#of all the ones ive been tempted to click on that was probably the only one i finished
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hi! i have posted a few batcest fics but i was wondering if u had any tips on getting more involved with the community, mostly on twitter. i don't have a twitter acc dedicated to it yet but i follow some accs on my priv (yours included obviously) and the way people add onto threads and talk to eachoter abt it is really exciting. i'm nervous tho because i've never had an acc for something my irl friends aren't into and idk how to get mutuals or if it's okay to reply to tweets from people that don't follow you. i hope this made sense i'm just really scared abt reaching out to ppl
hi!!! first, i want to say it's so touching that you'd come to me for advice ❤️❤️❤️ 🥺🥺🥺. i'll do my best to give you the best advice possible!!!!
ive actually only been active on the batcest side of twitter for a few months (august was when i got more active and started following accounts)! before i got into batcest i didn't really go on twitter but so many talented people are on there and make such amazing tweets and au's i basically go on there once a day now haha 😄! that's probably because outside of places like discord there's really no concentrated communities or places to interact with people who like batcest in a way that feels more...active? on tumblr you can go weeks or days without every directly interacting with someone. tiktok is hostile to anyone with a brain plus it can show your videos to complete steangers outside of your intended audience which can be....yeah. instagram isnt bad but it would definitely be a weird way to interact. ive heard that facebook groups can be fun but how that pans out with 18+ content is...
from what i can tell most batcest accounts are pretty chill however i'm only speaking from the perspective of tim centric accounts. in terms of things such as "etiquette" there's only a few things most accounts do to sort of identify and differentiate each other.
- if you're following nsfw account or making nsfw tweets be sure to include that in your description whether that means having 'minors dni', 18+, 🔞, your age and an nsfw warning' it varies.
-you don't have to do this, in fact i don't even do it but it might make it easier to find mutuals, and that's to include your favorite ships in your bio as well! mentioning things like jaytim, jaydick, brutim, brudami, etc. a lot of batcest accounts have multiple ships that spread over different characters so them listing it makes it easier for people to see what they're about!
-inluding the link of your ao3/linking your twitter in your ao3 fics is a good way for people to follow your work! a lot of people might recognize your fics if they click on your ao3 fic and you can become mutuals like that!
in terms of how to interact with other accounts i get being nervous!! i definitely was when i first started posting my tim tweets!!! even now when i interact with mutuals i've been interacting with for a while I still get a little nervous sometimes!
but i do have some tips that I think have helped interact with others and keep it fun for everyone!❤️❤️❤️
- if a tweet talks about 2 specific characters or a specific ship and you really like the idea but don't care for the ship don't directly reply to the person saying something like "THIS but with x- instead would be so good!". i know wanting to give recognition for an idea is tempting but it's rude to try and change the intent of someone's tweet.
instead: you can make your own tweet and include something like "just saw someone on my tl talking about x-topic and now i can't stop thinking about y+z in that situation-" that way you're acknowledging the outside source but also not changing the tune of someone else's tweet
- if a lot of people on your timeline are all talking about the same idea and they're all coming out with their own spins and you have no idea who started it that's okay! twitter can be a bit of an echo chamber sometimes and no one's going to go through all their mutuals and find who tweeted what first. plus the very nature of art is that it often repeats itself.
if you want to join in: you can say something like "my tl is full of people about x and let me just say that-"
- emojis are your friend! i use them a lot because i have a hard time reading tone from text and think everyone else might too. when you're reading something it's hard to pick out whether someone is joking or saying something sarcastically without any indicators (ex. /joke /sarcasm at the end of a sentence, wrItInG LIkE tHiS tO MakE suRe someone knows they're being mocked/made fun of).
adding an emoji can really help change the tone of what you're saying making it sound less like you're stating a fact or making a demand or some other misinterpretation.
ex:
he deserves it.
vs
he deserves it 😈
he doesn't deserve that!!!
vs
he doesn't deserve that!!! 🥺🥺🥺
you just like torturing him don't you.
vs
you just like torturing him don't you 😭😭😭
you can tell there's a few tonal differences between the statements which helps ease the slide of interaction (at least I think so!) by making it clear you're joking or being humorous.
- it's common to see people adding onto each other's threads and while you may be nervous about who is okay with it at first, the general rule of thumb is that on twitter anyone can add on to anyone's thread or respond whether you follow them or not (i don't think anyone will even notice who is following who) but if it does make you anxious you can click on their profile and look at their replies to see if they've replied to other people's threads or been replied to.
you can reply even if two people are already having a convo, you can just split off and start a new one! ive seen and had multiple split off convos with different people from the same original thread who all had different ideas or things to add on.
ultimately a lot of conversations on twitter are people prodding each other's brains for their shared interests and mutuals come about from people seeing that someone has similar interests and is talking about them and so follow because they also like that thing and would love to see more of people talking about that thing!!!
try following people who share a lot of your interests in terms of ships and characters.
mutuals may take a little while (in some cases ive done two scrolls of a person's account and immediatly followed them back without any interaction because we both clearly had the same interests) if you want exact steps of how that might happen you could start with
a. commenting on people's threads. telling them you loved it, reacting to it, sending emojis. etc.
b. send tweets about your thoughts, headcanons, aus, etc. don't feel discouraged if no one likes them yet you're just starting!
c. after you've gotten comfortable with commenting with an account you can start adding more to the interaction, adding on, proposing a direction for the tweet, etc.
these are just a few of the things ive learned and seen and nothing here is fully concrete either so if you feel more comfortable doing something else then feel free!!!
besides in the first conversation i ever had with one of my current mutuals i revealed to them that i'd secretly written an entire fic about one of their tweets even though we'd, until that point, never talked even once 😭
i guess what I'm trying to say is: go for it!! you never know, it might go a lot better than the worst case scenarios you may be thinking of!! ❤️❤️❤️
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Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.
Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):
The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.
The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.
My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.
So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.
I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.
You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.
But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.
Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.
What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words �� there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.
“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose.
We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.
Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.
Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.
And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.
Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.
So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”
There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.
Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”
Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!
But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.
Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.
Here is the speech:
“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...
“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”
I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.
After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.
That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.
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i’m sorry (ft: sugawara).
by request: “Hi!!!! Okay im so glad your requests are open - could I please request some angst with Sugawara? Where the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? Then maybe the reader and Suga fight and then reader gets hurt or something (maybe a car accident) and when the Karasuno team finds out, Suga is devastated and goes to the hospital and tell the reader that he loves them?? Thank you!! ❤️” -anon
yes anon i’m happy to do this- i kinda changed up the prompt a lil bit so i’m sorry about that but i hope this measures up to your standards! (i’m ridiculously soft for suga so this makes sense)
genre: sadness (literal tears were shed in the process of making this)
ft: sugawara koushi x reader
warnings: car crash, fighting, cursing, hospitalization, death
wc: 2k
“Y/n, why are you so upset? I get that you’re concerned, and I’m grateful for that, but she’s genuinely a good person and I’m serious about her!” Suga walks away from you, his back turned, shoulders raised slightly in his sweater. You can sense his frustration, his confusion, but you don’t care. His face is pouty, lip sticking out ever so slightly, and you know you can’t look at him or you won’t be able to keep yourself from kissing him right then and there.
The thing is, you know she’s a good person. And that’s what hurts. See, you’ve been in love with Sugawara Koushi since the day you met him at the bus stop five years ago, on a hot summer day with a butterfly in his hair.
You can’t stop him from getting a new girlfriend, and you know it’s selfish of you to hope he likes you the way you like him, to hold on to him for all these years.
Sometimes when it’s late, you let yourself drift into your memories. The spring days when he would take you hiking, out into the mountains to show you his favorite spots, the times when your stomachs hurt from laughing at the dirty jokes he found off of random places on the internet, the rainy moments and baking cookies when it just seemed calm. With Suga, you felt at home like nowhere else.
Now, your eyes sting unfairly, and you turn away from him as he glares towards you, brow furrowed. Struggling to keep your voice even, you say, “I know, okay Kou? I just- I don’t know, she gives me bad vibes.”
You know he doesn’t mean to be rude, but when he scoffs, your heart squeezes just a bit and tears prick your eyes. “You’re telling me to call off a whole relationship because she gives you bad vibes? You did this with all of my exes, too!” Suga sighs, hands on his hips. “You know you’re my best friend, but honestly, y/n, this has to stop. You can’t control my life!”
He’s right. You know he’s right, and that’s the harsh thing about it. You want him all to yourself- everything about him is entrancing, intoxicating, familiar. Jealousy is a bitch.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
At this point, his jaw drops open at the sheer audacity of your remark. “I can’t do this with you today.” He throws up his hands and sits on the bed, making it clear he doesn’t really want to talk anymore.
Suga never really fights with you. He teases endlessly, but he always stops himself before he really hurts you, and the fights between the two of you are always calmer on his side. He’s usually the first to apologize, but it seems this is a sticking point for the two of you.
“Well? Go!” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets it. You flinch backwards at his words, and he doesn’t miss the unmistakable glint of tears in your eyes as you walk out of the room.
“Fine, I guess I will!” As soon as you’re outside, you cover your mouth with your hand, your vision blurred from large drops threatening to spill from your eyelashes. You muffle your sobs with the sleeve of a sweatshirt Suga lent you, and it just makes you cry harder when you breathe in his slight cologne.
He wasn’t going to let her go this time. You missed your chance.
You’re running, but where to? As soon as your thoughts stop spinning, your feet freeze, and you glance around you. Shaky breaths escape you as you duck your head and attempt to cross the street, questioning looks from passerby making your cheeks heat up.
All of a sudden, you hear a car horn and freeze to see a car speeding towards you, out of control. The last thing you see before everything goes black is a child pointing at you, and you almost laugh at the incredulity of the situation. Then you black out on impact.
Back at Suga’s home, he sits in his bed, running his fingers through his silky hair. He curses under his breath, already hating the feeling.
He hates when the only person he’s ever truly loved is mad at him.
Honestly, Koushi can’t fathom why he keeps getting other people to date him, momentary distractions from his everlasting affection for you. You, the only person who’s there for him when he’s hurting, the only real friend to stay near him through everything, the only person he fell in love with on first sight. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t want to ruin this was.
Better to be certain friends with you and never get what he truly wanted than to try and lose you completely.
Suga picks up the phone to text you when he receives a call from an unfamiliar number, marked as the hospital of your district.
“Hello?"
“Is this Sugawara Koushi?” The female voice on the other end of the line asks.
“Yes, is everything okay?” He responds, curious as to why the hospital is calling him in the middle of the day.
“Well, we have Y/N L/N here, and you’re listed as one of their emergency contacts. Would you mind coming to the hospital to fill out some paperwork?”
Immediately, his world freezes. “W-what did you say?”
“I said, Y/N L/N is in the hospital and we need you to come in and see them.” She’s patient with him, voice even and calm, clearly used to people in shock from news of their loved ones. “They were involved in a car accident.”
He nods, momentarily forgetting she can’t see him. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”
The line clicks, and he sits there for only a minute before hurrying down to his car, grabbing the keys and starting the car. He seems to forget basic movements, mind consumed only with thoughts of you.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, edging above the speed limit on the road. He was tempted to honk at someone, but refrains from it, knowing it won’t help with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling.
Then, it hit him. This was his fault. He almost stopped the car in the middle of the road, throat closing as guilt washed over him. Koushi didn’t know you’d take it so hard, didn’t mean for it to come off that harshly.
He arrived at the hospital, and as he walked in, the receptionist looked up at him.
“Sugawara Koushi?”
“Yes,” he said, and watched the smile slowly fade from her face. He noticed she tried to hide it, ducking her head, but it was too late. “Are they- are they going to be okay?” he gulped as she didn’t respond.
“Room 208,” she said curtly, “You should probably go in.”
The lights seemed to blur into each other as Suga practically ran to your room. Every footstep seemed to take forever, travel only a few centimeters forward. He couldn’t get there fast enough, accidentally bumping into the wall and muttering a hushed “sorry” to it.
He arrived. The door was almost too heavy, or maybe it was just the fear making his limbs heavy as lead.
There you lay, and it was worse than he thought. Tubes of all sorts trailed from your body to things around the bed, crowding and seeming to close you in. Scratches ran down your cheek and there was dried blood on your hairline, streaking down your face. The breath fell from his throat and he stood in the doorway, paralyzed.
This could not be happening.
One look and he could tell you weren’t going to be okay. An IV drip led into your left arm, and you were unconscious, so fragile, so angelic. It looked as if you were only sleeping, like the countless times you’d snuggled into Suga’s shoulder in the warm summer nights, staring at the blanket of glittering stars far above. The ones in your eyes, though, outshone them all.
When you slept, you always seemed so peaceful, so comforted, but now your brow was slightly furrowed, your lips drained of color and slightly parted. Even in this state, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.
Shakily, he made his way to the chair and sat down in it. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and tears were dripping down his face before he could wipe them away. A choked sob escaped him as he reached out his hand, hovering over your limp one.
He took your hand, and he hunched over to feel how cold it was. Your hands were always colder than his, which made him a perfect match for you. Never before, though, had he felt this ice.
Suga’s shoulders began to shake, and he clutched your hand, silently begging you not to leave, please please please don’t leave me, i don’t know if i can survive without you. Of course, there was no response but the steady beep of the heart monitor, the only thing reassuring him that you were still there.
Shaking, he brought your hand to his lips, barely brushing them against your knuckles.
“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Whispered words fell gently from his lips, trying to stay composed for you. “Please stay with me. Please don’t leave.” His tone rises, voice breaking in desperation. “P-please.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rocked back and forth, holding your hand as if it was the only thing tying him down. “I-I love you.”
There. He said it, those three words he’d wanted to say since the day he saw you smile for the first time. Hopelessly, madly, endlessly in love with you, only you.
When you didn’t respond, he let himself sob, let the pain overtake him. Hot, salty tears spilled onto your hand, and he silently wished for a sign, a movement, anything to show that you weren’t gone just yet.
In that moment, he whispered everything he wanted to say to you, a thousand words choking him and clogging his throat to the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore.
The doctor came in, shutting the door silently behind him. “Sugawara-”
“Call me Suga.” His voice was quiet, reserved, threatening to break.
“I’m afraid y/n isn’t going to make it.” The doctor sighed, mercifully pretending not to notice Suga’s muffled cry. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“You’re joking, right?” Suga raised his head, puffy, red eyes desperate. “Please- tell me you’re joking.” The silence from the doctor told him otherwise, and Suga felt his heart shatter in that instant.
He squeezed your hand, and just as he did, the heart monitor stopped beeping, a flat tone emitting from it. He couldn’t stop the heartbroken cry from spilling from his mouth, his breath stolen by the endless constriction of guilt and grief in his chest.
He stayed there for another two hours, crying over your hand limp in his grasp. When Daichi arrived at the hospital to drive him home, he didn’t want to leave.
Suga stared out of the car window, numb. It was impossible- the world couldn’t be this cruel.
It’s your fault, your fault, your fault, the voice in his head whispered. The broken sobs that spilled out of him hurt, stabbed at his breathing, but he didn’t care. It was his fault that you were gone, forever.
The rest of the day passed in a haze, the sun setting with flared colors that you would have loved. The stars were brilliant, but Suga couldn’t look at them. His pillow smelled like you, and everywhere he looked had some imprint, some memory of you. You were the only person he’d ever love, and you had been stolen from the world in an instant.
In the months afterwards, nothing was the same. He saw you everywhere, expecting to see your texts pop up on his phone, accidentally ordered your drink at the boba place you would always go to.
At the funeral, his stiff black suit seemed awkward, but you always said he looked handsome in one. That was the last time he got to see your face besides pictures, the fading memory of the person who loved him for who he was.
the person who he would love for the rest of his life.
you’re an angel in my eyes.
a/n: tbh this is probably one of the most painful things i’ve written so far suga im so sorry also THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 50 FOLLOWERS ITS CRAZY
i finished this at 2am i’m going to be so sad if it flops <\3
#sugawara koushi#suga x reader#sugawara x y/n#koushi sugawara#sugawara angst#sugawara sadness#i'm literally so sorry this is very sad#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst#haikyuu sad#suga x y/n#suga x you#sugawara x reader
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Mark but make it jealous
Tag: @floweringtheflowers IM SORRY I TOOK FOREVER BUT I WAS SO BUSY WITH SCHOOL AND EVERYTHING ILY BAE IM SO SORRY IF IVE LET YOU DOWN WITH THIS 😔
Summary: Mark was usually all soft and sweet to you, who knew what getting coffee would do to the man.
Notes: smut so if you're not into that don't read it, dom Mark and sub reader, reader is female
You breathed in the scent of fresh steaming coffee and sweet cake as you held Marks warm hand in yours. As you walked up to the cashier you kept repeating your order in your head making sure not to mess up.
"Hello what can I do for you guys today" the cashier asked only quickly glancing at Mark as he studied your face taking in your sparkly eyes and plump, soft lips.
"Hi can I have one tall iced coffee with sugar and cream? Also some caramel on top." You said. You watched as the cashier typed away on his little board.
"Okay one tall iced coffee for the lovely lady, what about you sir" Mark stirred uncomfortably at the flirty remarks of the cashier but as to not start anything big went along with it.
"Hey yeah I just want a small black coffee." The cashier nodded and typed away at the register.
"Okay that brings your total to $10.45." you attempted to slip your hand away from Mark's to grab your purse but before you could Mark took out his credit card and payed instead. "Hey I said I was gonna pay!" You whispered looking at Mark. He smiled,
"Too late I already did" you pouted and went back to staring at all the cakes on display as you waited for your drinks.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick" Mark said pulling his hand away from yours you nodded still staring at all the cakes.
"So is he your boyfriend or something?" You heard the cashier ask. You were taken aback by the question since it had come out of nowhere but you simply smiled.
"Yes he is"
"Ahh I see." He side clicking his tongue
"You seem to be out of his league if I'm being honest with you, you're very beautiful you deserve a real man." Your smile slowly faded off your face and you cleared your throat trying to ignore his attempts to get with you.
"Awe come on don't ignore me now I was playing with you. But if you ever get tired of him just know I'm free whenever you need me." As he finished his sentence he slid you a napkin with his number on it. You looked towards the bathroom trying to find Mark only for him to be no where in sight.
"Here's your coffees have a nice day and don't forget to call me" the cashier said winking after. You grabbed the drinks and took them to a table to wait for Mark making sure to throw out the napkin he gave you on the way. As you waited for Mark you impatiently tapped your feet until
"Hey babe"
"Hey Mark can we leave now?"
"Uh sure" Mark was confused on why you were so nervous but thought it was just the jitters, public settings weren't always the best for you so he understood. You suddenly felt someone tap your shoulder and you knew who it was. Before you could turn around and tell him to leave you alone he spoke up,
"I noticed you threw the other napkin away so here's another napkin" you an Mark turned in sync to look at the chaser who was now holding out another napkin with his phone number and name clearly written on it. Out of the corner of your eyes you could see Mark fuming.
"Uhm that's sweet of you but-"
"She has a boyfriend dude back off" Mark said now wrapping his arm around your waist.
"Uh yeah but she could probably use my number just in case you know." You internally face-palmed as embarrassment filled your body. Mark scoffed before he replied back with anger
"Thanks for the offer but I'm all she needs."
"I was just playing around bro don't take it to the heart." The cashier said before he gave Mark a light punch on the shoulder and walked away. Mark grabbed your wrist and led you out of the coffee shop and to your car. You caught one last glimpse of the cashier as Mark dragged you out of that hell hole and he simply smirked at you, you were now angry too for the man to flirt so shamelessly with you. The whole ride home was silent you only quietly sipped on your coffee in case anything you said angered him further.
"So you wanna explain what that was back there?" Mark asked as soon as you stepped foot through the door. You slowly turned to look at him in disbelief, almost laughing at his question.
