says stiffly, rubbing at his arm absently as he frowns down over Midgar. “How's working with Cissnei?” Rude shrugs, pushing his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose, “She's not you. Don't know her as well, hard to work with someone like that.” “Yeah,” Reno sighs, pressing his forehead to the cool glass. He's dressed in his usual suit, shirt gaping open to reveal his bruised chest. Most of his wounds are healed, only minor bruising and a few bandaged cuts remain. He shifts, fabric rustling. “You seen Tseng lately?” Rude nods, “Yeah. He's been busy though, paper work on the Crescent and the Cheif's hunting that mole.” “Good.” Reno pauses, “They won't let me near the investigation.” “You just got out of hospital, give yourself some time.” Rude counsels, putting a hand on Reno's skinny shoulder. Reno shrugs him off, sending him a sharp look over his shoulder. Rude lets his hand fall back to his side, “Get back too soon and you'll hurt yourself. What good would you be then?” “I know.” Reno snaps irritably, grinding his teeth, “But I wanna be out there...doing something. Anything. Take my damn mind off of-” He cuts himself off, sucking his teeth before sighing and slumping his shoulders. “Tseng's been avoiding me. Haven't seen him since I got out.” “He's...busy.” Rude hedges, seeing Reno's brows draw down into a sharp frown. “Bullshit.” Reno spits, “I went to his place an' he never answered his fucking door, yo.” Rude's had his suspicions about Reno's relationship with Tseng but he's never voiced them aloud. Tseng's always been closed off, he rarely socialises with the rest of them. When they do manage to convince him to get a drink with them he has only one and then leaves, usually with Reno trailing after him. He hasn't heard all the details of their time in captivity but Rude can guess much of what happened. Tseng's lack of wounds and Reno's terrible state spoke for themselves. The only person who can say they know Tseng is probably Veld and he's not talking. “Maybe he's in the office?” Reno hums, pushing himself away from the glass, “Let's get a coffee, yo. Catch me up on the gossip.” He slinks away towards a nearby vending machine, Rude watches him go a moment before shaking his head and following. Generally the Turks keep to themselves, avoiding the other departments and being avoided in turn. People don't go out of their way to involve themselves with the Investigation department, fear holds them back. It gives Reno and Rude plenty of space as they take some seats and those few nearby beat a hasty retreat, leaving unfinished coffee behind. Reno stretches long legs out with a sigh, sipping his drink while Rude picks up a discarded magazine. A photo of Scarlet on the front, posing with a small smirk on her painted lips. Reno scoffs, shaking his head at the picture as Rude drops it back to the table. Reno puts his boots on it and crosses his ankles. “Press like her a little too much, yo.” “They don't know her.” Rude says quietly, leaning back in his seat and feeling eyes on them from all over the room. He picks lint from the cuff of his trousers. “She destroyed another lab again. Sent several security grunts to the hospital.” “You mean Hojo's table?” Reno corrects under his breath. Rude shrugs, “Who knows?” “You remember old Charlie?” Reno asks suddenly, eyeing his partner from beneath his fringe as it dangles over a brand new pair of goggles. “Guy from Urban Dev?” “Yeah, him. Nurses were sayin' he's been canned, yo.” Rude considers for a moment, “Why? He was just an old man.” Reno shrugs, one hand rising and fingers splayed, “Dunno. Maybe too old? The nurses were saying he was caught with some illegal material on his computer.” “Sounds like fake news,” Rude says slowly, running a gloved hand over his bald head, “We would've known about something like that. He was nearing retirement, right? They probably made up some bullshit so they don't have to pay him a pension.” “Yeah,” Reno sighs, tipping his head back so he stares up at the ceiling. His fingers tap lightly against the can of coffee resting on his leg. “Did you get the flowers?” Rude asks suddenly, taking Reno a little off-guard as he loses himself in his own thoughts. Reno blinks, turning his head to eye his partner. “From Aerith?” Rude nods, “She sent them with her regards.” “What does she know?” “Only that you weren't gonna be on duty for a while...but you know her, she knew more than she was tellin' even if we never gave her anything.” Reno relaxes back into the seat, leather creaking beneath him. He runs the tip of his finger around the sharp edge of the can in his hand, “She alright?” “Last I saw her she was with those orphans. Seemed happy enough.” “Good. Maybe I'll go see her.” Rude hums in agreement, watching a group of secretaries sit nearby and laugh. “Tseng's been down there a few times now.” Reno sips, “He'll go see her but-” He cuts himself off again, lifting a hand to his eyes and rubbing at them with a heavy groan. “Shit man.” “How much coffee you had today?” “Not enough.” Reno replies, staring into his nearly empty drink. “You sleeping?” “I'm fine, yo. Quit it.” Rude falls silent, frowning. Reno's hands shake almost imperceptibly as he finishes his drink and tosses the can in the vague direction of the trash. It catches on the rim and falls to the floor with a muted thud. He leans back again, both hands behind his head. For all intents and purposes he looks relaxed, like he's simply taking a break from the daily grind of the office...but Rude knows him too well. He can see the lines of tension in his shoulders and jaw, he can see that his eyes open a crack. He's hyper vigilant. Too aware of everything going on around him. Rude leans forward, arms resting on his knees and hands clasped between them. “Maybe...” he pauses, knowing what he's about to suggest will go down about as well as a tonne of bricks, “Maybe you should go see Doctor Thomas like the Chief suggested.” Reno hisses air through his teeth, “Fuck off. I'm not seein' a god damned shrink. I'm fine.” He sits up, leg bouncing as he grips the edge of the sofa in a white knuckled grip. “You were tortured for days, Reno. God knows what else they did-” “Shut your goddamned mouth.” Reno spits, leaping to his feet and glaring at Rude. “I'll deal with this on my own. You're not my nanny...I outrank you.” Rude takes his venom calmly, hands still clasped between his knees. Finally he shrugs, “It was just a suggestion.” Reno shakes his head, dragging both hands through his spiky red hair before he walks away. XXX Tseng returns to his apartment to find Reno sitting by his door. A dark stain on the hall way carpet as he drinks from a bottle in his hand. “Reno,” Tseng says, surprised. “Yo,” Reno gives Tseng a small salute and holds out the bottle, shaking it enticingly, “Wan' some?” Tseng shakes his head, “You're drunk.” “Chief's taken me off rotation, what else am I 'sposed to do?” “Recover.” Tseng puts his keycard into the slot and his door slides open. Reno scrabbles to his feet and hovers beside him. “What are you doing here?” Tseng asks finally, turning around and using his body to block entrance to his rooms. “Came to see you. Been waiting a while.” Reno mutters, the scent of cheap whisky clinging to his breath. He leans against the wall. “Go home, Reno.” Tseng insists firmly, waving a hand down the hall where Reno's own apartment is. “Nope.” Reno pops the 'p' sound and smirks, “You ain't getting rid of me that easy, boss.” Tseng's nose wrinkles as Reno leans closer, he's not sure if it's a deliberate move or if he's slowly losing his balance. Finally Tseng reaches out, pushing him in the chest so he stumbles back. “Leave. I have a lot to do.” “What the hell did I do, yo?” Reno asks suddenly, the words leave him in an explosive breath. Tseng straightens, turning his back, “Nothing. You just need to sit tight and heal, soon you'll be back in the field.” Reno licks his lips, shaking his head, “So...you're really gonna do this? Why am I being punished for tryin' to save your ass?” “Reno-” “No. No this is...this is bullshit, yo! I don't know what I did to piss you off but all this cold shouldering isn't gonna help. If I did somethin' wrong then you gotta tell me.” “You didn't do anything.” Tseng sighs, shaking his head slowly. He pauses, hand on the door and stares at it, “It's me. I'm the problem.” He admits reluctantly, turning to look back at Reno's stunned face. “I let you get hurt.” Reno stands unnaturally still for a moment. His eyes are the only thing animated as the silence stretches on. Finally he stirs, dragging his heel across the carpet, “Huh.” He says, pushing unruly hair from his eyes, “You're blaming yourself?” Tseng doesn't answer. His silence is enough. “Why? You didn't ask me to do that. In fact, you did the opposite. I was the idiot who thought I could help.” He slumps against the wall, messy suit riding up on one side to reveal a slither of skin. He takes another swig from whatever piss is in his bottle before rubbing at his eyes, “I just made everything worse.” Tseng hesitates before stepping back away from his door, it hisses closed. “Come.” He says, nodding his head down the long corridor towards the elevator at the end. “Where?” “Training room. You need to blow off some steam and so do I.” Tseng pockets his key card again and starts off, Reno trotting at his heels.

