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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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The Bad Guy

Bucky x fem!Reader

Theme: It's a good day in New York City for Bucky Barnes, who seems to feel right at home till his morning is disrupted by a bad guy. Maybe New York isn't the same place after all.

Series: I don’t know if this is a series.

Chapter warnings: swearing. so much swearing.

A/N: @writing-prompt-s once gave a prompt last year that stuck with me...I don’t remember the exact wordings but it had something to do with the reader/writer being the villain having a crush on the hero, always finding excuses (or crimes) to meet them. One day they are getting their ass beat and you decide to jump in and save the day. This one is same but with a liiiiiiiitle twist

Word Count: I cannot believe there are days when I wish I can poop at will, like my brother, and not just sit there constipated. Today has been one of those days.

MASTERLIST in bio, love. Tags are open

“Get the fuck outta my face, you asshole!”

The anger rushed through the burning veins to press on the car horn for as long as that bald guy could; or till other vehicles standing there impatiently started cussing at the boomer to hold it together. To add fuel to the fire, a flock of pigeons made sure it got to do its business right in the middle of newly washed windshields. A woman stood by the crossing, watching everything unfold through her bloodshot eyes as she smoked the scene away in broad daylight while a stray dog peed at the lamp post she supported herself on. A man walked by, catcalling the same woman with the kind of smile you do not want to witness; but when you do, it is difficult to remove from your brain. “Slut,” the man spewed when he did not get anything for his manly advances. “Boo-hoo,” uttered the woman with pure disinterest, going back to looking at the woman standing across the road, trying to balance her grocery bags in her arms while deciding the right moment to cross the road.

Ah, yes. It was just another day in New York City.

It did not feel normal till the exhaust fumes filled up your lungs when you stepped out into this articulate maze of a city to go about your day, just like anyone else. That rusty smell of iron and concrete along with a splash of dust in the alleys, the stench of piss in those missed corners in the back alleys and parks, the howls and so-called greetings by the men at every woman passing by that caught their eye.

Some things never change. That’s what Bucky lamented this morning, feeling himself caught off guard for a split second as two women walked by with a knowing smile just for his blue eyes. Never indeed.

So, he still had it, didn’t he? Feeling like the same Brooklyn boy before the war, catching secretive gazes and moans of all eyes alike, greeting the elderly, petting a dog and stroking a cat as he felt a skip in his step. It was so good to be outside.

Two weeks. Two weeks since he had come back from Wakanda, deciding to join Steve, Sam and Stark in whatever little shenanigans they had running at the compound in the city outskirts; saving the world and all that. It had been a good start since the whole Hydra and Snap events. He had settled pretty well with the rest of the Avengers. Turned out it isn’t that hard to live with people who are just the same amount of weird as him. But the relief came from the fact that he wasn’t the only ex-assassin in the house. That redhead was super rad. I should maybe ask her out if she and Steve aren’t a thing already…though I doubt that.

But just because he had come home did not mean he forgot about the previous one. He would still get occasional memes in his inbox from Shuri and he would try to use them- what he thought- the right way, peppering them into conversations as much as possible.

I wish Shuri was here, Bucky sighed as he looked at the Times Square announcement for the Young Leaders Summit happening this weekend, smiling to himself in gratitude for that young scientist making him well enough to enjoy the bustling crowds again.

The walk through this massive city was no joke. But the Winter Soldier took his sweet time to watch the life of the loudest and the quietest corners before he decided where he wanted to get his coffee from.

Just by the corner of the University was a little shop with the cosiest ambience- everything furnished in wood, old advertisements for wall decorations and some good old jazz music playing on the vinyl satiated his soul just the right amount.

“Coffee and uh…eggs and bacon, please,” he requested with a slight smile as he settled on the stool, trying to ignore the snickers and giggles coming from the booth behind him.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so hot,” his sensitive ears caught, forcing him to clear his throat and grab the newspaper kept on the counter.

“So fuckable,” another whisper came. Okay, some things have changed, he shuddered, gladly turning his attention to the police sirens in the distance instead of having to hear what a couple of strangers had to say about him.

“I wonder if he goes dow-“

A crash and a peal of horrendous feminine laughter drowned out everything else, breaking open the can of fight or flight instincts- neither of them containing the ‘go back home, its none of your business’ choice.

Stepping out, Bucky was greeted with one end of the street bustling with cars and people getting out of them to witness a woman stand over one with a bag swinging in the air as if to mock whoever who was standing opposite her. Bucky could not get a clear view thanks to the tree line in his view.

“I said put that down,” a commanding voice said out loud. Wait a second…

“Good Lord! Would you relax!” the woman called out, her back still to Bucky. By the casual pose, he could tell she was not scared of whoever was standing in front of her. “It’s just a smoke grenade in one hand the most expensive painting in New York in another. Also, the shittiest,” she shrugged before taking the piece out of the bag and forcing a gasp out of everyone, “I mean, who decided to pay a hundred mil for this stupid looking square drawn over a circle?”

Bucky moved along the tree line, right where her blind spot was, reading the scene to realise she was some idiot out to cause chaos in the streets. I guess the police have it cover-are you kidding me?!

“As much as I would love to agree with you,” a very tired Steve announced, his shield resting on his arm, “I’d rather make sure Tony gets this back in one piece.”

“Well, he can pay my student loans and I’ll draw him a better one,” you negotiated, almost making Steve laugh.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “that’s a good one. Now come on. I don’t want you to get hurt. Give that ba-“

“Why not?” You tilted your head at him, making the Captain pause. Bucky stood behind an SUV, furrowing his brows at Steve and the woman.

“Wh-“ Steve was left with his lips in a confused pout, not really understanding the question while the summer sun made that soft blonde glow like a truly lost boy in the jungle.

“Why wouldn’t you want to hurt me?”

Bucky could swear by that colour of hurting emotion in her voice that she was looking at Steve as if he had betrayed her. Holy cow, she’s good. But then again, it’s Stevie.

“I..uh-“

“It’s okay. You have my consent. We should keep a safe word though.”