"I don't think I have to explain anything you saw that cashier flirting with me."
"And you did nothing to stop him" you were now not only angry and the cashier but Mark too.
"You act like I was flirting with him"
"You might as well have been you were all 'awweee i have a boyfriend maybe flirt with me while he's not looking'" Mark said mocking your voice and even going as far as to bat his eyelashes.
"Okay Mark what the fuck? I was declining his offer gently as to not make a big deal but you act as if I was cheating on you?"
"You could've been more firm with your words since he obviously wasn't getting the point"
"I was trying to be nice what did you want me to slap him infront of everyone or something?"
"Uhm kind of!" Mark said throwing his hands in the air as if it were the obvious route to take.
"I seriously can't believe you right now some creep was hitting on me right infront of you and you blame me for not being stern enough with him when you did nothing!" You raised your voice obviously pissed now.
"I'm the one who got you out of there!" Mark said also raising his voice now.
"I wish he was the one getting me out of there" you mumbled under your breath apparently loud enough to Mark to hear.
"What. Did. You. Just. Say." He said clenching his teeth trying his best to keep his calm. You decided to tease him as pay back for his blaming your innocent self.
"I said 'i wish he was the one getting me out of there' did you not hear me the first-" you were cut off when Mark suddenly pushed you up against the wall, his face mere inches away from yours.
"So you wanna act up now?" He said pinning your wrists against the wall. You nodded smiling just to anger him further. He scoffed and looked away for a second.
"Oh you're so in for it tonight." He leaned in to kiss you but your turned your face at the last second still not done with your teasing.
"I see how it is" Was the last thing you heard before he threw you over his shoulder and took you straight to the bedroom. You tried flailing your arms and legs
"Mark let me go!" You whined not actually meaning it but saying it just to see his reaction (remember consent is key children if someone says no or to stop mid-action respect their wishes) he simply ignored all your poor attempts to escape and went on his merry way. When he entered the bedroom he dropped you on the mattress and immediately got in top of you.
He kissed you roughly for a bit before leaving a hot trial of kisses down your jaw and onto your neck, making sure to such hickeys on to your neck.
You sighed in pleasure which didn't last long, next thing you knew he was practically trying to rip your top off of you after getting frustrated with the buttons. You giggled to yourself before moving his hands and undoing the buttons yourself. After your shirt was taken care of he reached around your back and unclipped your bra with one single movement, exposing your chest to him.
You were expecting him to start massaging or playing with your breasts like he usually did but instead he went to unbutton your jeans, it did catch you by surprise but he was still angry at you and angry Mark means no foreplay.
He was having trouble figuring out your jeans to which you helped him yet again and as soon as he could he threw your jeans across the room, panties still on.
He quickly rose to his feet and undressed himself leaving only his boxers on, you bit your lip at the sight infront of you. Mark knelt on the bed and turned your body so that you were now on your stomach. Before you could ask what he was doing he put you face down, ass up in the air. You felt his hand rub against your smooth ass and relished the feeling of him being gentle before he released all his anger and stress on you.
Just as you were about to make some snarky remark about him being so gentle after all his roughness he spanked you. You jolted at the sudden noise and felt a stinging pain.
"Ow Mark that hurt!"
"Did i say you could speak?" He asked in a low voice. His voice was scarly calm compared to his actions which confused you.
"No but-"
"Then be quiet." You immediately shut your mouth and surrendered to his touch. He spanked you once, twice, three times, 4 times, and one last time. By the time he was done your eyes were threatening to spill out a river of tears and your knees were just about to give out. Mark held you steady in place and pushed your panties to the side exposing your already dripping core.
"You really get this turned on just by me being angry?" Mark said while chuckling. You whined eager to feel him inside you and he complied. Mere seconds later you felt him enter you and immediately start pouring into you, not letting you adjust to his size.
"Mark! Slow..slow down" you stuttered trying to hold yourself together. He only went faster and pounded deeper into you, tempting you to let out the sinful sounds he always loved to hear from you. You moaned and whimper so close to orgasming before Mark pulled out. He quickly flipped you over so that you were on your back and entered you again before you could let out any words. The sound of both you and mark moaning and your skin slapping made you come undone in his hands.
"I'm gonna..." You trailer off seeing stars as you closer your eyes.
"You're gonna cum aren't you?" Mark said all cockily only he could fuck you this good and only he could get you to be a whimpering mess with just his light touches. You nodded vigorously. You came with Mark still inside of you and when he felt you walls clench around him he pulled out cumming all over your thighs. You panted and closed your eyes close to sleeping when you heard his voice right next to you now.
"Don't fall asleep yet princess I'm not done with you just yet."
#nct dream#nct 127#nct smut#nct mark#nct imagines#nct#nct au#im just trying to put a lot of hashtags so someone sees this#idk what else to tag
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Don’t Forget Me, I Beg
read on archive!
Cas
“Cas?! Thank god, you’re awake. Look, the doctors said you wouldn’t remember anything… but I figured, well, since you’re an angel, ya know?”
Cas blinked and looked around him, trying to get his bearings. He had an IV connected to his arm, and a heart rate monitor taped to his finger. There was a slight stinging on his chest, but besides that he felt fine. Then he froze. What had the man said? Angel?
“Yeah, of course,” he muttered, looking into those earnest green eyes.
Looking back on it, he would have no idea why he said it. Why he lied. Why he pretended to know what was going on when he knew a total of three things about himself. That his name was Castiel (seriously, what kind of a name was that?), that he was in Longmont, Colorado, and that he was in love with a man named Dean Winchester.
He had no idea where Longmont was in relation to anything else, and he had no idea where to find this Dean Winchester. But his mind clung to those facts desperately, trying to block out the swirling confusion that threatened to overwhelm him.
“So, your grace blocked whatever spell that was?” Cas nodded and busied himself counting the freckles on the man’s face. He had a lot of them.
“You scared us, man. You were out for four days. They said you were in a coma, and you probably wouldn’t wake up. But Sam and I figured that your grace would heal you faster.”
There was that word again, grace. Every time he heard it something inside him seemed to glow, to buzz with a fiery heat.
“I’m sure you need your rest. I’ll go find Sam. He was finishing up the hunt.” The man looked him up and down one more time then walked from the room.
A hunt. Okay, so he’d been hurt in a hunting accident. Though that didn’t seem right. He didn’t feel like a hunter. And what was that about a spell anyway? And had the guy seriously called him an angel?
Angel must be a nickname. Or maybe it was his last name. He wasn’t sure if he had one.
A nurse walked in and smiled warmly at him.
“Mr. Dougherty said you remember. That’s really good news, Simon. We should be able to get you out of here in just a few days.”
“My name is Castiel,” he said automatically, squinting at her.
She nodded with a smile and glanced pointedly at the IV drip connected to his arm. Great. So she thought he was delusional.
Which really, might be better for him. He had no idea why he’d pretended to remember--what had she said?--Mr. Dougherty. But now that he had, it seemed he would need to play the part.
“I need to find Dean Winchester,” Cas said as the nurse turned to leave the room.
“I’m sorry, but I only know the two men that brought you in.”
“Did I have a phone?” She shook her head and glanced quickly at her clipboard, clearly anxious to get back to her rounds.
“What happened? I only remember leaving the house and then it all goes black.” He wasn’t sure if he even had a house. But it seemed like a plausible story, and he needed at least a few answers.
“You were in a hunting accident. They said you hit your head, but we can’t find any bruises. To tell you the truth, Simon, you have us puzzled. The cuts on your chest… well, it’s not important now. You’re doing okay, and that’s what’s important.” She smiled again, tight and close-lipped, and then hurried from the room.
Cas ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his eyes. He needed to find Dean. Dean would help him. He shifted in the bed and lifted the collar of the loose hospital gown. He nearly cried out when his eyes found his chest.
Pure white light was shining through the deep, blood red cuts. They were meticulous, almost like they were forming some symbol. And they were disappearing. Where the light touched, the skin knit back together and left light pink scar tissue.
Cas watched mutely, then dropped the hospital gown and leaned back in his bed. His tired eyes found the IV and he shook his head slowly. He wasn’t thinking right, and he didn’t know what he had seen.
He needed to find Dean.
Cas ripped the IV roughly from his arm and pulled the heart rate monitor from his finger. Then he stumbled to his feet, surprised when he didn’t feel woozy. In his experience (as far as he knew it to be), coma patients generally were very disoriented when they woke up. And he’d only been awake for an hour and thirty-six minutes. Cas frowned at the number--it was oddly specific--but shrugged it off and walked to the cabinet in the corner of the room.
He found a trenchcoat and a wrinkled suit and started dressing under his gown.
Then he slid the thin fabric over his head and looked at his chest. The barest outline of a scar remained, and he closed his eyes, determined to ignore it. It must have been an old scar anyway. An old scar he was turning into something more than it needed to be.
His fingers struggled on the buttons of his shirt, and he guessed he didn’t get dressed in a suit often. After he’d shrugged the trenchcoat over his shoulders, he turned to the window. His reflection was faintly visible, and he looked right. He felt like himself again, whoever that was.
With detached interest, he noted that his hair was black and his eyes were blue. Not what he would have guessed, but that didn’t matter. He smoothed his hair carefully, trying to stop it from sticking up at odd angles, but it didn’t work so he gave up. Something in his pocket hit against his hip and he pulled out an old flip phone.
He quickly flipped it open and opened the contacts. There were only six. Sam, Bobby, Rowena, 666 (that had to be a joke), Jack and Dean. His breath quickened as he clicked on the name, finger hovering over the call button.
But he didn’t click it. When he’d woken up, he told himself he knew three things about his life. That had been a lie. He remembered four. His name was Castiel, he was in Longmont, Colorado, he loved Dean Winchester, and Dean Winchester did not love him back.
So he didn’t call, but he figured a text wouldn’t hurt. His fingers felt unpracticed on the keys, but he managed to type, Where should I meet you?
He frowned at the message. It didn’t make sense, really. Not if Dean had no idea where he was. Then he clicked send anyway.
For a minute, he stood staring at the dirty window with his reflection faintly visible on the dirty glass. Then he walked from the room, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention before leaving the hospital. He pulled his phone from his pocket again and clicked on the notification.
We’ll pick you up at the hospital. Sam killed the witch, so we’re leaving town.
Witch. Alright. That was normal.
Dean
“He remembers, Sam.” His brother stood and shrugged, gathering the last of their things from the room.
“Really? Because that witch seemed pretty sure he didn’t. She cast a spell designed for angels, Dean.” Dean frowned and threw the room key on the table, leading the way to the car.
“That’s weird. I thought she didn’t know what Cas was. And it’s the same spell she cast on all the other vics, right? They were all human.”
“Right, they were. But she got wind we were in town and used a different one that would work on him. She told me herself, right before I killed her.” Dean rolled his eyes and got in the car.
“So you believe her? You were about to kill her, Sammy. She was just trying to freak you out.”
Sam snorted but stayed silent.
They got to the hospital a few minutes later, and Cas was standing outside, back in his trenchcoat and suit. Dean couldn’t help but smile a little. The angel looked so lost. The nurses had probably given him a bitch of a time.
When the car pulled up to the curb, the angel stood there, just looking at the street. Dean sighed and rolled down his window.
“Hey, Cas. We kinda need to roll, what’s the hold up?”
“Dougherty?” His voice was a little higher than normal, more like Jimmy Novak’s had been. Dean frowned but raised his eyebrows.
“Dude, that’s the name on the insurance. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. I have to wait for-- I can’t go with you.” His stomach was starting to sink and he took a deep breath.
“See, Dean? I told you.” He was tempted to tell Sam to shut up, but Cas spoke first.
“Dean? Wait, Dean Winchester?”
“Yeah, that’s me. You really don’t remember anything, huh?” Cas was staring at him like he was back from the dead. Well, back from the dead again.
“If you remember me, or at least my name, get in the car. We’re here to help, okay? I promise.” The angel gulped, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Then he nodded and got in the backseat.
Dean drove away from the hospital with the pedal almost flat against the floor, hands gripping the wheel. Cas didn’t remember anything. Didn’t even know who he was.
“Call her.”
“Calm down, Dean. I’m working on it.” Sam dialed slowly and raised the phone to his ear, holding up a finger for silence.
“Hey, Rowena… yeah, I know we’re sorry about that… listen, we need your help.” Dean glanced at him, ignoring the road.
“Put her on speaker.” Sam rolled his eyes but lowered the phone.
“Rowena, you have to help us fix Cas.”
“Dean, always with the pleasantries. I wish I could say it’s good to hear your voice.”
“Cut the crap, Rowena.” Her sigh blew through the speakers, and her accent managed to seep into it.
“Fine. What seems to be the trouble with the angel?” Cas perked up in the back seat and leaned forward.
“A witch. Some sort of memory spell.”
“That worked on an angel?” She sounded mildly impressed. If she’d been in the car, Dean might have strangled her.
“I’ll come to you, boys. I know of two spells that could do this, and the cure is very different for the both. Although, I must admit I hope it’s the second of the two.” Dean pulled the phone from Sam’s hand and held it to his mouth.
“Why? What’s the second?”
“Now now, Dean. We mustn’t spoil the surprise. Now where are you?” Dean opened his mouth to spit something back at her but Sam grabbed the phone.
“Mead, Colorado.”
“I’ll be there in two hours. Bye, boys.” Sam hung up before Dean could take the phone again and Dean rolled his eyes, slamming a palm into the wheel.
“I’m… an angel?” Cas’ voice had started to drop in register, and he was sounding more like himself.
“Yeah. One of God’s finest. Well, not really. But you’re one of the not-dick angels, so that’s good.” When Cas didn’t answer he looked in the rearview mirror. The angel was staring out the window with a thoughtful look on his face.
They pulled into the nearest motel and waited in tense silence for Rowena to get there. Dean didn’t really see a point in trying to explain to Cas who he was. He meant too much. To him, to the world.
Everytime he looked at the angel, he found him staring. He would look away as soon as he saw Dean’s eyes on him, but by the fourth time Dean stopped trying to convince himself he was imagining things.
He couldn’t place the emotion on Cas’ face, but it was far different than how he looked at Sam. And it hadn’t been Sam’s name he knew.
Dean was almost glad when Rowena knocked on the door.
“Hello, boys.” The minute the words left her mouth, he decided he wasn’t glad. She was a pain in the ass.
When Dean didn’t reply, she sighed and walked over to Cas.
“I drop everything for you bloody Winchesters and when I get here, I’m greeted with cold silence. Are you sure Cassie wants his memories back?” Sam stood up and took her bag, setting it on the bed.
“Thanks for coming, Rowena.” She sighed again, more dramatically if that was possible, and put a hand on Cas’ head.
Her laughter rang through the room and she took her hand back, folding over.
“What?” Dean growled.
“It’s a very interesting spell, one I’ve only used once myself. It’s designed for fallen angels. Well, angel’s who’ve fallen.” Dean squinted at her and instinctively reached a hand to the gun in his waistband, so she hurried to go on.
“Fallen in love, that is. It leaves the angel with the memory of the name of the one they’ve fallen for, and a few other details. The best part,” she laughed again and then went on, wiping her eyes, “Is that it can only be undone by a kiss from that person.”
“A fucking true love’s kiss. Are you fucking kidding me?” She raised her eyebrows but laughed again.
“Well, this shouldn’t be too hard for you, boys. I would be on my way, but I’m afraid I’ll have to stay for this.”
“Whatever, we’ll just find the girl and get her here,” Dean said, the blood in his veins running cold. Cas was in love with someone. That didn’t bother him at all.
He could feel heat rising in his cheeks and he tried desperately to calm down. Rowena was laughing again.
“Oh, you poor, sweet thing.” She turned to Cas, who was watching the whole exchange with wide eyes.
“It’s okay, Castiel. You can say who it is. He won’t be mad I promise.” She said it softly, especially for a witch, but Cas still stared back at her with wide eyes before dropping his gaze. Dean looked over at Sam, his heart pounding. His brother seemed to be hiding a smile, and not very successfully.
Then he looked back to Cas. The angel’s eyes were fixed on the floor and his ears were tinted pink. Dean could see his shoulders rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths, like he was trying to calm down.
“It won’t matter,” the angel finally said.
“Cas, he feels the same,” Sam said, crossing the room to stand next to Rowena.
“What the hell is going on?” Dean glanced between the two of them, trying to read their faces. Besides laughter, he found nothing.
“I know he doesn’t. I can’t remember why I know. Or anything else about who I am. I know that though.” Sam nodded slowly and looked at Rowena, who was staring at Cas with an incredulous smirk.
“Okay, this has been fun, but I really need to get going. I left a very… interesting party for this. Cas, say the name. You want to remember who you are, don’t you?” He nodded and looked up, finally meeting Dean’s eyes.
“I’m in love with Dean Winchester.” Dean froze. At least his face wasn’t bright red anymore. It was now white as a sheet. He ran a hand nervously through his hair and looked at Sam and Rowena. They weren’t laughing anymore.
Then he walked to Cas and cupped his face gently, pulling him up so they were chest to chest.
He looked scared, but Dean didn’t blame him. He had no idea who he was, just one name and the knowledge that he wasn’t loved back. At least Dean could do something about it. He ran a thumb over the angel’s cheek down to his lip, grazing it softly.
Then he gently threaded his hand into the angel’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. Their lips met gently, barely touching, and then he pulled back.
The angel’s eyes glowed white, and then widened.
“Dean?”
“Hey, Cas.”
“You didn’t have to--” Dean pulled his hand from his hair and set it gently on the angel’s waist, pressing their bodies together. Sam cleared his throat and Dean raised his middle finger, smiling as he pressed his forehead into Cas’. Sam sighed (Dean could almost hear the eye roll) and quickly left the room, followed closely by Rowena.
“I love you too, Cas.” The angel smiled softly and leaned in for another kiss.
#requested by#starlightcastiel#starsmish#amnesia#destiel amnesia#spn fanfic#supernatural fanfic#spn fan fiction#destiel fanfic#deancas fic#destiel fic#destiel ficlet#follower celebration#my writing
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(Un)Requited - I.L IV
Summary: Isaac Lahey had gone through many twists and turns in his life, but none of them compared to the whiplash he got when you asked him to tutor you. With a few weeks until the end of the semester and the big dance coming up, he’s hoping to figure out a way to ask you to go with him before it’s too late.
Masterlist
Prev. | Part 4
Word-count: 3.4k+
A/N: i’m still working on the last part of this fic so i’ll probably only update again in a week or two!! sorry guys 💕
Things between you and Isaac had been weird ever since he walked away from you that day on the lacrosse field. His jokes were delivered a little more awkwardly, your laughter was a few seconds shorter, and whenever it felt like the tension was starting to dissipate, your phone would light up and Stiles’ name would be on your screen. Isaac hated it.
He hated the anger he carried around in his chest all the time. He hated how jealous he was of Stiles. Most of all, he hated that his relationship with you was fucked because he couldn’t get over a stupid crush. Sure, it was a crush he’d had since he was ten, but it was just a crush. He shouldn’t have let it, for lack of a better word, crush him like this.
Isaac was busy shoving some books into his overpopulated locker when he felt a very familiar tap on his shoulder.
When he turned, you were beaming at him with such warmth and familiarity that Isaac forgot that things were weird between you for a second. “Guess what.” Your voice barely contained your excitement.
“Greenberg walked into a locker again?” Isaac asked, deliberately stalling to keep you around him a bit longer.
You laughed and shoved his arm playfully. “No, silly.” You made the booklet of paper in your hands dance and pressed it into his hands. Your hands were cool to the touch. Probably guessing that he was paying more attention to the physical contact than whatever was on the paper, you pointed to the top corner of the page and said, “Look!”
