A throwback to what used to be a regular Boston fic kinda day

Caring for my clothes/fabric-wearing Pokémon!

ALRIGHT! I suppose Rotomblr is a good place to share information like this and, heh, I'm pretty knowledgeable on the topic if I do say so myself.

I train a bunch of Pokémon that wear clothes or fabrics. It's such a weird and freaky thing to a bunch of people for some reason, oooh where do they come from do they ever take it off so weird blah blah blah. Most people just get distracted being weirded out insteada learning anything! SO! I wrote about what I do for my team! Here it goes!! - J

Ribombee

These dudes make scarves out of wild materials, they're super crafty and can work well with their tiny hands and nature skills. Thin and lightweight is what they'd want, and they wouldn't mind a somewhat scratchy texture either. They enjoy the details (it's not about a perfect ~soft~ consistency just cause they're fairy types!! Arceus on Spear Pillar you guys' fairy type stereotypes give me a headache. AHEM!) and they can really tell when love's been put into it. Gifting eachother scarves can sometimes be part of how some Ribombee find mates too, along with making the most impressive pollen puffs!

My Ribombee had an old and plain scarf it wasn't all that attatched to. What I did was take the cotton left behind by a fleeing Whimsicott me and Ribombee went up against, did some minimal processing of the cotton with what I had at the base, dyed it brown and suprised her with it! She's never taken it off.

Oh, and I came up with a method to make that spike thing, but it's kinda hard to explain and pull off... there's Mewtube and Bulba-How tutorials, and if you can't pull it off you can get help from your Ribombee! Again, it's a social thing for them, they don't mind.

You don't really need to worry about cleaning a Ribombee's scarf. Most of what they make would kinda just fall apart if washed, so they've learned to use their hands very delicately to do the job themselves! They're probably better at it than you, so just back off for these ones. Plus, like touching a Skitty while it's licking itself, it's just kinda rude. Don't be rude!

Mimikyu

OOH OOH, OK THIS ONE'S SUPER INTERESTING! So ghost Pokémon's bodies work different from usual ones as you all probably know. The reason why Mimikyu hatch wearing a rag despite there clearly being a face drawn on the fabric is that over time a rag becomes bonded to one's body and essentially becomes a part of the Mimikyu! Hah, I get the feeling, like my gloves I made that feel like a part of me too, or like, my sweatpants when I was a teen.

However, the fabrics do get old and do need a wash. Not cause your Mimikyu, like, sweats or anything, it's less an odor issue and more that they can feel the fabric and old ones can get uncomfortable over time. Gyeuh, can you imagine something scratchy and full of dirt being bound to your body? Makes me squirm a little.

It's important to get a whitish fabric and a black, brown and yellow/orange marker or paints depending on which would work on your fabric, plus a little string and stuffing for them to make the head with. I don't think they have individual preferences for how the rag looks, they wanna look like Pikachu and they have a specific idea for how to go about that.

I took my little guy to the fabric store only cause I'd need something blank to work with (plus I don't dig the vibe of those places! There's people who don't know what they're talking about everywhere and the smell of a hundred different detergents and marker inks following you around! I always have to bring Swirlix along there to get myself through it.) I let them feel out whichever one they like the most and I let them run wild with it. Then, I let them go into the closet to change, and out they come a new man!

When it comes to cleaning, wild Mimikyu would just take a dip in a pond or whatever, or just... not wash. Eh, can't judge. However for my guy I follow whatever is needed for their specific fabric at the time. In the meantime they hide under a mattress while I leave Clementine there (my Scrafty) to make sure no one tries to take a peek at them.

Shuppet

Shuppet is really interesting because yeah, it looks like it's kinda just the sheet... and that's because it is! It's not like Mimikyu, that's just it's body. You can't replace the sheet, but it can still get dirty, so you can bathe a Shuppet the same way you'd clean a fabric! Unfortunately the one thing about being a Rider who's into clothes stuff is that there isn't really a "punk" detergent out there, and no one who like. Wants to make a small business around detergent or whatever. So I just get some (groan) Baby Smoochum's Laundry Detergent since I've found its what works best.

(I would shoplift it, but like. The cashier at the store I go to is really nice and I don't wanna get into an argument with him...)

Oh yeah, and if you use something else, make sure it's NON-TOXIC! Shuppets ain't immune to poison, remember! It won't really care if you use something scented or not, it's senses are specialized towards emotion, so it has a dulled sense for taste and smell of real food.

You don't need to do dry clean or anything for these guys. You'd normally want to do the wash on low for the sake of the Shuppet, but mine is a CERTIFIED DUDE who likes swirling around inside the laundry machine at HIGH, ADRENALINE-PUMPING WASH CYCLE SPEEDS!! It looks really fun tbh. So that's how I do it!

I don't think I'd be able to do the washing machine method when (or if, at this rate,) he evolves though. Stronger ghost Pokémon easily curse things if you're not careful, and I'm not going through all this effort just to end up with haunted ghost clothes!

Scraggy and Scrafty

Common misconception that these are another clothes-wearing one. From what I've heard usually only Scrafty's dex entry clarifies it, but that's thick shed skin, not actual clothes! And SOOOO many people treat that like such a freaky, world destroying fact when they learn it! GAH! Arceus forbid nature isn't perfectly pretty by human standards all of the time!!

But yeah, for Scraggys and Scraftys (or... Scraggies and Scrafties?) you just keep an eye on areas where dirt can get stuck under the shed skin like around the feet or in the tail and let them soak in the bathtup (or a lake if you're on the road) every now and then.

That's what I got for my team! They're the ones I'm most knowledgeable on, but I'm knowledgeable on the topic and can give pointers for other Pokémon too if you have questions!

Animaniacs Reboot Season 3 Episode 1 Review

I’m rewatching the episodes for accuracy but only for the Warners. I don’t know P&TB that well to accurately judge them so I’m not worried about them.

I’m gonna do a play by play then an actual review.

The theme song has the contract say 10/13 episodes. Funny. The variable verse is “excessive spit takey” said by Yakko.

Previously On retells the last episode of season 2 with Yakko doing spit takes. Then the cup does a Yakko spit take. Lol

Banana computer! The fact that it’s off-center bothers me.

Yakko, Wakko, and Dot

I’m gonna combine parts 1 and 2 of the Warners.

Ralph seems to enjoy being in charge of the studio. Good for him. He deserves it. He is on a no meat diet, though? And he has to watch meat movies? Sadistic, much, Flora Dora? That’s probably why he goes insane later when the Warners steal his sandwich.

Meatball Man is probably a play on Batman/Marvel/DC movies. Pasta la pizza, gravy is pretty clever. Although how come he is the only one that’s actually meat (I think)? The sausages are humans or aliens dressed as meat.

Nora ends up quitting and becomes the security guard. How is she writing on her laptop? Touchscreen? I do like how both Flora Dora and Nora’s cats have the same hairstyle as them. “Fynd Wrk” is a play on “Indeed” or “LinkedIn”.

So without a guard the Warners run wild and havoc on the studio. Legit. I like the transition where Scratchy falls and it shows him sliding onto his glasses.

“The new Ralph!” lol Also is this referencing when Plotz was a security guard in A Christmas Plotz? That doesn’t look like 4:30am it looks like 4:30pm.

I feel like they’re making Wakko less intuitive than usual. I’m gonna check throughout the season.

Yakko could’ve at least caught his brother. Also, ya’ll see the wall? 87 days? Plus the 8 near the door is 95. Aaaaawww! I was thinking it’s their age. But it would have to be 2024/2025 then.

Dot says “Boys” One of her old lines. Also Yakko says “kids” instead of “sibs.” This saddens me. I know he’s supposed to be oldest and the one that takes care of them but he’s still a kid and their brother. He wouldn’t think of himself that much older mentally.

I feel bad. I know they’re referencing movies but I don’t know a lot of them. There’s gonna be a lot references I don’t know about. Oh boy…

I’m disappointed in myself for not realizing they were in the SWAT uniforms. Although I think it would’ve been better if they tricked Nora.

I know the Warners don’t show affection verbally but…this still seemed off. I can’t see them being desperate to get out of it. They’re very close so they wouldn’t need to be scared of Nora. They could’ve outsmarted her or did reverse psychology. I get what they were going for, but I just can’t see it.

I do like “yoinky yoinky yoinky.” Are they not allowed to say any of their old sayings?

Gookie!

So Ralph gets competent being himself and eating whatever he wants? Who would’ve thought that being not who you are makes you less productive. (Sarcasm)

Batman and Wonder Woman.

I do find it interesting how he was able to beat the Warners here. This is one of the instances where something in the beginning of the episode plays again later - the movie lines playing again is the one for this episode. Although the ending differs. …Would he…have tried to eat Dot?

So the roles switch. Poor Ralph was sad but it’s nice to see Nora have a heart. I like how they had the net ready for him.

Well this episode served its purpose. Making everything back to normal since there’s a new season.

I did like part 1 better. More Warner antic are my forte. Stop hurting the Warners. They do happy accidents like finding solutions without meaning to - not the adversary. It’s cute how they lean on each other. It’s nice to see the subtle affection - see? They are nice with each other. It’s their actions. Each Warner had a time to shine (kinda). The transitions were good. Tried to look at animation. I think it was improved. The details are nice.

Pinky and The Brain

The animation threw me off for Pinky’s song but it was not bad. I do like the Pinky blogger series. It shows the plot in a different way than normal. Nice detail with the camera not being steady since Pinky is holding it. Pinky was sweet at the end. There’s a lot of Brinky moments this season. Or friendship moments.

Warners (both) - 7.7

P&TB - 8.5

Avg - 8.1

These were my initial ratings but it might change.

Wasn’t a bad start but could be better. I feel like the Warners were a little complacent than normal. Their personalities…I’ll save that for my season review.

𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙤𝙣, 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙣  𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙚  𝙇𝙖𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩  𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙘𝙧𝙮 𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚

statistics

inspired  by : barley william lightfoot ( onward  ) / added inspo ! , nick nelson  (  heartstopper  )  ,  peter quill (  guardians of the galaxy  )  , dustin henderson (  stranger things  ) , sodapop curtis (  the outsiders  ) , chandler bing (  friends  ), eric matthews ( boy meets world ), and when eddie munson said this is music holding up classic rock and talked to steve about ozzy osbourne so tru

full name. barley william lightfoot. faceclaim: derek theler ( future : charlie hunnam ) dob. november 30 zodiac. sagittarius occupation. employee at the comic book store. birthplace. new mushroomton, new york. orientation. bisexual/biromantic song. renegade - styx. film. lord of the rings education. high school / college dropout.  temperament. sanguine mbti. enfp alignment. chaotic good abilities. Knowledge of old magic house. gryffindor emoji.  ( 🧙  )

present !! 

barley came to elias to help his brother find a magical phoenix gem. the gem will hopefully bring their father back.

while in elias, barley has begun to build a life for himself. for so long he worried about ian’s needs, wants and desires, filling in a role of a father that ian needed. it meant his own needs fell to the wayside and now he’s allowing himself to be a little selfish.

he’s figuring out what he wants and who barley lightfoot really is. while the search for the phoenix gem is important, barley is also happy that for once he can put himself first. 

he’s found a father figure in howl - which he didn’t know he needed.

he’s just doing a lot of healing ( kinda !! ) and having fun and also having a crush on a girl which is wild to him !!!

past !!

tw: barley’s past mentions parental death, weight loss and cancer mention 

barley lightfoot, the oldest son of wilden and laurel lightfoot, is not exactly his mother’s pride and joy. he’s more of a headache but loved nonetheless. when barley was four years old his father died of cancer. h only has three memories of his dad: One, that he had a scratchy beard, two he danced funny and there he used to play drums on his foot. 

many think that the passing of wilden only affected ian because barley held it together and let his optimism shine through when in reality barley has three memories of his father. his last one being he was too afraid to say goodbye to him which lead barley to vow to never be afraid again of anything. 

being raised by a single mother, barley took it upon himself to become not only an older brother but a father figure of sorts to ian. he taught his brother everything he knows. from riding a bike to shaving his face ( if ian ever grows facial hair hehe ! ) his entire life was really dedicate to taking care of ian. his brother was so much more anxious and quiet than barley. he’s always been there to give ian an extra push even if he comes off as overbearing.

and while ian was golden, barley was seen as the screw up. his mom’s boyfriend likes to say it the most. he wasn’t as smart as ian or gentle. he was like a hurricane - reckless. he was smart in other ways but that didn’t really matter when it came to academics. in high school he didn’t have many friends. he was an outcast who played d&d, listened to rock music and believed in magic when no one else in new mushroomton did. no one really paid him any mind - certainly not girls. barley wasn’t exactly their idea of what attractive was. he was a nuisance around town. annoying barley lightfoot.

barley tried his best to be the best version of himself for ian. if everyone thought he was a screw up he didn’t care but ian’s opinion on him did. so when he dropped out of college it felt like the picture he had began to paint was now being ripped at the seams.

the summer after he dropped out of school that’s when things began to change for barley that summer he got hot. with time on his hand his mother begged him to find something else to do other than trying to save ancient magical sites or sitting in the basement all day playing games. so he turned to the gym to get into superhero shape for fun and came out with a six pack. that’s when people began noticing him. barley wasn’t a fan of his new found attention on his looks. 

life didn’t really change for barley until ian’s twenty-first birthday. it was a big day! bigger than barley expected because their father had left a special gift for ian. wilden had left a spell to bring him back. while magic was not used in new mushroomton for years, barley had held onto the hope that it still existed. to know his brother could be a super cool wizard was amazing! ian breaking the phoenix gem .. not so much. thankfully, barley had extensive knowledge on the quest of yore and knew that the only other place that had a phoenix gem was the manticore tavern which just so happened to be in elias, california. so barley packed him and ian up into his trusty van guinevere and began their grand adventure. 

future !!

i’m wanting barley to realize he’s gotta pour into his own cup as well as others. for so long he’s put so much devotion into ian and i need barley to know he did a good job. he did the best he could while trying to parent himself and his younger sibling because NO ONE gives you a book on how to do that shit. i’d just want him to believe in himself. he fell off thinking he was a screw up which isn’t true. i’m hoping barley will grow some confidence in himself. 

also work through his feelings with his dad’s passing .... baby you need to HEAL. it’s okay to feel sad. let’s not repress. 

in the future he’ll use his big imagination and become a videogame designer. there he will be able to use elements of fantasy and creates worlds he’s only dreamed of just as he did during d&d campaigns. 

taken connections

wilden lightfoot & laurel lightfoot  ( née friedrich ) / parents .

penelope hainline / crush .

howl pendragon / father figure .

belle rousseau / d&d buddy .

jim hawkins / he’s dating penny’s bestie so .. solidarity !! .

wanted connections

ian lightfoot : please bring barley his brother ... i’m on my knees.

friends : my son is in some need of friends. looking for a best bro or just any sort of friends in general [ open ]

d&d campaign : would fulfill barley’s soul if he had a little campaign to be part of.  [ open ]

mutual dislike : look he’s a gentle giant ... softest boy ... but barley is 6′5 and will throw hands if he has to maybe at axel or kaiden idk [ open ]

( PINTEREST BOARD, PLAYLIST & MUSING TAG 

Getting excited

I stopped learning gamemaker a while back bc I'm an ADHD bitch and it no longer brought me the dopamine it used to. I'm sure once I get back into it it'll continue feeling good and fulfilling, though it's a bit of work to get pedalling again since I applied for a job and etc etc got thrown off track a bit. But!! I just started concept on something that's really knocking my socks off and getting me thrilled about the idea of game development again, and genuinely thrilled for gamedev not just thrilled at the idea of having a game to put my music in.

My steady wrote a comic for school a while back where this kid transforms into a raccoon, which we lovingly dubbed Raccoon Witch Nelly, and as I was banging my head against the writer's block in their house the other day I saw the comic on their wall. I thought it'd be a fun exercise to get me back into soundtrack'ing to make a cute little theme song for a game about Nelly, and the reward of making my sweet little steady smile would be motivation enough to finish it. Lo and behold, this is some of the most fun shit I've ever written in my life. It's super funky (and you know how I struggle w funk) and I love love love the harmonies (though I still need to workshop them a bit since the intro has pretty thin texture and the chords can be kinda jarring when they're not obvious.) As I was in a frenzy writing this piece, I started conceptualizing a game that could come from it and here's the concept so far:

You play as [NAME], a kid living in the big city of [CITY]. By day you're a normal fourth grader, but by night you're a seasoned WITCH HUNTER!! This city is full to the brim with witches, and --with the help of your faithful friend Nelly-- you're determined to vanquish each and every one!

A lot of what excites me about this game so far is the setting, particularly the witches themselves. So far I have a few dozen conceptualized and their powers range from underwhelming to decidedly-nonmagical. I want to list them all here because they're so fun, and that would keep with my intentions for this blog to be my own personal devlog, BUT just in case this game does get released --should it get popular-- I don't want any spoilers for the fun little jokes and ideas getting out if someone finds this blog and fans pour over it the way they did for undertale or whatever. Someday I may want to share a comprehensive list, but suffice to say for now that Nelly's power to turn into a raccoon is by far the most useful/powerful magical ability. Because I'm so excited though, highlights at present include: -Stitch Witch; can make your clothes fit weird or become scratchy when she's feelin naughty (power also capable of positive changes though she wouldn't know bc she's always feelin naughty) -Cone Witch; has a bunch of traffic cones that she uses to block off parking spaces, close roads, etc. -Sand Witch; can make any surface smooth by rubbing it incessantly (slightly less efficient than sandpaper) -Call Witch; there's a slight chance her phone rings whenever someone makes a phone call. Also a ballsy poker player.

Anyways, I've been whistling the theme tune all week so I might post a sample of that once it's a bit more coherent and not a pain to export Sibelius. In the meantime here's my process page so far. I frigging love process pages for my writing I think they're so pretty and someday I'm gonna go through my old notebook from school and find/frame my favourites. I'm so excited for this project and I look forward to looking back on this post someday and hopefully feeling nostalgic rather than guilty-oh-no-i-never-did-that-ohh-god-i'm-wasting-my-talents-and-youth-oh-god-ooohhh-uuuhhh-oooooooohhhh

Big love to you all (me) ~Percy

Dying Ember

Summary: When you go into labor, what should be the happiest moment of your life with Gojo quickly transforms into one of terror.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: Major character death, pregnancy, child birth, non-descriptive death

A/n: This isn't a work that I'm extremely proud of, but the people of AO3 seemed to like it.

WC: 1.7k

Read it here on my AO3: Dying Ember 

Gojo didn't expect it to be like this. He would've been able to accept it if he failed to save you, if you were attacked by a curse, but he failed to save you. That would've been easier for him to digest. He's the strongest. He'll always be a target. There will always be people that want to hurt him. Hurting you would be the easiest way to hurt him. He doesn't lose any sleep over the small possibility, but he does think about it. He wishes he could chalk it up to not being fast enough or strong enough. It would make this pain easier to swallow down and hold in his chest.

He was helpless. All he could do was watch as your life slipped between his fingers like sand. He wished it was just a nightmare. He wished he could go to sleep and wake up with you snuggled at his side.

“She's beautiful,” you said as you looked down at your daughter who was swaddled in your arms.

“She looks like a little old lady,” Gojo told you as he examined your new guest of honor.

You leaned back in your hospital bed, exhausted from labor and delivery. It relieved you to know that you could finally relax. You were just buzzing with so much joy that you couldn't seem to keep your eyes closed. Nine months of waiting culminated for this very moment. Both of you were bouncing off the walls. This was the happiest day of your lives. Both of you couldn't stop staring at the little girl tightly bundled in your arms.