work your sad magic on my fluff headcanons! 1. Azi is responsible for Crowley's current hair. He'd kept it long for a lonnng time and Azi wondered (after some wine) if maybe it was time for a change, and they found some scissors, and then this bouffant happened. Azi is very sorry, and Crowley is very happy. 2. Crowley retains a lot of snake-habits esp. when he's tired/stressed/his brain turns off. Such as hissing/lisping, curling into a ball, taste-smelling etc.

Okay, you’ve got one of these filled for now :)

.

“To be trustedis a greater compliment than being loved.” - GeorgeMacDonald

When Crowley had been in heaven, his hair had been oneof his most favoured things about his Appearance. The locks rolling down hisback to his hips, curling and bouncing with motion and celestial power. Deep,burning red like some of his most beloved parts of the cosmos.

The fall had dulled the shine, taken much of thecelestial glow from his hair, but the curls remained. Shorter, less beautiful,but still beautiful. Different yet the same. Or the other way around. Like him[1].

Several hundred years and he rarely cut it. Perhapsthree times before the 18th century came and went. Once was out ofnecessity—too much hellfire being tossed around—but the other two were becausehe wanted—needed—a change.

Now, in this twenty-first century, full of a lot morevanity and confusion and self-doubt, Crowley’s hair stands out as a tad bitunusual—especially when he doesn’t bother to pull it back into a bun or braidit or any of the other myriad of ways humans have developed over the ages fortheir hair[2].

One of the styles he often uses is a simple bun,sometimes scraggly as all hell, that pulls enough of his hair back that itdoesn’t get in his way but he still feels like it’s got something to it. Someweight.

People probably don’t even realise how heavy hair is—especially people who are used to longhair and suddenly have it short. It’s very much like having a tonne weighttaken off you and being replaced with a cloud[3].

Back in Rome, Crowley had cut his hair but he hadn’t liked it. It just fit in with the styleof the times. Marked him as Not Briton and thus not a slave—he’d had enough ofthat after one day and he may or may not have caused a lot of suffering tobefall an entire line of Roman leaders for making the mistake.

In the 1970s, he’d cut it to be a little less obviousthat he was Different to the humans, especially since he needed to blend in andnot Stand Out[4]. He’d let it grow outafter and in the mid-90s it was a decent enough length that he quite enjoyedit. Of course, then he was informed he’d be taking the Antichrist to his DesignatedStarting Point on the gameboard called Armageddon and he’d forgotten all abouthis hair for a Good Long While.

Until Aziraphale touches it reverently after imbibingfar too much wine and declares, “it’s time you had a haircut dear” as though itwas the most normal thing to declare when neck-deep in your cups and half-fondlingyour demonic not-friend friend without any awareness of what said fondling was doing to said not friend demon friend.

This is how Crowley finds himself sat on a ricketystool—knees bent at odd angles so his feet can perch on the cross beam on thebottom of the stool legs, head back, shoulders taut—while an angel runs his fingersthrough red locks and hums appreciatively.

In short: it’s sheer fucking agony.

“You really ought to take better care of your hair,Crowley, it’s far too lovely to—to—be—left to get all tangled like this,”Aziraphale says, tripping over words because of his state of inebriation and nothingelse. Obviously.

Crowley wants to reach out and touch the angel whenAziraphale comes to stand in front of him but the demon keeps his fingers to himself and firmlycontrols his reactions. He may be drunk as all hell himself but he’ll be blessed if he fucks up now just for afew seconds of gratification.

“Been a rough few weeks, angel,” Crowley sighs, unableto stop himself from leaning into the touch of Aziraphale’s hand on his templewhen the angel touches the hair there with a gentle grace. “You’d be a littlebedraggled yourself in my place.”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale disagrees, smiling, “I’d be anabsolute mess—a ‘hot mess’ as the kids say, right?”

No. No that is notright but Crowley doesn’t correct the angel, too distracted by the softness inthose angelic eyes affixed to the demon. “Something like that, yeah.”

It’s no wonder at all that Crowley agrees to letAziraphale cut his hair and doesn’t even complain about it—well, not muchanyway, he has to complain; it’s what he does—afterthe angel has given him an absolutely idioticcut that works for him only because Crowley has one of Those Faces.

“I am sorry,” Aziraphale says for what is probably thetwentieth time in as many minutes and Crowley waves him off.

“It’s fine, angel,” he says, turning his head left andright to look at the style from both angles. “This is—yeah—not—not bad.”

“Oh! Wonderful!” Aziraphale exclaims, clapping hishands together, forgetting entirely that he’s holding a pair of scissors thatdon’t impale his hands only because Crowley doesn’t want them to. “I really wasworried you wouldn’t like it!”

Crowley has no way to explain to Aziraphale that evenif the angel had made him bald hewouldn’t have said he disliked it without sounding Supremely Pathetic And Besottedand revealing far too muchat an inconvenient time. Instead, the demon miracles the scissors into his ownhands and gives Aziraphale a smirk. “My turn to return the favour,” he jokes,snipping with the scissors in the air.