“O…kay I think that’s-“

“How about…Shield?”

Bucky nearly gave up his position with the involuntary snicker that left the back of his throat. Nonetheless, he had a perfect view of watching his best friend choke on embarrassment till he was red.

“’ Cause, you know, it’s safer to use protection.”

Steve was lucky. Really lucky the first time for having the street evacuated so as not to face the public embarrassment of being broken by a woman in a leather jacket and black jeans. That’s it. No weapons. He turned lucky the second time when an explosion in the art gallery behind him turned all the attention away from this weird one standing on top of a car and flirting with Captain America.

But Bucky was not going to let Steve forget this. Ever.

“Nat, what was that?” He called into his comms.

“Aw! Come on! I was just starting to get to know you!” She groaned. “Okay, I won’t burn this trash and we go on a date. What say?”

“We’re done here,” Steve declared before turning towards the three policemen standing behind him for aid, looking at him for further instructions, “cuff her up.”

Bucky moved next to the police car, taking the spare windbreaker resting on the front seat to walk towards the woman without giving away his identity. Not that there was much to give there.

“SO IS THAT A YES ON THE DATE?” she shouted in Steve’s direction while the cops cuffed her up. One of the policemen was quick to figure out the man doing the murder walk in their direction was not a part of the team.

“Hey, excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?“

Bucky tried to raise his hands to signal him to keep it quiet but something else was already catching his attention. That something being Steve body hurled out of the glass building like a rag doll.

It was a split-second reaction of him catching the arms of the cuffed-up woman. “Hey! You’re not going-“he broke as the face turned towards him, that weight in his voice slowly dissolving in those angry eyes- “anywhere.”

You had your share of bad luck. Who didn’t? It was New York fucking City. The whole place was a mess. So, it was a given that today was going to be just like any other day. Because who gets to rob an art studio and have their crush come and personally arrest them only to be called off by some other douchebag robbing the same place.

Now, it would have been great had things just halted there. But as fate would have it, embarrassment hit right when you got cuffed, watching the man of your fantasies being thrown out of glass and landing on the pavement with a groan.

No one hurts him but me, you growled, already trying to make your way towards Steve before a pair of hands wrapped themselves around your arms to stop and turn your around. “Hey! You’re not going-“

Oh, now what! You turned around to lock eyes with deep ocean eyes turning fifty shades lighter. “-anywhere.”

You did not know where that jawline came from but if he hadn’t been so beautiful you swore you would have punched the lights out of him right there and then.

Who is he, a part of you was purring.

Gunfire sounded behind you, making you break out this ten-second bliss to turn back to Steve hiding behind his shield from…was that a sniper you just saw on the roof?

Trying to walk towards Steve again, you were once again stopped by that blue-eyed guy.

“Let me go,” you declared, “he’s in trouble.”

Bucky scoffed. “That’s Captain America, doll. I think he can handle himself.”

You scrunched your nose at him, making him wonder it was Steve he was talking about. “Doll? What century are you from?”

Bucky stopped short of saying something. Let’s just not go there, darlin’.

“Let me go, he clearly needs help.”

“From a thief?”

“She tried to threaten a crowd yesterday,” one of the officers spoke, earning a death glare from you.

“And I am threatening to kill you right now if you don’t let me go,” you announced ever so softly to the officer, who walked backwards with every step you took in his direction, his hand resting on his gun, ready to take it out as soon as you were to become a legit threat.

“Lady, I am telling you to calm down,” he declared, his friends backing him up.

“Okay, no need to get-“

Bucky’s words were drowned by another explosion and before anyone could make sense of the situation, you were already breaking out of the handcuffs with one good yank, running straight towards the explosion, jumping over the cars to land on the concrete grounds of the studio.

“Uh…this is on the new guy,” the officer stressed, pointing at Bucky. Bucky looked at him with judgmental eyes before running behind you, trying to catch up as you disappeared behind the smoke, landing on the ground from the cars just in time to miss a screaming man that came flying in his direction; or rather, he missed a man that was thrown in his direction.

“What in the-“ Bucky walked into the smoke cautiously to hear the impact of fists made with ribs and bodies being thrown into walls and grunts coming from something wild trying to fight those men in tactical vests.

The chopper above cleared the smoke in time- thanks Natasha- for the Winter Soldier to witness you blocking an attack on Steve before crushing the attacker’s wrist and knocking him unconscious with your elbow right in his face.

“You okay, Cap?”

“They’re not with you?”

“Wha-Who? These Chads and Hunters? Not even if I was being paid for it, no.”

Steve apologised for the quick judgment, looking around at the men lying on the ground groaning in pain. “You know you’ll still be arrested for the theft,” Steve stated with heavy breaths, trying to wipe off the blood from his lips.

“Eh,” you shrugged, looking in Bucky’s direction, “I’ll live.”

For a second Bucky lost all sense of direction as you walked towards him, your eyes stuck on his. And was that blood on your cheek? Were you really hurt? How does someone look just as…pretty when half their face has been smashed? Everything ran in his mind like a freight train- which came to a deafening halt right what you stopped in front of him, drawing your hands up, palms out.

“Okay, now you can cuff me.”

Steve was a bit confused by the interaction while he stood outside this bizarre bubble between his best friend and this crazy woman who apparently had the hots for him. What was more surprising was watching Bucky lose all that made him ‘Bucky’ and stand there like a mute fool while you waited for him to do something with your hands.

“Oi!” you tried to snap the man out of whatever daydream you thought he was running through, “we going or what?”

Bucky never turned his gaze away from your y/e/c eyes as he tried to find the zip ties that he had on him, taking them out and securing your wrists in them, not bothering with the judgy brow Steve was throwing at him right this moment. He could deal with that later.

“Oooh,” you cooed at Bucky as he turned you by your arm towards the police cars waiting for you, “looks like someone is always ready for some action. I like that.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth to say something cocky back when he felt you push him back to grab the knife and the hand holding it, twist and break it before kicking the tactical vest guy in his knees. “Stay down, punk,” you commanded. And at that very moment, one more person in the universe started believing in something called ‘the one’.