“You did really well. Get some sleep,” Gojo told you as he scooped the sleeping baby from your arms and kissed you on the forehead.

“But—”

“Sleep. There's nothing to worry about. After all, I'm the strongest.”

Your soft smile made his heart skip a beat. He couldn't stop smiling. There was no doubt that Satoru Gojo was the strongest man to walk the Earth, but god, was he weak for you. You'd come into his life like a storm, disrupting everything in your path. People liked Gojo, but you loved Gojo. It was so difficult for him to put how you made him feel into words.

When you finally woke up with your throat dry and scratchy and your body feeling like lead, you thought nothing of it. You were exhausted. Your body had just been put through major trauma only hours ago. Gojo was still holding your sleeping daughter in his arms, still staring at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“She kinda looks like you,” he said in a voice that felt eons away.

“What?” You needed clarification.

He flashed you a smile so bright and so wide, you feared you may go blind.

“These are your eyes and your hair. Your nose,” he said as he traced a finger against the little girl's features.

“I thought you said she looks like a little old lady,” you said with a tease in your voice.

He hummed happily.

“I think she's growing on me. Happy birthday little Satura.”

“No!”

He should've noticed earlier how fatigued you were becoming.

“Are you alright, cupcake?”

“I'm okay. I'm just so tired. Birthing a baby will do that to you,” you joked.

It's when sweat started beading on your forehead and your color started to fade that he realized something was wrong.

“Cupcake?” he questioned.

When you don't answer him right away, panic began to set in.

“Gojo,” you called to him, your voice nothing more than a whisper. “Something's wrong.”

Gojo tucked your daughter into his arm and pressed the nurse call button. He got closer to wipe some of the sweat from your forehead and could see the way your eyes were getting glassy. Alarms began to go off in his mind when he felt how warm your skin was.

“Something is wrong,” you choked out.

“You're going to be alright. Don't worry. Everything is alright,” he said and you wondered if the words were for you or for him.

Gojo took your hand in his own. Your skin was warm but your hands were so clammy. He didn't like the cold spot that was settling in his stomach. He knew what it meant. It was fear and Satoru Gojo feared nothing. How could he call himself the strongest if he did? How could he call himself your protector if there was something that even he feared? The nurse rushed in to check on you. The look of terror that befell her face the instant that she saw you caused a lump to form in Gojo’s throat. He tightened his hold on his baby girl and your hand. The happiest moment of his life was beginning to collapse onto itself. The nurse swiveled on her heel to run back out of the room. His mouth was dry. You softly squeezed his hand. Everything was going to be okay.

The doctor ran with fire on his heels as he began to check your vitals. Gojo felt like he was stuck. He was stuck in place, not wanting to shatter what was left of these warm, happy feelings. They were saying something over the white noise ringing in Gojo's ears. When he didn't move they ripped Gojo’s hand from yours as they began to poke and prod at your body.

“Step back sir,” the nurses told him sternly.

“S-Satoru. I love you,” you said as they put an oxygen mask over your mouth. “I love you,” you said again, but weaker.

It's the last thing you'll ever say to him.

“Mr. Gojo, I'm so sorry for your loss,” is all he heard for the rest of the day.

They say that they tried. They tried to save you. There was massive internal bleeding. As soon as they opened you up, you began to code. The doctors said you weren't in pain. It was as if you were asleep. It was the most peaceful that anyone has ever gone. Is that supposed to be a joke?

Gojo thinks that's bullshit. He's cocky about a lot of things, but only because he knows them to be true. Satoru Gojo is the strongest being alive. There's no contesting that fact. Some may come close, but no one has taken the title from him. You love him. You told him so everyday. Everytime the words left your lips, he'd beg for you to repeat them. He would play coy and act as though you telling him you loved him were the same as you were admitting to some dirty secret, but if he was being honest, he made you repeat the words so they'd pierce through his own disbelief. You loved him. You loved him more than anything.

Many people have typed Gojo as non-committal and truth be told, he was for the majority of his life. Until he met you. You were the cinder that would warm his heart and make it your home.

You loved him and you loved that baby. You said so everyday. You looked forward to the sleepless nights and milestones with Gojo. Though your feet swelled and your back ached, you were happy and full of pride over the state of your life. There's no way you went down peacefully. You loved him. You loved your baby. You would've fought.

He clenched his fist until his knuckles are white. He's forced to feel this pain again. He thought he was done feeling like this. Useless. Helpless. Sad. He's felt this only once in his life and he thought he'd buried it in the shadows of his mind. He thought he was passed this, this emptiness, this pain. He can't seem to shake it. It lurks in the corners of his vision at every turn. There's a hole in his chest. He thinks he hears your footsteps behind him when he's in the kitchen. He can still hear your tone deaf voice singing in the shower. When he closes his eyes, he can still feel your warmth bundled up next to him. It isn't fair. You were just here. The happiness in his life has dried up.

He stands over the crib as your daughter cries. He should...he should feed her. He should tend to her. He should do something. She just..won't stop crying. He doesn't know how to do this. Satoru Gojo is supposed to be the best at everything. And he is. He was. Parenthood is a new foothold for him. Now he has to do it without you. He hadn't planned, hadn't prepared. You were supposed to do this together. Your body wasn't supposed to stay at the hospital, cold and lifeless in the morgue. He's not supposed to be in this house alone with this stranger who looks so much like you. This child had none of Gojo’s features. Your genes were strong. He's sure you must've felt like you were looking into a mirror. Looking in her eyes is a painful reminder. Just a few days ago, you were here, waddling around, nesting. Gojo was massaging your warm skin.

Gojo can't seem to feel anything but betrayal as he looks at this stranger in his home. She looks so much like you, but she's not you. He should feel love and joy, but he's seething with anger. He knows it's not this little girl's fault, but he can't help but feel like it is. He scoops the baby up from her crib and warms up a bottle. He tests the milk on his hand the way you both practiced a few days ago. As she drinks from her bottle, she opens her eyes to look up at him. Those were your eyes. For a moment, he can pretend that he's looking down at you. She stops drinking the milk for a brief moment to stare at Gojo. When she gives him a gummy smile, it melts the anguish in Gojo's heart. He gives a heavy sigh before smiling back. The smile doesn't reach his eyes, but he can pretend. He can pretend he's not detached and broken if only for a moment.

Casual Sabotage *Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Reader is hit with sex pollen. Except she doesn't crave her boyfriend, Steve Rogers. No, it's his best friend, Bucky Barnes, that she wants inside of her. Bucky, in the beginning, is a good bro and refuses. But due to the fact she sucks his dick so good he kinda, sorta, loses that restraint and just fucks her regardless of who she belongs to.

Rating: Explicit [+18]

Warnings: Sex pollen= Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Rough blow-job, rough oral-sex, vaginal sex, praise kink, breeding kink, size kink- Bucky has a big dick in this lmao, choking and biting kink, infidelity; Reader cheats on Steve. 

TW: Dub-con- Reader is under sex pollen, so she actually cannot give consent and also because Bucky is so resistant in the beginning. It turns consensual on Bucky's part, he gives in to the temptation. But, obviously, reader is still influenced so... the lines are blurred.

Yourself and Bucky had searched the Hydra base from tippy-top to bottom. There was nothing out of the ordinary, which infuriated you a little. With the amount of recon work you both had to do, the long nights of watching the agents coming and going, you felt like you both deserved a small win, at least.

A long sigh escaped from your lips as Bucky's fingers typed furiously on the computers keyboard, a USB stick in hand just in case he found something exciting. Your arms were crossed over your chest, eyes scanning around the bases' security room, roaming the shelves and cabinets that held nothing of importance. A week of nothing, you wanted to cry.

"Hmm," Bucky low hum attracted your attention, "It says there's a basement to this building, we haven't checked that out." His steel eyes look over the screen and at you, you respond with a shrug of your shoulders. "We've got two hours before the cavalry arrives to pick us up, let's explore and see if we can obtain something to keep from Rogers from complainin'"

You giggle slightly at Bucky's comment, nodding in agreement with him. Steve would have a lot to say if you went back empty-handed, especially since he sent you both rather than himself. But you couldn't lie and say the thought of seeing Steve after so long didn't excite you. You had missed your boyfriend dearly, you weren't allowed on missions together since finally making things official. Work ethics and all that jazz.

Instead, you and Bucky had started to partner up, Steve didn't trust anyone but himself, and Bucky, to keep an eye out for you. Who better to watch over his best girl than his best friend, plus Bucky was your friend before you got with Steve.

"What if we go down there and there's a great, big monster waiting for us?" Sliding into the small elevator beside Barnes.

Bucky looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, "Then I'll be throwing you out as a distraction, so I can press the elevator door button to leave."

You both ended up laughing at his response, although when the doors finally did open and reveal a darkened basement layer... there was a moment of silence, you both side-eyeing one another at the lack of sound and movement.

Bucky stepped off first and the automatic lighting triggered him to pull his gun from its holster, his reflexes sharp and fast. You step off and follow Bucky down the hall towards double doors, the room through those doors was abandoned and huge. Desks with old computers, all smashed and out of use. Stacks of files and paper scattered on desks and the floor. Despite the mess, it all looks really promising, there had to be something amongst the chaos.

You both separate to cover more ground, you only had a limited time before you had to leave. You looked through paper and files, shuffling through stacks of meaningless bullshit. Hydra certainly kept a record of everything, including all the worthless crap. You wondered if they actually printed this stuff to lead you guys on wild goose chases like this, to make sure you were distracted with searching for something important amongst all their bullshit.

You ended up in the far back of the room, a small desk area had random empty vials littered across it. Files labelled in Russian, that you couldn't translate very well.

"Hey, Buck," You called over your shoulder as you lifted an empty vial, a cork tightly shoved in the top; curious. "Think I might've found something."

The vial itself was black, not black liquid, the vial was just black. It didn't feel weighted, it didn't feel like anything was moving inside of it. So, curiosity got the best of you because you yanked the cork off the vial. Black smoke puffed out and into your face causing you to inhale and go into a coughing fit. Waving your arms in front of your face, coughing at the inhalation of whatever was inside that vial.

It smelt like... old leather, peppermint toothpaste and...something else, like a deep musk. Odd.

"Hey, are you okay?" Bucky suddenly appeared at your side, a hand placed on your back and eyeing you with concern. He then grabbed the vial from your hand, it was clear and no longer black. "What happened?"

Your coughing had subsided, you felt fine. "I think there was some kind of smoke or whatever in there, I don't know. The black stuff just burst out, I was stupid-"

"Damn, right." Bucky looked mad, which was a given. "Hydra is known for making gas poisons, Y/N. That was a rookie move, never open strange vials." He didn't sound too mad at you, a little more concerned and worried.

You nodded, frowning when feeling the back of your neck sweating. You felt... hot. A sweat was taking over your body, your mouth was getting dry and your mind was going fuzzy. Bucky hadn't noticed, his eyes cast down to the Russian files on the desk, his hand flipping through the old pages and taking the information in with wide eyes. You briefly wondered if whatever is written in that file had anything to do with that vial.

"Fuck," Bucky muttered.

"What?" Your throat was scratchy, your breathing was becoming laboured and your palms were sweaty.

You didn't feel hot, though. You didn't feel sick either.

"Well, I'm guessing whatever was in that vial was... to put it plainly, sex pollen. It makes the patient unable to think of anything but sex, all they want and all they feel is lust. It's basically either used to breed or on prisoners- the pain of not getting off thoroughly enough can lead to the patient taking extreme measures: death." He shakes his head, you don't notice the horrified look In his eyes at the thought of maybe it being used on him when under Hydra's control. "You're likely fine, though."

"I wouldn't be so sure," You managed to gasp out, your thighs squeezing together and eyes closed, you wanted to feel embarrassed but you couldn't. "My head is spinning and, fuck, I need to get this off. I feel too hot, I'm burnin' up." Clawing at the collar of your own tact suit, your hands were shaking and you couldn't bring yourself to look at Bucky.

You wanted to look at him though. You knew he was standing close to you because you could smell him, he smelt like the black smoke did. He smelt delicious, intoxicating in the best way. God, you wanted him so badly. You needed him.

"It's going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, we'll get you back to Steve and he can-"

You shook your head and finally pulled the zipper down of your jacket, shrugging the bulletproof material off your shoulders.

"Need you." You managed to mumble out, lifting your gaze to Bucky, who was frowning and shaking his head. "Please, Buck. I need you! I can feel my skin crawling and-I'm in so much pain, please." Your voice a mix between a whine and beg.

"I can't- you're not thinking properly. Steve will be here soon and he can help you, he's your boyfriend, remember?"

You pulled the black, tight sleeved henley from your body and let it drop to the floor, it covered in sweat. You're standing in a sports bra and tact pants, chest heaving as you try to intake gulps of oxygen from your panting. Even with half your clothes off you still felt sweat bead and drip down your skin.

"I can't wait that long," You sniffled but no tears forming. "Please, I want you-I've always wanted you. You read the file, I'm going to die!"

Bucky continued to shake his head. "I won't do that Steve. It says that it took a couple of hours till that point, Steve'll be here soon and I'll explain to him what happened."

You groaned painfully, shaking your own head now. Not understanding why he couldn't just help you now. You were in immense pain and the throbbing heat in your core wasn't letting up.

You didn't want Steve to help you. You didn't need Steve to help you, it wasn't just because he wasn't here. You wanted Bucky. The smell of him, the heat radiating off his body when it was close to yours. You craved for him to touch you, to fuck you. You were sure the moment he touched you that the pain would ease, the flames that were consuming you would simmer down.

And you were certain that he wanted you too.

Taking the initiative you moved closer to Bucky, the short hairs on the back of your neck were drenched in sweat, you could feel it drip down your back. You placed a hand softly on his metal arm, the cool vibranium instantly cooling you down. Bucky let out a shaky breath and looked at you, eyebrows furrowing together as he took in your features. You were sure you could see the fight in his eyes, he wanted to help you. To touch you.

It was frustrating that he wasn't giving in. That he wasn't falling to his desires.

"I won't tell Steve, I promise." You whispered and pressed a kiss to his collar, inhaling his scent and shuddering when it filled your senses. He wasn't pushing you away, but he also wasn't giving in to touching you back. "It can be our little secret. I know you'll make me feel really good, he won't be able to help me like you can."

Her other hand trailed down his chest and stopped at his belt, Bucky was too busy telling her everything he had already been saying. Telling you how you love Steve and Steve loves you. It would break Steve's heart if he found out about this talk from you if he knew what you were saying to Buck. You didn't care, not right now anyway. You had always found Bucky attractive and before getting with Steve you had entertained the thought of Bucky, but he was just getting back his life. A relationship seemed too much for him, well that's what you thought.

You didn't settle for Steve, that was never the case. You love Steve, you know that. But, right now, here with Bucky, you knew that he'd be able to help you with this- more than Steve could. Steve was a peaceful lover, an attentive one. You needed this illness fucked out of you- at least, that's what your hazy brain was telling you.

Your hand slipped under his belt, a wide grin taking over your face at Bucky's shock, words choking out as you wrapped a hand around his dick. A sense of pride coming over you as he began to get hard in your hand, a few quick jerks as started to undo his pants with your free hand. Bucky was stunned into silence and compliance, unable to stop you just from the fact he hadn't been touched like this in a while.

He came to his senses when you noticed you get to your knees, his pants undone and pulled down his muscular thighs. Bucky slapped your hands away and tries to pull his pants back up, but you were putting up quite the fight. You roughly pushed him back, he ended up falling to the ground due to his pants restricting his movements. In the moments he fell down and was trying to figure out what happened, you had pulled down his boxers and gulped dryly at his semi-hard length.

"You're so big," You mumbled before wrapping your lips around the tip, a loud groan echoed through the room from Bucky.

You could feel him growing inside of your mouth as you tried to take more of him down, slobbering up his dick and licking around the shaft. Pulling off to run your tongue around the veins and down to his balls, gently suckling them into your mouth as you jerked his length till it was fully standing erect. You smirked to yourself at all of the noises Bucky was making, a hand being placed on your hair- which normally you hated Steve's hand in your hair, but you'd allow Bucky this time.

"Fuck my throat," spit was around your mouth and down your chin, "fuck my throat with your big cock."

Bucky's eyes were wide and lust-filled, there was still a hesitancy from him. A dilemma going on in that head of his, so you wrapped your lips around his cock again and started to slowly take him down. He was bigger than Steve, so much bigger, but that only spurred you on. You wanted him to roughly fuck your throat, you wanted to feel him at the back of your throat even after this.

You felt both his hands on your head... he started to push your head further down, the tip hit the back of your throat and you still hadn't taken all of him. He started to ease past your limitations, your eyes filled with tears as he stuffed your mouth impossibly full. Your lips stretched wide around his girth, he could feel your throat constrict around him and the slight gag you couldn't help because of how far he was down your throat.

"Fuck, so good." Bucky groaned lowly, eyes completely black and bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You knew your panties were soaking, a slickness collecting on your thighs as you rubbed them together, the flimsy material of your underwear was sticking to you and making you rub yourself just to alleviate the friction. "I'll deal with your pussy in second, right now I'm going to fill this hole up."

It was like Bucky snapped, the trepidation he was feeling before was long gone. It was now replaced with this new Bucky, and you loved him.

He wasn't merciful when he started to thrust in and out of your mouth, his balls were slapping against your chin harshly. The grip in your hair was harsh as he pushed and pulled your head to meet his hard thrusts, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull as he basically skull fucked you. Loud gagging sounds, your throat squeezing his cock as you fought for air, he only eased up when you looked like you were going to pass out. It was seconded worth of air before he repeated his onslaught, spit and cum was dribbling down your chin and onto your chest and sportsbra. Bucky kept his eyes on you, it made you shiver how he was looking at you.

Bucky didn't warn you when he was about to cum, instead, he held your head down, almost shoving his entire cock down your throat as loads of his cum spurted out and shot straight down your throat into your tummy. You hardly tasted his cum because of how far he was down your throat. He groaned as he came, swallowing thrusting his hips into your mouth as he milked his orgasm. He pulled you off his cock, it was still hard, thankfully.

He helped pull you to your feet then undressed you, roughly pulling the sports bra off your chest and yanking your pants down your legs. He ripped your panties to shreds and let the tattered pieces fall to the floor, his hungry gaze took in your shaking, naked form. Your thighs were glistening from your arousal and it was still leaking from your pussy, hardly any attention to it made you needy and wishing to be stuffed full.

"Turn around." The authority in his voice made you shiver.

You turned around and felt Bucky place a hand on your shoulder, bending you over the desk where you found the vial. The pieces of paper clinging to your sweaty skin and making you keen into his touch more. He kicked your feet further apart, a hand tickling the insides of your thighs and collecting your sweet juices. Expecting to feel fingers prodding around your entrance, instead, you felt a firm tongue lick from clit to fluttering hole, it dipping inside and collecting the juices wanting to leak out of you.

Your mouth fell open into a silent scream, his tongue was exploring so far into your pussy, his hands gripped your cheeks apart so he could push further inside of you. Tongue fucking you so roughly and expertly, your eyes almost went crossed out from the feeling. You didn't know you could be tongue fucked this good, but Bucky just lived to prove you wrong. The slurping sounds and moans from the man behind you, he lifted and bent your knee to rest on the table; opening you up further for his trained tongue.

"You're gonna have to let me have a taste of this everyday from now on, baby." Bucky groaned against your pussy, mouth closing around your clit as he sucked harshly, your mouths drowning out his own. "Taste so good," the tip of his tongue running figure eights on your engorged clit.

Bucky must've stayed between your legs for minutes, but it felt like hours. He pulled two back-to-back orgasms from you, only using his tongue. When he was done eating your pussy, he stood up and draped himself over your back, an arm wrapping around your neck as he breathed heavily into your ear. You could feel his cock nudge up against your pussy, sliding and coating himself in your juices.