Isaac repressed a laugh but he still smiled at you before looking down at the paper. It was an algebra test with a B+ in big, red block letters and an extra credit assignment with a perfect score. “No way!” Isaac grinned and pulled you into a hug. “See, I told you that you could do it!”
Your arms wrapped around his waist and you laughed into his chest. Slowly, you looked up at him and tapped his chest lightly. “Yeah, but I never could have done it without you,” you said.
For a moment, it was like the whole world slowed down, leaving you and Isaac alone in the quiet hallway. Isaac almost could have sworn your heart was beating as fast as his was, but that wouldn’t make any sense. There was no reason for your heart to beat faster because of Isaac.
But Stiles showed up before Isaac had a chance to figure out why your heart was beating like that and you pulled away.
“Hey.” He drew the word out in that annoying voice of his. Stiles was unusually easy-going considering that he hated Isaac and he was dating you, and the two of you had been tangled up not even a moment before. “What are we celebrating?”
You'd pulled away from Isaac so that you were only holding onto him with one hand, just barely around his lower back, as you handed Stiles your test. “I’m almost an A student. You know, I’m thinking of changing my career goals from trophy wife to mathematician.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You could totally be a trophy wife and a mathematician,” Stiles said with an aggravating smile. He was so good at saying stuff like that that it drove Isaac up a wall.
You laughed and pretended to be offended as you grabbed your test back. You let go of Isaac to harass Stiles but you soon enough you were laughing and nestling yourself under Stiles’ arm. His fingers interlaced with yours easily as you said something equally charming and witty to him.
“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles rolled his eyes and smiled at you. His thumb grazed yours as he tilted his head down, almost bumping his forehead into your head. “You sure I can’t convince you to grab lunch with me and Scott? We could ditch Scott.”
You let out a self-conscious laugh and ducked your head. “As tempting as that offer is…” you untangled yourself from Stiles and took a step back from him. “Isaac and I have a date with some suits.”
Not that kind of date, Isaac reminded himself as he gave Stiles his best attempt at a friendly smile. Judging by Stiles’ reaction, it came out as more of a grimace.
“Oh, uh, yeah.” Stiles scratched the side of his face. “Cutting the dance prep a little short, aren’t you?”
Isaac straightened up and tried to get the venom out of his voice. “Yeah, well, we had some unexpected interruptions. You don’t mind though, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Stiles said, not sounding defensive, exactly, but definitely not as easy-going as before. He looked over at you and squeezed your hand as he said something about catching up with you later.
You took a deep breath and ran your hand through your hair as Stiles disappeared into the sea of hormonal teenagers. “So-” you stepped closer to Isaac and gave him a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Ready to go?”
If Isaac was honest, he’d tell you that the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do was go shopping for a suit that he didn’t want to wear to a dance he didn’t care about, but he couldn’t be honest with you - not about his feelings, and not about this dance - because you were trying.
Isaac wanted to try, too. He really did, but Isaac's problem was that he wasn’t as good as you. Then again no one was as good as you, but still. Isaac had to try or he’d lose you again.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” The closing of Isaac’s locker punctuated his lie better than his smiling grimace ever could.
If you noticed his bad mood - which might have been difficult considering how Isaac was almost always in a bad mood these days - you were nice enough not to mention it as the two of you made your way through the school to the parking lot. Instead, you told him more about your classes and how Greenberg did, in fact, walk into a locker earlier that day.
There was an anxious lilt to your voice as you talked about your English paper that Isaac didn’t recognize. Sure, he’d seen you be nervous before tests and that first day in the hallway, but this was different. That had been unsure while this was second-guessing. That had been butterflies, and this was a sinking feeling.
Isaac couldn’t wrap his head around what could have been making you anxious. You were happy about your grades, you’d been excited about your parents leaving you home alone so they could check on Alex for the weekend, and you had Stiles. With all that, plus the dance coming up, you shouldn’t have been anxious.
And yet there you were, mumbling curse words under your breath when people cut you off on the road and hiding a frown behind a tight smile as you pulled into a parking space.
You killed the engine and sighed as you turned to Isaac. “Hey, so I’ve gotta tell you something about Stiles-”
“Why are we outside a thrift store?” Isaac asked as he peered through the windscreen.
The store was cute. Bright sunflowers painted next to yellow letters that swirled together to spell ‘Anne’s Next to New Clothing and Trinkets.’ A white table with a flower arrangement and some of the aforementioned trinkets. Through the window, Isaac could make out a little girl trying on about a dozen necklaces while her dad apologized to the person behind the counter. Cute, but it didn’t make sense.
Isaac turned to look at you when he realized that he’d interrupted you and you probably thought he was the most self-absorbed idiot in the world. You were staring at him with wide eyes as if to prove his point.
“I’m sorry, I-”
“No, don’t be sorry.” Your surprise melted into a nervous laugh and you dropped your gaze for a moment. When you looked back at him, your smile had softened into something smaller, something more genuine. “Since our mall trip ended so badly, I thought we could try something else.”
Isaac gave you a lazy smile and nodded his head to the store. “Something next to new?”
You scrunched up your face and groaned, putting your face in your hands. “Ugh, this was a dumb idea, wasn’t it? We can leave. Give me a sec to pull out-”
“No. No, that’s not what I meant-” Isaac reached over to grab your hands before he realized what he was doing. With one touch, it was like you erased the entire world that existed outside your car. It was just you, Isaac, and a whole bunch of electricity. “I just meant,” he said quietly, “that it was really nice of you to do this for me. I’m not really used to people doing nice things for me.”
“Well, get used to it because I’m not going anywhere,” you told him. Your words were quiet but your smile was playful. “Come on.” You tilted your head to the door and pulled away.
Isaac tried to get his heart to beat normally again as your door clicked open and thumped close behind you. He took two deep, steady breaths, then shook his head and met you at the front of your car.
You rocked back and forth on your heels as you waited for him. With a nervous smile, you led Isaac inside. The bell chimed as you opened the door, ringing in Isaac’s head as you greeted the cashier, and Isaac went on the awkward defensive again. He ran his hands along the swaths of fabric as the two of you made your way through the store. Felt, polyester, cotton, and wool greeted his fingertips until Isaac stopped in the formalwear section.
Old dresses mixed with a bizarre assortment of wedding attire and four suits, two with three pieces and each a different color to the last. Isaac took his eyes off the suits to find you trying to hide your glances at him. Isaac didn’t bother to hide his amusement at your secrecy.
“What?” You laughed when you caught Isaac waiting for you to steal another look at him. You tucked some hair behind your ear without thinking about it.
Isaac smiled, stifling another laugh. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you want to.” You looked at Isaac with an expression he couldn’t place. Friendly, playful, but just as he tried putting a better word to it, you looked away. Turning your attention to a gray suit, you waved Isaac over. “What do you think of this one?”
Isaac sighed as he made his way over and tilted his head to get a better look at the suit. “I mean, it’s not terrible,” Isaac said, running his hands up the lapel.
You laughed and bumped your arm into Isaac’s. “Well, high praise for this one aside,” you teased, “maybe we should find something a notch above ‘not terrible’ for the big night.”
“Whatever you say,” Isaac said with a smile. The one suit was a baby blue, which instantly struck it out of Isaac’s book and left him with two black options. Boring, yes, but that’s what made them safe.
Nevertheless, you ushered Isaac into the changing room with his two boring suits and made him promise to take his time so you could try and pick something out for yourself. The thought of you waiting for him made Isaac’s stomach lurch, but he still promised to give each suit a fair chance.
The first suit was a slightly snug; not awful looking, but not the most comfortable. If Isaac was going to be wearing this thing all night in a crowd full of sweaty teenagers, then he was going to need something with a little more breathing room for his inevitable panic attack.
So, shoving away the thoughts of how ridiculous this whole thing was, Isaac changed into the other suit. The button-up was missing a few buttons but he could sew new ones with minimal effort. It fit better than the other one had and didn’t cut off his air supply. Plus, the waistcoat somehow made him look less like a scrawny kid playing dress-up and more like someone who actually had it together.
Looking at himself in this suit, Isaac could imagine himself as the kind of guy you’d have feelings for. Not a guy like Stiles because that would make him throw up, but someone charming. Maybe even eloquent. The kind of guy that didn’t live in his older brother’s shadow or own three different copies of Persuasion (one was a library book he forgot to return, one had been his mom’s, and the other just had a nicer cover than the rest).
In this suit, Isaac had a nicer cover than he usually did.
Realizing that he’d probably spent like five minutes just staring at himself and twisting one of the broken buttons, Isaac raced to get changed. He threw the suit to the side and jumped into his jeans and pulled on his baggy gray t-shirt. Isaac was in the process of pulling on his hoodie and forcing the suit back onto its hanger when he stepped out of the changing room and almost knocked you off your feet.
Reflexively, Isaac grabbed you to keep you from falling over. He stammered out several apologies as his heart exploded, but all you did was laugh.
“It’s okay, promise,” you said with a smile. You held onto Isaac as you got back to your feet. After several seconds of awkward silence, you asked, “So did either of them come out ‘not terrible?’”
“Uh, yeah.” Isaac held out the crumpled suit to you. “This one’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad,” you echoed, taking the suit from Isaac and smoothing it out. “We’ll take it!”
Isaac couldn’t help but laugh. You were adorable and very, very far out of his league. Still, he hung up the rejected suit and met you at the counter to pay.
He was so preoccupied with thoughts of accidentally injuring you that he didn’t notice that you’d already bought something. When Isaac asked about it over celebratory frozen yogurt, all you said was that you needed something for the dance, too.
---
Isaac had never been someone with high hopes. He’d given up on anticipating the future ever since he was thrown into a grave and turned into a werewolf; but, still, he found himself with some very unrealistic expectations of how the dance would go. Chief of which being that you’d ditch Stiles and confess your undying love to Isaac.
Actually, not ‘undying’ love because the universe might take that as a sign to make you immortal or something, and that kind of information wasn’t something Isaac thought he could recover from.
His other expectations, supernatural dilemma aside, were to get through the night without bleeding and to, maybe, hopefully, get to dance with you before leaving early.
Two very simple hopes that went unfilled.
First, Stiles was an asshole and hung around you the whole night. His presence made it impossible for Isaac to talk to you about anything other than the decorations and, if that wasn’t annoying enough, Stiles barely even looked at you. You didn’t mind and Erica didn’t even seem to notice his staring, but Isaac noticed. Isaac minded.
Seeing as it was unlikely that any declaration of love, undying or not, was going to made with Stiles Fucking Stilinski jumping around like a kid on a sugar high, Isaac excused himself to get something to drink and maybe punch a wall. You seemed disappointed - not at the wall punching, because Isaac didn’t mention that, but at his leaving. Still, you let him go with a smile nonetheless.
Isaac smiled, too. It felt like all he’d been doing the whole night was smiling, even when you gave him your sympathies about Erica not being his date. He was going to explain everything to you right then and there when Stiles had shown up with his stupid hair and frustrating jokes.
The punch had a sharp, bitter taste that wasn’t there at the beginning of the night and Isaac pulled a face. His dislike of alcohol wasn’t because he was worried about getting drunk (his supernatural metabolism made sure that was never a possibility), but because he just didn’t like the taste. Thanks to his dad, he’d been around the stuff long enough for it to lose its appeal.
Dumping his glass in a potted plant, Isaac turned back to survey the gym. He’d just spotted you in the crowd when Erica and Boyd materialized on either side of him. Erica grabbed his now empty cup and threw it to the side.
“Hey!” Isaac whined.
“We have to go,” she said in her black and blue voice. “Derek needs us.”
Of course, he did. Heaven forbid Isaac had one night free from Hale drama. “Right now?”
“Right now,” Boyd repeated. “The hunters are making their move and Derek says there’s another wolf pack. He can’t take them all by himself. Sorry, man.”
Erica put her hands on Isaac’s shoulders and steered him towards the dance floor. “So go tell your sweetheart that there’s a family emergency and meet us outside, okay?” She shoved him into the floor before Isaac had the chance to argue.
Isaac wasn’t sure where you came from, but you caught him before he landed on his ass, at least. Your face was full of concern as you helped Isaac stand back up and asked what was going on.
Casting a look over his shoulder, Isaac couldn’t find Erica or Boyd. They were already on the move and Isaac didn’t have time to explain everything. “I’ve gotta go,” Isaac interrupted you. He let out a breath as he turned back to you. Then, with a painful smile, he added, “Family emergency.”
“Oh,” you said. You blinked hard as you thought of something else to say. “Do you need a ride?”
“No, Erica and Boyd are already outside,” Isaac said. It was hard for him to focus on you over the sound of the music and his beating heart. “I, uh- I’ve had a lot of fun with you these past few weeks. Thanks.”
You nodded, looking down at your intertwined hands for a second. You gave his hands a squeeze. “Me too,” you said. “I’ll see you on Monday?”
“Monday,” Isaac lied with a bittersweet smile. He decided, since he was most likely going to be killed in the woods in seventeen minutes anyway, to do something that he’d never dreamed possible.
Letting go of your hands, Isaac stepped forward and kissed your cheek. He disappeared before you had the chance to say anything.
If the night had ended there, it wouldn’t have mattered much that none of Isaac’s hopes had been met because at least he’d gotten to kiss your cheek. The problem was that, like most nights, it didn’t end when Isaac wanted it to.
The night kept going, and Isaac got shot with arrows and electrocuted with arrows and mauled by some out of control werewolves. He’d lost Erica and Boyd somewhere in the chaos and he’d never even found Derek to begin with. The night kept going, and Isaac was bloody and alone.
He couldn’t go back to the loft, purely because he wasn’t strong enough to make it there. He had no idea where the root cellar was. The night kept going, and Isaac was bleeding out with nowhere to turn.
Still, he ran.
Isaac had survived so much in his short time on this goddamn bitch of an earth, and he wasn’t about to give up because his spleen had ruptured or because he had no idea where he was. No, Isaac ran because - despite everything - he wanted to live.
He ran and ran until he eventually found something familiar. Unluckily, it wasn’t the hospital or the animal clinic but your house. Isaac would have kept running if he thought his leg could make it, but he knew they couldn’t.
So, Isaac made the agonizing journey up to your front door. He rang the bell. You’d just opened the door, and all Isaac managed to get out was: “I didn’t know where else to go.”
And then he collapsed.
Part 5
Tagged: @lettherebelovex @britty443 @ietss @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @chocolate-raspberries @jellybelly-jones @f1nal-g1rl
#i watch teen wolf for the plot#teen wolf#(un)requited#isaac lahey imagine#isaac lahey#isaac lahey x reader#isaac lahey fanfiction
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russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3
read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net
chapter one
chapter two
summary: After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something
okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk
also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid
Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail
The morning after is quiet.
...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.
When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.
"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."
Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.
"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."
Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-
"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.
Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"
Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."
He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.
Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"
Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."
"Ah." Leafstar considers this.
"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"
Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"
Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."
Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.
Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!
"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."
The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.
"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.
After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"
Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.
From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.
Rootkit ignores it.
As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.
Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.
"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.
"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.
His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."
"I know exactly what I'm doing."
Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.
"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"
"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."
"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.
Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.
Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.
"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.
Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.
Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.
"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"
Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."
Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."
Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."
It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.
"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.
Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.
The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.
Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then, something shifts.
It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.
Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"
But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.
"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.
Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"
Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"
He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.
"What is this?"
The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.
Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"
Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.
"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.
"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."
Rootkit blinks.
"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."
"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."
"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."
Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."
Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"
"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."
Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.
Russetfur doesn't say anything.
"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."
Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.
She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"
Rootkit could kill her.
In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."
That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.
The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.
"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"
Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.
"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"
Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.
"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."
"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.
That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.
This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.
Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"
Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.
"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."
Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"
"Your life."
That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."
Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"
The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.
Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.
It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."
Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."
"No deal," Russetfur snaps.
"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.
Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.
"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.
Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."
Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.
"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.
Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.
They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.
"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.
Rootkit couldn't agree more.
#warrior cats#warriors fanfiction#wc#wc fanfiction#warriors#rootspring#needleclaw#russetfur#tree#leafstar#violetshine#now that the general premise is done#everything from here on out is stupid ghost shenanigans#you know#if i ever get around to writing them
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IV. The First Taste*
Summary: NSFW Chapter.
Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader
A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!
Slow Like Honey Masterpost
Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.
You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.
You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?
But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.
Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.
Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.
In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.
Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.
Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.
Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.
Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.
You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.
Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:
I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!
You blink.
Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.
Oh perfect, now he’s calling.
“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.
“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”
You huff and sputter at him, “Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”
He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”
The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.
“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”
“Oh hush, Steven.”
A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.
“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”
You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.
“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?
Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.
“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”
You holster the gun.
“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”
“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”
You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”
What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.
So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.
“Jesus.”
Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.
You feel deflated, too.
Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.
No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.
So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.
You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!
Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.
The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.
Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.
Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.
---
You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.
The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.
“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”
“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.
He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.
Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.
“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”
You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.
“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”
This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.
Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!
Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.
“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”
Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.
“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.
“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.
“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.
The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.
“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.
A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.
He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.
“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.
It doesn’t.
But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.
The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.
Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.
The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!
Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.
You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.
“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”
Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.
“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.
The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.
I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.
“Um…” Your voice cracks.
I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.
Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.
Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.
“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”
His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”
You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?
Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”
His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”
Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”
“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”
He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.
The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”
He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.
“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“
“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”
Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”
You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”
Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.
Oh.
He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.
Is this okay?
With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.
“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”
“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”
He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.
“Can we---”
You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.
“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”
Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.
“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”
You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.
It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.
He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.
Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.
“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”
A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.
“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.
The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.
Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.
“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.
You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.
“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.
“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”
“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”
He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.
But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.
You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.
It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.
“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”
With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.
Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.
“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?
You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”
With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.
Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.
“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.
For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.
You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.
The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.
“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.
It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.
“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.
Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.
You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”
He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.
You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”
With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.
When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.
As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.
In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.
Next Chapter
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Say Thank You X
Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.
Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.
Chapter Warnings: talk of Stockholm Syndrome and gas lighting tactics.
Word Count: 3.8k
AN: Whelp this one really got away from me ngl. I had intended to include so much more in this chapter yet all of a sudden I was already at 2.8k and had hardly done anything. I hope it lives up to the hype from last chapter x
I. New York ~ II. Madrid ~ III. The Apartment ~ IV. The Trip ~ V. The Basement ~ VI. The First Lesson ~ VII. The Waiting Game ~ VIII. The First Attempt ~ IX. The Darkness
Series Masterlist
My Masterlist
X. The Truth
You felt cold, huddling further into the blankets as Steve started pulling on his clothes, running a shaking hand through his hair, his eyes flickering over to you every few seconds. Even with everything that he had done to you, you still wanted to comfort him. Obviously whatever was going on was freaking him out.
You resisted the part of your brain that craved to get out of bed and wrap your arms around him, trying to calm him down. You hated that he had done this to you, made you feel distressed for him, not only because of him. You watched as he continued to dress, pulling his pants on and then his shirt and shoes before coming back to where you lay on the bed. You watched in trepidation as he pulled you into his arms, wrapping them firmly around your body. Despite how tightly he held you, you could still feel the slight tremble that resonated through his body. Something big was clearly going on.
‘What’s going on Steve?’ Your words were mumbled against his pale blue shirt, the fabric dampening the sound and even though Steve didn’t respond for a long time, you knew he had heard you.
‘It’s nothing Doll. Just go back to bed. I’ll be back down soon.’ You whimpered as he disentangled himself from you and stood from the bed. You watched him walk away, back towards the door, pausing once he got there to look back at you, his fear clearly reflected in his eyes as he stared at you like it may be the last time he would ever see you again.
You were silent as his eyes held yours for a moment before breaking away and running a hand through his hair once more as he stared at the steel door in front of him. He didn’t look back as he pulled it open and closed behind him. The click of the lock signalled his departure as he left you alone once more.