“Why did you steal the painting?”

“Sweety, can we do this at the station. I’m tired and I could really use a quiet ride.”

Bucky licked his lips as he walked you back, not really content with the answer. You knew it too. It was hard to miss when Bucky’s hands on your arm changed the intensity of the hold. Not to mention the walk back was getting awkward the more distance was covered towards those pea-brained cops.

“…that painting could sell for millions online, ruin the name of this shady studio and win me a date with Cap.”

Stopping right next to the car, you turned and smirked at him, making Bucky wonder about this strange feeling in his stomach. “That’s all you get, pretty boy.” With those last words, you got inside the car, the cops driving you away as Bucky stood there alone for a few moments, replaying all of them back and questioning what exactly he had done today to have led him to this.

Just as the car disappeared from the view, Steve came to stand next to him, looking in the same direction.

“So, zip ties, huh.”

“So, a pretty stalker, huh.”

“She’s the bad guy, Buck.”

Bucky was still looking far out with this little last hope of you coming back. “…really?”

“First she impersonates an ambassador’s daughter to get access to the military secrets of three countries, then she crashes two military drones, and when that wasn’t enough thrill for her she comes after me!”

Pepper closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “It was a painting, Tony.”

“Well, today it was!” He stated matter-of-factly. “Tomorrow she’s going to try and steal one of my cars. Or maybe even Steve.”

Steve- who had an icepack pressed to his swollen cheek- rolled his eyes.

“Oh, definitely Steve,” Natasha agreed before passing a smirk at an irritated Rogers.

“It’s not funny,” Steve muttered.

“She said something about the Studio being shady.”

All eyes turned on Bucky. The unwelcome chill down his spine told him he was being questioned quietly till he could come up with something more.

“Tony, you said this painting was shipped yesterday.”

Tony nodded. “It was supposed to be delivered here today.” He turned and looked at the canvas covered in brown paper standing in the corner, waiting to be attended to.

“Could she have been after the studio?”

“Wow, he’s really not stopping today, is he?” Tony uttered to Steve.

“I’m standing right here.”

“Why would she go after the studio?” Pepper questioned. “What are they, some drug dealers or traffickers?”

Everyone stared at each other in silence for a second before Tony called Friday to run diagnostics on the painting and give him everything.

Within five seconds, the results were up.

“There’re traces of unsanctioned medical drugs along the outer frame. I have also found a microdrive that contains in total seventy-five identities. On running a deeper search through the internet, I have found these seventy-five identities belong to the girls that have been missing for the past one year from the middle eastern countries. All these girls have a codename next to them. Would you like me to run a further search on this, sir?”

Silence.

“Yeah, you do that.”

Tony watched in contemplative silence as Bucky crossed his arms across his chest, waiting for the call.

“How do we know she’s not with the bad guys who have these girls?”

“We can always send Steve in to question her,” Pepper suggested.

“You too Pepper?” Steve felt betrayed by the one person in the room he thought was not going to get in on this. “And I don’t think I’ll be of much help. She never talks sense around me.”

Natasha chuckled, pouring herself some whiskey from Tony’s bar. “That’s true.”

“And Nat’s not going to talk to her because the last time they were in the same room she tried to kill her dog.”

“You had a dog?” Tony gasped. “When?”

“I just pushed him away a little hard from the fighting…with my leg. And it was Y/N’s dog,” Natasha stressed.

Y/N. Bucky ran that name inside his head again and again till it settled like a layer of his own skin on him.

“That’s called a kick,” Steve chimed in blankly.

“That’s definitely a kick,” Tony added, narrowing his eyes at the Black Widow, earning an eye roll.

“I can talk to her,” Bucky volunteered, “she doesn’t know I’m with you guys. She thinks I’m a civilian. I could get in her good books and find out what she knows.”

A brief moment was taken to put some thought into it. “I like that idea,” Natasha finally spoke. “If she’s the bad guy then we can put a stop to whatever she’s up to.”

“If she’s not…” Bucky began.

“Then Cap can finally go out with her without having to think of the greater good,” she concluded with a smug grin.

So, it was settled. Bucky was going undercover to find out the truth. Quite possibly the easiest mission of his life. But if it was this easy, then why was his heart bubbling with this strange sensation? Maybe because it was his first mission after so long. Maybe it was something he was yet to discover.

___

So...what do you think?

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callunavulgari · 5 years

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Year-In-Fic | 2018

How many fics did you write this year? What was your total wordcount? This year I wrote... 12 fics. Bit of a letdown, really, but I mean. I didn’t write much. I wrote what I did whenever a plot bunny really seized hold of me, but I didn’t go out of my way to write this year. Which is sad. But I mean, shit happens. 55,519 words, which isn’t completely terrible for 12 fics. It helps that a couple of them were in the 8-9k range.

Fic Roundup!

Everybody’s Looking For Something | Stranger Things | Steve/Billy | 4,790 words | On the third weekend of May during their last year at Hawkins High, Steve Harrington throws a party.Billy crashes it.

taste you on my tongue | Stranger Things | Steve/Billy | 2,290 words | “You’ve never felt pleasure like it, Steve,” an old girlfriend had told him once, her eyes bright with memory. Steve shrugged. “No vampires here, though.”

Home | Star Wars | Reylo | 1,670 words | “Rey,” he says into the quiet. “Just drive.”

hits like a drum | Stargate Atlantis | Mcshep | 3,507 words | “Believe it or not, having something with sharp teeth breathing down your neck is not actually conducive to one’s thought process.” John barks out a loud, abrupt noise that might be laughter, his breath tickling the hairs at the base of Rodney’s neck. “I’d have thought it would be good motivation.”

feed the hunger | Stranger Things | Steve/Billy | 1,792 words | “Thought you wanted to fuck me, Hargrove,” Steve whispers, and presses a sweet kiss to the hinge of Billy’s jaw. “Now’s your chance.”