"You ready for me?" You whined your response, trying to push yourself back against him but his arm tightened around your throat- not restricting your airflow. "Think your little pussy can take my dick, dolly?" You nodded in a rush, needing it inside of you otherwise you was going to die. "I've got you," The tip nudges against your entrance and began to push inside, the stretch was painful but welcoming. "Daddy's got you."

Your pussy fluttered around his length, the more he pushed his thick length in the more you moaned. He wasn't even half-way in when you started to babble about how he was too big for you, how he wouldn't fit inside of you. That only made Bucky want to prove you wrong, want to prove that you were made to take him. He started to thrust shallowly, rocking his length in and out of you, impaling you on him more whenever he pushed forward.

Once he was fully sheathed inside of you, he stopped and remained inside of your tight, heat for a moment. Relishing in the way you were split open around his cock, your walls were spasming around him and he was having a hard time not cumming on the spot. You felt so tight, so warm and wet around him, suddenly envious that Steve got to have you all the time. But he was planning on ruining you, to make sure the next time you fucked Steve it wouldn't feel as good.

He was going to fuck you so hard, so deep that you'd be wishing Steve was this big.

"Hang on, baby." That was the only warning you got.

Bucky started to pummel inside of you, his thrusts were hard and fast, his cock was kissing your cervix. You really could only just lay there and take it, your mouth open as moans were ripped from you, eyes rolling back as he kept impaling his girth inside of you. He was hitting spots so deep you knew you'd be feeling him for days afterwards, you'd be walking with limp and sore, it was worth it.

The way he was fucking you, it was as if he had something to prove.

The sound of skin slapping skin, his grunts and groans right beside your ear. His arm around your neck, clenching and cutting your airflow off at times, had you cumming within seconds and he still didn't let up. He didn't stop and fucked you through your third orgasm.

Your mind was starting to come down from the pollen, the pain and fever you were feeling had gone. Replaced now with pleasure and pain, a mix you didn't think you were into but now couldn't get enough of. All you could think and feel was Bucky Barnes. This was no longer the effects of the pollen anymore, this was pure you and riding on the afterglow of Bucky fucking you like you needed.

"Harder." You mumbled through heavy pants, tilting your head to look at him over your shoulder.

A smirk crossed his features, metal arm holding your hip in a bruising grip. Complying with your order and snapping his hips hard into your heat, grinding his hips against yours before pulling back out and repeating. It causes your back to arch, pressing your pussy back against his thrusts with little mewls leaving your lips.

"Kiss me." You plead breathlessly.

Bucky doesn't falter with that demand either. Draping himself over your body again and pressing his plump lips against yours, the kiss is far more gentle than his thrusts, but it still has you moaning against him. He was kissing you like you was fragile, yet fucking you like you were some kind of sex toy that he was using just to jerk off into. It was making your head spin and your pussy needy for more.

"You gonna come again?" Bucky chuckled against your ear, you nodded sharply and cried in pleasure when he bit your shoulder, cumming on the spot when his teeth dug into your flesh. "Mm'good girl." He mumbled as he licked at the tender spot, you could feel his hips stuttering their pace.

"Cum in me." You grinned and he cursed lowly, eyes squeezing shut. "Want you to fill me up, daddy. Fuckin' fuck a baby into me, fill me up."

The arm around your neck was pulled away, hand splaying across your back as he started to thrust into you in tight, fast and hard thrusts. Using your body to seek his own pleasure now, you were biting your lip at the thought of him filling you up. Not even caring if he actually did knock you up, you needed his cum inside of you.

Bucky found his end after a few careful thrusts, warm ropes of his seed filling you up and then some, he filled you up so much that it started to seep out around his cock. He groaned at the mess he made inside of you, he carefully pulled out of your abused cunt to see your hole clenching, trying to keep his creamy load inside of yourself. He had to look away because if he kept staring he'd get hard again, he didn't think you could take another round or load.

You remained bent over the desk and trying to catch your breath, his human hand was rubbing comforting circles on your back. Before you or Bucky could say something a buzzing sound captured both of your attention, it was coming from Bucky's pant pocket. He left you to retrieve his phone, eyes scanning over the device for a moment before he looked at you.

"Steve is waiting at the extraction point for us," You nodded mutely and you both got dressed in mutual silence.

He helped you to look presentable, ignoring the fingerprint bruise on your hip and the obvious bite mark on your shoulder. You were unsure how to explain any of that to Steve, you were also unsure how to explain what happened to Bucky. Obviously, you had still had those feelings for him, right? Otherwise, you would have been able to wait for Steve, it was like all sense of self-control had left you and only Bucky remained in your mind.

As you both left the base in awkward silence, treking the five miles towards the extraction zone, you wondered if you would have craved for Bucky if you was with Steve. If after all this time it was Bucky and not Steve you wanted.

All you knew was that Bucky had ruined you. You could still feel the impression of him inside of you, the way he had so deliciously stretched you open and impaled you on him. The way he had roughly fucked your throat like it was nothing but a hole to get off into. He had fucked you, in more ways than one.

(Please, let me know what you think! I’m also taking requests too! Honestly, kinda wanna write a part 2 where Reader tries to have sex with Steve but fakes her orgasm just to go to Bucky... I’m a bad person, I just think Bucky would be better than Steve tbh lol~ Lilith)

to the dearest anon who requested 3 letters for eren before i was struck down from my blog like hephaestus was struck down from olympus: i dont remember exactly which ones they were? but i'm pretty sure it was these three. im so sorry anonnie. (if youre seeing this, send an ask confirming/correcting me pls <3 i wanna make sure i got your request correct!) also this is the last one i received so if you requested something please send it over this way instead of my old blog.

hc game

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

He is so very affectionate. Eren feels like he needs to constantly remind you he loves you. It makes him feel safe and comforted, plus Eren has like... an excess of love for you that he needs to get out and the easiest way to let it out is by hugging and kissing you. Kinda like a dog when they run around because they haven't been walked.

Everyone knows you two are together because he is no stranger to PDA. The only people he kinda tones it down in front of is Mikasa, Historia, and maybe Annie (this annoys Armin to no end, he has to watch Eren snuggle you and do all this embarrassing stuff and the most Mikasa has to see is hand holding). He still tells every story of his love life to Historia though, and in exchange he has to listen to her talk about how cute Ymir is.

Honestly his affection levels start to go down the longer he knows you because he learns to become more subtle. Like when you first start dating he's throwing an arm around your waist and clinging to you like a koala while you study so you can pay attention to him (except he's not a koala he's a 6 foot something ripped dude and he's heavy!!!! And annoying!!! Bro chill!!!!!) but once you guys have been dating for a while he can just lay his head in your lap or be near you while you study in silence. He still loves you he's just less loud about his affection, more subtle and personal.

Eren likes routines and normalcy in his relationships. If you guys always hold hands to go to the dining hall for lunch, he expects you two to do that. If you forget he is freaking out. Kinda like how no matter how much he loves Jean he acts like he doesn't. The guy is like a brother to him but he feels like it's weird for them to stop bickering.

Also has a tendency to brag about you. Social media posts, casual conversation, showing someone something on his phone and making sure to unlock it in front of them so they can see a cute photo of you two, bringing up "my partner did-" in every conversation. Lowkey annoying but at the same time everyone finds it cute.

Kinda off topic but he is so annoying about you not saying I love you back or calling him like bro or anything that doesn't denote affection. If he says I love you and you don't say I love you back he will act like you stabbed him right there. If you call him bro or dude (he makes an exception sometimes if you kiss him after you say it because that is not like... bro, bro, that's like, bro [romantically]) he will not respond. He is your lover! Treat him as such. It also helps him stay grounded in the fact that you love him back.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Always there for you, no matter what you need. Selfless in his own very Eren way, which usually includes excessive amounts of impulsiveness and stupidity.

"You like so and so? Well why haven't you told them? I'll tell them, they like you back I just know it!"

You have to rush to get him to stop because he does not think before he acts. He tends to think in the long term which can be really irritating, but it's also quite adorable and honestly 99.9% of the time it works out, disregarding a couple bumps in the road.

Will listen to you talk about things you like even if he doesn't care for them. He finds it kind of his duty.

Good at keeping promises, he just takes a long time to do them. If he promises you french fries you'll get them it'll just be like 3 years later.

If you are Eren's friend and you like him don't even try to like... guess if he likes you back because he does not change at all when he starts to crush on someone. If you relationship starts off as flirty and he decides he doesn't really like you as much as he thought, he still flirts with you, it's just joke flirting now. If you guys start off as normal friends and he falls for you, he'll never try to flirt with you or anything. His life is already hectic enough, so he relies on his friendships and relationships for a sense of serenity. Despite this he has a tendency to fall for his friends so he's got it real rough.

Will never confess to you if you guys have a friends to lovers sort of arc. You've got to bear that burden. He can't even imagine losing you or making things awkward between him.

Enemies to lovers with Eren Jaeger means he will call you an idiot on your wedding day and then say I do 4 seconds later.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

god this is my shit

I feel like I'm just a broken record at this point but he's so passionate in his kisses. Like his love for you is all flowing out at once and he cannot stop it.

Kinda like fireworks. Fast and loud and colorful and one after another.

Teeth clacking. If you wear glasses they're gonna poke him. Awkward nose bumping that he laughs about before kissing you on the nose to make it all better.

He's kinda a rough kisser but it feels anything but rough. Like he's not particularly gentle with you or anything but it doesn't hurt at all it's just a lot all at once. Also he's a biter. They're not hard or painful bites but like he will chomp you on the neck while kissing you.

Likes neck kisses, literally just sit in his lap and let him nibble and kiss your neck while he hugs you really tight and his day is complete. Also likes kissing you on the lips but that's just a given. Those two are his go-to spots but honestly he will kiss you anywhere. Your chest, forehead, cheeks, thighs, stomach, whatever. He's not picky.

Likes to lay his head between your thighs and lean over and kiss them or blow raspberries on them.

Often says "I just wanna kiss you right now." or "Kiss me, dummy." or "Gimme kith." So so kissstarved help the poor man.

When you first start dating he tries to like plan out how to have an amazing first kiss with you and then it's just like completely ruined by his adrenaline and impulsivity. Like he was gonna take you out for dinner, walk you by the pier, kiss you by the moonlight, yada, yada, yada, but actually he just like got really excited at winning in an arcade game and went for it.

When he forgets to shave his stubble is so scratchy but unless you seriously get annoyed with him he will not stop kissing you just to shave you just have to deal with it. The more you complain the more he will bother you with it. He tends to stay clean shaven though.

Even as he grows "less affectionate" the longer you guys are together he will still take solace in kisses, they just become a bit slower and longer. He still has his moments of his inner fire sign coming out to just smother you but he's mellowed out quite a bit as you guys continue to be together.

EREN JUST REALLY LIKES KISSES OKAY I REST MY CASE

Endgame Strategy

Character: Benny Watts

A/n: I said I’d write for the hot chess people so I did. The timeline for this is kinda confusing but the desperation I had to write this made me simply not care.

•

“(Y/n)!” 

A familiar voice pulled you from your current task of getting Benny’s two ton apartment door shut. You barely got yourself inside before a pair of arms promptly wrapped around you. 

You staggered backwards by the sudden weight, a noise between a wheeze and a laugh escaping you as you registered who it was.

“If it isn’t my favorite drama queen!” You pulled back to get a good luck at Beth, a big grin busting out on both of your faces.

“Come in,” She ushered you in, helping you take off your coat and asking you little questions as she lead you over to the sink.

You were a pretty established photographer for some big fashion companies, so you had been traveling with Cleo around Europe for the better half of a year. You’d telephoned Benny as soon as all of your campaigns wrapped up and he instantly insisted you come to New York to make up for lost time.

You had just started to get a word in when you felt someone come up behind you and squeeze you abruptly, practically toppling you over. “Look what the cat dragged in!”

You looked over to see Benny already looking down at you with a grin before promptly ruffling up your hair. “Hey stranger,” He grinned. You pushed him off and turned to give him a proper hug. 

You noticed Arthur and Hilton lingering behind him and you pulled yourself from his hold to greet them as well.

“You came at the perfect time,” Benny said, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “We were just about to start.”

“What do you say, (Y/n)?” Hilton asked. “Finally gonna indulge us and play a game?”

You shoved his hands off of you and sent him a smile. “You don’t need some newbie slowing down your thunder,” You noticed Benny giving you the pleading look he always sent your way when you turned down playing chess. You swear you thought he knew how to deflate his eyes on purpose so he looked like a kicked puppy. “No, I don’t need your patronizing when I barely make it past five moves.”

Benny was an old childhood friend of yours, so you had known Arthur and Hilton for almost as long as he had. And they made it their personal life mission to rope into playing against one of them. But you were renowned for your patience and they’d yet to wear you down. 

Beth sent a small pout your way and handed you a glass of water. “Oh please, now who’s the drama queen. You were doing great when I was teaching you last time we saw each other.”

Benny’s gaze shot up. “What?”

You scoffed at her, completely forget about your last encounter. “Now that’s not fair, we were hardly playing. You had to show me where to move every five minutes.”

“When did you see each other?” Benny pushed.

You sighed, smoothing down your sweater. “When I was in Paris with Cleo, we only saw each other the one night and I was just bored and tipsy enough to let her show me.” 

She grinned at you, shoving her arm into you as she leant into your side. “I think you have lots of potential. I could make a grandmaster out of you, I know it.”

Benny’s eyes followed you as you moved from your standing position to sit next to him on the sofa.

“You never let me teach you how to play,” He murmured to you with a huff, causing a small tuft of his hair to fly upwards.

Benny had made several attempts to get you into the game he loved so dearly. And as one of the few constant people in his life he wanted you to be part of his world. But each time was met with a firm refusal on your part, insisting you wouldn’t get it. He’d try to pull every trick in the book, every charming smile and all the pretty words he knew to try and convince you to let him show you, but you were always indifferent to his charisma. 

It annoyed the shit out of him.

Truth was you didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself in front of him. You’d seen him play at almost every match he was ever in and it was almost scary how good he was. You could play a casual game and maybe boast a win or two, but playing against him wasn’t something you think you’ll ever do. Besides, give him the satisfaction of having your inevitable defeat over your head? Not in this lifetime.

You let out a light laugh, smiling at Beth as she moved to grab the other boards from Benny’s alarming collection he kept stuffed in the closet. “You’re too intimidating when you play, I’d be distracted.”

Benny rolled his eyes, thinking of the stern look that permanently sets on Beth’s face. The woman who looks like she’s three seconds away from going for your neck during her games but he was too intimidating.

You took a sip from your glass of water and lightly knocking over one of the knight pieces on the board in front of you. “I don’t see why it matters, I’ll be beat regardless of who’s playing.”

He frowned, he’d always wanted to play you. Not because he cared about winning but he just wanted you to see his skill firsthand. You didn’t bat an eyelash at winnings anymore, and you never stuck around for his in-depth lectures about game theory with the other players. But he also knew you liked knowing the way things worked. And since chess was his bailiwick, Beth being the only other American player who could beat him, he knew you’d be impressed. At first he just thought you weren’t interested, so knowing you were being taught by someone else stung twice-over. 

You knew something was wrong when he didn’t send a clever remark back your way. Benny liked to think he was this cool and collected character, but really he could be quite the prima donna. Knowing him for as long as you did made him an open book, you could almost always know what he was thinking.  

“Don’t be such a baby, Bens.” You grinned, leaning over to tap the end of his nose, something you always did to irritate him. “She crushed me anyways.”

“You’d win if you let me teach you.” He argued, looking at you pointedly. 

“I don’t need to win, that’s your job,” You leaned into him, trying to stroke his ego to get him to drop the subject. 

Benny’s ears perked up and he was about to go into of his grand self-assured lectures when Beth interrupted him, promptly placing the boxes of chess boards on the table in front of him.

“I dunno, (Y/n),” Beth gloated, passing a box to Hilton. “I think he’s losing his touch, last time we played I damn near emptied his wallet.”

That got your attention, and you sat up with a laugh. “You’re kidding? In speed chess?” Your cackles only grew when she gave a proud nod. “I can’t believe I missed it!”

Benny scoffed, pushing away from you to help set up the boards. “You hardly missed anything-“

“She kicked his ass, ,” Arthur chuckled, loosening the cap on his beer bottle. “Said she’d kick him the crotch too when he tried to argue with her.”

You raised your glass to Beth in commencement. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.”

“Another simultaneous?” Beth asked, noticing they were moving the boards onto the floor, she turned back to you. “Have you ever seen once of these?”

You shook your head dramatically, moving from your place on the sofa to the floor so you could sit right next to the action. “Nope! I mean I know what they are, but I’ve never actually seen one.”

She smirked, placing the clock at every board while the boys situated the pieces. “Well, you’re in for a treat, these are my specialty.”

You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees so could you watch every move. The speed of the game was something you had long gotten used to, but it never was any less impressive. You don’t know how anyone’s brain could go that fast, but watching the pieces fly around the board completely fascinated you. 

Beth really was everything the chess magazines said she was and maybe even more amazing in person. You found it hard to pull your gaze away from her hand, watching as she completely tore through the three boys pieces. Hilton and Arthur were the first to lose, knocking over there kings.

You got ready to settle in while she took on Benny, but not even a few moments later you watched him grimace and reluctantly fish his wallet from his pockets. 

“Wow,” You breathed out, looking over at Beth with a gaze that could only be described as positively starstruck. “I mean I knew you were good, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”

Beth felt her face get a little warm, not used to such straight-forward praise. At least not since she was a child prodigy. She reached her hand up to brush her hair out of her eyes, and pulled her gaze away from you.

“I can do it again.”

Benny felt his eyebrow twitch, he was used to your praise being directed at him for the most part. You had grown up with him constantly talking about and challenging others to play chess. And when he started to make a name for himself he’d taken you along with him. Before your work took off, you had more time to see his games in person. But, even when you couldn’t physically be there, you always called when you saw the results in Chess Review or tuned in to one of the broadcasted matches.

He was the best in the States for a long time, so you had become especially hard to impress. He knew Beth was better him than by miles, but to finally have his title of best chess player you knew taken away made him feel scratchy. 

But he scoffed, straightening his back to try and get his focus back. “Not if I have anything to say about it, Harmon.” 

And so for about three more games, she absolutely crushed the three boys. You got closer to the boards each time, admiring Beth’s superhuman skill. It made you feel a little sting of pride, the girl was showing up three of most arrogant and skilled players you knew. 

“God,” You leaned back onto your elbows, sniffling a giggle when. “I would’ve given any amount of money to be here to see the faces on these boys when you did this the first time.”

Beth smirked, rounding up the pieces to put them away in their cases. “Me too, we could’ve gotten it all on camera.” 

You groaned. “Such a missed opportunity.”

You lolled your head over and saw Benny staring intently at the board, a deep frown on his face. You smiled, scooting over so you could lean all your weight against him. “Don’t look so sad, Bens. I’m sure you would’ve gotten her eventually.”

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s what you used to tell all the sorry losers I used to beat.”

You closed your eyes, settling into his side and sighing at his warmth. “You’re not a sorry loser. You’re the best chess player I know.”

“Still?”

“Hey now, I didn’t drag my ass to every one of your matches for decades for you to question my loyalty,” You teased, you opened your eyes and saw something on his wall. Nestled snug inside a frame was the first time he was on the cover of Chess Review.

“You remember when I took that?” You nodded towards it.