+
Steve’s heart was racing as he climbed the stairs, dreading having to open his door. He was partly tempted to just pretend he wasn’t even at home, to just leave Bucky standing out there and head back down to the basement. However he knew that it wouldn’t solve any of his problems, knowing Bucky he would just come back later or break down the door.
Even though he had barely been away from you for a minute, he was already missing you. He felt kind of pathetic for it but the way you had felt beneath him, your walls fluttering around him just made him want to turn around and ignore Bucky. The taste of you was still on his tongue and if he weren’t so incredibly stressed about his best friend finding out what was going on, he definitely would have been hard underneath his trackies.
While the sex had been amazing that morning, it wasn’t what he loved the most about the interaction. What had really made him feel like he was sky high was the way you hadn’t pulled away from him. Not during, and not after.
He had worried that after yesterday it would be awhile before you came back to him yet you had lied there, curled against his chest, your arms wrapped around his torso as you both came back down. Steve didn’t want to be too hasty in moving your relationship forward, especially after what had happened yesterday, but it had filled him with hope.
Steve paused on his way to the door, realising that he probably looked and smelt like sex. There wasn’t a lot he could about the smell about he headed into the bathroom quickly to give himself a once over, running his hands through his hair, trying to tame the post-sex style he was sporting. While a shower would be amazing, Bucky was standing outside his door, probably already wondering what the hell was taking him so long so he left the safety of the bathroom and headed back into the passage, taking the steps as slowly as he could.
He tried to convince himself that there was no way Bucky could know what was going on. Sure he had been acting kind of strange and secluded the past month or so since meeting you again but surely Bucky hadn’t figured out what he had done. It was times like these that Steve really hated working with a bunch of super observant super spies. There was no such thing as secrets.
Taking a deep breath and trying to calm his nerves, Steve placed his hand onto the door lock and twisted, pulling it open.
+
You stared at the door through which Steve had left for a long time, waiting for him to come back down and tell you what the hell was going on. You didn’t understand what had happened to make him so freaked out but it was making you nervous by extension.
Your mind was continually replaying the way his face and paled as he stared at his phone, the slight tremor of his hands as he held the sleek device, the way he had stared at you, had held you before he left, the terror that was so evident on his face.
You scarcely dared to hope. Maybe someone had realised what had happened to you. You tried to count the days you had been trapped down here, tried to remember how long it had been. The days were fuzzy, they all tended to mix together but you were almost sure it had been over two weeks, heading towards three since that night Steve had taken you from your apartment.
Relief flooded through you. If you were right and it had been nearly three weeks, surely Mariana was missing you, surely she had called the police once you didn’t return from your trip to New York. Maybe that was why Steve had been so panicked, some way, somehow, the police had tracked you to him. A smile covered your face, maybe you would be free soon.
However as you headed back to the bed, trying to cover yourself for when the police broke down the door, you didn’t expect the guilt to begin to bubble up through you. If the police came, they would take you away from Steve, he’d be locked away for breaking the accords, for saving his friend.
Turmoil wrecked through your body as you sat, your fingers playing with the smooth satin sheets, your eyes flickering around the room. You tried to be rational yet every time you even thought of someone taking you away from Steve your mind would replay that morning, the way his tongue danced around your skin, the feeling of him inside of you. A shiver ran up your spine as you remembered that. The feeling of fullness he had given you was too good to resist. He had touched places inside of you previous lovers hadn’t even come close to.
Yet with every good memory of the way he had held you as you read aloud to him, or every time he had helped with your hair before bed came a terrible memory. The feeling of his palm whacking your skin, his thick leather belt when you had tried to escape, the sheer anger that had radiated off of him yesterday tormented you. You could still feel the undeniable sting in your ass as you sat, a constant reminder of what he had done.
You didn’t understand the turmoil you felt. You didn’t understand the guilt, the sense of sadness that came with the idea of being rescued. Any sane person would leave with the police and never look back.
Staring at the steel door, you questioned your sanity.
+
Bucky’s bored face was the first thing Steve saw as he pulled open the door. His best friend didn’t bother waiting for an invitation inside, merely sidestepped him and entered his house, giving him a long once over. ‘Last time I checked you were still a healthy young punk, not some senior citizen who takes five minutes to answer his doorbell.’
‘Sorry Buck, I uh… I was just about to take a shower.’ Lying to his best friend felt unnatural and just plain wrong but he couldn’t tell him the truth, not with everything that he had been through.
‘Oh a shower huh? Yeah I see that. Sometimes after sex I like to shower too, helps get the smell off of me.’ Steve was glad he was no longer facing Bucky as he led him down the hall, mentally cursing himself for answering the door and not getting back in bed like he wanted to. The two men took a seat at Steve’s coffee table and the blonde twiddled his thumbs, watching his best friend stare him down. ‘Don’t even try and deny it Stevie, I’ve known for a while. I’m just really starting to get worried, you left the meeting early yesterday you’ve been completely MIA since Madrid. I know we were away on a mission but you didn’t call, not once to see how it was going. You’re just not acting like yourself and Nat and I are starting to get a little concerned. What’s going on? Who is she?’
‘I’m not ready to talk about it yet Buck. It’s… it’s still too new, too fragile. Plus if I do you’re gonna hate me.’ Steve could barely look him in the eyes, focusing instead on his fingers as they played with themselves.
‘Okay, now I know something’s seriously wrong with you. I could never hate you Stevie. You my best pal, I just want to know what’s going on.’ His words did little to settle the uneasiness that bubbled in Steve’s stomach.
‘But you will. I’m basically doing what Hydra did to you, to her.’ The admission itself felt good but the long pause that followed his words didn’t.
‘What do you mean Steve? What do you mean you’re doing what Hydra did to me, to her?’ He could feel Bucky’s eyes on him but the words didn’t want to come. While they were definitely questionable, Steve could justify his actions to himself. He was lonely and had done so much for the world and received so little in return. He had been thrown out of his time and forced into the twenty-first century. Everything had been taken from him. Was it really so wrong for him to want something, someone to himself?
‘I just… I saw her. Years ago. It was the battle of New York and I-I saved her but she didn’t… She didn’t say thank you. Months passed; years passed, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind and then I saw her. She was working in that little cantina, you know the one we were observing because of Alejandro? I don’t know why she was there but she was. After all this time apart and to just see her again, it was too much. I didn’t want to lose her once more. I know it sounds crazy because we didn’t even know each other but I felt like we did. I had spent years obsessing over her and here she was, just ready for the taking.’ The words didn’t feel quite coming out of Steve’s mouth but he pushed on, needing for Bucky to understand.
‘I knew it was wrong, I knew I shouldn’t do it but I started to watch her, following her whenever I could and when she booked a ticket back to New York, I took it as a sign. She was coming back, she was coming back to me. She may not have known it at the time but she was.’ His mouth went dry and his mind blank as he tried to come up with the words for how to describe what happened next.
‘What did you do to her Steve? Where is she?’ Bucky’s voice was low, as though he were talking to a frightened animal and not one of the world’s mightiest heroes.
‘Downstairs.’ The word was barely more than a whisper yet Bucky’s reaction was immediate. He stood from the table, his chair scraping against the hardwood.
‘You’re keeping her in the basement? Steve for god sake! She’s a person too.’
‘Don’t you think I know that Bucky? Don’t you think I feel bad about what I’m having to do? But if I want this to work, if I want us to work then this is what I have to do. Plus this way I can always make sure she’s safe and that she won’t be able to run from me. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to make her life better.’
‘Make her life better? Steve, she’s trapped in your basement.’
‘She’s not trapped and she won’t be there forever. When she finally learns how to behave, I’ll take her out. She’ll live up here with me. I have it all planned out. And i am making her life better. She was miserable in Madrid, her apartment was a tiny, unconditioned little thing. She had no one except for that old lady who owned the cantina and while she may only have me now, eventually I really want her to have you and the rest of the team too. She has no family, no one who will miss her and I want to give her that, a family. I love her Buck. I know I’ve completely gone about it the wrong way but I was so scared that she would just reject me again or something like that. Surely after everything I’ve suffered, I deserve this one little piece of happiness?’
Steve watched Bucky as he absorbed everything that had been said, processing Steve’s justification of what had happened.
‘I want to meet her.’ Bucky was firm, retaking his seat at the table across from Steve, his eyes never leaving Steve’s.
‘I’m sorry Buck but I can’t let that happen.’
‘What do you mean you can’t let that happen?’ Bucky’s response was biting yet Steve held firm.
‘She’s not ready yet. I don’t think it will take too much longer, she’s already softening towards me but she’s not ready to see anyone other than me yet, especially not after what happened yesterday.’
‘Ahh, so that was about her. What happened that made you leave so suddenly?’
Steve had to break eye contact, swallowing down his guilt. ‘She tried to escape.’ Bucky could see the guilt in Steve’s eyes and he knew what came next without even needing to ask. ‘I had to punish her. To show her that behaviour like that is unacceptable. But she’s forgiven me, or she will. She’ll understand.’
There was a long pause while Bucky stared at his best friend, confused as to when he became the type of person that thought kidnapping a young woman was okay. Yet he did have to admit, he could understand where Steve was coming from. The two of them had sacrificed so much, too much, and despite the limited amount of time Bucky had spent with his best friend since coming back from Madrid, he could see the changes in Steve already, he truly did love her in his own messed up way.
‘I want to at least see her then. You said you had to make sure she’s safe so I assume you have cameras set up in her room.’ Steve nodded, thankful that Bucky was still talking to him, that he seemed to be coming around to the idea. He pulled out his phone, opening the security app and took a quick glance, his heart settling as he saw you were completely covered by the white sheets. At least he wouldn’t have to explain why you weren’t wearing any clothes.
Bucky’s eyes squinted as he stared at the phone, swiping through the different camera angles as he tried to find one that gave him a good enough view of your face. Although there was a screen separating the two of you, Bucky could read you like a book. He saw the conflicting emotions as they played across your face, the subdued excitement, the heavy guilt, the immense worry. He wasn’t entirely sure what it all meant but you seemed healthy enough, at least what he could see of you and he knew that despite the punishments Steve would be treating you well and the room seemed to be fully decked out with anything you could need. He nodded slowly, passing the phone back to Steve.
‘So you’ve had her since Madrid? That was what, three weeks ago? Has she seen any sunlight since then?’
Yet another surge of guilt flooded Steve as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘No. I had plans yesterday, I wanted to take her for a picnic but then she tried to escape and I couldn’t really reward her after that.’
‘Steve c’mon man. You know better than this. Three weeks without having even seen the sun? The least you could do is unseal the windows. They’re unshatterable so it’s not like she’ll be able to escape through them.’
‘They were unsealed. How do you think she tried to escape yesterday? She threw one of the chairs against it. I need to replace it now, it’s in tatters from the force of being thrown against a window multiple times.’
Bucky’s lips were pursed as he considered what Steve was saying. He understood - despite still slightly disagreeing with the method used - that if Steve really wanted this to work certain things had to be done. ‘Fine, but the windows come unsealed tonight. Say it’s a reward for behaving so well today while you were gone or whatever and she better feel the sunlight before the week is up. It can’t be healthy for her going so long without it.’
A small smile crossed Steve’s face as he heard Bucky’s recommendations. He wasn’t berating him for being a monster or for all the awful things he had done. He was helping him, guiding him.
‘I’m gonna head back to HQ, I need to run some errands before I head back to Wakanda.’ The smile fell from Steve’s face.
‘What do you mean before you head back to Wakanda?’ He saw the hesitation in Bucky’s face as he considered his words.
‘Well, if you had been listening to the briefing yesterday, you would know that I wasn’t feeling so well in Sokovia, some new memories and nightmares came. I think I’m going to head back to Wakanda and see is Shuri can help me any more than she already has.’
A deep, inherently selfish part of Steve didn’t want his best friend disappearing again, he felt like he had only just got him back, but he knew that if Bucky were going to continue doing this type of work, he needed to be able to trust his mind one-hundred percent so he nodded. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘I’m not sure, in a couple of days at least. I want to meet your girl before I leave so I guess whenever you feel she’s ready for visitors.’ Steve stood from the table, bringing his best friend in for a hug.
‘I know it’s completely messed up but thanks for understanding. I love her, I really do and I want you to meet her so badly because I know you’ll love her too. She’s good for me Buck, she’s so good for me.’
‘I don’t doubt that Stevie, but I meant what I said about the sunshine thing, you need to take care of her. I know it’s hard because she’s misbehaving but you can;t screw it up. You don’t want to push her too far and not have her come back to you.’
Steve nodded solemnly as he followed Bucky back through the hallway, towards the front door, watching from the doorstep as he got into his car and drove away.
Only when the car completely disappeared from view could Steve finally let out the breath that he had been holding in.
+
You hadn’t moved from your position on the bed, your fingers still playing with the white satin as you stared at the door, waiting to see what would happen. Without the sun shining in through your windows, you had no way of telling how much time had passed since Steve had disappeared upstairs, no way of telling what would happen when he came back down, if he came back down.
You tried to busy yourself by retreating to your happy place, a place you spent a lot of time the past few weeks but it wasn’t quite doing it for you today. On a normal day it would just be you, sitting alone in a library, or lying in a field in the sun reading some book, yet today there was always a presence with you. Not necessarily Steve, yet he was warm and muscular and he held you as you read aloud to him.
You tried to get your mind to shut up, to stop thinking about that man, it wasn’t healthy, yet when you weren’t in your happy place with the men who wasn’t-Steve, you were worrying about him, about what was taking so long.
When the familiar click of the lock sung out through the empty room, you couldn’t stop yourself from rushing to the door, ignoring your obvious nakedness. You hated yourself slightly that when you saw it was Steve standing behind the door, seemingly unhurt, you flung your arms around him without thinking.
You pressed your body against his, craving his heat in the chill of the room, thankful that he had returned to you even though it meant that your rescue clearly wasn’t happening today. You felt his body tense slightly at your touch but eventually, the longer you held onto him for, the calmer he got, wrapping his own arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer.
‘What happened Stevie? You had me so worried when you left.’ The sound of his nickname falling from your lips did not escape his notice as he stroked your skin, relishing in the feeling of you against him.
‘It’s fine Sweetheart. It was just a friend coming to visit. He wanted to chat about a few things and when you’re ready for visitors, I really want you to meet him.’
When you’re ready for visitors.
His words echoed around in your head, swirling against your temple. You would be able to see other people? Not just Steve? He didn’t just want to keep you trapped down here for all eternity? It felt like too much to hope for, being able to go outside and talk to other people so you tried to push the thoughts down and out of your head.
Instead you chose to focus on the feel of Steve’s palms running up and down your bare back, burying your face even further into his chest as he held onto you.
+
Tags will be added in a reblog
XI. The Syndrome
Series Masterlist
My Masterlist
#say thank you#Steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x you#steve x you#steve x reader#steve x y/n#captain America#dark!Steve Rogers#Dark Steve#dark captain america#dark steve x reader#dark steve x you#Dark!verse#dark marvel#marvel series#marvel#honeyhan writes#captain america x reader
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D is for Dangerous - part IV
Hey hi! It took me so long to finish this part but finally here it is. I really hope you guys are gonna like this second-to-last part of this fic. Let me know what you think of it!
Part I, Part II, Part III
Summary: driven by the desire of revenge, the reader tries to take down the man who ruined her life only to find out that her plan is an utter fiasco; however she meets a man that is gonna change her life and give her the chance of a lifetime
Warnings: use of weapons and a little bit of smut
You hoped the coldness of the water might’ve helped you clear your thoughts, distracting you. As you gave yourself a look in the mirror, water droplets were running down your cheeks, falling right in the sink. Your eyes, usually so cold and full of determination, were now the reflection of chaos. Lost and devastated — that’s how you felt.
I used to work for Kuklinski. No matter how hard you tried not to think at Four’s words, they kept echoing in your head. Not that you’d heard his story, given that you had literally ran off from him. You were starting to regret it, though, given that there was one simple question that was eating you alive.
Had he been part of the assassination of your parents?
As you moved your hair off your face your hands started to shake, perfectly describing how you felt just at the thought of Four being involved in it. Now that you finally knew why was he so mad at Kuklinski, you wished you didn’t.
You had to know more. You had to know if he’d killed your parents.
And that thought gave you the strength to get out of your room — even though you felt unsteady in your own feet, you forced yourself to keep moving. You felt like a robot, walking though the cold hallways of the building without paying attention to what was surrounding you.
And when you finally found yourself in front of Four’s door, it took you five minutes to find the will to knock. You closed your hand in a fist, trying to stop it from shaking as you waited for him to open it. Your thoughts were running wild and you were torn between the desire of punching him and the one of conforming him.
And when you finally heard the lock clicking, you still hadn’t made up your mind.
His green eyes immediately found yours. You lifted your chin as he clenched his jaw, unsure what to say. You tried to remain composed as you swallowed in vain, saying in an uncertain voice “Can I come in?”
Four didn’t reply — he limited himself to nod at your question and walk aside in order to let you come into his room. “I think it’s better if you sit down.”
You didn’t like the awkwardness of the moment but Four was right. You didn’t trust your own legs, so you sat down to his mattress. Your chest rise and lower as you took a deep breath, looking at your own hands in nervousness before looking up to meet his gaze.
”Did you?”, you immediately asked. You couldn’t wait any longer.
Four narrowed his brows. “What?”
It took you all the strength you had not to make your voice shake as you asked him in a cold tone “Did you kill my parents?”
Four parted his lips, as if he was trying to process your question. His golden hair was messier than usual and God knows how much he’d slipped his fingers through it during the last hour. “Bloody hell, Eight. No. No, I didn’t. I didn’t kill your parents. I have nothing to do with it.”
You wanted to believe him. You had to. The look in his eyes — so desperate and sad — suggested you that he was being honest, and you truly wished he was. You didn’t reply, you limited yourself to nod at his words. That’s probably what pushed him to add “Please, believe me.” His voice, so soft and low, almost broke at the end of the sentence.
Even though you were trying so hard to avoid it, your eyes became teary at his words. You hurried to get rid of the few tears that had escaped and you raised your gaze to meet him once again. “I do.” You nodded to confirm your words and then you softly said “I’m— I’m sorry I just ran off.”
Four nodded as he leaned against the wall in front of you, arms crossed in his chest as his eyes never left yours. “No need to apologise. It was a bit of a shock, I know.”
“Yeah.”
Four exhaled deeply and the two of you stood quiet for a while. His past seemed to upset him, you noticed it by the shade of his eyes and by the stiffness of his posture. The fact that you were forcing him to open up was killing you, but you had to know.
“I need to know, Four.”
“I know.”
“You know it’s fair—“
“Yes, it is”, he murmured as he picked up a chair and sat on it. Even though he was in front of you, he kept the distance, which allowed you to think clearly about his words. You weren’t yourself when Four was around you.
It took him some time before he could finally find the courage to start talking about his story. “I was born in England, I think you got that from my accent. And yeah, Harry is my brother. He’s three years younger than me. The surname and the family is all we have in common, though. We never really bonded.”
Hearing of the relationship he had with his brother made you think of Emily. You wondered how she was, what was she doing, if she was thinking of you.
You started thinking of a mini-version of Four, his golden hair flying everywhere as he ran in a big, green field. And you felt incredibly sorry at the fact that he hadn’t been as lucky as you in matter of family.
“I— uhm, I might have asked you before”, you stated as he paused his speech. “What’s your realname?”
Four smiled. It wasn’t one of those forced smiles you were obliged to do as a sign of courtesy. Oh no, you’d known Four enough to know that he only smiled when he genuinely felt like doing it. He cleared his voice, rubbing his hands and saying “Billy.”
“Billy”, you repeated. You slowly nodded, trying to process the news along with the rest of the shocking ones Four revealed you. “You look like a Billy.”