Apotheosis | Marvel - INFINITY WAR | Thor/Loki, Steve/Pepper/Tony | 4,450 words | Grief, a story told in three parts.

and i’m always tired, but never of you | The Bright Sessions | Sam/Damien/Mark | 10,405 words | Sam runs into Damien at the grocery store two years later. It changes everything.

tides will bring me back to you | Kingdom Hearts | Axel/Roxas | 7,383 words | When Axel was sixteen, he did something stupid.

Smallest Light | Stranger Things | Gen, El & Will | 5,165 words | In the summer of 1986, Will’s mom marries Jim Hopper. OR, Will and El learn how to be real people again together.

i don’t want to rest in peace, we can haunt each other’s dreams | EOS 10 | Ryan/Akmazian | 1,520 words | In the dream, Ryan wakes up and Akmazian is there.

Looking For Atlantis | SGA | Mcshep | 4,632 words | Hey Rodney, the postcard reads. Go see a movie.

keep your heart open (i’ll keep mine open too) | Stranger Things | Harringrove | 7,915 words | “Did you even like me before you found out I was your soulmate?” Billy murmurs as he kisses a line down Steve’s throat.

Best story I wrote this year: and i’m always tired, but never of you. It was that one fic that I wrote because I just couldn’t stand the idea of Mark, Sam, and Damien not having a happy ending. Because I realized there was no poly fic for them on ao3 and I thought that was a travesty. So I wrote 10k in like two days and it’s soft and sweet and the happy ending that I wanted to see, so I freaking wrote it.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. Honestly? Home. It’s only 1600 words, and it’s Reylo, which I wasn’t even feeling that much this year, but it’s just the story that I set out to write. The night that I wrote it I’d had the shittiest day at work and came home wanting to write about someone being angry and sad and driving really fast. Originally I think I’d been planning on the story being Harringrove, but modern day Skywalkers just kind of spilled out of me.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. feed the hunger, my harringrove fic that I wanted to write the entire time I was in South Carolina, where Steve is a little bit messy and he and Billy fuck around for a bit and catch feelings comes in first with 339 kudos and 2731 hits, but taste you on my tongue, my harringrove vampire au technically beats it in the bookmarks department. Story of mine most underappreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Yeah, probably Home. I’m always a little bummed when the stories that I like the most don’t get much attention, but well, I mean. It’s a modern day Reylo fic that I wrote a while after The Last Jedi craze settled down, so it’s whatever.

Most fun story to write: Definitely and i’m always tired, but never of you. It was so much fun to write and was so freaking easy too. Every line flowed smoothly. Even the editing didn’t trip me up much.

Story that could have been better? hits like a drum was the wraith!John AU that I had such a hard time with last year. It was supposed to be at least another 5 or 6k and feature John coming to Rodney’s rescue and becoming slowly integrated into Atlantis. It was supposed to work it’s way into something smart and plotty, and yes, eventually Rodney would have gotten to smooch the wraith. But I hit a snag and never really recovered, so I just cleaned it up and posted it as is.

Story I wrote to fix things: Technically Apotheosis, and i’m always tired, but never of you, and i don’t want to rest in peace, we can haunt each other’s dreams were all written as fix-it fics in their own way. Apotheosis was my way of dealing with Infinity War and featured Thor, Steve, and Tony dreaming about people they lost. Bright Sessions domestic poly fic was written because I wanted Damien to have some semblance of happy ending, preferably with Mark, and that last one with the super long title was written because I was trying to cope with EOS 10. Technically it wasn’t a fix-it because nothing was really fixed, but it helped fix me.

Longest completed fic this year: and i’m always tired, but never of you. Just over 10k, it’s definitely my longest this year.

Fandom you enjoyed writing for most this year: I wrote a decent chunk of Stranger Things this year and had fun with all of them, but I still think the most fun I had was with the Bright Sessions fic.

Favorite character you wrote this year: I actually really liked writing Will and El in Smallest Light. I got kind of stuck halfway into that fic, so it wasn’t always the smoothest, but Will and El were both very strange and good to write.

Most memorable comment this year: So, keep your heart open (i’ll keep mine open too) was my entry for the harringrove secret santa and I recently got a comment from my giftee that was just, the best thing to wake up to ever. I haven’t gotten the chance to reply yet, mostly because I have been ridiculously busy, but it was such a long, thorough comment and I’m just so glad they appreciated it.

Additionally, the same fic also produced a comment that started with “My Sterek bitch!!” and it just fucking tickled the hell out of me.

Fics you wanted to write but didn’t: I think I’m going to have to give up on writing the Sabriel AU. I mean, unless the Episode 9 comes out and blows me out of the water, I’m not hopeful. The Last Jedi jossed too much, even in an AU, and it made things a little complicated to move forward. I still need to finish that fic where John dies and Rodney ends up raising his daughter, and the Enjolras/Grantaire fic, and the giant Dishonored fic that I still desperately want to write. The bodyswapping Reylo, the girl Cisco AU, the Sterek Bioshock Infinite AU, the dozens of other Sterek fics that I started two or three years ago and never finished, including the Carmilla AU.

More recently, I’ve got a Castlevania OT3 fic that I’ve been working on and a different flavor of Harringrove soulmate AU that wasn’t angsty enough to be my entry for the secret santa. I have the giant canon-divergent Bright Sessions AU where years after the series ends, Mark ends up running into Damien again in a small town in the middle of nowhere only to realize that he has a daughter, a farm, a life, and is just so drawn to it that he keeps coming back. I have the Wolf 359 post-canon fic where everyone has feelings and found family is a general theme and maybe Eiffel smooches an AI. I also have the smuttier Wolf 359 fic that’s been lurking in the back of my head for months where Eiffel and Kepler er, basically eiffel tower Jacobi.

Oh, and I have the Reylo fic where Rey (and Ben, through the bond) sit through General Organa’s funeral and keep coming back to each other afterwards. And shit, I also started that Final Fantasy 15 fic where Dino and Noctis do the nasty.