Benny smiled properly, his eyes getting a familiar shimmer. “Yes ma’am, I told them I wouldn’t be on the cover unless you got to take my photos,” He wrapped an arm around you. “Course if I had known it’d make you a hot shot photographer who had to go away all the time I might’ve kept my mouth shut.”

You smiled, reaching up to flick his forehead. “I’ve taken all your photos for decades” You made a sweeping notion with your hands to all the various magazines scattered around his apartment. “Even when we were kids, I think I earned my little adventures abroad”

Benny gave you a look, one you couldn’t quite place, but he kept your gaze for awhile. A small smile snuck up in the corner of his mouth before he looked down, strawberry blonde strands hiding him from your view.

“Well don’t stay away so long next time, yeah? I missed you.”

Blind Spot

Spencer Reid x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Hair pulling kink! Bucketloads of sexual tension but no actual sex. Gratuitous facts about bird nests. Dorks being oblivious. Lots of fluffy heart-eyed banter. Accusations of intercourse with fictional tree-beasts. 

A/N: I saw a gif that made me want to pull Spencer’s hair. That’s it. I have zero shame. 

For the “friends to lovers” square on my @cmbingo​ card! Proofread by @fangirlxwritesx67​ because she’s the best. 

“You look like you fucked an Ent,” you commented cheerfully, stealing sideways glances at Spencer while you waited for the light to change.  

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” He grimaced, trying to tug another burr out of a snarled curl. 

“Oh my god, you’re just making it worse! I’ll help you when we get back to your place. Leave it, you goober.” 

“Did you just call me a goober?” Spencer asked, trying not to laugh. 

“You’re like the dictionary definition of a goober,” you said fondly. 

“I have three PhDs!”  

“I really wish I’d gotten a video of that tumble, Doctor Goober.” 

Spencer was blushing, grinning down at his lap as he shredded a piece of leaf. It was hard not to stare at him when he smiled like that. 

He’d essentially face-planted into a burr bush earlier, somewhere in the Virginia woods — he’d been so excited about explaining some wonky bit of Star Trek physics theory to you that he just forgot to pay attention to his feet — and he’d floundered out with half a hedge stuck in his hair before picking up exactly where he’d left off. 

In other words, Doctor Spencer Reid was a ridiculous human being. You knew that, objectively. It didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him. 

Either he was pretending not to notice, to spare your feelings, or he was socially oblivious; you tended to believe the former, considering how well you’d seen him read other people, but you appreciated it. There was a chance you’d make it out of this — if you could just get over it already — with your friendship intact. 

You cleared your throat and told him, “You look like the bastard child of Grandmother Willow and the Wizard of Oz scarecrow.” 

“Even if they were real, the anatomical —” 

“You didn’t mention that when I brought up the Ents. Something you want to tell me about you and Treebeard?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed, trying to sound exasperated, but he could barely keep a straight face for a second before he was laughing, that scratchy sunny childish giggle that only came out when he was really relaxed and carefree. 

“Close the window before a bird sees you and decides to take up residence.” 

“How about you watch the road?”

“What, no facts about bird nests?” 

“Is that a rhetorical question?” 

“Nope.” 

“Well in that case… gyrfalcon nests are frequently re-used and passed along for generations. The oldest one that’s been discovered was in Greenland, and it was actually estimated to be approximately 2,500 years old.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Yes! In fact…” 

You had to remind yourself, yet again, to stop staring. 

Maybe someday you’d get sick of hearing Spencer talk, but you couldn’t really understand the way most of your teammates reacted to his rambling. Even if you didn’t care about what he was saying, there was something amazing about the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered around to illustrate his point.

You parked in front of his building and followed him upstairs. His apartment had become comfortingly familiar — ever since you and Spencer bonded over a shared love of sci-fi, you’d taken to driving him home and, if it wasn’t too late, sticking around for an episode or two of Doctor Who.  

He got his ancient little DVD player up and running, and you settled on the couch, fluffing pillows and shoving aside his nest of colorful crocheted blankets, getting cozy. There was something about Spencer’s space that always felt like home; maybe it was the smell of books, or just the general Spencer-ness of the whole place. 

Just being around him had always kinda felt like home, too. Sometimes you forgot you’d only known him for six months. 

He disappeared into his room for a second and came back with a comb. It was cheap plastic, missing a couple teeth, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. You looked from him to the comb and back again. 

“That actually explains a lot,” you said, grinning. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back against your shins, and after a dismayed glance at his curls, you commented, “We could always just shave it all off.” 

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” he said primly. 

You started with a couple of the less tangled pieces, finger-combing carefully through one soft lock at a time. You half-expected some comment about primates and social grooming, or at least a few facts about the quantum theory behind the TARDIS, but Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the TV. 

You separated out one of the worst knots, and he tilted his head to the side to give you better access. You were being as gentle as possible, but you knew you were hurting him at the first tug — he sucked in a breath, knuckles going white as his fingers clenched on his knees. 

“Sorry, I’m trying,” you sighed. 

With his head tilted like this, you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. 

“S’okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not — not your fault.” 

He sat there stiffly as you worked. His hair was silky, where it wasn’t hopelessly knotted, and you were close enough that you could smell whatever clean, sweet shampoo he used. Something about it made you want to hold your breath; it felt like you were too close. Spencer rarely let you inside his little bubble of personal space. 

Maybe that was why he seemed uncomfortable. He was usually so fidgety, tapping out a rhythm or twirling a pen between his long fingers, and it was strange to see him motionless like this. 

You ran your fingers through a de-tangled section, slow and careful, and Spencer shivered, his shoulders trembling for a moment before he went unnaturally still again. 

Spencer blurted out, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

At the same time, you asked, “Are you cold?” 

You paused for a moment, surprised by the reaction, but after hesitating, Spencer just muttered, “Yeah. Cold.” 

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. It was too warm, if anything; Spencer had a patchy flush crawling up his neck and over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. 

“Here you go, goober,” you said, awkwardly cheerful in an attempt to cover your uncertainty as you grabbed an afghan from the couch and draped it around his shoulders. 

“Thanks.” He pulled the blanket down onto his lap without looking at you. “But maybe I should just do this myself.” 

“You’re never gonna get this loose on your own, not without scissors,” you warned, plucking at the knot around the last burr in his hair. “I’ll just, um — I’ll try to be more gentle.” 

“Maybe just go for it,” he said. “Get it over with.” His voice had gone all high-pitched and strained, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. If this was how much he disliked physical contact, no wonder he always avoided hugging you. 

You tried to go quickly, figuring that one quick moment of pain was better than another ten minutes of making Spencer uncomfortable. In your nervousness, you ended up tugging the burr out much more abruptly than you’d intended, and Spencer let out this rough, low, choked-off sound. Before you could apologize, he was jerking away from you, curled in on himself with his shoulders up around his ears like he was worried you were going to hit him, and — 

“Sorry,” he said, voice cracking. 

— what? 

“Spence?” you said tentatively. “What—”

He was still just curled up on the floor in a ball of gangly limbs, but he half-turned to you, twisting around. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though; he was staring intently at the pillow that was on the couch next to you. It felt weird, looking down at him like this, so you slid down onto the floor, hoping it wouldn’t spook him. He shifted back slightly, but at least he didn’t flinch away. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t — this was a bad idea.” 

The profiler in you couldn’t help but notice a few details. He was blushing, for starters. His lower lip was red where he’d been biting it, and — this was the part that surprised you most — his pupils were huge. 

You knew what Spencer looked like when he was panicking, and this wasn’t it. 

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh.” 

He looked down at his lap, frowning as he played with the loose thread in the cuff of his sweater. 

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I wasn’t trying to — I didn’t realize it would be like that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and—”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I don’t feel the same way about what?” 

“I know you’re not attracted to me,” Spencer said, barely audible. 

“You’re… you…what?” 

He looked up, at that, genuinely startled. There was something sweet and vulnerable shining in his eyes, and your heart was racing. You slid a little bit closer, so that your knees were almost touching Spencer’s as you faced each other, cross-legged. 

“I thought you knew.” His hushed, croaky voice broke on the last word. “I thought I was being obvious.” 

You gaped at him for a second before letting out a sharp, hysterical giggle. 

He ducked his head again, hiding behind a curtain of hair, but not before you saw the hurt expression that flashed across his features. 

“No, that’s not—” you blurted out. “Spence. Spencer.” 

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his body going tense like he was about to bolt. “Can we just forget this happened?” 

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pushed a few curls back behind his ear, and then you grabbed, twisting your fingers in his hair to tug him forward. You cut off the startled noise he made with a clumsy, eager kiss. 

The angle was all wrong, both of you leaning forward awkwardly, but it felt like sparks all down your spine.

You pulled away just far enough to get the words out: “I thought I was being obvious.”  

Then Spencer was surging closer on his hands and knees, crowding into your space, until you had a lapful of rumpled doctor pressing you back against the couch. He cupped your jaw with gentle spidery fingers, gaze locked on your mouth, and leaned in slowly like he was still waiting for you to push him away. 

There was nothing awkward about it this time. If the first kiss was sparks, this was fireworks — it was such a goddamn cliche you wanted to kick yourself for thinking it, but it was true. Your head was spinning. Every pillowy press of his lips and soft slide of his tongue seemed to steal the breath from your lungs. 

By the time you broke apart you were panting, but at least you weren’t the only one. Spencer’s chest heaved as he pulled away. He was still staring at your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. Part of you wanted to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but another part of you was paralyzed, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. 

You just wanted to put the world on pause so that you could memorize everything: the way he licked his lips, the smell of his laundry detergent, the barely-perceptible movement of his pulse — you’d never seen that before because you’d never been this close to him before. You wanted to hold onto it, even the less-than-perfect details — the soundtrack of buzzy Dalek screeching in the background — the way you were folded together on the floor, all too-long legs and bony elbows, which was going to get uncomfortable fast.  

Spencer seemed to feel the same way. He grazed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, then followed the curve of your smile out to your temple and traced the shell of your ear with careful fingertips. When he brushed his curled-up fingers along the ridge of your cheekbone, you turned your head and kissed his knuckles.  

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding it in place, feeling the blood and bones shifting under the skin.  

“You really didn’t know?” you whispered. 

He shook his head shyly and gave you one of those incandescent smiles that always made your heart race. “No idea.” 

“I thought you were just ignoring it to spare my feelings,” you confessed. 

“I thought you were doing that.”  

“I thought you were good at your job!” you laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?” 

“I think I have a blind spot, where you’re concerned.” He was blushing again. “But I was so distracted by you that I walked into a bush! How did you not —” 

“I’m the one who stares at you all the time like a creep.” 

“You thought you were being creepy?” he said sheepishly. “As soon as you started touching my hair — oh my god that’s embarrassing.” 

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.” 

You tangled your fingers in his curls, tugging experimentally. His breath hitched. 

Both of you were utterly still for a moment, watching each other, and the tension between you seemed to fill the air like a living thing. You were excruciatingly aware of all the places your bodies were touching.

You considered all the places you could touch. It would be so easy. You could tug him in, kiss him, melt into each other… there were so many possibilities, suddenly, and there was something incredible about that: the electricity, the excitement, the moment of pure potential in the pause between certainty and action. 

Spencer sighed, long and shaky, and you were so close that you could feel the current of exhaled air. 

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured, with a twitch of a smile. “That doesn’t happen to me often.” 

“So you didn’t know…” 

You scritched your fingernails down his scalp, marveling at the way he shivered and swayed closer like he was hypnotized. He curled his hand around the side of your neck, thumb slowly stroking the hinge of your jaw. 

“I knew I liked it,” he confessed. “But — within a certain context? Not out of nowhere like that. I didn’t think it would be... like that.” 

“Like what?”

“Intense.”  

“Yeah?” 

“But I think maybe it’s just you.” His eyes had gone all glassy and heavy-lidded, and you could barely breathe. “Maybe you drive me crazy no matter where you’re touching me.” 

“I can think of a few ways to test that hypothesis.” 

You caught a glimpse of his grin, but then he pressed his forehead to yours and his features went blurry, too close for you to focus.

“Never really thought I’d be into dirty talk, but if you’re going to start quoting the scientific method…” 

“Funny, most of the time you never shut up,” you said, giddy and overwhelmed. 

The tip of his nose brushed yours. There was maybe an inch of space between your mouths, and you wanted to close that gap so badly it felt like a physical ache. 

“I mean, if you want me to start rattling off statistics—” 

“Spencer.” You fisted both hands in his hair, tugging sharply, and he shuddered. “Take a hint.” 

“Blind spot, remember?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as they shaped the words, feather-light and maddening. 

“You know, for a genius—” you started, but he kissed you, hungry and sweet like he was making up for lost time, until you’d completely forgotten what you were going to say. 

.

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There is now a sexy follow-up here! 

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If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

Hello!! I'm kinda embarrassed but could you do an uno reverse with the chubby Arthur fanfic but its with a chubby reader instead?? (your choice to make Arthur also chubby or not) Thank you!!

A/N: Don’t be embarassed (I spelled that wrong but autocorrect won’t work right now and I’m too dumb to know how to spell it off the top of my head lol) I absolutely love to write for Arthur! I feel like he doesn’t get enough attention anymore. Thank you for the ask!! I hope you like this! The ending got a little messy and not great cause I didn’t know how to end it but I hope you like it!

Warnings: mentions of poor body image and Micah being a fucking douche, but there’s fluff! Arthur makes things better

***

“Y/N!” Mary-Beth called your name. 

You turned your head to look at her. Karen and Tilly stood with her by the wagon. John was hitching up a couple horses to the wagon with Lenny’s help.

“Hi, ladies.” You greeted them as you approached the tent. 

“We’re gonna go into town. You wanna come with us?” 

“What are you plannin’ on doing in town?” 

“Oh you know, just the usual.” Mary-Beth answered with a little wave of her hand. “Seein’ what the folk around here are like.”

“And maybe robbin’ them.” Tilly giggled. 

“But we aren’t gettin’ into too much trouble.” Karen added. “John won’t let us, will you John?”

“I hope not.” He sighed, buckling a strap on the horse. 

“So what do you say, Y/N?” Tilly asked you.

Arthur watched from across camp as you declined the ladies’ offer to join them on their trip into town. His eyes stayed on you while you watched them leave in the back of the wagon John and Lenny were driving. 

You began to pick at your nails, the furrow between your brows becoming more prominent. The picking at your nails was a bad habit of yours, one you only did when something was clouding your mind. 

“Are ya even listening to me, Arthur?” Uncle asked him.

Arthur took the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it into the fire as he stood up. You were going to your tent so that’s were he planned on going. 

“Stopped listenin’ a while ago, Uncle. Thought you would’ve noticed.”

Uncle began to complain about Arthur’s inattentiveness but the outlaw was already leaving the table, making his way across camp to check on you.

Arthur ducked inside the tent he shared with you, taking his hat off. 

“Hey, pumpkin.” He greeted you.

You turned to face him, offering him a little smile. 

“Hi, Arthur.”

“What’re you up to?” He asked. Maybe you were too busy to go into town. 

“Gonna go read out by the cliffside for a bit.” You picked up your book from the end table. “Do you want to come with me? Or are you busy?”

“I’m never too busy for you, pumpkin.” He flashed you a little smile as you moved towards him. He was expecting you to stop, even if only for a moment, to give him a kiss on the cheek or to brush your hand along his chest like you always did when you passed him by. But you simply walked by him without even looking at him.

Something was definitely wrong. This confirmed his worries. 

“How was meetin’ up with Mary?”

“Went about as pleasant as you’d think. Wanted me to get her brother back from that religious group, the Chelonia.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Depends on your definition of fun.” Arthur muttered.

You were thankful that no one was down by the edge of the cliff. You wanted to have some peace and quiet away from everyone. 

You decided to sit beneath a tree, placing your book in your lap. Arthur grunted rather dramatically as he got down next to you.

“M’too old for this kinda shit.” He sat facing you. One of his legs was loosely crossed while the other was spread to cross over yours, though he didn’t put any weight on your legs. 

“You don’t gotta follow me around, you know.” You giggled softly.

“I know. Just like spendin’ time with ya.” He took his hat off and put it in the grass beside him. “I, uh, I heard the girls were askin’ you to go to town with them.”

You nodded your head, opening the book in your lap so that you didn’t have to look at him. 

“Why didn’t you go? Thought you were tellin’ me just last night you had some errands to run in town.”

“I can do them another time, Arthur. It wasn’t anything important.”

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say next.

“Mary-Beth sounded a little eager to have you go with them, don’t you think?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“She was just bein’ friendly though, wasn’t she? She’s a good kid.”

“Arthur, what are you getting at?” You looked up from your book, meeting his gaze.

“I don’t know.” He sighed heavily. He ran a hand over his face. “I-I saw that look on your face when you were watchin’ them go, pumpkin. You looked upset about somethin.’” He paused to gauge your reaction. “Did something happen with one of the girls?”

“No, Arthur.” You dropped your attention back to the book.

“Karen’s not bad unless you get her drunk.” Arthur thought out loud. “And Tilly’s a nice girl, least from what I’ve seen. Mary-Beth too. Abigail can be.... something else. Did she do something?”

“Arthur, please.” You closed the book firmly. “Just stop.”

“Pumpkin, I’m just concerned is all.” Arthur reached over to place his hand on yours. “I don’t like that look I saw on your face. It don’t belong there.”

“The girls didn’t do anything to me, Arthur.” You murmured quietly, feeling a scratchy sensation begin in the back of your throat. “It’s all okay, I promise.”

“You say that, but I don’t see it in your eyes.” He shook his head. Cerulean blue eyes gazed at you with such a softness that you could’ve melted right there, but the torment you felt in your chest and in your head were too much. It pushed that softness he was able to make you feel away and brought in a dark feeling. 

“It doesn’t matter, Arthur.” You stood up, brushing off your skirt, and began to move back towards camp.

However you didn’t get very far. Arthur’s hand found your arm, bringing you to a stop. 

You turned your head to look away from him, taking a steady deep breath through your nose in an attempt to make the tears go away. If you could calm yourself down, they would go away. 

Arthur’s hand slid down from your bicep to your hand and his thumb began to trace small circles on the back of your hand. You turned your hand over so that you could lace your fingers together. 

“You don’t gotta tell me, pumpkin, but I just hate to see you so upset and so quiet about it.” He stepped closer and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. 

“I just…. I can’t stand some of these people, Arthur.” You tilted your head down, unable to look up at him. You focused your eyes on his boots. “Just can’t fucking stand them. They’re just….” You couldn’t find the words to accurately describe what you wanted to say. 

“Who was it?” Arthur had a very short list of who would put you on the verge of tears. Possibilities and scenarios began to race through his mind. 

“Micah just…. He was just being a bastard.” Your voice cracked. “He said you were going into town to see Mary Linton. I knew that’s where you had been earlier today. But he just…. He started saying that you were going to…. That you and her…. Because she’s-she’s thin and pretty and I’m as big as one of the pigs Pearson butchers.”

“He what?” Arthur had to pull his hand away from you as to not cause you any harm. His fingers automatically curled into tight fists and he felt the need to seek out Micah Bell to cause him serious damage. 

His eyes left yours and he tilted his head up to search the camp behind you. Micah was sitting at a table with Bill, sharpening his knife. 

“It doesn’t matter, Arthur.” You sniffled, looking down at the buttons on his shirt. “He wasn’t wrong. No use in sugar coatin’ it.”

Arthur stared at you for a few moments, his brain still trying to process the anger he felt. Then he took a breath and ran a hand over his face. 

“Micah Bell is a miserable son of a bitch, Y/N. He ain’t right about nothin’. Not a damn thing.”

“But Arthur, I don’t-I don’t look like other girls, like Mary or like Karen.” You whispered, tears trailing down your cheeks. You crossed your arms over yourself, suddenly feel extremely self-conscious. “I-I didn’t go into town with them because every time we go into town, people stare at me.”