Aziraphale instantly backs away with his nervousno-thank-you-very-much-I’d-rather-not smile and Crowley laughs.

“I’m only joking, angel,” he says, banishing thescissors away to wherever. “Your hairsuits you just fine.”

[1]No matter how much Crowley may argue to the counter, he is—and always has been—fundamentallythe same person whether he is Archangel or Fallen. It is revealed in the wayshe refuses to leave children to suffer, injuries to fester, and death to happenunless it’s Deserved or Entirely Necessary. Yes, he is only onedemon-eternal-being and thus cannot prevent all the suffering and pain anddeath there is, but—and this is the most important part—he tries. Oh, how he tries.

[2]Haircare—or hairdressing, as it is known—is something humanity developed thousandsof years ago, with Greek writers mentioning the habit of hairdressers. In someunabridged versions of Aristophanes works, hairdressers are referred to as both‘blessings’ and ‘nightmares incarnate’, likely owing to the tendency of ahairdresser to either be the nicest person on the planet or someone who likelyneeds to be strangled with a hair extension. Those specific works ofAristophanes are not to be found bythe common websearcher or archive-hunter; indeed, they can be found only in Aziraphale’s shop on the thirdshelf from the bottom of the first aisle of shelves on the right of the door.But that’s not a hint to go looking. The Principality is very protective of hisbooks, even the ones documenting HairdressersFrom Hell (published 1902 by anonymous). He will hurt you.

[3]This metaphor comes from the author’s own experiences with long ass hair thatis just Too Long To Be Practical and thus was cut short in a rebellious act ofFuck You Mum and turned out rather well in the long run.

[4]Ostensibly, Crowley argued that it was to be better at demoning but the truthwas so he would be less obvious to any demons in the area and also—mostly actually—because he had to reportregularly to hell in the 1970s and 1980s and he wanted to spice it up a littleconsidering the last time they’d seen him he’d had… well… sideburns.

Meant To Be - Part 6

Pairing - Jared x Reader, Jensen x Sister Reader. Word count - 1656 Warnings - Fluff, swearing, nervous Jared, angst if you squint.

Part 5 - Masterlist

“This is getting ridiculous now.” Jared groaned dropping his bag at the foot of your bed, crawling up the mattress he flopped down next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist.

“Hi.” Blinking up at him you tried to focus on him.

“Hi, you were asleep weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but this is how all the good Saturday mornings start.” Leaning up you kissed his cheek. “With you in bed.”

“This is how all of our Saturday mornings start, do you wanna go back to sleep? I can go make myself coffee.”

“And all of our Saturday mornings are perfect, stay, nap with me.”

“There’s no way I can fall asleep again.”

“What time is it?”

“Ten am.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting up yet.” Closing your eyes you felt Jared’s arm slip from around you. Settling your head on the pillow you fell asleep again.

-

“Today? No, we can’t today.” Jared’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Opening your eyes you rolled out of bed, walking towards the kitchen in search of coffee.

“We can do next weekend, two pm, yeah we’ll be there.” Jared nodded as he held his phone to his ear pacing the length of the living room. Turning around his eyes grew wide when he realised you’d heard what he’d said. “Yeah that’s fine, see you Saturday.” He hung up and dropped his phone onto your couch.

“Do you want coffee?” Asking as you walked by him to the kitchen.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

Pouring 2 cups walking back into the lounge you sunk down onto the couch next to him. “What’re you doing on Saturday?”

“I’m viewing a place in Vancouver, my lease is up and now we’ve been renewed for a second season, I kinda want a new place.”

“Why your place is really nice?”

“I want a change, will you come up with me and have a look? If you’re spending time there I want you to like it too.”

“Sure, but there’s literally no reason to leave the place you have now.” Taking a sip of coffee you threw your legs over his lap.

“I didn’t think I’d be in Vancouver for two years, my place was always going to be temporary, I want something permanent now.”

“Yeah, I’ll come.” Jared’s hand rested on your thigh. “What is getting ridiculous? Flying to see each other every weekend?”

You’d given up fighting Jared on who pays for flights over three months ago, he knew on your salary you could probably afford to come up once a month, Jared couldn’t not see you every weekend so you let him do as he wanted and pay for most of your flights.

Jared nodded slowly, his hand running up and down your thigh. “I don’t mind it, I just want you closer.”

“I’d have to move to Canada for that to happen.”

“Then move to Canada.”

“It’s not that simple Jare, I’d need a job up there’d be a shit tonne of paperwork, that’s even if there was a job for me and if they’d even hire me, it’d take so long.”

“Then let’s start now.” He gave your thigh a squeeze.

“What if we break up? I won’t have anything to come back to.”

“There’s no way I’m breaking up with you.”

“It’s a lot to think about.”

“I know it is if you want to stay here in LA stay here and we’ll just carry on flying to each other.”

Your hand covered Jared’s as it rested on your knee. “I want to, I do.” Putting your coffee cup down on the coffee table you took Jared’s putting it next to yours, straddling his laps your palms cupped his cheeks. “There is nothing I want more than to come to our home, come home to you.” Leaning in you kissed him, his arms wrapping around you, his hand running up your back. Pulling away you kissed along his jawline, your lips ghosting against the shell of his ear. “I want you, all I want is you.”

Jared scooped you up walking you towards your bedroom dropping you onto your bed he crawled over you, his lips attacking yours. “You so shouldn’t have said that.” He growled against your throat as he nipped at your skin. “You’ve got me, baby.”

--

The shrill ring of your phone made you groan against Jared’s chest, picking it up Jared answered it. “Hello… no she’s in the kitchen gimme a sec.” Jared held the phone against his chest. “Y/N.” He fake shouted for you. “She’s here.” Handing you the phone he whispered. “It’s your brother.”

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“At home.” Closing your eyes your head rested on Jared’s chest, his hand ran up and down your arm. “Why?”

“That’s great, I’m two minutes away.”

Your eyes shot open as you sat bolt upright. “You’re what? Why?”

“I’m kidding, do you two pull this shit with Mom when she calls and you’re in bed because you’re shitty actors, I wanted to know if you’re coming up here this weekend?”

“Yeah, I am actually and fuck you.”

“Want to get dinner? Just us so I’m not third wheeling you and the Sasquatch.”

“Of course I do.” Sighing your head flopped down onto Jared’s chest. “I’ll call you this week?”

“Sure, enjoy your weekend and don’t you dare make me an uncle.”

“You have an obsession with being an Uncle you know that right?” As you spoke Jared tensed under you, clicking your phone onto speaker you rested the phone on his chest.

“I’ve told you twenty-five.” Jensen reiterated. “I don’t want to hear anymore, see you on Saturday pip.”