Oddest story: Probably hits like a drum. I know Atlantis fics are weird, but John as a wraith is something that I hadn’t seen before. Hardest story to do: I think the only finished fic that gave me any resistance was Smallest Light, which probably wouldn’t have ever been finished if I didn’t go back and fill in the gaps with El’s part. Easiest story to write? I mean, most of these were easy. See, when you only write when you really feel the pull of something, it all comes easy. The Bright Sessions poly fic was the easiest, but all of the Harringrove ones were easy too.

Most mining of your own history in one story: Weirdly enough, tides will bring me back to you. Yeah, the story about the man-eating merman. The graffiti on the side of Axel’s building was a guy who tagged all over our neighborhood. The mermaid statue was my grandmother’s. Axel’s cat is basically my cat, but she’s been cleverly disguised because I called her gray once in the story. And like, that’s kind of it? I mean, the cove is something I came up with, but it’s heavily based on the years I spent at the beach.

Themes, or absence thereof: Atmosphere, mostly. Want. Need. Daddy issues and forever kind of loves. Soft. Where did you publish/archive your stories? Ao3, as per usual. Story I haven’t yet written, but intend to: I want to write a few things in the new year, but mostly I want to write that Dishonored fic and a couple original stories that have been percolating in my brain for a year or two.

Sexiest moment (excerpt): “Damien,” Mark breathes against his lips, and pulls back to suck a bruise into the side of Damien’s neck.

“Please,” Damien is saying, high and needy, and doesn’t know what he’s asking for, just knows that he’s desperate to have it. He slides his fingers into Mark’s hair and gives it an insistent tug, mouthing sloppily at the corner of his jaw. He spreads his thighs wider. “Please, please, please.”

“Yes,” Mark hisses, and hauls him in for a deeper kiss, yanking Damien into him until they’re so close that Damien can feel him everywhere. Mark presses against him, the weight of him settling between Damien’s spread thighs. He gives Damien a hot look and rocks their hips together. Damien makes another tiny noise, his head tilted back, mouth open. It’s probably an embarrassing sound. Mark gets his teeth on his throat, and Damien stops caring.

From very far away, he becomes aware of a door opening somewhere, but it’s so far down on his current list of priorities that he doesn’t even register why this could be a problem until he hears Sam’s voice. Damien swallows around a gasp, his glassy eyes refocusing. She’s standing about a foot or so away in the open doorway, a startled flush on her cheeks, her hair windswept. There’s a package in her arms. She arches an eyebrow in Mark’s direction.

Mark, who still hasn’t pulled away from Damien, whose teeth are still working another mark into the fragile skin at the join of his shoulder and throat. Damien swallows hard and has to close his eyes and fight down a whimper when Mark, still distracted, grinds their hips together.

“Slow, huh, Mark?” Sam asks, setting the package and her keys down on the table next to her.

Mark winces at her voice and pulls back ever so slightly, just enough to free up his mouth, not enough to drag them away from the heat of each other’s bodies. He doesn’t seem surprised enough. Doesn’t even seem to care that his girlfriend just caught them necking in her apartment. He just grins at her, helpless and a little flushed, his lips red and wet, and says, “Sorry, Sam.”

Ryan bites down on a smile, and takes another daring step forward. “Do you have standards?”

Akmazian blinks, then groans, slumping back against the desk. He looks at Ryan, and while there’s a hint of good humor, there’s also something else. Resignation, maybe. Disappointment. He laughs it off, flicking his cloak to the side, a sardonic little grin on his face, but it’s there.

“You know me, darlin’,” he says, and it sounds like a joke, but it rings true. Ryan does know him. He knows Akmazian - knows that he’s good down to the heavy muscle of his heart, knows that he’s been dealt a shitty hand in life and that he’d live that shit all over again to have the world know the truth.

Ryan knows him. Maybe that’s why he does it.

Akmazian makes a lovely, startled little noise in the back of his throat when Ryan takes both hands and draws Akmazian down to meet him, his fingers sliding into the spaces where his jaw’s gone slack. He strokes there, hesitantly, with his thumbs, and when he tugs Akmazian forward those last few inches, he is utterly sure of what he wants.

Akmazian’s lips are dry and a little chapped, but they’re plush and part easily around a groan when Ryan takes the kiss deeper, makes it a little wetter, a little more wanting. The room is quiet around them, this little echoing piece of space that is theirs alone. He can hear his own breathing, soft but steady, and Akmazian’s over that, just a little uneven. He lets out a quiet groan as his entire body relaxes into the kiss, slumping forward into Akmazian’s arms, pressing closer until they’re both half on, half off of the desk. He kisses slow and deep and a little bit sloppy, until his lips feel bruised and wet. His eyes drift closed and when Akmazian lets out a soft murmur, Ryan tips his head back to make room for Akmazian’s mouth on his throat.

He can be greedy for this, Ryan thinks as Akmazian leaves a trail of kisses up the length of his throat. He’s allowed to want this.

When he pulls back, Akmazian is looking at him with faint wonder. His hand reaches out to touch the curve of Ryan’s cheek.

“Darlin’,” he breathes, and swallows hard around the words that might have come next.

Crackiest moment (excerpt): He makes it to the last showing of Aquaman twenty minutes late, which fortunately for him means that after collecting his popcorn and slushie from the surly looking teenager manning the concession stand, he walks into the theater just as the movie is starting.

It isn’t a full theater by any means. A group college students take up a couple of the middle rows, only recognizable by their colorful array of hairstyles and the semi-permanent air of exhaustion that lingers around them like some kind of miasma. There’s an older gentlemen near the back noisily slurping a fountain drink who looks as if he hasn’t been out of the house since the 90’s. And then there’s a couple kids who look about twelve snickering and throwing popcorn at each other in the top most row.

Rodney chooses one of the first rows he sees, not necessarily because he’s enamored with the idea of being so close to the screen, but because he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the crossfire when those kids realize that there are other targets in the theater besides their friends. With a heavy sigh, he collapses onto an off-colored seat cushion that he thinks may have been mauve in a former life. The whole thing creaks alarmingly under him, and he spends a good thirty seconds arranging himself so that the arms aren’t pinching uncomfortably at his waistband.