“Pumpkin, they stare at me too. They’re just a bunch of judgemental pricks.”

“That’s different, Arthur.” You shook your head. It was sweet of him to try to make you feel better, but they stared at him for different reasons than they stared at you. “It’s-It’s just not the same. You.... You’re a normal size. You just come across as intimidatin’ and sometimes folk don’t know how to take that. But me.... They see me and all they see is a pig in a dress.”

“Don’t you say that, Y/N.” He reached up to cup your face, calloused thumbs brushing away your tears. “You don’t look nothin’ like a pig.”

“Mary, she’s just…. She’s so different from me, Arthur.”

“Course she is, pumpkin.” Arthur leaned forward to kiss your forehead, then he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you in for a proper hug. His slipped around you, providing you with a sense of protection. “I don’t see nothin’ wrong with that. And I definitely don’t see nothin’ wrong with you. You’re absolutely gorgeous in my eyes, pumpkin. Wouldn’t change a damn thing about you.”

“But Arthur, I look like a cow.”

“Stop comparin’ yourself to farm animals, Y/N.” He kissed the side of your head. “It’s breakin’ my heart.”

You frowned, leaning your head against his shoulder. Arthur pressed his lips against your head. 

“I know you’ve never had the best thoughts about yourself.” He murmured into your hair. “But I got plenty of good thoughts about you for the both of us. I’ll make sure to share them with you until you start thinkin’ about yourself differently. I need you to know that it don’t matter that you’re different from Mary or Karen or anyone else. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. It’s who you are.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” You sniffled. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“Only ‘cause I love ya, pumpkin.” 

***

Hosea caught sight of Arthur as the burly outlaw made his way across camp, a dark look in his eyes.

“Arthur-,”

“Not now, Hosea.” Arthur waved him off. His eyes were set on Micah who wasn’t even looking at him. His back was to Arthur. He sat at a table with Dutch talking about something Arthur didn’t care to listen to. 

Arthur grabbed the back of Micah’s chair and tipped it back, knocking Micah out of his seat and on to the ground. In the same heartbeat, Arthur drew the revolver from his hip and cocked the hammer with his thumb. 

He put his foot on Micah’s shoulder and aimed the gun at Micah’s chest, glaring down at the man. 

“Whoa, cowpoke!”

“Arthur!” Dutch shouted. “Put that gun away!”

Arthur ignored Dutch. The anger bubbling and festering in his veins made him focus solely on Micah.

“It’d be in your best interests to leave Miss Y/L/N alone.” He spoke lowly.

“I was just havin’ a conversation with her while you were out with your old fling-,”

“What I do ain’t none of your goddamned business.” Arthur cut him off. “If I find out you’ve said anything out of line to Y/N again, Micah Bell, I’ll be puttin’ a hole through your goddamn chest.”

Micah said nothing, locking his jaw as he glared up at Arthur. Arthur lowered his gun and then removed his foot from Micah’s shoulder. 

Hosea watched as Arthur moved towards his tent, holstering his weapon. 

“You’re a funny guy, Arthur Morgan!” Micah stood up, angrily brushing off his clothes. 

“And you’re a dumb bastard.” Hosea muttered, shaking his head as he walked away. “Surprised it’s taken this long.”

Taglists:  @winterwolf @doggone-cowgirl @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @nonodino @krenee1drful @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @zodiacaldust @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

been re-reading “the shoebox project” prompted by some hp discourse and man, it still slaps!  also working on a  snippet from the narnia/marauders crossover

She was tricky to get along with sometimes, and argumentative in a way that seemed to cut to the heart of the issue.  But he had liked her since she met.  And she had a brother named Peter. The way she had said her older  brother's name at their first introduction, and later the way she said his name, repeated through his mind and made him want to stay together with her.  With her friendship.  

He, Peter Pettigrew, tried to say "Sue" in a similar way sometimes, or to do little things to get the same idea across.

As the light april breeze blew around them, Susan Pevensie stood in her rolled-sleeved blouse and wool skirt, all navy with pale pink silk beneath, her hand shook slightly as she knocked the first arrow, then she hooked the butt against the string and shot volley after volley into the target as Peter Pettigrew leaned back against the warm scratchiness of the hay bale and watched.  The more he watched the more he had to admit this was mostly her own physical skill.  She had no wand.  Though some of course did magic without one of those, the only motions her hands sketched in the air were the ordinary magic of knocking arrow to string.   And the one thing she had shown him…. it was a magical artifact sure, but nothing more, and artifacts could be used by anyone.  He was starting to think, to admit, she was his favorite squib.  

And no that wasn't quite it, there was another thing, she was a squib…. born of squibs, who were also….. born of squibs.  There was another word for that, and it started with an M….. but the way his new, good friends talked about "mudbloods" and "muggle rights activists" the word just didn't seem to fit right on her someway.

And also have some possibly spicy takes about “the problem of susan”

basically like it’s fairly obvious that the “problem” isn’t just the lipstick and stockings, it’s also that she’s becoming a sort of (not entirely one, but maybe getting there) anti-fujoshi NLOG.  like she doesn’t see why she or her siblings should be indulging so much in their old stupid stories, or roleplay. and she kinda takes it out on her younger siblings too.

though looking at some of his other writings, there *is* a suggestion that at the time, CSL thought feminine people or women were more susceptible to this sort of thing, and that *might* play into why he chose to represent it with a woman, which is... not cool.

but srsly,  "What memories you have! Fancy you still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children."  

: |

and now she’s getting more involved with heterosexual dating, and setting herself up to be married and “paying her taxes and taking care of her kids” as is “appropriate” for a woman of “her age”.

but there’s still something “off” about this, at least when i look at it through my own eyes, like why are these her only two choices?  why are these oppostitions being set up?  so when writing fan stuff i kinda want to see her as something other than slowly becoming a bitter anti-fujo/anti-fic i’d like to give her other options.  and in the HP universe and the marauders era in the fight against the death eaters and anti-muggleborn supremacists i can see her interest in the mundane and ordinary things as a strength, a good thing!  and likewise severus snape and peter pettigrew could use some other people who aren’t “good old boys” to hang out with for a variety of reasons i can’t go into here.  Go off and do something, and celebrate even if neither they nor Susan Penisieve are part of the “golden inner circle” at the moment, even if for different reasons.  Heck, maybe we can have a gentle Queen of this Plain Old Earth along with “The Halfblood Prince”.

edit: talking with someone about this reminded me of something else!  they were commenting on how this might make sense since they all could slightly traumatized and Susan P. is parentified.

and there was a part i forgot to put in this: 

about how ppl often talk about the influence of war in tolkien's stuff,.... but there might also be something(s) to say about the group of these four kids coming back and having been kings and queen yes, and also having weielded swords and bows, and yet when they come back out of the wardrobe, they are in another sort of world now, and seen in teen/ya bodies, and not even really being able to talk with anyone about it except the people who had also been there... and if one of them starts going "nope, didn't happen" maybe there might be reasons?

or she might just have different interests now. idk.

So for my first request, can you write Aizawa having an exhibition themed outing with an adult male reader please? For context, the reader would task Aizawa with going out in public with him wearing a trenchcoat, a face mask and sandals. In truth, he'd be butt naked underneath while having his cock in chastity and his mouth tape gagged. The reader would tease and torment Aizawa as they run their arrands while avoiding anyone catching onto the secret kink. What do you think?

I can do this! (I’m sorry if you wanted full sub Aizawa, but my mind just kinda started visioning the way™️, so I went with it.)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: MALE!Reader, exhibition, gagging, daddy kink, switch!Aizawa, slight biting, spanking.

The shuffling of his nervous stance was opening the large coat draped over Aizawa’s shoulders ever-so-slightly, and you knew that at any moment, someone could question why he was holding the seam of the clothing closed so tightly. But you knew. You knew how he wouldn’t be able to respond, and nothing would stop that person from ripping his hands away. You had run into a couple of Aizawa’s old students at the supermarket, and you had managed to sneak a hand under the trench coat and around his waist to tease his raised cock, which was dripping with pre-cum and hot with need. He let out a pathetic whimper when you grazed you cold fingers over the swollen tip, and he stuttered in speech when you lightly pulled against the foreskin. After you had said your goodbyes to the unsuspecting prior students, you continued on with your shopping. You had started by first asking what eggplant looked bigger to him, ‘for the eggplant soup’ that you were going to prepare for dinner, but he only looked away with flaring red cheeks. He was honestly surprised at how bold you were being, considering he was usually the dom of this relationship, but you had come to him with this request with complete and udder confidence. Shota, wanting to satisfy his eager lover, agreed to at least try the idea. And because of it, his dick had become unbearably hard, so much that it was almost a need to find release. Aizawa was pulled out of his trance at the sight of your tight ass ‘accidently’ pushing against his exposed cock. Moving the black leather out of the way, he desperately humps his cock against the rough fabric of your jeans and lets out a decently loud moan in the center of the vegetable isle. Ripping yourself away from him, he grunts at the loss of contact but smirks against the gag when you grab his hand and yank him into the stores bathroom. Pulling him along into a stall, you undo your pants rather quickly, and watch as he slides the robe off of his built form. The red ball of the gag was very apparent against his pale skin and the black leather holding it around his head was on him rather tight. He reaches behind his head to undo the belt-like latch, and then lets it drop to the floor. You were shivering in anticipation at this point, his sharp glare making your erection pulsate in desire. He stepped towards you, his intentions shining onto as if they were made of glass. His black orbs were fixated on your cock and almost tantalizingly, he licked his slightly chapped lips at the sight. “You thought you could just tease me, and go on your merry way?” Shota moved his hands to your hips, where your shirt hung loosely from your torso, and started to run his hand upwards, over the smooth valley of your stomach, and finally resting the rough palms of his hands right beneath your sensitive nipples, which were perky, and already being stimulated from the movements of your blouse. He yanked the fabric up, tossing it onto the floor and looking at your swollen buds before moving one of his calloused fingers to move against it. Aizawa twirled, twisted and pulled against your nips until you were breathless, begging him for more and needing relief. “Already so needy when all I’ve done is played with these cute nipples?” He hummed, pressing is searing hot dick against your bare thigh. He groaned at the contact, humping himself against you to hopefully dull at least some of the ache that was his arousal. Turning around, you braced yourself using the wall, and spread your asscheeks to make it easier for him to prep you. Shota pressed the reddened tip of his cock against your puckered ass, watching your eyes widen in realization. “If you’re gonna act like a teasing whore, then you should be treated like a whore.” He shoved all of his length into your depths, and began moving at a harsh pace. You kept one hand on the wall to ground yourself, but you had no choice but to remove one to cover your mouth in order to not be heard. The creaking sound of the door opening echoed through the bathroom, making you well aware that you were at risk of being caught. You let out a high pitched squeal at the feel of your prostate getting tapped, not-so lightly. The person stopped in their tracks, before hurriedly rushing out of the restroom. The slam of the door makes you relax, and the shit eating grin on your husbands face gives away his excitement of almost being found out. “I felt how tight you got when that person heard you moaning over how big my cock is. I bet you wanna get caught, huh kitty?” He indulges you in a pleasurable slap on your rear, and your eyes roll back at the leftover sting his palm left. He immediately feels the contraction around his cock, repeating the action on the other side. Shota grabs a handful for your luscious ass and squeezes to the point where you are sure there are nail prints left behind on your awaiting butt, and you reel back into his hands, wanting more of the delicious pain he was providing to you. “Such a pain-slut for daddy, huh?” He slaps your ass again, this time with more force, making you let out a hoarse moan, and he could tell your voice was already getting strained. “Hmm, voice can’t hold out, can it? Well, you’ll be screaming either way, whether or not it’s painful or not” He grins maliciously when he sees how glossy your eyes are, they almost looks as if they were polished over glass. This only drives him to drill you harder, the pants and croaked moans echoing throughout the room cheering him on like a crowd, and your dick was burning from the stimulation. He was purposely avoiding your weeping cock, and the tears in your eyes clearly weren’t motivation enough for him, so, you snuck you hand between you and the wall, and began to slowly stroke yourself. Shota quickly took notice, and slapped you hand away, irritation flooding his body and nerves. “Did I say you could do that?” He rumbles into your ear, pressing himself flush against your back. You whimpered out a tiny no, placing your hand gingerly back on the wall. He grabs your aching dick, putting lots of pressure on the tip with his scratchy hand, and starts roughly jerking you off, not letting you adjust to his rough palm. You let out another strangled moan, which Aizawa silenced with his skilled lips, and that seemed to satisfy him deeply. His heart was pounding in his ears, the cardio finally catching up with him and luckily, he feels his own cock begin to twitch inside of you. Bringing you even closer to him, he starts mercilessly pounding into your tight asshole while biting down onto your neck to hopefully dull his groans and grunts. The overwhelming sensation sent you into a frenzy of mindless blabber, and you barely even registered the core shaking orgasm, until you practically went limp in his arms, you cum coating his fingers and dripping slowly onto the floor. When he sees your cum leaking from his hand, it triggers his own release, painting your insides with his thick, hot, semen. Panting, He helps you redress, and slips his cloak back on and leads you out of the bathroom, where everyone in the store was staring, and security was waiting to escort you out. 

━━━━━━━━ all the different shades of orange ; hinata shōyō

summary — whoever said that hinata shōyō is a ball of sunshine is a liar

word count — 3k

genre — imagine ; kinda enemies to lover, fluff

warning(s) — major spoilers about spring interhigh for those of you who haven't read the manga, insults thrown around, kinda out of character hinata, cursing, not edited

a/n — okay but have y'all seen e2l hinata shōyō besides kagehina lmao because i haven't and thought it'd be interesting to try out. also wow i have never put so much effort into a work like this one (hopefully it reaches a lot of people and you can all find some joy in reading!)

❝ WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING NEXT TIME, YOU ROTTEN BELL PEPPER. ❞

Hate was a strong word but the flaring anger in your heart and overwhelming urge to run into a wall whenever your eyes landed on that tangerine said otherwise. It wasn't that you went out of your way to dislike someone that has everyone wrapped around their finger. It just so happened that you had no tolerance for bullshit, and Hinata Shōyō pissed you off in every way possible.

It started on the first day of high school.

Walking beside Minari, a friend from middle school, the two of you were eager to leave the building. The idea of grabbing steamed buns had unraveled itself in your mind, and what better way to enjoy food than by sharing?

"Are you going to try out for any clubs?" Your elbow bumped against hers as you two walked the slowly emptying hallway. "I think I saw the girls soccer team holding tryouts soon."

Minari shrugged, but you could already see the thoughts pinging in her mind. "I might if I can."

See, the two of you had almost reached the staircase when it happened. Minari's long hair covered her view from time to time, so you were used to looking out for her while chastising the girl about the usefulness of a hairband. But what you didn't expect as you pulled the girl aside just as a gaggle of guys rushed by was the full strength of a short orange-haired boy catching you off guard and nearly sending you tumbling down the flight of stairs.

"I'm sorry! I - I didn't see you there!" He shouted, his hand coming out to latch instinctively onto your school uniform before you could be thrown back far. "And on the first day too... I'm so sorry! Please accept my apology."

You stared at the short boy standing before you looking positively green with anxiety and guilt. Minari was already calming him down with mentions of accepting his apology, but all you could focus on was the pounding beat of your heart and the tingling feeling in your legs from your near-fatal experience.

"Watch where you're fucking going next time, you rotten bell pepper," you muttered before pushing his fingers off your now wrinkled white shirt.

You had walked away first, Minari in tow, but not before catching the shine of his name tag, 'Hinata Shōyō,' and the wide-eyed stare on his face that sent shivers down your back.

From that day forward, every flash of orange around the school seemed to be followed by a glare on your end and a roll of eyes on his.

"You're in the way, pumpkin head." Your words cut through the chattering hallway and sliced at Hinata who in turn threw you a pointed look, something that all the First Year students knew by now was reserved for only you. "I'm trying to get to the library, but somebody's walking too slow. Aren't you supposed to be on the volleyball team?"

Hinata scoffed, but stepped aside to let you through. Dirty looks were all he had in his armory apparently as time after time after sending an insult or two his way, he held his tongue. You liked to think it was because he didn't have the proper brain cells to form a response, but sometimes you wondered if you were being too much.

Up ahead, Minari waved at you to hurry before all the seats at the library were taken. Shaking yourself of your thoughts, you walked over to her. Unbeknownst to you, while you shouldered your bag, your wallet tipped over and fell out at a certain somebody's feet.

Hinata picked up your ratty wallet, noticing it on the floor, and went to call out to you before catching himself. What did he care? Still, unable to ignore it, he pocketed your belonging making note to give it back to you later. Right now, he had a game to worry about.

Somehow you had ended up at the Karasuno vs. Aoba Johsai game during the Interhigh Preliminaries. Minari had dragged you up to the stands as discreetly as possible after convincing you that she wasn't feeling up to study. Considering she had her eyes set on a certain 5'10 blueberry, you were foolish enough to think that she'd wanted to take you some place fun.

Now as the two of you stared down at the game happening eagerly, you let out a sigh upon noticing Hinata. As if your day couldn't have gotten worse after misplacing your wallet, you were displeased to find that he was looking right back up at you with the same wide-eyed stare he had when you two had first met.

Shivers ran down your back almost as if on cue, and you tore your gaze away from him fully ready to leave the gymnasium and trudge back home. But had you turned away, you would have missed the freakish oddball combination execute their quick attack.

"Holy shit," you breathed. "What the fuck was that?"

Minari smirked. "Tobio-kun is a great setter, isn't he? Or were you too focused on Mr. Bell Pepper to notice."

You shot her a frosty look, pushing down the stuttering emotion starting to rise in your chest that most definitely did not feel like anger. "As if."

The game continued for what seemed like days but turned out to be hours at most ending at a score of 1:2 in Aoba Johsai's favor.

Deafening silence overtook your ears. Minari was quick to leave the stands, mumbling something about consoling the fallen setter while your eyes searched for some semblance of sunshine in Hinata's sullen ones.

Spotting his sunken expression, you felt yourself regret the hatred that had sparked for him for just a moment. A fleeting moment that buried itself in your heart, planting a seedling of growing doubt.

"Minari, we have to catch the bus back!" You called out to your friend as you joined her on the gymnasium floor.

She glanced your way, halting the conversation she had began with her Tobio-kun. "Two minutes, and then we can go. Please?"

You nodded despite feeling discomfort crawling up your spine at being surrounded now by those you didn't know. You settled by the door, checking your phone mindlessly to pass the short time only looking up when an outstretched hand came into view.

"You dropped this earlier." Hinata's words were short, sharp, and you were suddenly glad you had never been on the end of his scathing remarks. "On your way to the library," he continued.

"Oh," was all your malfunctioning mind could come up with as he took your open hand in his, placing your wallet gently in your palm. The warmth of his skin seemed pressed into your own even after he had started to stalk away.

Clearing your throat, you spoke before you could stop yourself. "You did well today. I - uh," you paused. What were you even saying? "I watched from the stands."

He offered you a soft smile, one that you realized could light the world aflame, before walking back to his awaiting team.

You placed your hand over your drumming heart, sedating the flustered feeling he had left behind with you, chanting in your mind over and over again that Hinata Shōyō was a menace and you had no plan to ever like him let alone fall for him.

But no one ever plans to fall in love.

The Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club seemed to practice non-stop funnily enough, rather motivated by their loss from months ago instead of despaired. Minari had become a regular face during practice as she cheered the boys on in an attempt to woo Kageyama still, and by fault, so had you.

"Y/N, Tangerine's on his way over here." Minari nudged you, stealing your attention from the workbook open in your lap.