“See ya Jense.” Ending the call Jared moved your phone onto your bedside table.

“Why does he call you pip?”

“Because I’m a pipsqueak, I’m smaller than him and so much smaller than you.”

“Like I’m complaining.” Jared winked at you.

“You dirty-”

Jared’s lips cut you off as he rolled you onto your back. “I’m gonna love this weekend.”

-

“You’re quiet.” Jared’s hand rested on your thigh as he drove to the 2nd property. Jared hated the first place with a passion, he really had his hopes up that he’d love this second one.

“Am I?” Your hand covered his.

“Yeah, you are, if you don’t want to do this I can take you back to Jensen’s.”

“No, no, I’m fine I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Just work and the mountain of paperwork I have to go back to.”

“Don’t think about it until Monday.” He gave your thigh a squeeze. “We’re here anyway.” He pulled over outside an apartment complex.

The realtor led you and Jared back into the lounge. “What do you both think?” She asked with a smile.

“I love it, baby?” Jared gave your hand a squeeze.

“It’s beautiful it really is, don’t you think it’s a bit big for you.”

“What about us?” Jared smiled down at you.

“What?” Looking up at him you were thoroughly confused.

“Is it too big for us? Me, you, maybe a dog?”

“Oh my goodness, I’ll give you two some time.” The realtor smiled at you walking out the front door.

“Jared -”

“There’s a job up here for you on set in admin, it’s yours if you want it, live here with me.”

“Jare-”

He dropped your hand turning away from you his hand ran down his face covering his mouth he took a shaky breath, he turned to face you. “This was stupid, I shouldn’t have asked you, I’m moving too fast, we’ve been together for ten months, Jensen said this was a bad idea and he knows you better than me, oh God please don’t dump me because I’m a dumbass, just forget I ever said anything, this was such a fucking stu-”

Kissing him you cut him off from his ramblings, pulling away your hand cupped his cheek. “Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

Jared’s arms wrapped around you lifting you off the floor, your legs wrapped around his waist. “You’re sure?” He grinned at you.

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.” Leaning in you kissed him, your lips moving in sync with his, his hand ran up your back his hand cupping the back of your head. Sandra cleared her throat, pulling away from Jared’s lips you glanced at her over his shoulder. “We’ve been caught.” Pecking his lips he let you slide down his body until your feet touched the floor.

“Can I assume that it’s good news?” She asked Jared.

“Yeah it is, you like it here or do you want to see a few more places?”

“Here’s perfect.”

“Here it is then.”

“Shall we head over to the office so we can get the ball rolling?” Sandra suggested opening the door.

With a nod, Jared took your hand leading you out of your new home.

-

“What did Jensen say?” You asked him as he drove back towards set.

“Well he said you getting a job on supernatural wasn’t too bad of an idea, he said getting to see more of you wasn’t a bad thing, it was when I brought up buying a place and having you move in he said it was a really bad idea, I shouldn’t even ask you and that you’d say no.” He shrugged.

“Why the hell did he want to have dinner tonight if he knew you were asking me to move in today?”

“Because in his mind you’ve said no and maybe dumped my ‘crazy ass’ like he predicted.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see his face when we tell him.”

“I love you.” Jared took your hand his finger interlinking with yours. “So much.”

“I love you too.”

Smiling up at him he pulled into the parking lot, getting out of his car you took his hand again walking towards your brother’s trailer knowing this was going to go really well or horrendously bad.

Part 7

Forever Taglist - 

@mega-loser1298 @smalltowndivaj @roxyspearing @emoryhemsworth @dwgrl1903 @cassieraider @mirandaaustin93 @mogaruke @heyitscam99 @mouselovesmusic @supernaturaldean67 @atc74 @witchofenoch @malindacath @skathan-omaha @ain-t-bovvered @beffyblueeyes @unicorn-sparkles123 @serienjunkiegirl @jchona @polina-93 @thefangirlliveson @rhochradel @juanitadiann @amandamdiehl @dixonsunicorn @deanzeppeloin @katieelementarymydearwatsonme @atlas-of-the-world @spnbaby-67 @chelsea072498 @dean-winchesters-bacon @racheo91 @mrswhozeewhatsis @death-unbecomes-you @brewsthespirit-blog @shann-the-artist-moon @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @claitynroberts @spnwoman @angelsandwinchesters @smoothdogsgirl @cdwmtjb8 @perkypolarbear @thisismysecrethappyplace @tatertot1097 @jessieray98 @curly-haired-disaster @gh0stgurl @starfirerules @kcrews74 @calaofnoldor @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @screechingartisancashbailiff @malindacath @kolelondon24 @natura1phenomenon @thehufflepuffblog @lemondropirwin @babypink224221 @mariekoukie6661 @mymysosa @blackcherrywhiskey @lonely-skys @titty-teetee @foreverwayward @81mysteriouslyme @x-waywardaf-x 

Meant to be -

@gh0stgurl @witch-of-letters @oneshoeshort @samuelwillliamwinchester @love-nakamura @spn-obession @holylulusworld @wayward-gypsy @heythereamigodude @rainbowkisses31 @deangirl7695 @traceyaudette @winchesterprincessbride @vickiq9761 @cdwmtjb8 @samsgirl93 @love-my-not-natural-babies @gloriousartisanfancreator @me-han10 @pretty-fortune @jamielea81 @the-is13 @kit-kat-katie99 @imaginationisgrowth @bitchwhytho @deansgirl79

Madness is Like Gravity - Chapter 11

Warnings: More stalking, Hurt, Comfort, Smut, Sex, Fluff (I guess) 

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist. If you liked what you read please leave some kudos or maybe a reblog or comment. Consider hitting the follow button too for more content. 

Chapter 11

Emerald’s P.O.V

After breakfast and thanking Oswald for letting me stay the night Victor dropped me off back to the apartment. I thanked him for last night and headed inside. Jerri was sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. “You ok?” She asked. “Yeah, I’m ok.” “Did the limpy bastered-“ she started. “No. I didn’t sleep with him. But I do feel the need to take a shower.” “Alright, well I was gonna head out and get some groceries.”

Jerri finished her coffee and stuffed her feet in some trainers before leaving the apartment. I removed my coat and shoes before heading into the bathroom. I turned the hot water on and undressed myself, leaving my dirty clothes in a heap on the floor. I stepped under the warm spray, making a sound of contentment. I closed my eyes, letting the water warm me up. The shower glass had completely fogged up by now. I washed myself before moving on to my hair. Once my hair was clean I turned the water off and grabbed the towel that I’d thrown halfway over the shower door.