The movie isn’t horrible, much to his surprise. It’s not great, but it’s moderately engaging, and has two relatively attractive human beings gracing the screen ninety percent of the time. It’s engaging enough that he barely notices when the twelve year olds incite a some kind of farting competition amongst themselves that a couple of the college kids decide that it’s in their best interest to escalate. He’s still half asleep in his popcorn, but staring mindlessly into a bright rectangle helps.

Maybe half an hour into the movie he notices someone slinking into the theater out of the corner of his eye, but is too invested in licking the salt and butter off of his fingers to really notice. If they want to movie hop, then whatever. Props to them. He does notice at least a little bit when they take the seat directly behind him.

Then the guy starts kicking the back of his chair.

It isn’t a constant thing. The first kick Rodney writes off as an accident. Everyone does it at some point, especially with seats as small as these. He’s probably just rearranging, and then he’ll lay off. The second and the third time? Okay, whatever. Annoying, but ultimately not worth starting something over.But the guy just keeps doing it. Every five to ten minutes, like clockwork, just as the action is starting to ramp up on screen, his knees will dig into the back of Rodney’s chair. Or his heels will scrabble against the arm rests, like he’s trying to put his feet up on Rodney’s chair. And okay, nobody has ever called Rodney patient. Nobody ever will call Rodney patient. The very idea is laughable.

He’s grinding his teeth, this close to snapping, when he hears the guy lean forward in his seat, close enough that Rodney can feel his breath on the back of his neck. The guy breathes a little loudly for a moment, and then he says, “That guy kind of looks like Ronon, don’t you think?”

Favorite dialogue (excerpt): In the dream, Loki smiles at him. They’re on Asgard, in what were once Loki’s quarters. His body reclines loosely across a chaise that he had favored, one knee hooked over the arm. As Thor watches, he stretches - a languid, rippling motion that seems to start from his toes and end in his shoulders.

“Brother,” he says in welcome, his face open and content.

“You mean to torture me,” Thor says dully, licking his chapped lips.

Loki’s face crumples, the beatific smile going dim. The sunlight coming in through the windows behind him is all Asgard, golden and warm. If he touched Loki now, he thinks he would feel an echo of that warmth, the heat of it having seeped into Loki’s shoulders and back.

At last, Loki says, “You torture yourself, Thor.”

“Only because you are not here to do it for me,” Thor replies, taking a step forward as if pulled in by some great, magnetic force.

Loki sighs, his dangling leg swinging in idle irritation. “Perhaps I am here, truly. Would it be so hard to imagine that a piece of me lives on within you?”

“No,” Thor whispers, and feels a tear drip down his cheek. “It would not. I have always held you here, in my heart.”

Loki looks at him, all the mirth gone from his face. “You cradled my body when I was gone. You pulled me close and waited for that explosion. You were to die, with me. With our people. You meant to. The last of the Aesir.”

Thor reaches the chaise, and sinks to his knees before him. Loki touches him gently, cool fingertips tracing his face from temple to jaw.

“Tell me, brother,” Loki asks him softly. “When you woke, did it pain you? Did you look for me? For my corpse?”

“Yes,” Thor tells him. He had woken disoriented, surrounded by strangers, the memory of rage lighting him up from the inside out, the ghost of Loki’s touch still against him. He’d thought of vengeance, of a burial that he would never have, and he had hurt. He’d gone chasing after death, and hoped it would take him.

He’d told the rabbit that he had nothing left to lose. It turned out that he was wrong. There was always more left to lose.He chokes on a sob, and Loki shushes him.

“You will do this, brother. I know you will.” The corners of Loki’s lips quirk upwards into an impossible smile. Perfect in its replication. “You and Stark, your Avengers. You will beat Thanos.”

Loki’s smile goes sadder, and he touches Thor the way that Thor used to touch him, a hand reaching out to clasp the hinge of Thor's jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. “You don’t know how to lose, Thor. You never did.”

“And if I can’t bring you back?”

Loki shrugs. “Then you dream of me. Whenever you think to miss me.”

Thor chokes on a watery laugh. “I will always be dreaming of you, then.”

One last touch. A kiss, light as a feather, first to his brow and then to his lips. A tear slips from Loki’s chin and lands on Thor’s cheek. Loki is still smiling, his eyes wet. “Then, I will welcome your company.”

Favorite lines (excerpt):

Damien is wearing dark jeans, and though there are holes at the knees, they seem to be of the ‘artfully distressed’ sort rather than the too-lazy-to-patch-up variety. He’s got a decent jacket hugging his shoulders, and under that, she’s pretty sure she spies a Nirvana shirt. His shaggy hair is pulled back into a half-assed bun and there’s a day or two worth of stubble clinging to his jaw, but he looks okay. Good. A little too grunge to be on this side of the millenium, and hopelessly confused by the third bag of chicken nuggets he’s picked up, but good.

She bites her lip, and considers her options.

Two years ago, she’d be hightailing it out of this grocery store as quickly as possible, packing Mark into the nearest suitcase, and skipping town to go find backup. But for some reason, she doesn’t think that Damien’s followed them here. More likely, is that they accidentally followed him here.

Before she has the chance to second-guess herself, Sam takes a deep breath and strides firmly into the aisle, shopping basket swaying at her side. She comes to a stop right beside him, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem to notice her. He’s squinting at the nutrition facts on another bag of chicken nuggets. There's ramen and a pack of energy drinks in his basket.

“Those probably aren’t great for you,” she tells him, wrinkling her nose.

“Did I ask you?” Damien sing-songs, still not looking away from the nuggets. He hmphs at it, and muses, possibly to himself, “A hundred and seventy calories for five pieces. Not bad.”

“Yeah, but how much of that is actually chicken?”