“You look like a Y/N.” Your name coming from his lips sounded so different. It’d been a while since you last heard the sound of your name and it was quite a weird feeling. You were surprised by the fact that he remembered it.
“You remember.”
Four narrowed his brows and gave you a little grin. “‘f course I do.”
Geez, you truly hoped your cheeks weren’t turning bright red.
You cleared your voice and you looked away from him, playing with your hands and staying quiet for a while. But then you broke the silence by saying “How did you and Harry end up working for Kuklinski?”
There were still important matters to deal with.
Four lowered his gaze and rubbed again his hands, probably trying to find the right words. “At the age of eighteen I moved to NY and joined this group of people — they were the only friends I had. We were pretty good at parkour, actually, and we decided to use our skills to do something. To gain some money, y’know. Our business had been going on for a while when suddenly one day Harry called me. I didn’t know he’d moved to the US too, but he proposed me something. A job. At the time the idea of gaining some money by doing something I was good at tempted me. I was young and naive.”
You were trying to remain impassive at his story, bu you were miserably failing. That was Kuklinki’s power. He gave you hope, money, a purpose, but then he fucked with your life. He didn’t care about anyone but himself.
When you met Four’s eyes, you noticed they’d changed into a different shade. Darker, even deeper. “I didn’t know what part of Kuklinski’s business Harry was taking care of, until the day of the party.”
“And what did you do?” Your words were nothing but a whisper.
Four pursed his lips. “I was his ears and eyes, informing him of his enemies’ moves. He used to call me ‘the skywalker’.”
You were about to make him a question but he preceded you. “I know what you wanna ask me, and no. He never asked me to check on your parents. I didn’t even know they were involved with him until One gave me your file and asked me to recruit you.”
“He has a file on me?”
Four gave you the typical ‘Seriously? Right now?’ look and you shrugged. “He has a file on each and everyone of us.”
You slowly nodded at his words and you bit your lower lip. “When did you join the group?”
“I’d been working for Kuklinski for a few months — we were in Kiev, me and some other guys. And my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? “Well, ex-girlfriend. She backstabbed me”, he added.
You gave him a questioning look and he leaned towards the back of the chair. “We had to spy on a powerful enemy of Kuklinski who at the time was hiding in Ukraine. Of course we took some liberties, too. We’d been told that the Kalahari — a jewel worth millions, if not even billions — was hidden in the house of an important functionary. As we broke into his apartment, someone called the police. Right before running away I’d managed to find it — God knows if I needed the money it was worth. We ran away in a rush and we had to climb an old billboard that was coming apart. I made one wrong move — I held on an old wiring but it broke on one side.”
“Geez”, you whispered.
Four pursed his lips and nodded. “To make it short, I managed to hold onto the corner of a building and as I was holding the jewel in my mouth, I asked my girlfriend to grab my hand and help me. But all she cared about was the Kalahari, so she grabbed it. I fell for six floors, maybe even more, right into a building. One was there, he showed me his plan and he recruited me. Now I’m working for a cause I believe him, I’m free from Kuklinski and my backstabbing girlfriend, along with my brother, are still working for that son of a bitch.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
Four slipped his fingers trough his hair and sighed deeply. “The things I’ve seen, the horrible things he made me witness—”
Four’s voice broke right in the middle of the sentence. Your heart sank at the sight of Four’s sorrow and you stood up, walking towards him. You slipped your fingers through his blonde hair, closing you eyes. His pain was almost touchable.
He raised his gaze to meet yours and your hands slipped on his cheeks. His eyes were teary and it broke your heart. Four, who had always been so strong and cocky, was falling apart in your hands. You leaned towards him and whispered “I’m sorry.”
His lips were just a few inches away from yours, but you hurried to eliminate the distance between you. Just like the first time you’d kissed him, his touch was soft but firm. He immediately placed both his hands on your cheek and the two of you stood up without backing away.
There was a difference between the two kisses, though — he didn’t reject you. Four kissed you back, deepening the moment by pulling your body close to his.
The two of you started to move back towards the bed and you made Four sit on the mattress as you sat on top of him. Your face was just a few inches away from his and his lips were so close that they almost grazed yours. In his beautiful, green eyes there was a look that you’d never seen before. The kind of look that makes you feel like if you have butterflies in your stomach.
He cupped your cheek and touched your nose with his, finally kissing you again. His touch was so soft that it gave you the goosebumps. You immediately leaned towards him, but you didn’t want to rush the situation. It was just as perfect as it was going.
Your hand slipped to his neck and then inside of his shirt, making your fingers run through his bare back. At the same time, Four’s hand was slipping through your arm with a soft touch.
His shirt was just being in the way, so you lifted it and took it out. His body was a masterpiece, with all his flaws. As you laid on top of him you gently grazed his torso, starting from his collarbone down to his lower muscles. You could feel his green eyes closely following your movements with caution.
He wanted you, you could feel and see that, and the sensation of his body pressed against yours did nothing but increase the need. But you had no chance to know how the strike could’ve been, what would’ve happened — it was a bloody dangerous mission. And that’s the reason why you wanted to enjoy every second with him, to feel at the very best all the emotions that his touch gave you.
“Eight”, he whispered, but sure as hell he wasn’t begging you to stop touching him. His hands moved to your hips, grazing your naked skin before getting rid of your tee. Four made his hands slip from your thighs to your chest, now only covered by your bra. His soft touch gave you chills and so you shrugged, making him giggle. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
You bit your lower lip at his words, placing your lips on his in a soft kiss. Your hands were exploring his chest — you just weren’t able to keep your hands to yourself.
Four explored your body, too. His calloused fingers grazed your back down to your sweatpants. You were starting to grow impatient so you backed away from his lips, placing your hand on his and pushing him to drop both your trousers and your panties. You stood up to get rid of them and right after they were long forgotten on the floor. “Bloody jeans”, you murmured as you tried to unzip them. Four giggled and helped you get rid of them in a hurry.
Your naked bodies fit perfectly and it felt so right. That thought left you breathless for a couple of moment so Four surrounded your hips with his arm and switched the positions, laying on top of you.
And immediately his hands were all over you, slipping from your bare chest to your belly and even further to your thighs. His green eyes were constantly checking on you, trying to spot the slightest change of mood, but you wanted him. You wanted him more than you have ever wanted anything or anyone in your life.
His soft and warm lips explored your chest, focusing on your boobs and teasing your nipples with his tongue. His gaze was so overwhelming that you had to look away, your hands gripping on the sheets as you tried to keep control. “No, love. Eyes on me.” He gently turned your head towards him as the other hand was firmly holding your hip.
You bit your lower lip and your hips automatically lifted against his touch as he gently kissed your lower belly. “So bloody beautiful”, He whispered.
“Four.” You couldn’t even recognise your own voice.
“You like that?”
You could feel the warmth of his tongue against your most sensitive zone and you just hummed in response — your breath was too heavy for you to say a meaningful word. His blonde hair gave you the goosebumps when touching your inner tight and you smiled at the memory of thinking how it’d have been to sink your fingers on it.
“You okay?”, He asked once he’d come back to your lips. His whispers and your heavy breath were the only sounds in the room.
You slowly nodded, almost begging “Please” before taking his face in your hands and placing your lips on his. He immediately kissed you back, deepening the moment and pushing his body against yours. He wanted you, and that’s exactly what his wood pressed against your lower belly was telling you.
And when he slowly sank into you his gaze never lost yours; your hands slipped through his bare back up to his neck, your fingers sinking between his blonde hair.
You surrounded his waist with your legs and crossed your ankles, trying to feel him as much as you could in each and everyone of his pushes. “Fuck, Y/N”, He murmured as he hid his face on your neck, his heavy breath caressing your skin as he kept sinking into you. He’d called you by your name, your real name, and if it wasn’t for the situation your eyes’d have become teary.
You both reached the culmination a few moments later, his green eyes never leaving yours as he grunted. When he laid down right next to you with a sigh, at first you were too worn off to say something. As the seconds went by you turned your head towards him, meeting his gaze already fixed on you. The sight of his tight smile made you chuckle, and he asked by widening his smile “What?”
“Nothing”, You said between the giggles.
“Was it bad?”
“Oh my god.” You hid your face on his neck and he surrounded your waist with his arm.
“Eight.”
“No, absolutely. It’s been great.” You placed your chin on his shoulder to face him.
“Good.” He pursed his lips but you could tell your words pumped up his ego.
“So, Billy”, you teased him with a grin.
“Yeah...”
“It’s lovely.” And you were being honest.
Four limited himself to just look at you, making you slightly blush. Your attention was caught by the scar that crossed his brow, so you slowly grazed it with the tip of your finger. “How did you get it?”
“Parkour isn’t exactly the safest thing on earth.”
“So you smashed your face.”
Four laughed again. “Yeah, sort of.”
“Can I ask you something?” A question had just popped in your mind.
Four limited himself to nod a ‘yes’ and you bit your lower lip, taking your time before saying “Why’d you reject me?”
His blonde brows were now narrowed in a questioning look. One of his hand was resting under his head and the light coming from the window made him look like Adonis. “Huh?”
“That day at the gym. You said that it was because of the stress I was under.”
“It wasn’t?”, He asked almost in a playful tone and you slapped him in his chest.
“’f course it wasn’t.”
Four pursed his lips and sighed deeply. “I felt guilty.”
“For what?”
“I used to work for the man that ruined your family, Eight. The look in your eyes every time his name was pronounced — I couldn’t forgive myself. I still can’t.”
His eyes were so clear and so honest that pushed you to place a hand on his cheek, making him look right at you. “I do, Billy. I forgive you.”
And the smile he gave you made your heart do a backflip. He didn’t reply, though. He kissed you, pressing your body against his.
One week ago you’d never thought to find yourself in this situation, but there you were. Right into Four’s arms.
His hand started to go up and down on your bare lower back, relaxing your muscles and making your feel even more comfortable. “Are you scared?”
He seemed to reflect on your question. “Just a bit worried.”
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
“And you won’t do anything stupid.” You were surprised to notice he’d realised how the strike made you feel. That it was something personal to you. You were going to face Kuklinski in a few hours and you were terrified. You were worried about your anger issues and you just hoped you weren’t going to screw things up.
But you were determined to take that motherfucker down so you confirmed his words. “No, I won’t.”
Fourteen days after the explosion – the day of the hit on Kuklinski
“Red really is your colour.” Five gave you a quick look from above her shoulder. Maybe she was right. The red dress you were wearing looked really good on you, but nothing compared to her and her green tube dress. She looked like a goddess.
Her hair was up in a fancy hairstyle but Two’d decided to make yours just slightly wavy.
“Isn’t it too much?”
She turned towards you and gave you the most confident smile you’d ever seen. “It’s never too much.”
You were about to leave for the strike and anxiety was eating you alive. You were determined to do it, but things could’ve gone terribly wrong. Your thoughts immediately led to few hours before, while laying in Four’s arms. In a different situation the thought of what you’d done would’ve made you blush, but not that night. You were worried sick.
Four had a major role in the strike and you just hoped he’d get away with it uninsured. The eight of you trained hard for this very special occasion, so you tried to stay positive. The plan was perfect in every singular detail.
“You look... différente”, Two said by looking at you with her eyes narrowed.
Her words caught Five’s attention, who simply replied “I’ll tell you what it is. She got laid.”
“She what?”, Two replied at the same time you almost screamed “Five!”
Your cheeks were bright red but thankfully you didn’t get the chance to continue the chat, thanks to a knock on the door.
“You girls ready?” One voice came muffled from behind the door. You exchanged a quick look with Two and Five before following them to the hallway. The heels you were wearing weren’t the comfiest thing ever, but you knew how to move. They weren’t that big deal.
When you got to the dining room, everyone was there. One was wearing a bulletproof vest and he was making sure that his guns were loaded. Two was standing right next to you and she was following closely Three’s movements — you were pretty sure they had something going on, too. The latter was tying his jacket with an amused grin on his face.
Then there was Four, in his typical jumpsuit and a black beanie covering his blonde hair. But it wasn’t his clothing that got your attention — his green eyes were all over your body. His intense staring brought back the memories of the previous day and you were sure you’d blushed hardwhen his eyes met yours. He winked at you and you shook your head in amusement, making your gaze run to the rest of the group.
Five was now chatting with Six and they were gesturing towards the gas can she was holding. Seven was on his own, closely cleaning his rifle in silence.
“Okay guys, it’s time.” One looked at each and everyone of you. The determination in his eyes made you actually believe that you could make it. That you could finally take Kuklinski down.
“Let’s do this”, Six said with a big smile, followed by Three who said “Ay papi, we’re gonna take that motherfucker down.”
“Merde à tous.” You didn’t speak french, but you smiled at Two’s words anyways.
“Y’all know what to do, so let’s go.” Seven was the first to get out of the door, followed by Five.
Nervousness was eating you alive and the thought of facing Harry — Four’s brother — and then Kuklinski did nothing but make you sweat even more. As the rest of the group left to the cars, you were about to follow them when Four grabbed your hand.
You gave him a look from above your shoulder, followed by a smile. “Be careful, ‘kay?”
Four tightened the grip on your hand at his words and you just pursed your lips, fully turning towards him.
You let go of his hand only to place it on his cheek, looking directly at his green eyes. “Please, please stay alive.”
Four exhaled deeply before placing his lips on yours. It wasn’t a soft, delicate kiss like the ones of the day before. He kissed you with passion and desire, with desperation, almost as if he never wanted to let you go. You truly wished you never had to leave, you didn’t want to get in that car and leave him behind to do his job,
But you had to.
So you backed away from him, caressing his cheek for the last time before clearing your voice and whispering “Let’s go.”
The ride to Kuklinski’s building was silent. Extremely silent, except for Six’s little taps on the steering wheel. It was just the two of you plus Five. Two and Three were coming on another car, One was directing it all from a roof as Four and Seven were taking their positions.
When you finally got there, you gave a last look at Six. He pursed his lips, holding the wheel a little tighter while saying “Good luck, girls. I’ll be waiting you.”
You smiled at him before getting off the car, standing right next to Five. You didn’t start walking and neither did she, so you turned towards her. You didn’t say anything, but from the look in her eyes you knew she wanted to say something, too.
There was no time for pleasantries.
The earpiece was well hidden under your curled hair as you walked through the metal detector undisturbed. One was a bloody genius. You grabbed your briefcase and gave Five a quick look as she took a seat in the waiting area as you walked toward the reception.
“Good morning. How can I help you?” A blonde, middle-aged lady politely smiled at you.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Longbourn.”
As the lady checked your words on her laptop, your hands were starting to sweat for the nervousness. You forced yourself not to give a look around you, trying not to look suspicious, and the lady looked right at you only a few seconds after. “Mr. Longbourn is ready for you, Miss. His office is in the fourth floor.”
You thanked her in a whisper and a polite smile before walking towards the elevator. You knew there were cameras watching you as the elevator lifted, so when One asked you through the earpiece “Eight, you okay?”, you limited yourself to hum “Huh-huh.”
“Zip line secure”, you heard Four saying through the earpiece.
“It’s a good ride, One”, Seven said. Their chats were helping you not to overthink, distracting you. “A little scary up here, but...”
“Nah, this is fun. Don’t be a pussy, Seven”, Four immediately replied and it made you smile.
When you got to the fourth floor you switched off your earpiece, so that you could only communicate with One. As much as you wanted to hear Four and make sure he was fine, he was a distraction. A big one.
Harry’s office was easy to find — his name was written all over the wall glass. Funny how he was the exact opposite of his brother. At least Four wasn’t a bloody criminal. Not anymore, at least.
You knocked at the door before entering the room, getting ready to out in place the greatest play in the world. “Mr Longbourn”, you said with a smile, catching his attention.
His eyes moved from the laptop to you, but when his green eyes started to run all over your body, it was nothing compared to Four. Harry’s staring repulsed you. “It’s Harry for you, my dear.”
He shook your hand and you took a seat in one of the chairs right in front of his desk. Now that you knew his story, you could tell that he was trying to hide his English accent by faking an American one. Little did he know.
“I recall that you’re leaving for an international meeting tomorrow, am I right?” You really wished he wasn’t Four’ brother so that the group could take care for him because of his actions.
You faked a smile. “I am, indeed. You recall correctly.”
“You’re even prettier than the last time I saw you.”
Filthy bastard. You truly hoped Four wasn’t paying attention to your little chitchat with his brother. “Thank you, Harry.”
“So”, he said by rubbing his hands “what have you got for me?”
You never had the chance to reply because of the gunshots. A lot of them, probably coming from the lower floor. Harry’s attention had been caught by them and he didn’t notice you extract a gun from your briefcase. “Hands up”, you said with a grin by pointing the gun at him.
His brows were narrowed in surprise, his lips parted because of the shock. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I said hands up”, you repeated in a higher tone, given that he hadn’t done as ordered.
Harry placed both his hands on his head and you carefully walked towards him, still pointing the gun at him as you searched him looking for a weapon. You clicked on the earpiece and told One “Harry’s clear.”
“Good”, he immediately replied and you noticed he was out of breath. “Bring him to the meeting point.”
You heard other gunshots as you tried to avoid Harry’s shocked gaze. “Who are you?”
The tip of your gun was pressed against his back and when he gave you a look from above his shoulder you simply said “I’m Eight. Now shut up and walk or I’ll make you.”
“I did nothing wrong”, he tried to justify himself.
“Yeah”, you puffed. “Nothing at all. Try telling that to the families of all the people who’ve died because of you and your fuckin’ boss.”
On your way to the upper floor you met one of Kuklinski’s guard. Right before he could shoot at you, you killed him. It was wrong, so bloody wrong, but it had to be done. He fell to the ground like a puppet. Harry gasped and you tried not to think about what you’d just done. “Eight, the floor is clear. You’re free to move”, Seven told you through the earpiece.
Holding Harry’s shirt with one hand and the gun with the other, you walked upstairs. Your senses were on alert, ready to spot the slightest movement of your enemies. Harry didn’t say anything, but on the last step of the stairs he turned towards you. He tried to disarm you by bending your arm — he might’ve had the brute force needed, but he wasn’t trained like you and sure as hell he wasn’t thinking clearly.
Your grip on the gun was firm when you pushed away Harry’s arm and kicked him right in the undercarriage, making him grunt of pain. All you had to do was push him a little to make him sit down on the stairs and you pointed your gun right at his head. “Tell me, Harry. Have you ever watched Chicago?”
“What?” He was seriously confused.
“Chicago”, you replied. “The musical with Catherine Zeta-Jones and Renée Zellweger.”
“Yeah, I guess so?”
You leaned towards him so that your face was just a few inches away from his, but you made sure your gun was still pointed at his forehead. “You try to do that one more time, and you’ll end up like one of those boys. I may be a girl, but sure as hell I’m stronger than you. I can still blow your head off.”
Where did those words come from? This wasn’t you.
The sound of broken glasses made you smile, giving you the sign that the plan was proceeding as planned. “Eight, you okay?”
You sighed in relief by hearing Four’s voice. You forced Harry to stand up and you pushed him into the room where Two and Three were waiting. You spotted them in the distance but you couldn’t see them clearly. “I’m fine, yeah. Where the hell are you?”
“Got stuck at the roof. I’m on my way.” And by doing so he switched off the earpiece.
Thank God Four was fine.
“The floor’s clear, Eight.” Seven was monitoring the situation in the distance and you just nodded at his words.
Only when you walked towards Two and Three you noticed they were pointing their guns right at Kevin Kuklinski. You froze right behind Harry, your hands starting to shake at the sight of the men that had killed your parents.
“Eight.” Two caught your attention and you slowly moved your gaze to her. She nodded at you, silently saying to move closer to them.
So you did — you pushed Harry who complained quietly and you made him sit down to a chair right next to Kuklinski.
It was the latter who broke the silence by saying “I know you.”