I dried myself, wrapped the towel around my body and stepped out of the shower. My eyes were instantly drawn to the mirror as I noticed the red lipstick across it. I frowned, taking a hesitant step toward it. I froze, feeling a chill run through me. scrawled across the mirror was ‘haha’ in various sizes as well as a smiley face. Jerri had left before I got in the shower so it couldn’t be a horrible prank from her. My fucking stalker was now invading my own home. What if they were still here? I couldn’t leave the bathroom in just a freaking towel. I looked around for my clothes but they were gone. I know that I had left them on the floor.

I couldn’t stay in here until Jerri came back. I had to go out there. I needed a weapon first. I opened the bathroom cabinet and found nail scissors. They would have to do. I hesitantly opened the door, the scissors at the ready. Nothing greeted me on the other side. I listened closely for any movement through the apartment but there was just silence. I needed my phone. I had to call Victor again, or Ed. Someone that would just stay with me until Jerri got back. I ran to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I turned around, scanning the room for any signs on my stalker. Nothing.

I breathed a sigh of relief and changed into some clean clothes before texting Victor to come over. Not even ten minutes later he was letting himself into the apartment, both pistols visible. I stayed in my room whilst he searched the apartment. Thankfully my stalker was long gone. I told him about the mirror and my missing clothes. Oh god I bet the creep had taken them…even my freaking underwear. Victor could see the look on my face and pulled me into a comforting hug. I accepted the gesture, resting my head against his chest. “I’m going to stay the night,” he announced. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want you to be safe Emerald.” “Where would you even sleep?” “I can take the couch.” I sighed. It would probably be for the best. Even if he just stayed tonight. I headed into the bathroom and took a picture of the mirror in case the GCPD would need it as evidence before starting to clean it. I got another text from Ed, asking if he could come over. I didn’t see why not. I sent Jerri a text to let her know that Victor and Ed would be round when she got back. She would appreciate the heads up.

Twenty minutes passed and there was a knock on the door. I let Eddie in and forced a soft smile. “Victor left in a hurry, I had the feeling something had happened,” he spoke. “Yeah. He was here.” Eddie pulled me into a tight protective hug. I relaxed against him, burying my head in his chest. I’d missed these hugs. Victor cleared his throat, forcing us apart. “I’ve checked the windows. All of them are locked,” Victor explained. It dawned on me what he meant by this. He’d come in through the front door, he’d picked the lock…or he had a key.

The only people that had a key to the apartment was Jerri and myself. Jerri wouldn’t do this to me…would she? Doubt started to creep in. She’d been a Jerome fangirl once, probably still was. She dedicated a whole fucking nightclub to him for fuck sake. At that point Jerri entered the apartment, carrying multiple grocery bags. She glanced at Victor and Eddie, rolling her eyes and putting the bags down on the table. “Can I talk to you a sec…alone?” I asked her.

Victor and Edie took this as their cue to move into another room to give us the privacy we needed. Jerri began packing away the groceries. “He was here. And Victor says that none of the windows were unlocked…meaning he must have had a key,” I explained. “What are you saying?” She asked, frowning. “I know how paranoid this is going to sound but” “Wait, you don’t think I did this shit? Are you fucking kidding me? Why the fuck would I do that to you?” Jerri snapped. “I…I don’t know.”

Jerri turned to face me, the hurt evident on her face from my accusation. “Seriously, why the fuck would I do that to you?” She asked again. “You wouldn’t.” “Exactly. I’m assuming Victors packing your shit now.” “No. He said he’d stay the night.” Jerri sighed but chose not to say anything else about him, “and Ed?” “He just came to check on me.” “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” “I’m sorry for accusing you.” Jerri nodded. I showed her the picture of the mirror I had taken and she sighed.

“I’ll get the locks changed and maybe invest in a few more locks too,” she explained. “I can take care of that now,” Victor cut in, sticking his head around the corner. Jerri narrowed her eyes at him but eventually nodded. “That would be helpful although I had no idea a gun for hire knew how to change a lock,” she remarked. “I have many hidden talents. I’ll be back in half an hour or so,” Victor replied matter of factly. Victor left the apartment and Eddie joined us back in the kitchen, offering to make lunch.

Victor had changed the locks and added some extra security on the door like a few bolts and chains but unfortunately couldn’t stay any longer as he’d been called away for a job. Thankfully he’d made sure that Eddie would stay the night instead. Jerri also had to leave, she had some work to do and was going to ask around some more to see if she could find this creep. Eddie and I were sat on the couch halfway through season one of Stranger Things with an assortment of snacks on the coffee table. I was upside on the couch however, blowing bubbles with my strawberry bubblegum whilst Eddie was sat normally.

Eventually I had to sit up normally as all the blood started to rush to my head. I hugged my knees to my chest, focusing on the episode. Although there seemed to be a growing tension due to the fact that Eddie and I were completely alone in my apartment and would likely be alone until the early hours of the morning. Eddie got up to get some more drinks before sitting down again, closer this time. I wanted something to happen but I didn’t feel like it would be the right time initiate it. He was still probably getting over Isabella, I didn’t want to take advantage of that.

Eddie placed a hand on my knee, getting my attention. I turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. He smiled softly and cupped my cheek with his free hand. Oh fuck. Ok this was happening. My heart hammered against my chest and I’m sure he could feel the heat of my cheeks. Eddie leaned in and kissed me. I wrapped my hand around his wrist, returning the kiss. We pulled away to assess the others reaction. Neither of us looked horrified and that was all the confirmation we needed. Eddie pulled me on to his lap so that I was straddling him before his lips were on mine again. I wrapped my arms around him, my tongue in his mouth. I could already feel him trying to tug my shirt over my head and I raised my arms to assist him.

I paused, holding him at arm’s length and meeting his gaze. “Wait. Should we be doing this? I mean are you in a right state of mind to be doing this? You just lost your girlfriend,” I spoke, breathing heavily. “I’m fine. I need you Emerald. Please.” That was all I needed to hear before my lips were on his again. I began pulling off his clothes as he kissed his way down my neck, the kisses rushed and open mouthed. We just both needed each other again, having missed what we once had.

Soon enough our clothes were strewn across the couch and the floor. I rolled my hips against his, both of us moaning at the much-needed friction. I leaned down and sucked a purple mark into his shoulder, his fingers tangling in my hair. Eddie had one hand on my hip whilst he positioned himself at my entrance with the other. I slowly sank down on to him, my forehead pressed against his. We both moaned at the missed feeling before I started a fast pace, my hands on his shoulders for leverage. His hips bucked against mine, gripping my hips as he started his own pace.

There was no way we were going to last long at all. It had been two months with no contact from him and now that I had it again it felt like every single one of my nerve endings was oversensitive. Every rock of his hips against mine had me moaning and clinging to him. Eddie kissed his way down my neck and chest, pausing every now and then to nip at my flesh. His pace got harder and he reached between us to find my clit. I whined, arching against him. My orgasm hit me like a tonne of bricks, forcing me to cry out his name. He reached his own a few moments later, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips as he cursed.