Damien blinks, and tears his eyes away from the bag. He looks up at her, his face stuck in an expression that seems to be at least two-thirds disdain, the rest of it being absolute incredulity, as if he’s appalled that some stranger in the grocery store is insisting on lecturing him about his taste in chicken nuggets - which, fair. Because Sam’s looking for it, she can pinpoint the exact moment that he places her, his eyes going ever so slightly wider. He blinks and shuffles backwards half a step, and then the surprise is gone, leaving behind a smooth mask of general douchebaggery. She remembers that mask - the slimy smirk and the too-cool-for-you-slouch.

He leans against the freezer door, and regards her coolly.

Apathetic. Smooth. Unphased.

Yeah, right.

“Saaaaaaam,” he drawls, eying her up and down. One sharp eyebrow quirks upwards, his gaze lingering on the Care Bear t-shirt that she’d thrown on over the tattered, holey tanktop she’d worn to bed the night before. The t-shirt is just as old and worn as the tank top is, and she immediately has to struggle against the urge to check herself for pizza stains. After all, it’s not like the shirt was exactly clean when she’d grabbed it out of the laundry pile. It was just the best looking of the bunch.

She wasn’t actually supposed to run into people that she knew at the freaking grocery store. And definitely not on laundry day. That was just rude.

The smirk ticks ever higher. Damien nods at her shirt. “Cute.”

Sam flexes her fingers, and wonders with an idle sort of curiosity if it would be worth the pain to punch him again. No. Fuck that. Two can play at this game.

“I thought so,” she says with an indifferent shrug and a chipper little smile.

(or)

Do you miss him, she thinks, and has to bite down hard on her lip to keep the question from slipping out. God, how stupid. He’s all pathetic and droopy now, of course he misses Mark. He takes a deep breath, and she watches him pull himself back together. It’s not a very convincing charade, but she lets him have it.

“Anyway,” he says brightly, and pushes off of the freezer. “Things to do, puppies to terrorize, you know the deal.”

He looks at her with that same careful consideration she’d given him a moment ago, and makes his face do something that she thinks is supposed to be an amiable smile. It mostly just looks like he’s trying too hard.

He holds out his hand. “Sam.”

Reluctantly, she takes it. His hand is chilly and a little damp, but he has a surprisingly strong grip. “Damien.”

The grin that he flashes her is still just this side of wrong, too showy, not enough mean.

“It’s been real, but I gotta go.” Damien hesitates, and just when she thinks he’s gonna let it go, he leans in and brushes a careful kiss to her cheek. His lips are warm. They linger for a moment over the swell of her cheekbone, and she wonders why that is. If it’s because of Mark, or her, or the sheer unexpected delight of human contact. When he pulls back, there’s a flush of red across his cheeks, and an unsure, painfully earnest smile on his lips.

His voice is soft, tellingly so when he murmurs, “Give Mark my love, okay?”

Sam swallows, her heart thundering in her chest. And, because she’s still caught off guard, she smiles back, and says, “Okay.”

(or)

“I swear to god, Ben-”

Ben sighs heavily, laying an arm down on the rest between them. He turns to her, and for the first time all day, he really looks. Her hair is frizzing where its come loose from her bun, and there’s engine oil beneath her fingernails. Her dress, modest enough when standing, is riding up her thighs, the cut scandalously short for a funeral. He would bet money that she didn’t pick it out herself.

Her eyes scald him - all the anger and accusation that he’s been avoiding for the last few years narrowed down to a single point. Her brow is pulled tight into a frown and she- she’s itching for this. He knows she is, because even if he hasn’t seen her in six years, Ben grew up alongside of her. He’d been there for her early years, when just keeping her from running was hard enough.

He’d chased her across state lines, kept her from hopping busses, dragged her kicking and screaming to return every stolen car.

He knew the fire in her. He had it, too.

And he knew that it was burning.

“Rey,” he says into the quiet. “Just drive.”

She bares her teeth again, lip curled into an effortless, vicious snarl. Her eyes narrow. Around them, the car hums with power. It sounds as angry as she does.

“You’ll regret that,” she warns, and when he says nothing, she makes a quiet irritated noise and slams the car into reverse, peeling explosively out of the lot. Dust clouds the road behind them. He can smell the burning rubber.

Fic goals: I did absolutely none of the goals I set last year. Nothing novel length, nothing original, very few original characters, and I almost made it to 60k, but not quite. My only goal for next year is to write something that’s all mine. That’s it, Heather. Write a story, make it yours.

#heather says what #heather writes #2018 #new year's memes

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monstersinthecosmos · 6 years

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@belovedsheith tagged me! Thanks babe!!

What is your total posted word count on AO3? (Go to your Works, then click Statistics.)

150,491. LIKE WTF THOUGH??? Why can’t I write a story that long lmao that’s my dream.

How often do you write?

I really do try to write every day, with varying degrees of success. Or, to be more accurate, I try to do something creative every day. So if I have a day where I’m drawing or podcasting or something I get a pass. =P I also usually reward myself with a day or two off any time I finish something, because I’m a slow writer and most of the time when I finish a fic I’m like WHEW THAT TOOK WEEKS, WOWIE LET’S TAKE A BREATHER. But I generally always INTEND to write. Sometimes it’s only a few sentences and sometimes it’s just writing an outline, sometimes it’s sitting in the dark with headphones on and trying to build my headcanons and ideas while I listen to thematic music lol.

Do you have a routine for writing?

I sigh at TextEdit for like 5 minutes and then text @yureiyume to see if she wants to do a sprint with me. She mostly draws. So we’ll set a timer and promise not to be distracted by electronics and just see how much damage we can get done in 20 minutes. Sometimes it’s really hard to do 20 minutes. Other times it like flows out. Sometimes it gets the ball rolling and then I keep going when the timer is up. I never know where my brain is gonna be. ALSO LIKE picking the right music to put on is SUPER important to my process/routine. You could pick scenes out of any of my fics and I’ll be able to tell you what I was listening to lol. I also generally like to write in TextEdit, which is the shittiest no-frills processor but I don’t like getting distracted by word counts and page breaks so it’s like the best way for me to focus.

What’s your favorite kinks/tropes/pairing?