Now that Harry was being monitored by Three, you could finally look at Kuklinski. “Do you remember me?”
Those bastard’s eyes — so dark that they seemed black — were fixed on yours. You had your father’s eyes and he’d probably recognised them. “Y/L/N”, Kuklinski said with a smirk. A strand of grey and black hair had fallen into his forehead and if he didn’t have his hands tied, he’d have probably moved it.
“In the flesh.” You tightened the grip on your gun, holding it with both hands.
“I remember your parents. How silly they’ve been in trusting me.”
Your knuckles had turned white and you were trying to contain yourself. Without looking away from him and his cold eyes, you asked Two “Where’s One?”
“On his way.”
“Fuck.”
“They got what they deserved”, Kuklinski kept going. What was he trying to do?
“Shut the fuck up.” You switched on the earpiece. “One, where the hell are you?”
All you heard from the other side were gunshots.
“Do I know you?” Harry had a very bad timing.
Footsteps were approaching you and they caught Three’s attention. Kuklinski’s guards were more numerous than you expected and they just kept coming. “Shut up, Harry.”
“We killed her parents”, Kuklinski said with a grin. “You should’ve heard them begging for mercy.”
That was enough. Without thinking twice about it, you pointed your gun at Kuklinski and fired. Again and again. The thud of the gunshots was echoing in your ears and you felt numb. You just couldn’t feel anything.
“Hey”, Two said by placing a hand on your shoulder. “He’s dead.”
Without even realising it your eyes’d become teary, you bit your lower lip to make it stop shaking and you lowered the gun.
Kevin Kuklinki was finally dead. He’d gotten what he deserved and it felt so good. So right.
It wasn’t the right time for celebrations, though. Half of the group was still in trouble, and there was still Harry to be taken care of.
“Four?” No answer. You exchanged a quick look with Two and Three but they just shook their heads. “Four?!”
When Four finally replied, your heart sank. “He’s gonna kill me.”
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Hi this is @autisticmatteo about your tags on my post... I would LOVE that i love every piece of autistic matteo media to heart. Im so glad people share my hc
hi wow thank you for sending this im going to do my best!!!! this is the first time in a while ive felt nervous posting something but i hope you all like it ahAHhahAhAHh (also i hope its okay that i posted this and wrote a whole fic for it rn whoopsie)
Matteo was in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, when he felt it start up again. There was some kind of itch building up in his fingers, and he started hitting a beat on the counter with his free hand, tapping out the rhythm to the line of the song that had been looping in his brain all day. It helped a little bit, and when he felt the same itch in one of his feet, he started tapping along to the same beat.
He was trying to be quiet about it because David was sitting at the table working on his film, and he had the small frown on his face that meant he was getting frustrated. Matteo being loud and annoying for no reason definitely wouldn’t help with that, so when he heard David huff and mutter something under his breath, he stopped completely.
The feeling came back immediately, almost worse, and Matteo started bouncing on his toes. If he didn’t need to focus on the food he was cooking he would’ve started pacing around, maybe grab something to squeeze or fidget with, and if David wasn’t there with a deepening frown on his face, he would’ve done way more.
He knew that David didn’t care about him stimming, encouraged it even, and had seen him stim in many different ways many times before. He still felt a little awkward about it, though. He knew that it looked strange sometimes, and he always felt bad when he and David were out somewhere and he started flicking his fingers or rocking. He didn’t like the feeling when people would stare at him, and figured David didn’t love the extra attention either.
It was awful trying to ignore it, though. When he was holding back a stim it almost felt like he was holding his breath (he had said that to David once, who had smirked and said, “Yeah, you’ve never been the best at that.”) It was a very similar feeling, the way the need would grow and build until you couldn’t ignore it anymore, and the longer you tried to hold it after that, the worse it would get.
He turned his head away from the food for a second so he could see David, who was still sitting at the table, looking like he hadn’t moved at all. The only difference was the way his eyebrows were drawing down a little, and he was mouthing something to himself as he shook his head at his computer screen. Matteo took a breath and figured that if David wasn’t looking at him, he probably wouldn’t get annoyed if Matteo started stimming more.
He let his arm drop to his side as he rocked up onto his toes, and his fingers started twitching and fluttering, and after a few seconds of that his hand started flapping a little. He checked behind him again and saw that David was still focused on his computer, so he brought his hand up to his chest and started flapping it more, letting his fingers drag along the fabric of his sweater.
He felt his body calming, and he let out a sigh as the tension drained. He started bouncing again and checked the pasta, and when he saw that it still needed more time, he let out an annoyed sound. He snapped his mouth shut quick to stop the urge to make the sound again, and again, and again, and made a little noise in the back of his throat.
“You okay?”
Matteo’s body froze except for his head, which whipped around to see David staring at him, a small, tired smile on his face.
“Yeah, sorry, just...” he knew that David would understand, so he said, “just needed to stim. I can stop if it’s annoying you.”
David looked almost upset at his response, and quickly said, “No, baby, you don’t need to stop.”
“But I can if you need me to.”
“Matteo,” David started, getting out of the chair so he could walk up to him and place his hands on Matteo’s waist, “I promise it’s not annoying. It’s something you need to do, and you’ve told me that it feels good, so why would I want you to stop?”
Matteo smiled a little, and he grabbed at David’s biceps and started squeezing and loosening his hands. He looked down at his feet that were still tapping, and looked back up and said, “I just don’t want to distract you.”
“I promise, stimming is not the thing about you that distracts me.” David said with a smirk, and he leaned in to nose at Matteo’s cheek as it turned pink. Matteo turned his head and caught David’s lips in a quick kiss, both of them giggling into it, and when they pulled away he dropped his head onto David’s shoulder and rubbed his face into the material of his sweater.
“I really need to get back to editing so I can finish before the urge to throw my laptop out the window becomes too tempting to ignore. Do whatever you have to do, okay?” David kissed Matteo’s head and pulled away, squeezing his hips one more time before settling into his seat again. Matteo wanted to follow him and climb into his lap, but he knew that David needed to work, and he needed to make sure their food didn’t burn.
He turned back to the stove, bouncing on his toes again. It still felt a little weird but David had said it wouldn’t distract him, and the itch was starting to get to be too much for Matteo to ignore anymore. He started flicking the fingers on his free hand, and shook his head out a few times, and then flicked the hair out of his eyes. After a few minutes he was flapping his hands again, alternating which hand he was stirring with, but he could feel something else starting to work its way out, and before he could stop himself he let out a moderately loud noise.
He couldn’t even really explain what the noise was, but he made it again quickly a few times before stopping himself. He bit his lip and turned his head again, and was surprised to see David already staring at him, a gentle smile on his face.
“It’s okay, Matteo.”
Matteo smiled gratefully at him before turning back to stir the sauce, and he clicked his tongue. He did it again, and again, and when David didn’t say anything and kept editing, he didn’t stop. The noises alternated between a few different ones, and Matteo turned to look at David anytime a new one started up. David never reacted, only looking up to smile at Matteo if he noticed him staring. The fact that David was still able to focus on his work blew Matteo’s mind.
Just as he was pouring the sauce into the pot with the pasta, humming the same line that he had been tapping earlier over and over again, his fingers flicking gently at his side, bouncing on his toes, he heard David get up. He smiled, waiting for what he knew was inevitably going to happen, and he chuckled when he felt David’s arms wrap around his waist, and he stopped bouncing.
“Shit, sorry,” David said, backing up again, leaving his hands on Matteo’s hips, “I didn’t mean to stop you.”
Matteo rolled his eyes and spun around, and grabbed David’s arms and yanked them until he was walking forward, and wrapping them around Matteo’s waist again.
“You didn’t stop me, idiot, I stopped so you could hug me,” Matteo said, sliding a hand into David’s hair so he could feel the soft strands sliding through his fingers, “that’s better than stimming.”
#davenzi fic#davenzi fanfic#druck fic#druck fanfic#davenzi#david schreibner#matteo florenzi#druck#noggins#autistic matteo#idk if thats a tag but it should be#anyway im autistic and i highly hc matteo as being autistic#i love everyone in the fandom who agrees#it felt good to write this
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Also more art
I love the centrepiece of the green one but its too small to see like this so I'm gonna get a zoomed in piece for this post hehe hopefully tumblr let's you click on them so you can see everything djjdjsjs
I did these all super late last night bc I was having a time and wanted to draw psps I like these a lot tho I didnt like the alt version of the red that had the diamonds. I wanted to keep the vibe of the purple one with the swirls (tho that wasnt my favourite one either hense the plain background of it too djdjbshs) but it just didnt sit well. Maybe it was the shade of the body. Also notice the blue accents on the red 💕
Ps I hope none of the lines are actually symbols!! I wasnt thinking about that when I made these, I just drew lines that looked nice to me. I really hope I'm not doing something bad here :(
The purple ones???? So cool looking???? The purple parts that are detached from the main body were meant to be wings at first but lowkey this could be seen as smthn about body image (bc they arent connected but they are the same colour so it seems like someone who thinks their body is bigger than it is which is smthn I sort of deal with) but that wasnt the intent lol.
They were inspired by this
(Tiktok @/vonex20)
It gave me vibes (while also reminding me of the demons I see when I open doors at night).
Also when drawing these I was reminded of the "drawing my fears as ---" trend and like... its definitely vibes. The only good thing about the diamond red is that the over stimulation that it causes is exactly what I get when I move around at night.
Its very tempting to try to draw things more related to my paranoia psps it would be fun.
Heres one I forgot about but I drew it a bit ago 💕
This one is actually kinda related to my paranoia bc some of the images that flash through my mind are bloody teeth biting into chunks of flesh, but the blood is like neon red/pink/yellow/blue/whatever (it's different colours but they're always neon). I dont actually see images in my head when I try but when I sleep I dream very vividly. I can see some random flashes of pictures sometimes (thus that drawing). Idk why but they're always dark and neon. Like black background and just bright aggressive neon accents nd highlights.
Fun fact I have a hard time differentiating dreams and reality because my dreams are so vivid, but also bc my funky maybe sleeping disorder. I fall in and out of sleep ~10 times per chunk of sleep so my brain has a hard time figuring out if I'm still in my dream or if I'm awake. This affects my memory (the fact that ive forgotten 99% of my childhood doesnt help) and makes me think things that happened in realistic dreams are actual things that happen. Lmao it also isnt helped that I've been taking character's personalities and saying made up cool things about me my whole life so people would like me since I'm an army brat.
In conclusion bc this is long and no one actually cares bc i went way off point and probably lost some trains of thought.
Jdndbshsh hope yall enjoyed the art.
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athenas or the new ign videos... hmmm
im gonna go for the ign videos (moze gameplay and sanctuary-iii, no guns yet, i have a reason for that) because athenas hasn’t gotten its sweet instagram video yet. once that’s released i’ll do a full post on it. by the time i got around to finishing this post, they had released the video. oh boy... gonna do the gun post then the athenas post, i think. alright, off we go.
tl;dr: we read the entire end user agreement DAHL thrusts upon us for using the ECHO device, talk about some stuff like how (spoilers) it seems like Lilith will be getting her powers back at the end of the game, and a voice line Lily says that sounds like “Tyreen took my powers. it’s like Tannis said: [inaudible] Siren” (altho im not 100% sure on the [inaudible] part because 1) it sounds weird and 2) there’s a drum beat and also the devs are talking over her, the Siren part seems fairly accurate because of the way her mouth moves). so you know. im gonna be agonizing over that until i can hear what she says. ive already spent an hour just repeating it over and over. i nearly fell asleep lol
we’re gonna start with the moze gameplay (the first 14 minutes of bl3) because chronologically it’s first in both timeline and release date
i love the license plates on the right there
also it looks like they added in claptrap’s old welcome sign from windshear waste! time to stand in front of it for 30 minutes to see if any messages pop up like bl2
fast travel station as well, definitely going to see if/where i can teleport and going there immediately. i imagine this is more for DLC stuff and grinding tho.
also! i do believe we saw Covenant Pass previously. good to know this is actually where it is!
Marcus saying “And Welcome to Pandora!” in the beginning confirms that, yes, they’re going to be on a bus!! i wonder if there will be a fight scene before that though. it’s interesting Clappy mentions that “those jerks who tried to murder you are the children of the vault!” so i mean... there’s gotta be... right?
im also convinced this intro is going to be a mirror of Borderlands 1. i stg if it starts out with the first few notes of Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked and then swaps songs I’m going to lose my mind
also also, the order is totally going to mimic the bl1 one. Fl4k = Mordecai, Amara = Lilith, Moze = Roland, Zane = Brick. We even have Lilith taking Angel’s spot as the mysterious voice in our heads, and probably Marcus driving, AND being dropped off at a bus stop.
bet the reason they changed it from ‘Moze as the Bot Jock’ to ‘Moze as the Gunner’ is because it fits under ‘Roland as the Soldier’ better. Also, ‘Zane Flynt as Himselfs’ would be a play off ‘Brick as Himself’. Amara as the Siren is obvious, and ‘Mordecai as the Hunter’ vs ‘Fl4k as the Beastmaster’ is pretty similar as well, given Fl4k has all those Hunter skills.
the 4 basic emotes im guessing. im so glad we have the option to boop our friends in the face with emotes.
also moze’s little bunny skin is adorable
the ECHOnet used to be called “Riftspace”, “the Spline”, and... “MercTel: A Cyber-Dahl Joint” lmfao
specifically calls out Pandora. also, “artificial megastructures”??? THAT’S SO COOL
AND FUCKING
SENTIENT MEGASTRUCTURES????
gearbox. please. i have never ever wanted anything more in my life. please. it’s probably my birthday. PLEASE GEARBOX
also interesting that the user agreement specifically notes ‘Respawns’. I assume this is a joke because New-U stations have been confirmed not canon
“Core law”. Core law? Core... daddy? ... ????
core as in like a core government somewhere that’s not the border worlds? that’s interesting...
“The Legion”, okay, acknowledging TPS, that’s dope
“Project Blackrakk” ... im interested
“Thresher Company” lmao
im curious if Axton was apart of any of the mentioned ones. i don’t think it’s been stated, but i could be wrong
“Chieftain Oort”. also ‘Recently Legless Gary’, lmfao poor dude.
oh yeah im sure this is fine. also holy shit did they google the synonyms for ‘change’ and just start listing them? lmfao
“implicit subscription to the Digby Vermouth ‘Dig’s Gigs’ secret concert subscription service”
sorry, what?
if this doesn’t come up again in the future- if we don’t get a spam letter or 3 in our mailbox about this concert subscription thing i'm gonna be so disappointed
Dahl hates you if you’re not a fan of hyper-jazz, “you snob” lmfao
my brain hurts, they’re good at writing these
damn phones exist? i thought everything was ECHO. aight, that’s good to know. i guess there just aren’t any phone networks around the border worlds
also “shared dreamspaces” sound really cool
hm. that’s no good lmfao. also i love that the buttons are ‘Agree’ and ‘OK’. there is no escape, once you agree, you can’t even leave because you’re agreeing that you’re trapped with these rules even if you cancel.
that’s fucked up, DAHL. can’t believe you treat your user base the same way you treat your employees. i guess i shouldn’t be surprised.
anyway, shoutout to literally the only TOA I’ve ever fully read in my life.
also, clicking through this TOA too fast WILL end claptrap’s voice line early. so be careful if you want to hear what he has to say!!
oh shit lmao I gotta go edit that Fl4k post
ok im back ~time magic of being able to save things in drafts and post them at a later date~
sliding preserves momentum, so you can actually slide (nearly) the entire way down! i love this.
small, but claptrap bends his antennae when trying to be stealthy. i thought that was a pretty cool detail
“and some guns include an alternate shooting mode~! try it out!”
player: `immediately shoots claptrap in the face`
i died lol
a very nice look at this sign.
good to know that the twins really are tempting people to join with promises of food. i mean it makes sense, i imagine most of the cultists are desperate for stability and a reasonable life on pandora.
also, Shiv calls himself “holy influencer of the children of the vault” lol. i love that. gearbox really is going for the internet’s throat, isn’t it?
i do like that hovering over an NPC will give you their name only and not name/healthbar.
a better look at one of the signs referencing the Mother!!! i was waiting for this, the only real look we got at one was in that one scene with Moze and IB
“Behold the Mother strength surrender to the truth”
yeah that’s not ominous...
i assume the mother and father are intended to be tyreen and troy? but idk how i feel about that implication...
i like the new little gear/spring effect for the magnet lol
new lilith! i know a lot of people don’t like it, but i do. she looks better than the bl2 vers. altho i think it’s weird they swapped both bl1 and bl2′s ‘AI’ effect to those dots and then didn’t bring it to BL3. the dots effect felt cleaner. curious why they’re not applying it to bl3 when they went thru all that effort in 1 and 2.
... back up please.
i like that there is a changing icon for long pressing now
“time to check out our slay of the day!” sounds like Tyreen but tbh i legit thought this was moze’s reaction to opening the chest at first lol
you can hear someone start screaming in agony while she’s walking up the stairs, so i know it’s not moze, but im so used to the VHs talking when they see a new piece of loot my brain just assumed.
also THE MUSIC IN THE BACKGROUND IS A REMIX OF BANDIT SLAUGHTER!!! IM SO HAPPY ABOUT THIS I WAS FREAKING OUT THE FIRST TIME I HEARD IT
also, claptrap when dropping health yells “this could save your life! then, you’ll owe me a life debt!” bullshit im pretty sure you already decided we owed you a life debt the moment we stepped off that bus
“i see it... the great vault” - a line from a cultist you kill
i know i mentioned in this post that the Great Vault may be already opened, but it could also just be a Vault they’re planning on opening and using the propaganda to convince the cultists to help them find it.
“if you help us get this vault open, you’ll be handsomely rewarded! you’ll get superpowers! you’ll get regular meals! you’ll get money and guns and dates!” you know, the usual stuff.
either way, elevating the Vault to a higher state (god/heaven/whatever) makes sense if you’re running a cult.
btw there is a hidden chest in the scaffolding to the left of the door, if you’re interested in grabbing some better guns before shiv. personally, i’ll be using the toy guns.
also the TVs are actually playing propaganda now!!
this one is asking questions that i cant understand due to the sound effects of the chest and claptrap talking, but it says something about “... the dust? ... join the Children of the Vault!”
“hey shiiiiiv all your dumb friends are dead!!”
shiv be like
“all my friends are dead”
some cool level-up art! I notice these are the same pictures as used on the japanese site. i wonder if they change depending on which VH you’ve picked (If you’re playing Amara/Fl4k, do you get pics of Amara and Fl4k? the player is playing moze, afterall).
also also “it’s a KIA on the knife wielding maniac. suuuper dead.”
it’s cool that the VHs have specific lines for the deaths of bosses. i hope that continues and it’s not just a ‘15 min of intro gameplay’ thing. you know, where everything is super detailed in the beginning and then slowly gets less and less as the game progresses? anyway, moze’s little chuckle is fuckin adorable lol
ah. the door closes now so you can’t even explore Shiv’s room before Lilith shows up. gearbox plS you know me too well, i was looking for a g l i m p s e
claptrap’s voice line for getting released is SUPER off time, he hits the ground before going “you did it! i’m sa-ahhhhhhhh!” it’s weird, wondering if that’s just a glitch.
also also we get a nice listen to the revive ally sound. i could’ve sworn it wasn’t in the first look at this mission we got, because i heard it for the first time during the coop Zane/Amara gameplay on Promethea. i might be wrong, tho.
im very curious what these symbols are claptrap is beaming up
i mean you know what im gonna say
they look eridian
and they do
so wtf clappy why u beaming up eridian letters to Lilith
i assume maybe Tannis gave clappy some weird upgrade or something so he could communicate with the crimson raiders without the CoV listening in? it could be that Tannis or someone is decoding this message since Tannis does know how to translate Eridian (as shown in her bl1 ECHOs)
... or at the very least she gave Lilith a translator
the darkening makes it so that you can see the crackening. also this COULD just be a beam that lilith can see from wherever she is, but i want to believe there’s more eridian stuff. bc eridian stuff is fun.
this is so fu cking crisp im dying i love it
lilith’s tattoos spreading down her fingers
same symbol as her chest tattoo. maybe the symbol denotes new powers? like how lily has one on her chest for phasewalking, and a new one on her hand for teleportation
i love how her wings look like actual fire. i fucking love this
lilith is looking so fucking good in the new engine
im glad they got rid of her super red eyes, tbh it looked a bit weird
i think they are really pushing her fire affinity, im sure we’ll see Maya has an elemental affinity as well (im calling corrosive) and im sure Tyreen will too (slag). Amara looks to be Shock because that’s her ‘default’, but who knows until (if) bl4 comes out. but corrosive wings on maya would look SOOO fucking cool. please. please please please.
god she looks so good compared to bl2. i love how the tattoos softly glow in the dark, too. i gotta play this mission late in the day...