We sat there for a few moments, coming down from our highs. I leaned down to kiss him once more. “You wanna take this to your room?” He asked. “Yeah.” I climbed off his lap, taking his hand in mine and leading him to my room. We left the clothes behind, not thinking of Jerri seeing them. I closed the door behind us and we were on each other once more. So much for getting some sleep.

Taglist: @my-world-of-imagines, @belathora, @edweirdoddlepot

Tbh when I think about lycanthropy and werewolves, I think about it like the stages to a disease

Read More because I put way too much thought into this

I know most folklore says that lycanthropy is more of a curse, but idk I always liked the idea of it being a disease, something contagious and mutated that latches onto your body and becomes a part of you whether you like it or not

Though...I think it originated hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago as a curse - maybe someone did something terribly wrong and was turned into a wolf as punishment, and that person found out that it could ‘infect’ others by biting or scratching them. Maybe this person was a complete dick who lacked self-awareness and didn’t learn from their mistakes, so they decided to fuck things up even more by intentionally infecting other people, which helped spread the disease. So maybe it is a curse???? Maybe it’s some weird mix of the two???? Idk lmao

My version of lycanthropy comes in three stages:

Man-Wolf/Untrue Werewolves

Common Werewolves/Halflings

True Werewolves

All three stages can be seen as variations or different “versions/mutations” of the same virus. Sort of like how a cold has different symptoms, if that makes any sense??? 

Now, humans aren’t as smart as actual wolves, and humans love to make things harder for themselves so the difference in stages have given some of them an entitlement of some sorts, which gives way to a sort of...werewolf racism????? There’s no existing word for it so I’m just gonna go with that lmao - humans love to discriminate against each other and this “werewolf tier” gives them another reason to treat each other like shit, because humans are terrible like that. They see the different stages as a hierarchy of some sort, with Untrue Werewolves on the bottom, Common Werewolves in the middle, and True Werewolves on top. More on that in a bit.

They all have a bunch of common traits, but they stand out on their own. Their common traits are things found in many werewolf-related folklore:

Speed-healing - I read that this has been a trait in werewolf lore for hundreds of years so it seemed imperative that this interpretation had it too. Bruises and cuts go away in seconds, even if there’s internal bleeding or if it’s a really deep cut. Bones that normally take weeks to heal will mend themselves in mere minutes, which can be a good and bad thing. You’ll have to set the bone as quickly as possible or else they will mend the wrong way, which means you’ll have to re-break the bone and set it again. It also takes a lot of strength and power to break werewolf bones; humans can’t do it on their own, so if you can cause a fracture that must mean you’re either very strong or you know very powerful magic!

High Body Temperature - A healthy werewolf will run about 110 degrees Farenheit in both their human and transformed forms. For humans, that’s an extremely high fever that can cause permanent brain damage and even death. Werewolves have a significantly higher body temperature due to two things: Their speed-healing, and their human immune system working harder to fend off the werewolf virus. They make great space heaters, so if you’re cold and your heater’s broken, cuddle a werewolf!

Heightened Senses/Abilities - Common and True Werewolves retain their heightened abilities in their human forms, while Untrue Werewolves only have them when they’ve transformed. A werewolf’s nose can smell things up to 5 miles away - that’s almost twice as strong as a regular wolf! They can see very well in the dark; since Common and True Werewolves retain their night vision in their human form, they have reflectors in their eyes (Also an easy way to spot a Common or True Werewolf). Their hearing is ultra-sensitive, and they also possess superhuman strength and agility; True Werewolves can cover dozens of miles within minutes. 

Transformation Under A Full Moon - This is a given. Whenever there’s a full moon, you transform, no matter what stage of lycanthropy you’re in. At night, once you see the full moon, your transformation begins. Full moons generally last between 3 to 4 days, but werewolves only stay in their transformed state at night. Once dawn hits, they’re human again - but when night falls and the moon is visible again, back into werewolf form they go! However, during the day of a full moon, they are noticeably more irritable (Scroll down a bit more to read up on Moon Sickness).

Weakness Against Silver - I know this is more of a pop culture thing, but I noticed in folklore werewolves don’t really have any traditional weaknesses, thus making them technically invincible - and I find that really boring tbh. Everyone has a weakness. When werewolves are attacked with a silver weapon, their wounds take longer to heal. If you’re a werewolf and your attacker breaks your arm with a silver hammer, guess what? Your bones will take weeks, not seconds to heal!!!! If a silver weapon breaks through skin and causes an open wound, it will leave a scar once it heals. Werewolves with plenty of scars are often revered in the werewolf community; you’re the toughest of the tough if you’re adorned with them! As of right now, silver is the only known way to kill a werewolf.

Post-Transformation Amnesia - Present in Untrue and Common Werewolves. Most werewolves have little to no recollection of what they were doing during a full moon, or when they’re in a transformed state. This is due to their human selves essentially dissolving when they transform.

Moon Sickness/Phasing Sickness - Moon Sickness happens with every kind of werewolf. Their bodies can sense an impending full moon, which triggers the human immune system to work harder than usual to resist the werewolf virus. It’s common for werewolves to experience chronic fatigue, insomnia, irritable mood (More irritable than usual), and even flu-like symptoms in the days preceding a full moon and during the days of a full moon. True Werewolves not only experience Moon Sickness, but also Phasing Sickness; they experience Moon Sickness symptoms when they haven’t phased in awhile. Unlike their Untrue and Common counterparts, they experience these symptoms because their wolf half is getting restless from being dormant for too long, rather than their human bodies fighting against the werewolf virus.

Insatiable Appetites - Werewolves LOVE to eat. They have insanely high metabolisms, so they need to eat large portions of food to keep up their strength - however, that doesn’t mean there aren’t out of shape werewolves! Soft round werebois exist out there. They just eat way more than other werewolves do, which is probably tonnes.

Sensory Overload - Having heightened senses is great and all, but it’s overwhelming for many Common Werewolves, especially for those who’ve been bitten recently. Their human bodies simply cannot handle the wolf’s sensitive nose, ears, and eyes. It gets so overwhelming that some werewolves look for ways to “dull” these senses so they’re easier to bear. Unfortunately, this means that a lot of Common Werewolves succumb to substance addiction. Drug and alcohol abuse is a sad common reality for many Common Werewolves. Smoking cigarettes is a common vice for the werewolf community, as it’s seen as the “least harmful” addiction; their speed healing is capable of eating up any harmful chemicals before they’re able to infect their cells, thus preventing them from multiplying and spreading, and it doesn’t affect their stamina. This means they’re immune to cancer and other serious diseases (If a human with cancer is bitten, their cancer will be cured...but it obviously comes with a heavy price).