You shrugged, trying to focus on anything other than your slowly rising heartbeat. "Why? Did the coach bench him for his subpar plays?"

"No, actually Tangerine wanted to give you something but he's currently reconsidering."

You looked up immediately, eyes narrowing upon noticing Hinata standing in front of you with a small smirk. "You're looking really fucking smug for a guy who still needs to work on his skills. Kageyama says you lack basic technique."

Hinata rolled his eyes at you. "You're being rude."

"It's because I don't like you," you answered smoothly. "So get back to practice before you lose any more volleyball brain cells."

He let out a small laugh. Turning away, for a moment you thought he'd actually leave as simple as that, but just before he took another step, he tossed something your way. It fell on top of your workbook, smacking against the thin pages, causing a couple of the boys to look your way while Hinata jogged back to the net.

Minari leaned in closer to you. "He got you—" She cocked her head in confusion. "A wallet?"

It was a deep shade of orange that almost made you laugh out in irony. Detailed with card slots and a latch with snapping buttons, the wallet was definitely an improvement from the one you had right now.

"That's sweet... right?" Minari questioned, watching your expression as you opened the wallet to reveal a note — scratchy handwriting on a scrap of notebook paper.

'thought your wallet looked ratty old. not in a mean way of course!!!!

— your favorite, Pumpkin Head Shōyō

ps. my sister picked out the color :p'

"Stupid fucking carrot," you whispered under your breath, feeling your cheeks grow warm at his message. "I don't need a new wallet."

Minari scoffed at your words, turning to face you completely and taking your hands in hers with seriousness. "Be honest with me." You stared at her blankly. "Be honest, and tell me if you actually hate Hinata as much as you say you do. Why don't you just drop the act? You two obviously like each other enough to be friends, so why keep this all up? Isn't it tiring?"

Her words echoed through the hallways of your mind minutes, hours, and days after. Sitting at your desk in school, on your walk home, lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, they were as loud as life itself.

You thumbed the straps of your bag while waiting for the bus. The sun was slowly dropping from the sky, setting on the horizon leaving you in a thoughtful orange haze.

You two obviously like each other enough to be friends, so why keep this all up? Isn't it tiring?

The weeks following were conflicting and chaotic. Exam season settled on Karasuno High School jolting the students and staff into a cloud of stress.

You spent your spare time at the library, eyes boring into material that just wouldn't stick while a certain rotten bell pepper took his seat next to you.

"I have to pass my finals or Sugawara senpai is going to nail me to a wall," Hinata explained, spreading his notebooks out on the desk and bumping his elbow against yours in the process. "You do well in your classes, right? Do you — " He looked abash. "D - Do you mind helping me?"

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Looking back now, you suppose that's where your odd friendship began.

Days on end, the two of you would stay behind to cycle through the material slowly building a tolerance of each other much to everyone's surprise.

"Do you still hate me?" The question came one night, the weekend before his exams.

Hinata looked at you from where he sat on the swings, kicking his feet at the sandy grounds. The two of you were at the park, cooling off after a long study session.

Your eyes fell to the can of convenience store coffee in your hands. The slight of the passing breeze drilled his question further in your mind.

"No, I don't think so," came your answer, words wobbly and unsure despite the thrum of your heart beating loudly against your chest and the warmth in your cheeks.

Silence filled the space between you two before Hinata finally spoke up again.

"Then do you like me?"

Your body felt lit aflame, mind jumping immediately to the way he made you feel things you hadn't much before. "As a friend," you decided after a moment of flustered emotions. "We're friends, I guess."

Hinata nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I like you." He took a deep breath. "As more than a friend, but if you feel that way then I'll wait for you. We have time."

His confession became lost among the flurry of thoughts and colliding emotions raging on inside you. Before you could say anything in response, Hinata got to his feet, shooting you that now familiar smile of his and offering you his hand.

The new year overwhelmed your senses like a storm of rain after a drought. Refreshed after the break, you returned to school with a new sense of purpose amplified by the motivation the new year always brings.

Hinata's confession had remained in your mind, pushed to the back by celebration but still bugging you every so often. The apricot haired boy had showed up, throwing ping pong balls (of all things) at your window to catch your attention over the break asking if you wanted to go grab something sweet with him. You promptly responded with a rejection, only to find yourself walking with him ten minutes later.

"How was your break?" Minari asked, bundled in a jacket, scarf, and hat. She joined you at your side, catching you on your walk from the bus stop to school.

You shrugged, pulling your puffy jacket closer to you. "It was okay. You?"

She smiled. "Hung out with Tobio-kun. We went for hot chocolate, and he taught me how to set." Her eyes seemed almost dazzling at the memory, and you laughed, pushing her lightly away.

"You and your Tobio-kun are positively gross," you said. "Absolutely—"

Your words were halted at the feeling of warm fabric settling around your neck and a known face popping up beside you with a proud smile.

"Stay warm. You can give it back to me later," Hinata said before jogging away to catch up with a pair of Second Year boys ahead.

Your hand came up to the green scarf around your neck, failing to form comprehensive sentences. Heart thundering, you ignored the funny looks others sent your way. Glancing at Minari, you caught her slipping giggles.

"What happened to Hinata Shōyō being a rotten bell pepper?"

"Shut up."

Lending you his scarf when days seemed too cold was just the beginning of it all. Days turned into weeks turned into months of Hinata pining after you and you—though obvious to everyone else—trying to decipher your feelings for him.

"Hey, I missed you," Hinata said to you lightly after you had agreed to drop something off for Kageyama on Minari's behalf. Quickly realizing the meaning of his words, however, Hinata corrected himself. "I mean—um, as in I m - missed you earlier. Like... like I didn't catch you today, you know?"

You tilted your head at him with endearment, a small smile playing across your lips at the sight of his blushing face. "Yeah, don't worry. I got it, sweet potato."

His flustered expression dropped. "You think I'm sweet?"

Your eyes widened, stuttering to form a response and correct yourself out of this situation you had suddenly been thrusted in. Luckily, Kageyama came to your rescue before you could embarrass yourself.

"Hinata, boke, stop flirting with Y/N!" The tall blueberry haired boy towered over Hinata with a menacing glare and a scoff. Kageyama turned to you with a blank look you took for an apologetic expression.

Shaking your head profusely, you put your hands up in surrender. "Ah, no worries, Kageyama. I—uh, I have something for you from Minari. She has classroom duties today, so she couldn't come herself."

Kageyama nodded, taking the wrapped bento box that Minari had prepared for him from your outstretched hands. He mumbled words of thanks before stalking off while muttering under his breath a colorful range of insults at Hinata who in turn sent him a funny face.

The Spring Interhigh was coming up, and you were sure the Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club was itching for redemption after what had happened last August. Deciding that you didn't want to interrupt their practice any further, you made move to leave only to stop at the feeling of a hand on your wrist.

Glancing back, you raised an eyebrow in surprise at Hinata's sudden action. "What are you—"

The tangerine boy had exchanged his lighthearted expression of just minutes ago with a look that you could only describe as properly motivated. "When we make it to Nationals, promise to give me a chance."

All around you, the gym seemed to fade until only Hinata was in your line of vision.

When we make it to Nationals, he had said, not if.

Unable to respond, you found yourself nodding because who were you to kid yourself at this point?

The Karasuno Boys Volleyball Club did, in fact, make it to Nationals, but unfortunately lost to Kamomedai High School in the quarter-final round while Hinata spent his time at the hospital.

Hooked up to an IV line and dressed in one of those flimsy hospital gowns, Hinata looked unusually weak laying down on the bed. The others had left not long after you had arrived though some took more convincing than others.

"Next time, you can keep your scarf to yourself," you said, cutting the silence short with a lighthearted remark.

Hinata smiled weakly at that, his hand coming to rest atop your folded ones on your lap. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

You shook your head. "Obviously, you can't take care of yourself." Slipping your hands from under his, you took the hand warmers out of your pockets and placed one in each of his hands. "Luckily, you got me."

His face lit up. "Oh, do I now?"

Warmth spread through your body as you looked away from his hopeful gaze. "Well, you did make it to Nationals."

11 hours - part six

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: so i was gonna leave this on ANOTHER doozy cliff hanger but i genuinely thought i would get lynched so i decided to just leave it at a baby cliffhanger. a lot happened in this chapter and a lot of seeds have been planted for future chapters..... so lemme know what you think hehe. predictions?? angry letters?? pitchforks??? lemme know!! i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | please donate to my ko-fi!

masterlist 

“You’re very calm for someone with a gun to their head.”

Honestly, you had been thinking the same thing. Sure, your stomach feels like a snake pit and your hands are sweating and you don’t think you’ve ever been more aware of your own heart beat, but other than that - you don’t understand why you aren’t panicking more. There are three men standing in front of you, one behind, all with guns. They’re wearing matching leather jackets with an octo-head patch on the sleeve, and they all look very scary. Briefly, you wonder if Bucky has a jacket like this, with a patch on to match his family. It’s an irrelevant detail you can’t help but fixate on right now.

Bucky. Hopefully listening on the other end of the phone you have tucked in your back pocket which your kidnappers haven’t been bothered to check yet, thankfully. You flex your wrists against the zip ties holding you to a chair and ask, “Where am I?”

“You should know,” your stalker turned kidnapper says with a condescending sneer. “You followed me here.”

“The Lerna?” you clarify, for the sake of hopefully someone on the other end of your mobile picking it up. You glance around at the old-style bar; chipped wood and beer stains, a rickety pool table one of your stalker’s friends is using as an arm rest. You curl your nose up at it - a little proudly, you note it has nothing on Sam’s bar.

“Do you recognise the place?” your stalker asks. That throws you. You want to ask what he means by that, why you would recognise this gross bar you’ve never stepped foot in, but you clench your teeth and school your face.

Once your dad sat you down in a chair much like this one, in his office at the house you grew up in. You were eleven, maybe, and you didn’t quite understand why he was tying your hands to the back with a necktie but you went along with it. He did this, sometimes - would orchestrate some strange lesson when his nightmares got really bad, his ghosts chasing him inside the house until he saw enemies in lampshades and kitchen cabinets. To keep you safe, he would say, and then he sat opposite you and asked what you would do if anyone ever put you in this position against your will.

“Kroshka, they will use anything against you,” he had said, and you see that now with the way these men are looking at you for any weakness. But you didn’t understand then, you were a kid thinking your dad was spiralling again, so he had cast around until he found a beer bottle on the coffee table. “See, like this. When the label is flat it’s fine, but as soon as one little corner lifts you can’t help it - you have to peel it all the way off. Don’t give them any corners, kroshka.”

You blink, once. The man in front of you scowls when you don’t answer, presses forward into your space in a show of intimidation. You try not to flinch, but that fear you were missing before is starting to set in real fast. What did he mean, do you recognise it? And why the hell are you so prepared for a situation like this, almost as if your dad has been training you for it since you could remember?

“Fine,” your stalker says, his breath fanning over you with how he’s leaning into your space. “Maybe you can answer something else, about your boyfriend.”

“Dunno who you’re talking about,” you say. It’s not a lie - technically, you hadn’t had the ‘boyfriend-girlfriend’ chat with Bucky yet. This man is not appreciative of your loopholes. He grabs your hair and yanks your head back, pressing his glock into your neck. You shiver, both at the pain and the cold of the metal. Through gritted teeth and mild hyperventilation, you say, “As a matter of fact, I dunno who you are either. That’s kinda weird, dontcha think?”

You can practically hear Bucky in your head telling you to shut up, but he’s not here right now. No corners, just like your dad said. Doesn’t mean you can’t try and find some corners of your own.

What you meant as a question to buy some time, with a bit of attitude on the side, sends your stalker reeling back from you. He’s confused, eyebrows drawn down low and his friends behind him look to each other with the same expression. Now, you’re confused as well. Everyone in the room stands (or sits, in your particular predicament) in a pure state of what the fuck is going on. It would be funny, if there wasn’t still a gun to the back of your head.

“You don’t know the patch?” the man asks, gesturing to the sleeve of his jacket. When you don’t respond he continues, slowly, reiterating his question from before but as a statement, “You don’t recognise this place.”

You have zero idea what’s going on, but whatever you’ve said seems have thrown your kidnappers for a bit of a loop, so you decide to roll with it. You say, and hope to god the man standing behind you doesn’t shoot you for it, “I’m starting to think you’ve lost control of this situation, pal.”

From the corner of the room behind you, a familiar husky-toned red head says, “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

Shots ring out, shattering the windows as one by one your stalker’s friends drop like dominos. Someone crouches behind you and cuts you lose with a knife, and you hear it clatter to the floor as they launch over the back of your chair feet first into your stalker. Natasha. The flash of her red hair over your shoulder as she sends him flying is unmistakable. You scramble from the chair, fumbling for the knife she dropped but your hand slides through something thick, wet. The man behind you with the gun lies dead, throat slit, his blood now all over your fingers. It mesmerises you in a sickening way, making your stomach turn and your vision go fuzzy.

You’d never seen a dead body before. Now they are all around you, the bar smelling like blood instead of beer and the sound of bullets pinging off glass the only noise other than Natasha grappling with your stalker. She’s so small compared to him but she has her thighs clenched around his throat and he gasps for breath, clawing at her legs. You watch, stunned, as he gets a grip on her and throws her off, sending her crashing into the wall with a groan.

She hits the floor and you see red - all you can think is that’s Bucky’s family and that man is walking towards her, his gun trained on her body as she tries to pull herself to her feet, so you stop thinking at all. You picture the back of your stalker's neck like the dartboard at Sam’s bar and you throw.  

Bullseye. Just like your dad taught you.

The man drops, knife buried in his neck and haemorrhaging blood. He gurgles this awful, awful sound as he clutches at his throat, trying and failing to push the blood back in. Natasha looks from your still outstretched hand, trembling in place, to meet your gaze. You can’t begin to decipher her expression, nor do you want to. You feel like you’re going to throw up, or choke, or scream, or all three. The man you just stabbed in the neck groans in pain, eyes rolling, coughing blood from his mouth in thick clumps. You can’t feel your hands anymore.

The door bangs open and you flinch, stumbling back until you trip on the chair you had been tied to and fall to the floor in a crumple of limbs. It’s Bucky, eyes wild and larger than life with a rage you’ve never seen before. He has a huge sniper-rifle slung over his back as he strides into the bar, stepping right over the writhing body of your stalker.

“I’ll deal with you in a second, Rumlow,” he practically growls, kicking aside the man’s hand that tries to grab for him. You scramble to your feet, practically tripping over yourself to get to Bucky. Doesn’t it say something about you that you run towards the man responsible for the death all around you?

You crash into Bucky hard, the force of the impact knocking the breath right out of you and once it’s gone you can’t get it back. It feels like his arms encompass the entirety of you as he holds you so tight your feet leave the ground. His chest rumbles with words but you can’t hear him, your ears are ringing and your chest is tight because panic attack, you dumbass. You press your face into Bucky’s neck and hope that’s enough to escape the scene unfolding around you.

“Get her out of here, I’ll deal with this,” you hear Natasha say somewhere behind Bucky but you refuse to lift your head to see.

Bucky attempts to pull away from you to look at Natasha, you can feel him try and twist his head but the inarticulate whine that rips from your throat stills the both of you. It’s mildly embarrassing, the sound you’ve just made, but it’s out there now. Bucky shifts his grip so one big palm rubs soothing strokes up and down your spine and you feel yourself becoming boneless with every pass of his hand.

“I’m not fucking lettin’ him get away with this,” Bucky says, low, threatening - if you were this Rumlow guy bleeding out on the ground, you would be afraid.

“And he won’t,” Natasha says, and then like she has to remind Bucky of his own thoughts, “but you have other priorities right now. Get her out of here.”

You feel Bucky nod, his scratchy chin moving against the top of your head. He kisses your temple and holds the back of your skull with one big palm, pressing your face further into his neck. It means you don’t see the carnage of the bar when he moves to place an arm around your shoulder and steer you out the door, stumbling under his guidance on shaky, cotton-fuzzy legs. He’s hurrying you, but as gently as he can. Once you feel the bright burn of sunlight on your skin you pull back from Bucky’s neck, blinking in the now empty street and Bucky’s piercing gaze as he looks down at you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, his hand dropping from your skull to squeeze the side of your neck. You still feel like you’re sipping each breath through a straw but you nod. You can see in his eyes he needs you to be with him right now, to get out of here, so you try and blink away the fuzzies in the corners of your vision and focus on his face.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and christ, now is not the time for that stinging pressure behind your eyes you hate so much. You hope Bucky understands - sorry for not listening to him, sorry for getting you both into this mess, sorry for not being strong when he needs you to be.

Bucky shakes his head vehemently, tugs you in harsh and strong by the grip he has on your neck to press a bruising kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter close at the fierce way he holds you, presses emotion into your skin like the tattoos littering his skin - a brand of your own, in the middle of this eerily empty street with the blood of strange men on both your hands. The thought makes you shake, so you twist your fingers in the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt and breathe him in deep.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he says, then pulls away from you. He grabs one of your hands from out under his shirt and links your fingers, beginning to drag you down the street. Looking back over his shoulder, he says with a grimace, “We gotta go.”

He leads you to his bike, squeezed between a brick wall and a dumpster in a side alley a block away from The Lerna. It roars to life before you’ve properly swung yourself on the back, and you aren’t bothering with helmets this time as Bucky eases the bike out from it’s tight spot with unsettling ease. All you can do is hold on tight and close your eyes as Bucky leads you away, weaving through the city in nonsensical loops before you feel the air open up around you and the familiar sounds of Brooklyn.

Bucky takes you to Steve’s tattoo in Red Hook, the first time you’re been back there since that fateful run-in with Natasha. You’ve checked out completely by the time Bucky parks - he has to lift you off the back of the bike because your legs won’t work, and he all but carries you inside. Steve is quick to rid the shop of the two customers looking at designs out front as Bucky settles you on the couch by the tattoo beds. You sink into the faded red leather without feeling a thing. Distantly, you notice the kid who usually mans the tills looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, and you suppose you deserve that.

“Stevie, I think she’s in shock,” you hear Bucky say, and the childhood nickname makes you smile. You watch Bucky’s face crease up deep concern at the dreamy look on your face, so you suppose you should stop smiling like a crazy person. A giant blonde head swims into your view, just as concerned, and he drapes a blanket around your shoulders.

“Bucky,” you say, your eyebrows drawing down as you fumble for his hand. He squeezes your fingers and mumbles something to Steve who leaves you again, his voice mingling with the kid’s somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder but you can’t focus on that. All you can do is swim in the back of Bucky’s too-deep stare and say, “I killed him.”

“No, no,” he says, shifting closer between your thighs as he kneels on the floor in front of you. This would be funny to you in any other moment, something to tease him for as he takes both your hands in his and squeezes them together, silently imploring you to stay looking at him. He says, “That’s not on you, sweetheart, it ain’t. You didn’t kill him.”

You’re crying now, properly, which you suppose is a good sign because you don’t think people in shock can cry. You watch as something cracks in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you break apart, but you can’t stop now you’ve started. You say, “I did, I killed him. How do you do it? How do you just- I feel like my throat’s gonna close up. How do you live past this?”

Bucky’s face darkens, smoothing out to something stone cold and frightening. You don’t feel scared, though, as he leans into your space so close you almost feel cross-eyed trying to stay glued to the blue of his eyes. He searches your face for something and says, no room for argument, “You did not kill that bastard, you hear me?”

“But-“

“No,” he says, simply, and that’s that. “The only reason you were in that position is because of me, doll, so no. You didn’t kill him. It’s on me, and I live with that so you don’t have to. You got that? You don’t ever have to live with that.”