“you’re... the voice in my head, right?” i love this so much, i really hope my shitpost comes true.
lilith gives you a grenade mod for completing her mission! im really glad they are PUSHING through the tutorial/intro so you can get right into the game. bl2′s ‘intro’ of all these tutorials was brutal. especially waiting to unlock your action skill.
in 3 you get your action skill automatically at level 2!!! which is insane, i love it! they’re jumping right into it, it’s great. and they seem to be pushing for you to get all the stuff you need right away.
it’s curious to note that in bl3 we get our class mods at the end of the Promethea demo (after Gigamind), since in bl2 you get your first (usually?) after the hunting the firehawk mission and both seem to take place immediately after we get to the ‘base of operations’ of the game (Sanctuary vs Sanctuary-III).
yep that quest is 100% in line with the quest marker.
i imagine From the Ground Up may be discovering where the Vault Map/Key actually is? maybe bringing people to the Recruitment Center (notably Tannis)
for this scene. i hope this takes place after the HBC, because i seriously... can’t imagine the twins showing up, taking the Vault Map, bringing it to the HBC, and then NOT taking Lilith’s powers/trying to kill Lily and accidentally taking her powers. it just doesn’t make sense, Vault Hunters be damned, we are level 2 they could melt us easy peasy.
If anything, it feels like we COULD find the Vault Map in the Recruitment Center, Tannis tries to activate it/fix it, we find out it’s mega broke, and then the Sun Smashers show up and take it. but i seriously can’t imagine Lilith nor the new VHs allowing that to happen while they’re still there. maybe if Tannis sends us to do something while Lilith is gathering other CR members? then it could make sense if they attack while Tannis is alone with the Key...
OR
we end up finding something in Shiv’s room that shows/helps us realize the Sun Smashers bringing the Vault Map to the Calypsos. tho this would mean the quest From the Ground Up is SUPER short and I imagine it’s not. Maybe we raid a camp of theirs like the one in front of Sanc-III with the bridge/ramp? We need to be about level 6 before we go and we start From the Ground Up at 2 so there’s obviously something DEEP we’re missing here. maybe this is a mission where we go gather the other Crimson Raiders? HMMMMMMMM...
.... oh.
nevermind lmfao
she opens her ECHO immediately after this LOL i feel kinda dumb now
raiding their camp it is! the Droughts sounds like a fun location. Very much like the dust. you guys think there’s a Shade situation going on there? i’m excited to see it. Still think we’re going to use Shiv’s room to get that lead, though. i just really wanna watch tv lmfao. i hope this means the bandits run from the camp to the HBC, or we find info that the bandit warchief sent a party to the HBC with the Vault Map. either way, i just don’t want the twins showing up until after the HBC or i will have so many questions. “why didn’t you kill lilith?” being the first. “the god queen wants her head!” ur goddamn right she does, so why doesn’t she (try to) kill lilith???
85% already?! hot damn
also
that’s one badass description there, Moze
also also
while having gun slots locked is pretty normal, im surprised they’re locking class mods and relics, too! i wonder when we’ll be able to equip relics. maybe when we first go to eden-6 or smth. or maybe after we meet up with Rhys. shit maybe he’s just handing us an artifact (im gonna interchange these a lot, sorry!) in that Promethea video lmfao
“ready to chuck some boom and frag some maniacs” lol moze i love you
if you’re playing Zane... `equips grenade mod for checkmark` `immediately equips second action skill and never actually uses grenade mod`
“it’s the firehawk! the god queen wants her head!”
like i alluded to before, i would not be surprised if Tyreen doesn’t know she can absorb Siren powers... when she goes to succ lilith in front of Sanctuary-III, it’s totally possible she actually was trying to kill her. That could explain why she looks so intrigued at her hand like “oh shit okay lets see what this can do”
might be why she was okay with sending her cultists after her instead of showing up herself.
“alright, we got a foothold. maybe things are turning our way. come on killer, you’re with me” we are going to explore the SHIT out of shiv’s room.
alright alright alright
let’s move on to the Sanctuary-III stuff
yessss
i love the quest objective thing, it looks like we will be able to swap through our quests with the push of a button! also im curious why exactly we’re going to promethea right away. i wonder if the twins say something about moving there after getting the vault map/lilith’s powers, or if we hear from rhys. im expecting something about the vault map, since our vh will admit they don’t know rhys at all when talking to lorelei. but for some reason we need to be within the city limits? since lily says ellie got us within the city limits.
hmmmmmm. okay, okay, maybe the map was trying to lead us to promethea for vault reasons during that short amount of time that we had it and it was working. maybe promethea is what we see when tannis is activating the key during that one cutscene? ohhh shit how dope would it be if we got that fucking easter egg message? omg “Children of the Vault. Come to Promethea. We are not on Pandora anymore. Tannis is not what she seems. Do not open the Vaults.” and everyone is like ‘uh did that thing just mention Tannis by name??’ and now it’s REALLY important to get the map back just so we can figure out wtf it’s trying to tell us.
i will question how ‘Tannis is not what she seems’ would affect character relationships, especially if it’s said so early in the game. so perhaps we only hear the first part of the message. maybe it’s corrupted because it was recently broken. iunno. just playing around with ideas. the canon of this game is like flarp putty until sept. 13th
anyway moving on because this is literally the first f r a m e of the video
i like that you can see pandora’s eridian scar. if the destroyer is speaking through eridium to people, it’s gonna bust outta the side of this planet like you wouldn’t fucking believe lmao. eridium is a window to the soul and if you stare long enough into its glossy, shining sides, the destroyer stares back
that or it’s just like a beacon, slowly spreading its influence across the universe. but i like the idea that the destroyer can waltz out of a big enough hunk of eridium. so it will bust out of pandora’s eridium scar. F in chat for pandora but also lmfao the amount of tentacles and rage would be unparalleled.
reality is that the twins are probably farming this scar for eridium to turn into slag for multiple purposes. like brainwashing their cultists, giving them powers, and ensuring their guns have their manufacturer’s quirk (im getting to this in my next post bc im just gonna compile all the ign gun videos into one big post)
the floor art is different from the actual sanc-iii demo. i mention this first in my behind closed doors panel analysis, but im gonna mention it again because this is ~official~. the floor list on the first walkthru of sanc-iii we got had the names of all the crimson raiders and lines leading to their shops. so we had the infirmary/tannis, marcus, moxxi, etc listed on the floor. i imagine this new sanc-iii will change as we get more people on board or if we do a sort of re-decoration of the ship.
also also, it’s cool to see that we have 4 rooms on the minimap, likely one for each of the VHs (and your coop buddies). ive seen speculation that the other, non-played VHs will hang out in their rooms when you’re not playing them, and tbh i really hope this is the case.
we also know this version of sanctuary-iii is after pandora, so there are no promethea citizens aboard yet. which makes me double certain the first sanc-iii video we got takes place either after endgame (explaining why Lily has her tattoos back) or right after Athenas (explaining why Maya is there). which... i mean... spoilers, guys.
that’s one good lookin fast travel station, holy shit
im in tears over here because “Caution: no steppy”. this is so fucking funny to me
no steppy on me
okay moving on because i will cry laugh over this for forever im allowed
moze’s room is so much different than amara’s
also i notice she’s on the left of the two on the top, which makes me hope the other 4 are reserved for the other VHs (or your coop buddy).
compared to the official sanc-iii demo video
and amara’s room
moze’s is so barren oh my god
someone get this girl like... a colorful throw pillow or something
baaank. also doubles as the secret stash. kinda upsetting, because that is infinitely less loot i can store when i make a lot of characters. also if i upgrade the bank once, is it upgraded across all my other characters too? or are the guns i put in storage slot 11 locked up until i buy the upgrade?
either way, i am saddened because no more mule characters. and way less space the more characters you make and more gear you find, because all gear you put in here is there across all characters. i hope this means our backpacks will be a lot bigger this time around!
supamax mfg shows up again
ppm/04-02 matches up with the number behind the fast travel station. i wonder if this will come into play. if the number changes later in-game im going to freak the fuck out bc that means wherever we are isn’t actually sanctuary-iii
ppm/04-02. remember that 👀
also, the wall behind the golden chest changed from red to steel/greenish. can’t tell the actual color. same as the floor
you know. that color.
“golden keys are popular. you can get some in-game and also get them online”
in-game you say??? im interested! i wonder if there will be some sort of arena (like moxxi’s) where if you complete it you get a key as a reward. i saw people speculating about some sort of randomized boss rush, that could definitely be a way to get gold keys, as well.
oooo engine room! im excited to explore here.
original size is 16. so, we have 40 backpack slots! still... you know... only 1 above the max of bl2, but hey. at least that’s an upgrade. as small as it may be
on the bright side: bank upgrades increase capacity by 5. with a base of 10, and 8 upgrades, we have 50 slots to fill. which is a big leap from the original 24. it is still a shame we have to share these across characters, tho
offline cultist stream? makes me think the CoV really was trying to steal/take over sanc-iii from the crimson raiders and we went to go take it (back?) in Taking Flight. either the CoV found/ordered Sanc-III, or the crimson raiders were building it/fixing it up, their stronghold got taken over, and the CoV were prepping it for takeover.
the shooting range. and if you notice that little CoV symbol in the bottom left there? yeah pretty much backs up my previous theory
all those red bits are tied to ellie’s crew challenge. so we’ll be collecting things for her!
an altar for scooter 😢
“we’re gonna get those cultism sumbitches, believe you me”
where you get yeeted out of Sanc-III. im definitely going to try jumping in it to see if it kills me. doesn’t look like the drop pods are available yet
that’s not clappy, pretty sure he’s hanging out on the bridge right now
schematics for veronica
the thing i was most excited about in this video!
loooots of customizations! which excites me because i know eridium used to get useless late game when you’ve grinded all the raid bosses. it looks like eridum is going to be in ultra high demand. but u can bet ur ass im gonna be unlocking all those fucking customizations asap.
veteran rewards is also super super interesting
hgggggg i wanna know what the shields do!!!
i like the vault symbol at the top of the item card as well, shows you its a special type of weapon/item. im honestly surprised we’re able to buy ‘veteran rewards’ so early in the game? i mean obvi we won’t have enough eridium (look at the costs!) but it’s wild it’s even accessible. im personally a fan of the first bonus ‘anointed: gain life steal on action skill end’
looks like these guns have been chosen
to give them those special bonuses
i do see that just anointed is not class specific, but the ones that say anointed gunner or maybe anointed siren will be (confirmed by the devs in video).
you pay with eridium, so maybe the vending machine has some way to confer the power of eridium to the guns. or some shit. iunno. it’s possible this won’t be available until the end of the game, hence veteran rewards, and is only being shown to us right now since this is a showcasing video.
pandoran civilian. no promethea civilians today folks! i am CONVINCED that the old sanc-iii demo takes place after the end of the game. at least after athenas.
it’s weird seeing moxxi hanging outside her bar.
is also cool to know that the 4 slot machines are actually available. seems like npcs can play them, but we can use all 4 if we want to. which is really nice
the one on the far left is called the ‘loot boxxer’ and it gives mostly guns lol. i see they are taking jabs. good for them
better pic of the leftmost machines
Zer0 seems to have a bounty board? not sure if this is like a physical bounty board or if they will contact you when they want something dead, but it is cool to note. this isn’t shown in video, just the devs speaking about it.
similarly hammerlock has ‘big game hunts’ where you find “rare, challenging creatures” and kill them for him
apparently we’ll be killing something known as a manvark
this book
i fucking recognize this book
HAMMERLOCK NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
in all seriousness tho
hammerlock probably isn’t in his room because we haven’t rescued him from eden-6 yet.
a cool thing about the crew challenges: as you progress through the game and do these challenges, sanc-iii will ‘grow and change to reflect the things you’ve accomplished’. altho another dev says “sometimes these are optional things, like challenges”
so now im like oh shit we’re gonna change sanc-iii as we play the game. i wonder if that means we’ll be changing the hull, too. because you know. the blue paint job. we gotta go STEALTH. sneaky beaky into the calypsos fleety
tannis doesn’t have the saurian on her table. also, interesting note, she DOES have the eridian log in the corner. meaning she must have had that before eden-6. interesting... maybe we’ll find more on Pandora.
she is still covered in blood tho. idk i don’t have an explanation for that. don’t think i want to think of one, to be quite honest.
oh no. (those are skulls next to all the gurneys)
“tannis plays a much bigger role in bl3 than she has in past games”. bigger than borderlands 1? that is... impressive. she’ll be running the health vending machines (which is weird bc i could’ve sworn in the promethea demo, zed was still running them... hm.)
another angle of sanc-iii
clappy? you good there?
the devs said they’re using him to plug a hole. i assume the calypsos shot at the ship as we’re leaving or smth.
lily with no tattoos, who also looks significantly more pissed than her other sanc-iii demo counterpart
you know. because she got her tattoos.
also
fucking
lilith says something right here. all i can make out is “Tyreen took my powers. it’s like tannis said. ..... [inaudible] Siren.” maybe some weird word i haven’t heard before? i swear she’s saying ‘like tannis said: a ‘m...’ Siren” but i am not 100% sure. if someone could help me out, that’d be rad.
so its sounding like lilith rushed in with explicit warning from tannis about tyreen stealing her powers, and tannis knew tyreen was some sort of Siren and warned lily, but lily didn’t listen. it could also be that lily is saying something like “im not a siren” but i can’t really hear it if she is. it sounds like she saying a word that starts with m to me. if someone could help me with this i’d owe you my life
whew. i am. fucking TIRED.
im gonna sleep for like 3 hours and then wake up and make food before the fl4k streams start.
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End of the Day
ENDGAME SPOILERS, READ AT OWN RISK
A fix-it-fic because as good as Endgame was, there are still things I think could have ended differently. You know what I mean. We're all still crying.
-o-o-o-o-
The first thing he thinks when his eyes slowly creak open is that he shouldn't be alive. He doesn't know why he thinks that, only that it's at the forefront of his mind, that it's the only thing that's clear to him when the white ceiling above him slowly comes into focus. He shouldn't be alive, and there is a reason for that. A good reason. Something… something final and horrible happened. He remembers… pain shooting up his arm and an explosion, a flash of light. He remembers seeing the kid's face, tears and snot running down their cheeks and chin, he remembers wanting to say something, something important, but then Pepper came into his view, shining as beautiful as the sun, and Morgan, sweet Morgan, he can see her in her mother's eyes.
"You can rest now," she says, and he isn't inclined to argue. He's so tired, in pain, and-
He should be dead. He used the infinity stones… all of them. And he's just a human.
He should be dead.
He blinks and glances around the room, his short-lived theory of this being heaven is torn up like a scrap piece of paper when he sees the monitors and the wires piling around the room and connecting to his body. He can feel the pinch on an IV in his arm… his left arm. He can't feel the right. In fact, he can't feel a whole lot of the right side of his body.
He looks down and the heart monitor gives away his jumping heart when he sees nothing where his arm should be, his hospital gown falls off his shoulder strangely and he's hit with a strange sense of nausea. His arm is gone. It looks so unnatural and he can't stop looking at it.
His… arm is gone?
How could his entire arm be gone?
What happened?
Why is he alive?
There's a clicking noise as the white door across his room suddenly opens, he can only lay there in his mess of wires and blankets as a woman dressed in white medical clothes steps into the room. Dr Helen Cho stops in her tracks with wide eyes when her gaze falls on him. He's almost tempted to lift his arm to wave, but as consciousness continues to return to him, so does the pain. He settles for smiling slightly, the right corner of his mouth feels stiff.
"Tony," she breathes. She lifts her hand up to her ear and presses against a comm, Tony wonders where she got that, it looks advanced and he doesn't remember inventing it. "He's awake, send in the team."
He doesn't have time to question who the team is before she's quickly walking over to his bedside, nimble fingers checking over the monitors and machines before she's suddenly flashing a light in his eyes.
He hisses at the assault to his pupils and she makes a clicking noise with her tongue before she presses a button by the side of his bed. He finds himself being raised into a sitting position. "I'm going to check your stump, how are you feeling?"
"Oh, I'm al-left," he says, or he tries to say. His mouth doesn't seem to want to work with him and it comes out a bit lazily and slurred. However, she does smile slightly; he's happy that even though he doesn't seem to be able to speak the best at the moment the joke still was able to be understood.
He lets out a small chuckle and hisses when the action puts fire in his lungs. He coughs and goes to lift his arm to cover his mouth, but the one he tries to move is the one currently missing and probably stuffed in a dumpster somewhere and that both horrifies and fascinates him at the same time.
Cho gently undoes the tie around his shoulder and pulls the gown down to reveal a mess of bandages. "On a scale from one to ten, how much pain are you in?"
"Ahh, six…"
His voice is scratchy, his throat aches. With each passing second he notices something that's in pain, but none of it is… agonizing. Just sore, stiff, numb, and bruised. Nothing too bad, but still enough to make him wince at every move.
Cho hums in content as her fingers go over his bandages... over his… stump. He watches in interest as she undoes the cloth and begins to unwind.
"What… happened?" Tony asks and Cho stops her work long enough to glance at him.
"What do you remember?"
He sighs and closes his eyes for a second. "Everything. I should be dead."
"You were with every single hero in the universe, Tony," Cho says as she returns to unwinding his wound. He catches a flash of scarred flesh colored an odd purple color. "Do you really think they were going to let you die?"
-o-o-o-o-
Turns out, Doctor Strange straight up teleported Tony to Wakanda as he was teetering on the thread between life and death. There, Shuri, Cho, himself, and other brilliant doctors worked for four days straight to save his life. They had to amputate the arm, which stung. His hands are important to him, and if he were awake he probably would have told them to let him go or find another way, but he wasn't awake. Pepper was. Morgan was. Peter was. May was. Happy was. They made the decision. His family made the decision so he won't complain.
They wanted him alive, he was ready to die but they wanted him alive, so he will continue to live for them.
He isn't allowed visitors for a few hours as Cho checks him over and makes sure everything is okay. His injuries are healing but they are extensive and numbered. His arm, or lack thereof, is the worst of them, but he has scars running up his neck and around his face, more trail down along his shoulder and side, going down towards his knee. He will need therapy along each of those areas, will need a constant supply of pain meds and scar lotion, but he will live.
The first person he sees is little Morgan, who he loves more than anything in the entire world. Loves her more than three thousand. He tells her that as Pepper walks in with tear stained cheeks.
"I love you five thousand."
"No! I love you six thousand!"
"I see your six thousand, and raise you one hundred thousand!"
"I love you one million kajillion thousand!!!"
He doesn't know how to best that number.