Longevity: Werewolves aren’t immortal, but they can live for a very long time if they take care of themselves and avoid getting attacked with silver as much as they possibly can. Their lifespan is way longer than a human’s; the oldest recorded werewolf lived for over 800 years.

Loss of Humanity During Transformation: Untrue and Common Werewolves lose their human minds in their transformed state, making them incredibly dangerous. They cannot tell the difference between friend and foe, and they’ll attack anyone who stands too close.

A little more detail on the three stages of lycanthropy:

The “Man-Wolf”, or “Untrue Werewolves”

One becomes an Untrue Werewolf when they are scratched, not bitten, by another Untrue Werewolf, a Common Werewolf, or a True Werewolf.

They look more like the old-school werewolves you see in movies like the Wolf Man, Teen Wolf, I Was A Teenage Werewolf, and the American Werewolf series. They’re more human-shaped, peppered with wolf-life traits: They have a lot more hair than the average human, their nails are longer and more claw-like, their eyes retain their human shape but they may change colour (Not all wolves have yellow or orange eyes, they can be brown too). They possess the classic werewolf traits - superhuman strength, heightened senses, speed healing - but only when it’s a full moon and they have transformed (So if you get a boo-boo in human form, it’ll heal like a regular wound; you’ll have to wait for the full moon in order for the healing process to speed up). Otherwise, they’re your average-looking person, and if you didn’t know they were infected you probably would never be able to guess. 

Untrue Werewolves are only able to transform when there’s a full moon; their mood or other environmental factors do not influence a transformation. The transformation process is gradual but relatively painless, as the only things that really change are the amount of hair, the length of the nails, the formation of the teeth, and, depending on the individual, the colour of the eyes.

There are known small pockets of Untrue Werewolf “packs”, but for the most part Untrue Werewolves prefer working alone. That being said, the few packs that do exist band together because they have an unwavering hatred for Common and True Werewolves. They’re often seen as the very bottom of the “werewolf hierarchy”, and many werewolves do not consider them part of their community, hence the Untrue Werewolf title. Since they’re the least “wolfy-looking” and only possess wolf-like traits when the full moon is out, they’re often looked down upon, or not taken seriously. Desperate to prove themselves, and to show others that they count as werewolves, some have gone as far as deliberately scratching and/or biting humans for the sole purpose of adding more to their ranks. Unlike Common and True Werewolves, Untrue Werewolves do not have enough of the “werewolf virus” in their system to transform a human into a Common Werewolf via biting them, so their bites will merely turn them into another Untrue Werewolf.

However, it is possible to “advance” to a Common Werewolf if an Untrue Werewolf is bitten by a Common Werewolf or a True Werewolf, but unsurprisingly, most Untrue Werewolves go out of their way to ensure that doesn’t happen. There are some who willingly seek out a Common Werewolf or True Werewolf so they can get deliberately bitten, but these are few and far in between. For the most part, Untrue Werewolves are stubborn and proud beings who just want to be respected for who they are. They just want to be loved!!!!!!!

The Common Werewolf, or Halfing

These funky dudes are the most common kind of werewolf, hence the name. In order to become one, you must be bitten, not scratched, by another True Werewolf. 

They look more like your “classic werewolf” aka a wolf that stands on two legs, with hands instead of paws. They’re huge, with the smallest recorded werewolf measuring a little over 7 feet. Their forearms are stronger than their back legs and it shows in their posture; they’re often hunched over, with their thick arms hanging by their sides in an ape-like stance. Fur colour varies, just like any wolf coat does. Same with the eyes. The noises they emit are similar to Untrue Werewolves, but are significantly more animalistic. They retain their heightened abilities, including speed healing and night vision, in their human form.

Common Werewolves are notorious for being incredibly violent and hot-tempered in both their wolf and human forms. The smallest inconvenience can set them off, to the point where it can force them to transform unexpectedly, and a Common Werewolf doesn’t discriminate when it comes to their rage, meaning they’ll attack anyone who is in close range - including loved ones. The transformation process is extremely painful for Common Werewolves because their bones and internal organs shift around as they mutate from human to werewolf. Shifting back to human form is just as painful. 

Many Common Werewolves detest their wolfy state and dread or even fear transforming. This resistance only makes the virus within them more volatile, rendering them vulnerable to more unexpected transformations and violent outbursts. 

Although they are considered the middle tier of the werewolf hierarchy, both Untrue and True Werewolves look down upon Common Werewolves for their brutish behaviour. They’re often seen as the “dumbest” and most “goon-like” of the community, but they are still regarded as “more werewolf” than Untrue Werewolves. However, these stereotypes are mostly untrue, as Common Werewolves are fully capable of planning and executing elaborate hunting and battle strategies, and there are some who are capable of controlling their anger. Unlike their Untrue counterparts, they prefer living, hunting, and attacking in packs.

Halfling is a common colloquial term for them, but most aren’t fond of the name, as they feel it makes them sound like an incomplete being. If you want to piss off a Common Werewolf, call them a Halfling - but most would strongly advise against it!

True Werewolves

The highest tier in the werewolf hierarchy, and also the most rare; there are less than 3% of recorded True Werewolves, though it is very likely there are many more. One cannot become a True Werewolf by a scratch or a bite; it takes weeks, sometimes months or years of physical and mental preparation.

It’s unknown how the first True Werewolf came about, but the most commonly accepted tale is at least 1000 years old and speaks of a Common Werewolf who was left for dead in the deep woods after being attacked by a coven with silver daggers. As she lay in a pool of her own blood, she began to hear voices that whispered things to her such as accepting change and reaching her full potential. Interpreting these messages as a sign of making peace with the end of her life and accepting her fate, she closes her eyes, ready to pass onto the next life - only to wake up moments later, fully healed, and in the form of a wolf.

Picture the werewolves/shapeshifters from Twilight, except not as gigantic. True Werewolves, when in wolf form, look exactly like a real wolf, with the exception of enhanced senses, strength, speed, and speed healing. They are able to shift back and forth between their human and wolf forms at will, and the transformation process is seamless and painless. Transforming only takes mere seconds - they actually prefer the term phasing as opposed to transformation or mutation. It has been described as morphing or “melting”; however, when angered, scared, or under a full moon, the transformation is more volatile (But still painless), often described as “exploding” into their wolf forms. Like their Common counterparts, they retain their enhanced abilities in their human form, but unlike their Common and Untrue counterparts, they retain their sentient minds when transformed/phased (Except during a Blood Moon - more on that later). They’re able to discriminate between friend and foe in their wolfy state, and True Werewolves usually prefer keeping to themselves, so they’re the least harmless out of the three werewolf types. They are way more docile than their Untrue and Common counterparts, however some may still be prone to angry outbursts if provoked enough. 