You don’t know how he makes you feel like he’s physically reached into your chest and pulled out your guilt through your throat, but he does. You can see it clenched tight in his fist, his eyes shuttering down dark as he shoves it between his own teeth to hold. It’s too soon for the feelings clawing at your ribcage but you feel them just the same, that cigarette burn he left on your heart aching so bad you could scream from it. You extract a hand from his to run down his cheek, along his jaw, cupping his face in your palm. He closes his eyes, shudders as though swallowing down the guilt for the both of you.

I love you for that, you think to the soft flutter of his eyelashes against his cheeks. I’ll love you forever for that.

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

When Natasha returns to the shop, and Sam bundles in not long after that, the four bikers sit around Steve’s prematurely closed tattoo shop and have a family meeting. You can’t help but feel like the kid who’s stayed up past their bedtime to try and hang with the adults, the words flying over their head and sleep pulling at their eyelids but they fight to stay awake anyway. Bucky pulls your head into his lap as he sits on the couch beside you, so you lie there and let him stroke your hair while they discuss what happened over the past two hours.

Two hours, and that’s all it’s taken for your whole world to spin on it’s axis. You’d learnt to throw knives at tree trunks with your dad as a fun, albeit unconventional after-school activity. And now you’ve buried a knife in someone’s neck, you’ve been kidnapped and tied to a chair and watched Bucky gun down men from a rooftop with his sniper rifle. He pulled the trigger with the same fingers he’s carding through your hair now, nails scratching at your scalp in a way that makes your toes tingle. How is that at all ok?

“We’ve started a turf war with Hydra, now,” Sam is saying, sitting backwards on a chair facing Bucky and spreading his hands out in a placating gesture as Bucky bristles. “It was unavoidable, alright, I’m just saying.”

“Not necessarily,” Natasha says. “Rumlow has had a vendetta against Bucky for years. He could’ve been acting alone.”

“It is strange we haven’t heard anything from Pierce,” Steve says thoughtfully. He is pressing an icepack to Natasha’s back, already bruising from where this Rumlow guy threw her into the wall. She’s lifting up her t-shirt and you can see a glimpse of a back piece standing out stark against her pale skin. Giant, feathered wings and a talon, a mosaic piece of what looks like a large hawk spanning the length of her spine.

“When Pierce finds out it was us that shot up his bar, though,” Sam says, making meaningful eyebrow movements to the group. They all nod thoughtfully and fall into silence.

None of these names make much sense to you - Hydra, Pierce, even Rumlow who you’ve gathered by now was your stalker. Was, because he’s dead now, and the thought turns your mouth dry and rusted. You shift in discomfort, drawing Bucky’s attention down to you as he gives you a concerned once over. He had done a thorough analysis for any injuries, even after you’d assured him you were fine, but you can tell he’s still unconvinced.

Unfortunately for you, all your wounds appear to be mental. They’re getting deeper by the second.

“I keep thinking,” you say to Bucky, “why was he so surprised I didn��t know where I was? Or who they were?”

“Hydra is our biggest rival,” Bucky says, and huffs a laugh at your crinkly brow so he clarifies, “They’re another gang, one we’ve had a lot of run-ins with. Rumlow especially. He wasn’t our biggest fan.”

“So he expected you to have told me about him, and Hydra,” you say, the name unfamiliar on your tongue. He nods, and you have to ask, “Why didn’t you?”

Bucky frowns at that. “I already told you - the more you know, the more dangerous it is.”

“And I already told you, no secrets,” you say, frowning just as deep. A beat passes and Bucky doesn’t budge, just glares down at you like he can physically bore his opinion into your brain and make it yours. Exasperated, you say, “Bucky, it didn’t matter anyway - the danger found me. Telling me things like that isn’t going to make a difference.”

“It would’ve if you’d listened to me and not done the stupid thing,” Bucky says, raising his eyebrows. He may have a point, but you aren’t going to back down that easily. Bucky knows you, he knows if you see a loose thread you’re going to pull it. The fact he thought you’d listen to him tell you what to do at all is laughable.

“This gang is your life,” you say, and you don’t bother to hide your frustration now, “They’re your family. I’m no safer not knowing what’s going on - I got stalked and kidnapped regardless. Clearly, it’s dangerous no matter what, so just tell me, Bucky. Whatever it is.”

Bucky stares at you for a long time. Steve, Natasha, Sam - they cease to exist in this room with you. Those first few weeks, when you refused to stay the night in Bucky’s bed and would only see him to fuck - you used to be scared of looking into those eyes for too long, for fear of getting lost. Now you dive head first, a part of you hoping you do get lost so you never have to find your way back out again.

Eventually, Bucky clenches his jaw tight and says, “You’re right.”

You blink, surprised. You hear Sam whisper to Steve, “did you record that?”, and honestly, you wanna ask the same thing. Except the way Bucky is look at you- dread curls thick and choking in your gut. You look up at Bucky and he seem so far away, out of reach even though you feel him all around you. He continues stroking your hair but it’s absentminded, his mind far away too.

You are drawn back to the tattoo shop by Sam saying, “I gotta say, Barnes, your girl is smart as hell. Keeping your phone on you and out-smarting Rumlow in a hostage situation? Pretty badass.”

Bucky smiles briefly down at you, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. You turn to Sam and say, “I got the impression out-smarting Rumlow isn’t really that hard.”

Everyone laughs at that, even Bucky, and it clears away some of the dread eating away at your stomach. But it’s still there, acidic and bubbling no matter what you do to smother it.

Eventually, they grow tired of talking in circles about Rumlow and Hydra and the possibility of the feds showing up (Bucky assures everyone the cops will find no rifling on the bullets and won’t be able to pin them to the crime scene, but Sam mutters heard that before and an argument erupts about some debacle in Bucharest so you tune out). Bucky takes you back to his apartment, tucked securely in his leather jacket in the best kind of shock blanket you could ever ask for.

For the first time, you noticed the tiny embroidered star on the sleeve of his jacket. You wonder if all Bucky’s friends have the same star on their jackets, because they’re not just friends, they’re a gang. One you feel suddenly, irrevocably intertwined with since they’re the only reason you aren’t sitting in a jail cell for murdering someone.

You feel jittery as you walk into Bucky’s apartment, almost nervous. It looks the same as this morning, the coffee cups you used for Steve and Bucky still in the sink and hoodie of his you’d worn last night draped over a chair. But everything is different, now. It’s all changed, there’s weird new shadows over everything long after Bucky turns on the light. You linger in the doorway to Bucky’s bedroom while he rummages around for sweats and jumpers, laying out a pair for you before he begins changing himself. He shucks off his t-shirt and you see his tattoo sleeve, the mottled scars hiding underneath, and your heart flies out of your throat before you can stop it.

“So do you guys have a fun, spooky name like Hydra or what?” you ask, closing your eyes with a grimace as soon as you ask the question. What are you, twelve? Bucky doesn’t answer and you’re too afraid to open your eyes too see the look on his face.

You’re startled when you feel him kiss your cheek, sensing his large frame towering over you and blocking out some of the soft bedroom light. You open your eyes to find him smiling down at you, laughing at you with his eyes as he says, “Not so spooky. Steve named us, he called us the Howling Commandos. The HC, for short.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and he flicks the tip with his ringed fingers. You say, “That’s very old-fashioned.”

“Nat teases him for it all the time,” he says, “She calls us her barbershop quartet.”

You smile, imagining Bucky in suspenders playing the accordion, and say, “Now that I like.”

The longer Bucky looks at you the more sober he becomes, mouth becoming pinched and jaw muscle ticking. He holds you soft by the biceps and walks you back until you hit the wall, still gentle, but bracketing you in now so all you can see is the weight of whatever complicated thing is running across Bucky’s face.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me today,” he says. He shifts, grips your jaw tight so his rings dig into your skin with none of the gentleness of before - he means this. “Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, twisting in his tight grip to press a kiss to his fingertips. He softens, allows you to pull him in flush against you by his waist, his bare skin so warm under your hands. “And, thank you. I don’t- I guess I’ve never had someone come save me before, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t thank me,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He kisses you, a rough press of chapped lips against yours and is gone again before you can react. Says, “I’m sorry, too.”

“Come back,” you say with a pout, and you have just enough time to see Bucky smirk down at you before he’s kissing you again. It’s just as fierce, almost painful, but the rough slide of it distracts from the burn in your chest and your racing thoughts like razorblades. You lick into his mouth, chasing away the ghosts nipping at your heels, and he presses you back into the wall with a thunk hard enough to leave a bruise on your tailbone tomorrow. You don’t care. It feels good to hurt in a way that’s physical.

The ease with which Bucky picks you up makes your head spin. It’s all you can do but pepper kisses along his stubbled jaw as he carries you to the bed, lips suddenly ripped from his skin as he dumps you on the covers. He is quick to follow, squashing you down with his tongue in your mouth before you can take another breath. This, you know. All the messy feelings and heartache and fearfearfear that beats in time with your heart, that maybe you’ll lose him or he’ll lose you and you came so close today, is unfamiliar to the both of you. But arching your back off the bed so he can take your shirt off, scrubbing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck as he peppers kisses across your tits with a trail of goosebumps left behind - this is how you know Bucky best.

He makes quick work of your clothes and you fumble with his jeans, laughing into his mouth as he bats your hand away to do it for you. Bucky bites your bottom lip in playful admonishment and you chase his mouth as he tries to pull away. He places one big palm on your clavicle and pushes down, holding you against the bed. He shakes his head at you with a smile.

“Stay,” he says like he would to a dog, grinning wide as you glare at him. But you do as you’re told as he leans over you to grab a condom with his left arm. Maybe you bend the rules a little to trail kisses up the bits of his outstretched forearm you can reach. Over a shadowy skull, the stem of a rose, what looks like military windings near the crook of his elbow and tiny handwritten letters that spell S N S. Sam Nat Steve, because Bucky might be a tough guy to most but he’s a giant sap deep down.

Bucky shudders at your touch, and it makes you wonder if the scarring under his tattoos is extra sensitive. Or maybe he is just sensitive to anyone touching him in such a vulnerable place. You flick your eyes up to watch him watch you, lip drawn between his teeth and a dent between his eyebrows you ache to soothe if he wasn’t still holding you down. You don’t stop, even though he looks physically pained with every brush of your lips against his skin. You trace the edges of another small wolf with your tongue, like the ones on his chestpiece, and watch as his eyes flutter closed when you get close to the paper-thin skin of his inner wrist.

That hits Bucky’s limit. Suddenly his hand on your chest slides up to your neck and he’s leaning over you, left arm braced by your head and his mouth swallowing yours. You groan against his lips at the rough drag of his hands down your sides, gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. He makes your brain go fuzzy, the only coherent thoughts being Bucky and touch me more. He seems to understand. His fingers find your clit, smoothing slow circles which spark embers in the pit of your stomach. Bucky’s mouth falls open as yours does, as if to breath in the whine he draws from you.

“Fuck, you always sound so good,” Bucky groans. He buries his face into the side of your neck, taking advantage of your thigh trapped between his legs to rut against you while he continues playing with your clit. Every time Bucky gets filthy with you it’s like the first time, shocking and almost embarrassing in the sexiest way possible. Heat floods your cheeks and makes you lightheaded, unable to stop the moan he draws from you. You’re rewarded by Bucky’s teeth in your neck, the sensitive spot just over your pulse point, and if you’re being honest you could come just from this.

Bucky’s cock growing harder against your thigh, as his hips shift in rhythm with the circles he draws on your clit, becomes too difficult to ignore. To gain his attention you twist and nip at the closest piece of skin you can find, Bucky’s ear, and he engulfs you in a kiss which steals the breath right out of you. You buck your hips, hoping to nonverbally convey the demand get in me right now, and Bucky doesn't need any more hints than that.

He fumbles with the condom for a second and you take the time to sit up on your elbows and look at him. Bucky is so beautiful, drawn in harsh lines and stark contrasts. Tan skin turned paler against the opaque black of his tattoos, colour swirling in-between and it should be jarring, but you think he just looks like art. Bitten red lips, startling blue eyes pinning you to the mattress as he catches you staring - such bright, primary colours because he is a statement piece, and one you could look at forever.

Bucky grins almost bashfully as you stare at him, leaning back over you to kiss you soft and sweet in a sharp juxtaposition to the rough tumble which got you here. Again, he sends your head spinning when the tender kiss is punctuated by the unexpected push of Bucky’s cock in your cunt. He bottoms out before you can blink, throwing your head back out of the kiss with an untamed groan - both pleasure and pain, in the good way. Bucky drags his teeth from your lips down your chin and neck, biting a mark into your collarbone to set the tone for the bruising pace he creates as he pounds into you.

He doesn’t do anything in halves, you think. You gaze up at him with an almost dopey smile while Bucky fucks the literal breath out of you. You lift your hips to meet him as he bottoms out with every thrust, watching in awe as his face creases up in ecstasy - it’s you who brings him there. He palms your tits like he can’t help himself, loses control in your pussy because you make him feel that good, and the thought makes you giddy. Drunk, almost, as you drag your nails down his chest and nearly come once again just from the moan you draw out of this brilliant, dangerous, gorgeous man.

“You take it so well, baby, fuck,” Bucky pants, eyebrows creasing as the pleasure gets almost painful in its build. You know the feeling. Bucky’s mouth is always your undoing, rolling your eyes back into your head and the sounds you’re making turning positively feral. He kisses you again, more a slam of mouths than anything finessed, and says, “Never gonna get over this, never gonna get over how good you feel.”

“Bucky, you gotta-“

“I gotta what, huh?” Bucky grins at the pleasure-addled panic he brings you too, not wanting to come too fast but also needing to let go before you actually explode. He knows exactly what he’s doing, balancing on one hand to thumb harshly at your clit as he says, “You want me to stop? I don’t think so, sweetheart, I think you wanna come on my cock just like this, wanna hear me tell you how good you are, how sweet you are for me all laid out like this-“

Everything whites out as you come, hard, all your muscles spasming like crazy with the orgasm that rips through you. Bucky’s voice is drowned out, but it doesn’t matter what he’s saying anymore, he’s made you feel like you’ll never catch your breath again. Bucky thunks his forehead against yours, collapsing on top of you as the fluttering clench of your cunt around his cock becomes too much. His thrusts turn sloppy, his breath hot and ragged across your face as you press lazy, barely-there kisses to his cheeks - all you can muster in your fucked-out haze.

Bucky comes with his eyes closed, eyelashes tangling with yours, and you cling to him with all four limbs as he shakes through his orgasm. The release was so needed for the both of you, the events of the last twenty-four hours frying your nerves to the point where it was either fight, cry, or fuck. It feels so good to have Bucky on top of you, inside you, all around you in every single sense and it warms your heart in a way you didn’t know was possible until now. Until Bucky.

Maybe that’s the afterglow talking, and you should stop. But you can’t help but press another kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and another, over his nose and across his still-closed eyelids until you reach his mouth and he can kiss you back just as soft. You hope he gets it. You hope he feels it too.

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

You go to see your dad, eventually. The chaos of yesterday kept you attached to Bucky’s hip - you showered together in the morning, and he allowed you to pretend it was just the water and not tears soaking your face. But he made you cuddle with him on the couch and fed you an omelette like you were incapable of feeding yourself, and maybe you were, because the reality of what happened in that shitty Manhattan bar was starting to eat away at your executive functions. It took all of your strength to convince Bucky you would be ok and that you’d come back to him as soon as you were done, but it was time to pull on a thread you’ve been ignoring for far too long.

It turns out, that paranoid over-questioning part of your brain doesn’t turn off even during a traumatic event. Your dad lets you in without a word, tugging you into a side hug as you both walk to the kitchen to make tea.

The house you grew up in has taken on a different light since the Lerna. The kitchen chairs aren’t the same, reminding you too much of ziptied wrists and a gun in your face. Why can you superimpose the memory of Rumlow holding you hostage to one you have of being eleven and tied to a chair by your father? You shouldn’t be able to do that.

He nudges your hip, jerking you out of your staring contest with the dining chairs, and offers you a mug of tea. You both sit at the table, either end, the fruit bowl a mediator between you. He looks tired, old, like he always has somehow in your memories from childhood. He’s still your dad, the same man who always been there because he’s all you’ve ever had. He loves you, you know does. Ya lyublyu tebya, luna. But he has always been the first to say your paranoid streak runs a mile deep, and once you find a thread-

Well. Everyone knows how that ends.

“Do you want to talk about it?” your dad asks, and it’s like he knows you aren’t here to ask for boy advice or moan about a case or your skyrocketing rent.

There’s a lot you want to talk about. Why did I learn to throw knives instead of joining the soccer team, like normal kids? Why did I learn how to survive an interrogation instead of going to sleepovers, like normal kids? Why did you train me to question everyone and everything in this world, but I’ve always blindly believed you? Like a normal kid would, you suppose, the only normal you’ve ever really gotten. Always believing your dad is the superhero of six-year-old dreams, someone who would never keep you in the dark.

“No,” you say, taking a sip of tea. It burns your tongue to numbness, but you can’t bring yourself to care. We had the secret language for only us - why did I never think you might have secrets from me as well? You grimace into your tea and say, “Not right now, I’m sorry.”

“Tayny budut presledovat tebya vechno, malysh,” he says. Secrets will haunt you forever, little one.

You don’t dare look up from your tea as you say, “Ya dumayu, ty by znal vse ob etom.” I guess you’d know all about that.

He gives you leftover curry in a carry bag when you leave. Kisses you on the cheek and lets you go, but you can feel him watching you the entire time it takes you to walk down the street and out of sight. As soon as you round the corner you retch into the nearest bush, a well-manicured rose which you silently apologise to as it gets covered in your bile.

This guilt isn’t something Bucky can save you from - it feels like it’s eating you alive. You had never, ever thought you would get to the point where you’d be leaving a bug stuck to the underside of your dad’s kitchen table, but you suppose you never thought you’d be stalked and kidnapped either. You wipe the your mouth with the back of your hand as your stomach finishes emptying itself of tea and betrayal, and try to tell yourself you won’t find anything, you're just being paranoid. But you know you will.

Maybe you always have, and that’s why you’ve been too scared to pull on the thread you’ve known has been dangling in the back of your mind since you were a kid. Just one secret you wanted to leave, one dark corner you didn’t want to shine a light into. That’s never been in your nature. You spit the foul, acidic taste from your mouth onto a poor, innocent rose bud and think with just as much bitterness as the bile coating your throat, that’s not who my dad raised me to be.

Part 7

Old Habits

So I got Covid, which on one hand kinda sucks, but on the other means I have a lot more time to write! I now present to you, dear readers, 4405 words of sick fic.

Agere Janus, CG Virgil, Agere Remus, CG Logan, CG Patton, CG Roman

TW: Sickness, descriptions of overstimulation, nausea, not wanting to eat food due to said nausea, no one actually throws up though.

**********

As soon as Janus woke up, he knew it was going to be a bad day. His mouth curved into a deep frown as he sat there for a moment, staring up at the light gray ceiling above him. Maybe this is what people meant when they said ‘Waking up on the wrong side of the bed.’ Sighing, he tried to push his blankets off only for it to hit him. And by ‘it’ he meant everything. His head pounded, the heat radiating off his body clashed with the cool air around it, and his throat throbbed in pain as he gasped. Huh. So that’s why he was in such a bad mood.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he felt a sudden anger lash through him. He didn’t wanna be sick! He didn’t wanna stay inside his room all day! He wanted to feel better, he wanted to go outside and play with the others, and- Oh. Oh, he was age regressed. Great. Now on top of everything else, he would have to spend the day as a nine year old. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have been half bad most days. But he had told the others he would tell them if he regressed. They had all promised. Old instincts of hiding away clashed with his desire to be with the others, to be taken care of.