The next day is just the three of them with the occasional doctor or nurse coming into talk with him and check him over. It feels surreal, like it is all a dream and soon he'll wake up and Pepper won't be cuddled into his side—his left side of course, even with the absurd amount of pain meds he's on it still aches horribly—and Morgan won't be across the hospital room trying to figure out how to turn on the TV. Every time he blinks he almost expects to open his eyes to darkness, to nothing, or never open them again.
Yet his eyes still open and Pep's shampoo still fills his nose as he breathes her in, rubs her shoulder with his one hand, that alone must let her know that she is the most important thing to him right now. She hums in content and presses herself against him further, though she's gentle not to touch his scars and bruises.
The girl named Shuri came in once or twice to ask how he is doing and to show him her plans for a new prosthetic arm. He turns her down though, saying that he thinks he's done now and he doesn't need it. Pepper gives him a disbelieving look, probably already knowing that he's planning out his own design for an arm and he doesn't trust anyone else's work. Shuri doesn't look offended, she just smiles like she understands. Tony instantly likes her.
-o-o-o-o-
A week passes before anything fun happens. Pepper and Morgan returned back to their home so Pep could get back to running a company and Tony could finish recovering. They began to put him through physical therapy, specialist in Wakanda and Doctor Strange himself have fun putting Tong through the wringer as he almost has to learn how to move his body again. It's all different, he's off balance, his leg is stiff and thanks to a mostly scarred ear his equilibrium is thrown off, but he gets the hang of it. Eventually he's able to walk around fairly decently with a cane in his one hand and a rather annoying limp that he can live with.
And then he's clear two weeks later.
He remembers looking in the mirror before Doctor Strange came to work his wizard magic to teleport Tony back to his home. He thinks he looks like a very rich and more handsome version of Two-Face. Thanks to Wakandan tech and Stephen Strange's help, most of the scarring has been smoothed down to look mostly normal but he can tell, his skin isn't as smooth, it's rough and leathery to the touch. He doesn't think any amount of plastic surgery will ever be able to make his skin… human again. Iron Man has new scars now, though none of them look as aesthetically pleasing as the arc reactor had.
He supposes he will have to live with it. He's lucky to be alive after all.
-o-o-o-o-
There's a small homecoming party when he returns, just with his closest friends and family. It's strange to see Cap, an old man, hobbling around with his own cane, but Tony is happy for him. He finally went off to live his life how he wanted to. How he deserves to.
To say he's shocked to see one Natasha Romanoff there, happily making lame jokes with Clint would be an understatement. Turns out, when the soul stone was returned she was brought back, a soul for a soul. Equivalent exchange and all that. He's just happy she's alive, she plans to live with the Barton's until she figures out what she wants to do with her life.
"The old man told me we both need to get a life," she says, sipping at a a fruit flavored drink, "I told him you first. I suppose it's my turn now."
Thor is there too, thick as ever but he promises he's going to turn his life back around and when he returns from his trip with the Guardians he will be the strongest, most handsome Avenger there is once again. He says this while drinking a huge mug of beer, so Tony doesn't hold his breath.
Bruce… Hulk… Bulk? Whatever, that guy is there as well, his presence is instantly a comfort. His arm is in a sling and Tony can't help but feel a bit of jealousy towards it, but then Morgan runs up to him and grabs at his knees while Happy runs after her looking exasperated and he reminds himself that he could be gone right now. There could be a funeral in place of the party. His daughter could be doomed to grow up without a father, his wife without a husband. His arm is a tiny sacrifice when put into perspective.
He eats a whole lot of hamburgers that night.
-o-o-o-o-
A month after the universe is made whole again, Tony is finally able to reunite with Peter. He's been looking forward to it, he knows Peter has been too. The reason it took so long is because the world was way too excited to get it's children back, so excited, in fact, that they decided "let's throw them all back into school immediately!" Peter has been busy with school and reconnecting with friends and getting used to the fact that some of them are now older than him. Tony hears he's taking it like a champ with only a few bumps and bruises along the way. Thankfully his best friend Ned and his crush MJ are still his same age. The lucky kid.
The moment Tony sees Peter, it's like the world has slowed down. He is out weeding, testing out his new arm that he caved in and made himself, when May's car pulls in. Peter practically jumps out the window and sprints over to Tony with the widest grins and the definition of puppy eyes. Tony barely has time to stand up before he's locked in a crushing hug from the kid probably more powerful that Steve Rogers. Actually… now that Steve is a million years old, Peter may be the strongest person in the world excluding Thor and Hulk. Those guys are outliers. They are so freakishly strong they are just not included in the data. Carol is on that list too, now that he thinks about it.
Anyway, the hug is bone crushing and gross because the kid is crying, Tony isn't. One hundred percent, he's definitely not crying. It's just sweat, he's been outside all day.
They have a simple dinner and Peter instantly hits off with Morgan which Tony couldn't be more happy for. Morgan has grown up her whole life hearing stories about big brother Peter, her hero is Spider-Man in fact. Sure, Iron Man is great, but Iron Man is dad and that instantly lowers his cool points or something ridiculous like that.
He looks across the table as Peter is having a very avid conversation with Morgan about something or other. He can see black bags under the kids eyes, he can see how his hands tremble just a bit. Tony isn't stupid, Peter has definitely developed some anxiety, PTSD even, from the recent events. He hasn't touched the suit since returning back to Queens, not that Tony can blame him. May tells him that he's being provided a therapist, Sam Wilson himself, but the recovery is going slower than what it should. It seems that with all of Peters abilities, a broken heart and a tortured mind still takes a stubborn amount of time to heal.
Whatever the case, Tony will be there for him. He's considered Pete his son for the longest time. He's never said it out loud though because May is the main parent, but Tony can't change what he feels for the kid. He's never really had the chance to tell him though, how much Tony cares for him. So much was going on even before the Snap that Tony didn't even realize it himself how important Peter was to him, and then Peter dusted away and it was five years before Tony ever saw him again.
He decides he's waited long enough to make it clear to Peter, especially since he could be buried in a grave right now. He tells Morgan every night how much he loves her, but Peter has hardly gotten more than a hug or two.
Before Peter and May leave, Tony puts his real arm on Peters shoulder and pulls him in for a hug. It's amazing how quickly Peter responds, without hesitation, with a hug of his own.
"I'm proud of you kid," Tony says, "I'm so fucking proud of you."
He feels Peters shoulders jolt as sobs instantly break out. Tony holds him closer and puts his jaw over Peter's head and let's Peter get it out.
"Love you too…" Peter whispers through the tears.
-o-o-o-o-
Years pass, and Iron Man is no more. Just Tony Stark, Iron Man is a retired hero that will just be remembered and celebrated and nothing more. However, Tony still builds suits, just not for himself. The first one was for Peter, a strong spider themed metal suit made of the same technology Tony's last one was made of. It's smaller though, fits easily in a watch on Peter's wrist instead of the whole arc reactor thing Tony had going on.
The next suit was for Sam, who came to Tony panicking because he couldn't figure out how he was going to fly around with a giant vibranium shield. Tony had fun making that one, it was a challenge to find a way to make a place for the shield and still keep the wings aerodynamic. A fun challenge really, Morgan helped him out with it.
He's made many other things, but even that he stops doing eventually, Morgan is doing it all on her own. Just reaching Junior High and she's the smartest little person he knows besides her mom.
He's happy, he realizes as the years pass. Peter owns Stark Tech, Steve Rogers died a tearful and happy death, Pepper is retired, Natasha is happily married with her own rascals running around, she says they're adopted but Tony thinks they all look as mean and beautiful as she does. Clint is finally living his dream as a cowboy and nothing else. Bucky and Sam are the ring leaders of the Avengers, Wanda has found a love again, Happy and May for some reason fell in love and got married to the horror of Peter, Bulk Bruce Hulk whatever is leading the scientific world, Thor is chiseled once again and enjoying the on the go life in space, and Tony is so incredibly happy.
At the end of the day, when he takes off his prosthetic arm, painted a simple gray instead of the red and gold it used to be, he thinks about how lucky he is. He thinks about the family he's gained over the years, how many people have touched his life and how many say he's touched theirs. He used to be a drunk, used to be alone, used to be hated by everyone and seen as just an aloof rich playboy. Tony's surprised Rhody dealt with all his shit for as long as he had. It was Happy's job to, but Rhody could have left whenever he wanted, and he didn't.
At the end of the day, he thinks about the smiling faces of his loved ones. There could have been a funeral, they could have seen that crappy apology hologram he made before the time traveling thing, they could have been facing a world with no Tony Stark.
Tony is glad he's alive, because, once again, at the end of the day, he's so thankful for his family, the phantom pains in his arm don't even hurt anymore. He's glad he took the chance to bring back what they lost, and to keep what he's found. And have not lost his life in the process.
#jin writes#avengers endgame#marvel endgame#endgame spolier#endgame spoiler alert#spoilers#fan fiction#tony stark#peter parker#fix it fic#avengers#avengers endame spoilers#iron man#spider-man
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Wolves Among Us - Bakugo x Reader (V)
Wolves Among Us – Bakugo x Reader
Series Warning: Fantasy AU, Fluff, NSFW
(Chapter V/XX) New Mini Series!
I love this chapter! Had a blast writing it <3 <3 Thank you everyone who follows this story!!! Reading your reactions always gets me pumped!!
Taglist:
@freedom-for-bum @reallyfuckingangrylatina @risarisarisaa @ashherssss @mels-heart @xa-dia @shanty-lol (((Some of the tags aren’t working for you guys so I'm guessing you have to go to your settings and allow yourself to be tagged)))
Inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter
(Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV) (Chapter V) ((click the tag wau bnha to find all the chapters since Tumblr killed links.))
-----------------------------------------------
V.
It was quiet. The sun was completely gone, retired for the day so that the moon could shower its glow across the forest. The skies were oddly clear of clouds with only the moon solely hanging in its vicinities. But it was still as cold as ever with an old sheet of snow slouched across the land in uneven hills. The snow was hardened because of the lower temperatures and every time you stepped your boot into it, it would crunch, and an ice crater created from your foot would be formed.
Katsuki’s boots did the same thing except that they were much larger than your own. You were starting to notice just how big Katsuki was as he had his back towards you, leading you through the shadows between the thick trees. He was holding your hand, tightly, it was the only warmth you felt in this weather. Anytime you touched Katsuki, it always felt hot like summer. It never ceased to amaze you how just simply being close to him could remind you of the fiercest of seasons. Whenever he would escort you back to the main pathway, he would hold your hand to lead you. He knew you couldn’t see as well as him in the dark and he also didn’t want you getting lost. It was your favorite part, ending the day with Katsuki, hand in hand with your heart thumping in your chest. He was your protector and it made you happy how willing he was to guide you out of the forest every time nightfall arrived.
It was a week since it happened. The distant attitude Katsuki had after his tongue left your neck. It left you so confused amongst your feelings of desire. A fire was lit within you when he held you that evening and you had the urge to pull him back when he departed. How strange that feeling was, like you just wanted to surrender yourself to him, to his claws, to his fangs, to his body. You wondered how he must’ve felt. Was it strange for him as well? Did he have the urge to devour you?
“You’re so quiet.” Your eyes flickered up and saw Katsuki’s glowing eyes briefly in your direction, a burning red like usual. “You’re usually talking your mouth off.” He wasn’t wrong. You always took lead in the conversations but this time, you were trapped in your thoughts. Even though he had reverted back to himself the next day after him being distant, you still wanted to know if he desired you as much as you desired him. It’s been more than a month since you’ve known him, you couldn’t ignore these feelings even if you tried.
“The day went by too fast.” Although, you didn’t have the courage to ask him. You decided to mumble something about time, sounding slightly disappointed because soon you would have to separate from Katsuki.
“It gets dark faster around this time of year. Can’t help it.” You wondered if the drop in his vocals meant he was disappointed too. You fell silent yet again with only the crunch of the snow under your boots being the sole conversation between you two. You had fallen victim to your thoughts again, succumbing to your memories of last week. You didn’t notice when Katsuki suddenly stop walking until you had walked into his back. When your eyes met with his again, you found yourself under his annoyed stare. He turned around to face you with a soft snarl and pulled his hand out of yours.
“What’s going on with you? You got something to say to me?” He couldn’t ignore it anymore. He knew there was something bothering you since last week and as the days went by, you became more and more spacey. Katsuki didn’t like it. He could read your facial expressions, but he couldn’t read the mind behind it.
“Nothing’s going on. I’m just not that talkative today.” You shrugged, giving a small smile, but Katsuki’s frown remained permanent even with such a sweet look on your face.
“Bullshit.” He scoffed. “This past week you’ve been weird. All quiet and what not. Are you afraid of me now or something?” His eyebrows were so furrowed that wrinkles began appearing between them. He definitely looked frustrated, but you could slightly see the pain behind his red irises. “I know, alright, I didn’t mean to hurt you last week. And then, all that crap happened with cleaning you. Look, I get it if you don’t want to see me anymore.”
Where did he get that idea? You were already shaking your head and you moved to hold both of Katsuki’s hands. “Wait. You’re jumping to conclusions. I never said I didn’t want to see you and I’m definitely not afraid of you. I just…” You quieted down, feeling your face heat up. You brought your eyes towards the ground.
Katsuki continued to stare at you and they bore into your face like sun spots. “You just what?” You couldn’t read his voice, but it sounded calmer than before. A complete contrast to your heart that was thrashing around in your body. You didn’t know if you had the courage to tell him your feelings. After all, he was a wolf and you were a human. Two different species who are pitted against each other. Could it even work? You thought of the pregnant woman you met in the forest, how sure she was of herself being in a relationship with a wolf. You knew they loved each other dearly, regardless of the issues they might face. But were you ready for such issues? Was Katsuki?
“I-I… Haah.” You made a frustrated sigh, letting go of Katsuki’s hands. “Just forget it. It’s nothing…”
“Come on, tell me.” He was growing impatient, you could tell by the small growl that left him. He tried to grab your hand for whatever reason, but you slipped away just before his fingers could touch you.
“It’s nothing.” You repeated, avoiding his growing intense eyes. You brought your arms around your body and hugged yourself, afraid if any of your limbs were left out that Katsuki would grab hold of them to shake your response out of you. You didn’t want that happening, nor for this conversation to continue. You began to walk past Katsuki, unfortunately, not going too far on the account of you slipping on a rock that was covered completely in snow. If it wasn’t for Katsuki’s strong arms, you would’ve probably fell face first in a pile of snow. His arms easily went around your waist and your body collided with his instead of the icy pile. You almost regretted looking up because you found yourself lost in the field of fire lilies again. You were beginning to notice just how beautiful he looked in the moonlight. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark and reflect the soft lighting of the moon. His seemingly flawless cream skin would glisten, and his ash blonde hair shimmered like jewels embedded in stone. He also always looked calmer during the night, like he was in his natural element. He wasn’t afraid of the dark like you were but was one with it.
“Clumsy woman. You also fell the first time we met.” His eyes were fixed on your face.
You snorted, somewhat hoping he couldn’t feel or hear the sound your heart panging. “Only because you were chasing me.”
“Maybe you should’ve let me catch you sooner.” Oh, that devilish smirk should be illegal. It rattled your mind so as you saw his large fangs and felt his nails pressing into your sides. He looked like he would devour you in seconds, tempting it may be with you in his arms, flushed and heated, looking delirious like you did last week when he had you against his body. It was so quiet between you two, but the words existed in the connection of your eyes. Your hand that was pressed into his chest could feel his chiseled muscles through his clothes. Curiosity had you wondering how he looked like nude in all of his glory, from his muscles all the way down to his… you blushed, and you were sure if Katsuki didn’t already hear the rhythm of your heart that he would most definitely hear it now.
“I never felt so strongly about someone before, Katsuki…” You couldn’t deny it. You yearned for him whether or not he felt the same way. The hand that was on his chest was now cupping his cheek, stroking his soft skin.
Katsuki remained staring at you but his eyes were so intense. Passion was lurking around in those fiery irises and it nearly took you breath away.
And he was seconds away from having his first taste of you. “Me neither.”
It wasn’t what you were expecting, this energy coursing through your body, like static left after a lightning strike. It pulsed within you, blasting into a fire that seemed to spread to your core like wildfire. Katsuki had captured your lips with his and pushed your body until it met against the cold bark of a tree. The cold yet again nonexistent when together with Katsuki. You wrapped your arms around his large form, gripping the clothes on his back as you struggled to keep up with his wild lips. He was kissing you voraciously, like he hadn’t felt the touch of a woman in centuries. You may have yearned for him, but he ached to feel your skin against his for as long as he could remember.
His name found its way upon your lips, soft and breathless like how he imagined. It made him deepened the kiss even more, wanting to know how different his name could sound with your harmonious voice. He tried his best to keep his hands at your hips, he didn’t want to scare you away if he became adventurous—but he knew soon enough when the time comes, his curiosity will be fulfilled.
You didn’t know kissing could feel so great. How just a simple nip at your bottom lip could send your lower stomach into a tizzy of pleasure. And when he first snuck his tongue past your lips, you roamed your tongue around his mouth, personally touching his fangs that were incredibly sharp. The groans that left Katsuki were both sexy and addicting, you didn’t want him to stop as it helped maintain the heat building in your core. You moved your hands into his hair, gripping and running them through his frizzy strands. It must’ve provoked him or something because you soon felt his hot hands touching the bare skin of your hips. He had slipped his hands under the rim of your long skirt and also your underwear. It was a tight fit for his hands, but he couldn’t stop himself from touching you. He wanted more. You couldn’t blame him, it took the greatest willpower to stop yourself from slipping your hand under his clothes to feel his great abs.
“Katsuki…” You moaned hungrily, feeling him pressing his body against yours until all you felt was bark and his hard chest. You didn’t even notice when his wolf ears started to twitch because you were so intoxicating by his lips. Katsuki himself almost couldn’t feel it until something made him startled. He pulled away from you faster than you realized it and when you did, you instantly pouted.
“What’s wrong?” You asked, still a little hazy from the kiss.
“I heard something.” He spoke right away, pulling away from you. His hands slipped out of your skirt and he started to look around the quiet forest. The darkness densely surrounded the trees, the moonlight was no longer shining through as it was shielded by a thick cloud that leisurely moved across the sky. You could barely see anything, but you felt Katsuki grasping your hand tightly. You could tell there was something making him anxious.
“Shit! ____!” You suddenly heard him say and you felt him grab at your shoulders. It was the very first time you heard your name from his lips, but it held no loving emotion or even lust, it was distressed and desperate. “Run!” He began to push you. “Get out of her—” Something suddenly pricked Katsuki in his neck, it was tiny and sharp like a needle and as soon as it pierced his skin, he felt his body become numb. He was slowly losing the feeling of his limbs. It spread from his arms to his chest, and finally his legs. He fell onto the snow-covered ground, unable to support himself any longer. It looked as if he had fainted as his eyes were shut and was completely immobile.
“Katsuki?! Katsuki!!” You called out his name in panic, diving knees first into the snow near his body. You tried shaking him awake but he wasn’t responding. It was like he was dead and that worried you greatly.
What Katsuki heard was something you wished you’d never encounter. They traveled in groups and were terribly skilled at hunting, specifically wolves. They lit their torches to reveal themselves, disgusting smirks were also exposed by the flickering flame as well as their weapons clasped in their hands. They were dressed in all black for camouflage during the night and they surrounded you and Katsuki in mere seconds.
“Looks like we caught ourselves a wolf and a wolf lover.” They snickered.
Remember if you want to be added to the tagslist, let me know! Love ya <3
(Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV) (Chapter V) ((click the tag wau bnha to find all the chapters since Tumblr killed links.))
#bnha#bnha scenarios#wau bnha#bnha x reader#bakugo katsuki#bakugo katsuki x reader#nekokoafanfictions#mha#mha x reader
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