So how does one become a True Werewolf? It’s hard to explain. The very few True Werewolves that are known to exist have difficulty describing the process. Many of them have “accidentally” turned into True Werewolves; one True Werewolf described his experience as waking up one day and being overcome with a feeling of “wholeness, completeness, like I’ve finally found this missing part of me that I didn’t know I was searching for”. 

Achieving True Werewolf status is a matter of quelling the perpetual conflict between a werewolf’s human half and their wolf half. Common Werewolves are constantly at war with their animalistic instincts and impulses, which causes them to act out with violence. True Werewolves accept that they are two different beings within the same vessel, and that they are not “more human than wolf” or vice versa; they are equal parts human and wolf. A True Werewolf’s human immune system no longer sees the werewolf genes as a virus that needs to be fought off, so the two halves intertwine and form a completely new genetic makeup, finally collaborating instead of butting heads.

This is a very difficult concept for many Common Werewolves to handle, especially when lycanthropy is highly stigmatized and most of them have been raised to fear or detest lycanthropes. This internalized hatred makes it very difficult for many werewolves to accept lycanthropy as a part of themselves and refuse to believe that this is a lifelong condition. The constant resistance only makes them more volatile, which increases public stigma, so it’s kind of like a self-destructive cycle. True Werewolves find a way to break out of that cycle - in other words, they know what werewolf self-love and self-care is and they’ve embraced it fully!

Like Common Werewolves, True Werewolves have the pack mentality - which is crucial for them, since so few of them exist. In wolf form, they’ll look like an ordinary wolf pack, and they’ll usually behave as such as to not attract werewolf hunters or any other predator (Witches, demons, vampires...literally nobody likes werewolves, it’s pretty sad).

True Werewolves are often revered in the werewolf community, as they are hard to come by, and their self-acceptance is greatly admired. However, there are very, very few True Werewolves (Remember, only less than 3% of them are recorded to have ever exist) who look down on anything that isn’t like them, and refuse to interact with Common and Untrue Werewolves. Fortunately, “bad” True Werewolves are very few and far in between!

Lycanthropy In Society

Like many other interpretations out there, this interpretation of lycanthropy is condemned, exiled, stigmatized...you name it. Most people aren’t fond of werewolves. though their hatred towards them is mostly born out of ignorance and fear than genuine hatred. It’s a given that humans act hostile towards things they don’t fully understand, and so this is how they approach lycanthropes. Many of them have a very limited understanding of what lycanthropy is about and only accept what they’ve heard through word of mouth, aka urban legend and exaggerated recounts of encounters with lycanthropes. For the most part, the world sees werewolves as violent, out of control, savage, disorganized, and primitive. This means there aren’t a lot of opportunities for them - jobs, friends, romantic relationships, etc. 

There are groups of werewolf hunters whose sole purpose is to hunt werewolves into extinction. They can be literally anyone - human, goblin, demon, vampire, witch or warlock - and many groups have grown fame and notoriety for killing packs and packs of werewolves simply for being werewolves. 

However, there are some people out there who do want to learn more about lycanthropy and have gone so far as lived with werewolf packs to gain a better understanding of them. Pro-lycanthrope scientists have teamed up with lycanthropes (And lycanthropes who are scientists) to try and come up with a cure to lycanthropy, or at least a medicine of some sort that’ll help Common and Untrue Werewolves retain their humanity while in their transformed state. Contrary to popular belief, wolfsbane isn’t an effective ingredient, and there currently isn’t a cure to lycanthropy.

Lycanthropy isn’t inheritable. One can only become infected with the virus if they’re bitten or scratched, so if two werewolves decide to start a family their children will be free of the virus - but, unsurprisingly, many children of werewolf parents want to become a lycanthrope so they can be like them. Many werewolves are against the idea, as they believe their children can have a clean slate and live the life they never had.

Werewolf Alphas?

Many people have a common misconception about wolf packs and pack behaviour. Alphas aren’t necessarily the leader of the pack, and they don’t actually have this reigning authority over the group. Rather, wolf alphas - and there is a female alpha and a male alpha for each pack, not just one lone male alpha - act more as parental figures...most likely because their pack consists of them and their children, rather than a band of random, unrelated wolves.

But humans aren’t that smart. Humans, by nature, desire power and control - and that reflects in werewolf pack behaviour. Werewolves need an alpha. They need someone to listen to, someone to guide them - especially Common Werewolves. In a werewolf pack, there is only one alpha, though gender isn’t a determining factor. A werewolf alpha isn’t necessarily the strongest or most dominant of the pack. An alpha must be street smart, they must know how to properly plan and execute hunting strategies. An alpha is a leader because they know how to lead with respect, and they see their fellow pack members as a cohesive unit rather than a hierarchy. They do not see themselves as above pack law, or “higher” than the other pack members. They see the pack as equal members of a group with their individual sets of strengths and weaknesses, and they have a gift for figuring out how to use everyone’s strengths to the advantage of the group. Earning the position of alpha comes with a lot of respect and trust, though there are very few True Werewolves who abuse this position of power (Like I mentioned earlier, humans aren’t as smart). 

There are werewolf betas and gammas who serve as second and third in command to the alpha. Betas and gammas are usually the muscle of the group; they’re the strongest, physically speaking, and when they travel in wolf form they’re are often seen at the head and tail of every pack (Alpha and gamma in front, beta in the back) so that they keep a watchful eye on the other wolves and potential enemies. 

What Happens During A Blood Moon?

A blood moon is another term for when the moon is in total eclipse. It takes on a distinguish reddish colour, hence the name.

Blood Moons are one of the worst times in any werewolf’s life. There isn’t a scientific explanation for it yet, but blood moons make werewolves even more agitated, violent, and explosive than usual. Even True Werewolves can’t resist the pull of a blood moon; they will turn violent and lose their human minds. Werewolves stay in their wolf forms even during the day of a blood moon, and they are unable to change back until the moon is back to normal.

So you have a bunch of feral-like Untrue, Common, and True Werewolves running around and destroying everything they see. It’s not fun for anyone.

What About A Wolf Moon? A Super Moon? A Harvest Moon?

The full moon in January is commonly referred to as the Wolf Moon. A Super Moon is - you guessed it - when the moon is gigantic. During these phases, a werewolf’s senses are heightened and they find that their strength is at least doubled. They can run twice as fast and hit twice as hard. 

A Harvest Moon is the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox. The same applies to Wolf and Super Moons - they’re stronger, but strangely enough...they’re a lot more hungry. Werewolves have a big appetite to begin with, but during a Harvest Moon they’re hungrier than usual. Werewolves in rural areas have been known to steal entire fields of crops and livestock. In a sense, the Harvest Moon is like a werewolf Thanksgiving!

What about a Super Blood Wolf Moon?

Feral-like werewolves with double the strength and speed running around everywhere that have absolutely no control over themselves? Have fun!