Janus groaned again. All this thinking was making his head hurt even more. Twisting around, he slid off his bed and immediately regretted it. He wanted to borrow back under the covers again. He wouldn’t, though.

Thinking for a bit longer, he decided on a compromise. He didn’t have to tell them he was sick (he could take care of that on his own), but he would still tell them that he had regressed. He would still go out.

He didn’t bother to change out of his pajamas. Since he was regressed, the others probably wouldn’t find it weird, and he couldn’t bring himself to get into anything less comfortable. He did, however, make sure to slip on a green bracelet to symbolize to the others that he was regressed.

Opening his door, he stomped out into the hallway and down to the kitchen, growing grumpier the further he walked. The lights were too bright. The hallway smelled weird. The texture of carpet against his feet felt scratchy. Anything and everything was getting on his nerves, and he had worked himself up into quite the mood by the time he got to the kitchen, the smell of breakfast, but the eggs especially, assaulting his nose.

“Morning Janus!” Patton said just a bit too loudly, his smile glaring widely from across the room.

Janus frowned, folded his arms, and marched over to sit in his chair at the table next to Virgil, who was hunched over his morning coffee, nursing it in comfortable silence. He may have to be outside his room today, but he most certainly did not have to enjoy it.

Patton came around and sat at the chair across from Janus’s. “Well someone’s in a mood today.” He teased, smiling softly as he reached out to touch Janus’s arm. Janus pulled away and glared at Patton, who leaned back in his chair, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright kiddo, no touching today. Gotcha.” Still smiling, Patton quirked his head to the side and continued. “So, how old are you today?”

Maybe if Janus didn’t respond, Patton would leave him alone. But he had no such luck. After about half a minute of uncomfortable silence, Janus finally spat out “I’m not nine.” Why couldn’t Patton just leave him alone?

“Hey.” Virgil interjected firmly, giving Janus a look over his mug. “Try to play nice, Jan.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” Janus muttered, bringing his leg up onto the chair with him and looking off to the side. And before Virgil could respond, a loud voice trumpeted through the air, bursting through the morning calm, not to mention everyone’s eardrums.

“Good MORNING fellow mind palace denizens! Now, what are those absolutely scrumptious things I smell, wafting through the air, giving the kitchen an absolutely heavenly aura?”

It took all of Janus’s self control not to curl up into a ball in response to Roman’s loud proclamations. Patton just giggled and gestured towards the food he had ready on the counter. His head was pounding again, and he could feel himself edging towards tears. But before he could snap at Roman, Virgil beat him to it.

“JESUS princey, do you have an off button?” He said, dramatically moving his hands up to his ears as if checking for blood. “Or at the very least a volume control? Some of us are still waking up.”

“Well, Mr. Short, Snark, and Broody, I’ll have you know that some of us aren’t nocturnal.” Roman shot back, a teasing lilt in his now quieter voice. “Oh and padre,” Roman continued, walking across the kitchen to sit down in his chair with an unnecessary flourish. “Logan said he and Remus will be out in a few minutes. He just needs some extra time to get Remus ready.”

“Oh, so Remus is still regressed then?” Patton said, standing up and grabbing armfuls of food to place on the table.

“Yep.” Roman said, becoming very obviously distracted at the sight of food. “We still have a little devil munchkin on our hands.”

Janus could feel Virgil’s staring at him as he tried to keep glaring at the table. The more people got that he was in a bad mood and left him alone, the less people would figure out he was sick. So why wasn’t Virgil getting it?

Finally, Roman noticed Janus, and more importantly, the green band around Janus’s wrist. “Oh, and what age might you be, little Kaa?”

Janus knew he needed to get his temper under control, and quickly. A bad mood could be a good deterrent, but too much and he could get in trouble. Another part of him, however, simply didn’t care.

“I already said, I’m not nine.” Janus snapped.

Roman raised an eyebrow at Janus’s words. “Well, careful with the fangs there! You could do some real damage with those, you know.” He said, poking Janus playfully. But instead of smiling or poking him back like he usually would, Janus just huffed, still looking down at the table.

After a moment of silence in which Janus could hear the rustling of cloth and see arms move out of the corners of his eyes, Virgil finally said “He’s just in a mood this morning.” And Janus’s frown twisted into a scowl. Just a mood. . .

Patton took to humming a simple tune, filling the silence as he placed the last of the food on the table. The conversation started up again as the other sides helped Patton finish setting up, the familiar banter of Roman and Virgil interspersed with commentary and lighter conversation from Patton. Janus took the calm moment to collect himself again. He couldn’t afford to go picking fights. He just needed to make it through breakfast. He could do this.

Logan walked in just as they began to serve themselves, holding Remus up against his hip. Remus looked around the room with bright eyes, still in a onesie and sucking absentmindedly on one of his pacifiers. Janus watched as Patton cooed at the sight and helped Logan get Remus into his high chair, noting that the band on Remus’s wrist that used to be blue was now purple.

Janus needed to eat, but today the thought of food turned his stomach. He could probably comfortably eat a little, but he would have to eat around his normal amount so as to not be suspicious. Finally, Janus reached for his plate only to find it had already been snatched out from under his nose. He looked up in time to see Virgil put the last of the eggs on his now stuffed plate and place it in front of him.

Irritation curled in his chest again, a self-righteous anger that Janus didn’t bother to question. “I totally can’t serve myself.” Janus said, hunching over what seemed like mountains of eggs and bacon and toast. 

“Not if you wait that long you can’t.” Virgil retorted, biting into his toast. Gosh, what was wrong with him today? Janus was beginning to regret not just staying in his room. Out here, it was growing harder and harder not to just snap at everyone and everything.

He bit his lip and turned back to his food. One bite. Then another. Then another. He let himself begin to relax slightly into the conversation around him, mindlessly shoveling the food into his mouth.

Then the intrusive bubbliness of Patton’s voice filled his ears again. “So kiddo, what do you think you’re gonna be up to today? Got any plans?”

Janus had to remind himself to stay calm. It was just Patton. He didn’t mean any harm. “I think I’m gonna go back to bed after breakfast.” Janus said, the words spinning effortlessly from his lips. “Then I’ll probably just hang out. I don’t really have any plans today.”

“Oh, are you tired? Did you stay up too late last night?” Janus nodded along to Patton’s words. He was starting to get nauseous from all the food. But he had to keep going. He was almost halfway done.

Logan spoke up from the high chair where he was sitting next to Remus, helping the younger side with his food. “Sleeping right after breakfast would be inadvisable. Rather, you should stay up and try for a mid-afternoon nap. You are more used to taking a nap then versus mid morning, so it would disrupt your sleep schedule the least, and studies have shown that going to bed directly after eating can disrupt digestion.”

And in only a few seconds all the self control he had managed to gather disappeared. “Nobody asked you, Logan.” Janus said testily, immediately wishing he could take back his words. Darn it, he was trying! It was everyone else that kept on annoying him.

Logan seemed taken aback at first, but very quickly became distracted as Remus elbowed his sippy cup off the high chair. Instead, it was Virgil who turned towards Janus, looking right at him even as he curled away. “This is your second warning, Janus. Any more attitude and you’re gonna be in trouble. I know you’re tired, but Logan was just trying to help.”

“Yeah because I totally asked for and wanted it. It’s not like he butt into the conversation or anything.” All of Janus’s careful plans and schemes were out the window now. He was tired, he was irritated, nauseous, in pain, overstimulated, and above all just wanted to be left alone. Was that too much to ask?

Janus heard the scraping of wood against tile and jolted as his chair was yanked back and Janus found himself looking directly at an angry Virgil. “You apologize to Logan right now, Janus. That was not okay.”

Janus pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away. He wasn’t going to give in.

Virgil studied his face for a few more seconds before sighing, his expression unreadable. “Go to your room Janus. We’ll talk about things when you’ve calmed down enough to listen.”

Janus twisted around in his seat and marched out of the kitchen, head held high but fists clenched. He went back to his room as quickly as he could, resisting the urge to slam the door behind him. That would only make his headache worse.

Well, things hadn’t gone exactly the way he had wanted them to, but at least he was back in his bedroom. The events of the morning swirled around in his brain, making him angrier the more he thought about them. Why did everyone have to be so annoying!

But he hadn’t meant to be so mean to Logan. He didn’t really mean what he said. He had just wanted to sleep after breakfast. He had given Roman the cold shoulder, pushed at Virgil, and snapped at Patton, poor Patton, who just wanted to be nice, all because he couldn’t stop hiding. Because of a few lies to make himself more comfortable at others expense. At his own expense.

The thought of being completely honest and vulnerable with the others still scared him. Janus had never been one to lay himself out for the world to see. But things were different now. That didn’t mean he magically trusted them, or was going to be honest all the time. It had only been a few months since everyone had decided to suddenly become bff’s, and Janus found that old habits died hard. Still… He should probably tell them he was sick. He owed them that, at least.

Janus was starting to doze by the time that Virgil opened the door, holding in his hands the rest of Janus’s stomach-turning food. Carefully closing the door behind him, set the plate down on his desk and sat gingerly on the bed.

“You up for talking?” Virgil said softly, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. Janus sat up slowly and nodded. Just rip it off. Like a band aid.

“I know you’re tired,” Virgil began, voice getting firmer as he gained momentum. “But you were being mean to everyone who tried to talk to you. You snapped at me and Patton, ignored Roman, and were really rude to Logan, who just wanted to help.”

“Yeah.” Janus said, gaze still fixed on the bedspread. He just needed to open his mouth. Say the words. But now that Virgil was here, he had frozen. It was always so much easier to just stay quiet than to speak up.

“I talked with the others, and we agreed no TV for today, and you need to apologize to each of us personally.” Virgil continued. “And we want you to try and stay up until the afternoon. If you can’t, then we aren’t gonna force you to stay up, but Logan was right. It’s better if you don’t.”

Janus nodded in agreement. Maybe he didn’t have to say anything after all. He could just apologize to everyone and call it a day. Hang out on the couch and play with the others like he’d planned. Try to stay up, but if he ‘accidentally’ fell asleep, no one would question it. There still might be issues if he didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t have to though. Did he really have to?

First things first. Turning towards Virgil, Janus looked down at his fidgeting hands, forcing them to stay still. “I’m sorry for not listening to you.” Janus said, his voice a soft whisper. “You just wanted me to not lash out at everyone, and I did it anyways. I should have listened, and I’m sorry.”

After a moment of silence, Janus could feel Virgil move closer to him on the bed and slowly open up his arms. “Cuddles?” He asked, his head ducking to the side nervously.

And if that didn’t sound wonderful. Nodding, Janus opened his arms and let himself be pulled onto Virgil’s lap. The smell of lavender and coffee filled his nose as he buried his face in Virgil’s shoulder. The warmth of his body seeped through his jacket and the only thing Janus could hear was the sound of hushed breaths filling the air. Slowly, Virgil began to sway back and forth, and if Janus wasn’t careful, he could probably fall asleep right here, wrapped comfortably in his arms. 

“Thank you for apologizing, Janus.” Virgil said, voice rippling through the still air. “I know that you’re still getting used to being a kid around the others, and you weren’t at your best today. But.... Janus?” Janus started slightly, replying “Hm?” as Virgil continued to rock.

“So, you know I can get nervous about things, and I can overthink things that aren’t a big deal, or think something means something when it really doesn’t, but, are you sure you’re okay? You usually don’t get irritated like you did, and you’ve barely looked at anyone all day. And I know you’re tired, and it’s probably just that, but I- I just wanna be sure. You’re okay, right? You aren’t hiding things?”

Virgil had always been the best at seeing through Janus’s lies. But his fate wasn’t set in stone yet. All he had to do was say yes. Turn around and give him a reassuring smile, let out a soft laugh when Virgil smiled back in relief that it had just been him overthinking things like always. But Janus could feel the guilt curl up in his chest just thinking about it. He had told them he’d be more honest. He had promised. Like a band aid.

“I-” He started only to have the words stick in his throat. He could do it! Well. Maybe one little lie couldn’t hurt. “I don’t feel like I might be a little sick.” He whispered, trying to get it all out in one quick breath.

Virgil shifted Janus around until he was suddenly staring right into his wide eyes. “You’re sick!?!” Janus winced at the volume, and Virgil reached up to put the back of his hand on Janus’s forehead, bringing the other hand up to run his fingers through Janus’s hair. “Where does it hurt? Do you have a fever? Do you know if you have a fever? Are you sore anywhere? Do you feel nauseous? Did you throw up?” 

“It’s not that bad.” Janus whined, leaning back as Virgil fussed over him. He wasn’t dying or anything. Gosh. 

Virgil stared at him again, opening his mouth to say something before closing it and looking away. After a few moments had passed, Virgil looked up again, gently shifted Janus out of his lap, and grabbed his hand. “C’mon. We’re gonna have Logan take a look at you.”

Janus whined in protest, but allowed himself to be pulled out the door and, eventually, into the kitchen. Patton was the only one left, humming to himself as he put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. When that was done, he turned towards Janus and Virgil, smiling as he said “Hey kiddos! You guys sort things out?”

Another pang of guilt hit Janus as he remembered he still needed to apologize. Opening his mouth, he wasn’t even able to make a sound as Virgil promptly cut him off. “Have you seen Logan?” He said, scanning the kitchen intently.

“Oh, um, I think they’re just in the living room.” Patton said, blinking rapidly and pointing towards the room in question.

Virgil flushed slightly as he looked in the direction that Patton had pointed. “Thanks Pat.” He said, tugging Janus towards the living room. But Janus wasn’t ready to go yet. He dug his heels into the ground and yanked his hand out of Virgil’s.

Spinning around as quickly as he could without falling over, Janus blurted out “I’m sorry Patton. About breakfast- I didn’t mean anything; I was just lashing out. I’m sorry.”

Pattons expression melted from confusion to compassion, and he walked forward to wrap his arms around Janus in a warm embrace. “That’s alright, Jan. Just try not to do it again, okay?” Janus hummed in response and begrudgingly let Patton go as he pulled back.

Janus slowly turned back around and was relieved to see that Virgil didn’t look mad. Instead, he knelt down and held out his arms in a silent invitation. “C’mon.” Janus didn’t usually like being picked up when he was older, but today he found himself eagerly rushing over to Virgil and burying his face into Virgil’s jacket to try to fend off the dizzy rush that came with being lifted into the air too fast.

Virgil started walking again, but Janus kept his head right where he’d put it, instead focusing on the quick, long strides that gave his blissfully dark world rhythm and shape. He could hear Roman and Remus more clearly now, playing some type of game together as Virgil walked into the living room. Too soon, in Janus’s opinion, Virgil came to a halt next to what Janus thought was Logan’s armchair. He was probably reading some book.

“Hey Logan?” Virgil started, his hushed voice rumbling slightly in his chest. “Do you think you could look at Janus? He says he’s not feeling well.”

“Of course. May I?”

Janus resisted the urge to grumble as he was lifted out of Virgil’s embrace and onto Logan’s lap. With a flick of his wrist, a small white case with a red cross appeared in Logan’s hand, which Janus recognized as Logan’s medical kit.

The first thing Logan took out was a stethoscope, and with practiced efficiency he put it on and placed the cold metal up to Janus’s chest. “Can you take a deep breath in for me?” Logan said, looking softly in his eyes. Janus felt his irritation spike. Well obviously. But a gentle squeeze of Virgil’s hand brought him back to his senses. He’d messed up enough for today.

Speaking of which, as soon as Logan was done checking his heartbeat, Janus took in one last deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. “Logan, I’m sorry about breakfast. I was just tired and when you said that I shouldn’t go to bed I got mad. I shouldn’t’ve said that stuff.”

A moment passed and then “Janus?” He looked out and found himself staring directly into Logan's deep blue eyes. “Apology accepted. I know you did not mean anything that you said.”

With some coaxing and praise from Logan and with Virgil’s hand in Janus’s, he managed to get through the rest of the check up without getting irritated or lashing out (which, although he was loath to admit it, made Janus pretty proud of himself).

“Well, right now it is looking like a minor cold, but we should keep a close eye on him just the same.” Logan said, placing the last of his things back into the white case. “His temperature is no higher than average, but there is the possibility that he could develop a fever.”

“Awww, is my little kiddo sick? Is that what you guys are doing over here?” Patton had scooted across the floor from where he had been playing with Remus and Roman, bringing a hand up to ruffle it gently through Janus’s hair.

Logan hummed. “Indeed. Would you be so kind as to retrieve some Tylenol and lozenges from the medicine cabinet?” Patton nodded and rushed out of the room, and only then did Janus notice Remus, who must’ve been crawling right behind Patton.

“Sick?” Remus said, pointing to Janus and looking back at Roman with a wide-eyed expression.

Roman walked over to where everyone was now and sat down beside Remus, legs criss-crossed together. “Mmm-hmm. He’s feeling yucky.”

“Yugy!” Remus copied, scrunching up his face and clapping his hands together. While Roman and Virgil cooed over Remus, Patton finally brought back the medicine.

Janus eyed it warily. It was probably cherry flavored. The thought of it made him shiver. But he already knew he wasn’t getting out of this. Once that whole terribleness was over, he was finally allowed to squirm out of Logan’s lap and onto the floor.

While the others talked above him, Janus turned his attention to Roman, who was trying to show Remus how to play some form of patty cake.

“Hey Janus. How you holding up?” Roman said eventually as Remus became more interested in playing with Romans fingers than learning the game.

Janus shrugged. He was still tired, but he felt a bit better than before. The benefits of eating breakfast, he supposed.

“Sorry about earlier.” Janus said, looking up at Roman and Remus wearily.

Before he could continue his apology, Roman cut him off with a wave of his free hand. “Consider it water under the bridge. No hard feelings.”

“Janny sad?” Remus said, losing interest in Romans fingers as he looked over at Janus intensely.

“Just tired, Ree.” Janus said with a small smile. A smile which was then immediately wiped off his face as Remus opened his arms wide, leaned forward, and shouted “HUGS!”

Now, normally a hug would be fine. But there were two very important things that little Remus was forgetting. The first was that, at 6’2, he was roughly a foot taller than Janus. The second was that at the angle Remus was coming from, he wasn’t going to hug Janus so much as fall on him.

He only had a second to brace himself before he was tackled onto the carpeted floor. More words flew overhead as lay dazed, head throbbing. He didn’t want to cry, but he could feel the tears already pricking at the edge of his vision. He faintly registered a weight being lifted off of him as arms wrapped around him, picking him up from the floor.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?” Virgil said as he began to rock back and forth, rubbing circles into Janus’s back. “It’s okay, you can let it out. You can cry.”

That was all it took for him to begin sobbing quietly into his shoulder. He could hear the others soft words of comfort and even a faint “Sowy, sowy!” Shouted from the other side of the room. He could feel Virgil shift into motion as he walked out of the living room, through the kitchen and the hallway, then finally, into his own room.

Once inside, Vigil layed Janus gently on the bed, head on his pillow, pulling the blankets up over him.

“Virgil? What are you doing?” Janus questioned, trying not to rub his eyes. Wasn’t he not supposed to go to bed yet?

Virgil walked over to the dresser before pulling out a night light and plugging it into the wall. “Logan agreed that if you’re sick, you probably need all the sleep you can get. If you weren’t it would be better not to, but it’ll just be for today, so it shouldn’t matter.”

Oh. Well, all that drama for nothing then, Janus supposed. Virgil bent over and placed a quick kiss on Janus’s forehead, grabbed the now cold plate of food from the desk, then went to leave. Looking back, Virgil said “Goodnight Jan-Jan. Sweet dreams.”

“G’night Virgil.”