:D :D :D

Kinks: Orgasm denial, overstimulation, BDSM IN GENERAL TO BE HONEST, is causing Daniel to hallucinate a kink?

Tropes: dhjalagjd slow burns, mutual pining, mafia AUs, modern AUs! REVERSE AU’S!!!

Pairing: Daniel/Armand is my favorite to write about but I mostly just read about Victuuri. BUT LATELY I’ve been reading like, exclusively Sheith.

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

So Falls the World is like the epitome of “write what you want to read” and I feel like such a douche saying this but I really genuinely enjoy reading it because it’s basically like everything I want in a fic that no ONE ELSE IS WRITING BECAUSE EVERYONE HATES MARIUS LMFAO. Oops. In general I think it’s probably the most proud I am of any fic I’ve written and probably the one I’ve worked hardest on. It got one comment lol. =P WhatEVA I DO WHAT I WANT!

Your fic with the most kudos?

Starchild (Yuri on Ice) but like the fic that has the most kudos in the KUDOS:HITS ratio (which is what I care way more about lol) is Star Eater (Voltron). Like what’s with me overusing the word STAR, sorry.

Moon Above, Sun Below has the most kudos of my VC fics but it’s also the oldest so I think it’s just a fluke cause it’s been floating around longer LOL

Anything you don’t like about your writing?

I’m self conscious because I feel like if I talk about it I’ll be pointing something out that no one notices except me. =P DON’T JUDGE ME. In general I think there are words/phrases I tend to overuse but once I notice I’m doing it I make an effort to cut back. Like I’ll ctrl+F the story and change it around to make sure I’m not being redundant. Sometimes when I’m writing I also get into a zone where I’m hearing my own cadence in my head and I just start typing absolute nonsense sentence fragments LMFAO cause it makes sense TO ME and then like, sometimes I leave it how it is and hope that it’s ~lyrical~ or something but I have to edit a lot to make sure it makes sense.

Also my main goal as a fic writer is I’m DYING to write a fucking gigantic slow burn and I just haven’t figured out how to yet. I have a couple WIPs but I keep losing steam. DSGJKLSDGH TEACH ME UR WAYS GUYS. (Also like I keep wondering if I should POST the WIPs and maybe getting validation would help me stay motivated? But I’m also too embarrassed to have an unfinished fic rotting on my account cause I get so upset when fics get abandoned, I don’t want to do that to anybody.)

Now something you do like?

HMM. On a technical aspect I don’t know what to say, but. What I CAN say about my own writing is that I write fic out of self-necessity. So, like, I write VC porn cause no one fuckin else does. If I have a fic idea and it exists already, I’m good with that. But if I can’t find the thing I want to read, I’ll write it myself. So I mean. I don’t wanna like, sound like a dick lmfao, but aside from something as generic as “porn” I also think I like to write fic because I have headcanons about people’s demeanors and mannerisms and feelings and sometimes I’m just not seeing anyone doing it justice. Like I wanna see some gritty adult emotions. I wanna see like, some fucked up sexual dynamics. I wanna see people doing drugs and manipulating each other. LOL. So as far as like, something I like about my own writing, is that I go there as a writer because it’s something I want to see, and I try not to be too safe about it. I also do my best to draw on my own experiences with all of the above, so I hope it comes across as somewhat genuine lol.

I also like that I sneak in a lot of easter eggs to amuse myself LMAO but if I caught onto something like that as a reader I’d really enjoy it.

Tagging: @wicked-felina @yureiyume @superhiki @amadeo-child-of-the-renaissance @santinos-neckline @lestvt @rip1009 ALL THE FIC WRITERS plz anyone feel free haha

#fic #writing!#me af

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shameforskam · 7 years

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exactly a year ago today (oct 30th) was the day i first found skam

im kinda surprised i remember it, i was scrolling through tumblr and saw a gifset with four couples in it all from different shows, all of which i recognized except one, it was a gif from hjernen er alene (of course) and the op had tagged skam so i immediately googled it which at this point in the fandom… didn’t get me very far, i found the skam page and nrk tv which had the shittiest google translate ever and really nothing else, i don’t think the wikipedia article even exist yet (at least on the english wiki), but it gave me the basics: skam was norwegian, in its third season, and it had no official english subtitles yay!

while randomly searching for a translated version of the episodes (i’d found the srt files but i wasn’t sure how to use them yet) i found a youtube channel that was uploading only the isak and even storyline (so also missing a lot from s3) with english subs. i remember avoiding it for a bit because i wanted to start from s1 if i was gonna start at all but upon finding no other translated videos i wound up back there and figured i’d see if it was worth going to the trouble of figuring out how to watch the rest. i watched all the videos in one go and i knew i’d found something i was going to fall in love with, i remember particularly loving bånder and the call your girlfriend scene and not having any idea who the girl with the suitcase was. i needed the backstory on these characters asap. i went back to tumblr and found a post suggesting an extension i could use to overlay the srt files on the episodes, so that's what i did for the next week. that was super fun because anytime i had to pause the show i had to pause both the program playing the subs and the video and keeping them synced up was such a joy lmao. but it was worth it. i loved this strange niche show with such beautiful characters and such rich storylines and dialogue and i felt so excited by what i’d found

as i was catching up on s1 and s2 i was figuring out how to follow along with s3, the format of skam has always been the thing that intrigued me the most and there’s no way to describe exactly what following the story in real time feels like, but you all know that. i watched the next two clips uploaded on the youtube channel but it got taken down on nov 1st. i consider pause to be the first clip i watched in real time. that was when i’d started getting the translated clips from shametv and getting the texts and everything as well on tumblr. that was the first clip i remember seeing had dropped and known i’d need to wait a few hours for subs. i remember i’d just got settled into how the process was working when the show went on hiatus

i’d been all over the skam tag and stalking the fandom every day, loving everyone talking and all the theories (some just hilariously wrong). i have the first post i ever reblogged about skam [x] (a great one) and the first reaction post i ever made [x] i remember being so sad just trying to process the incredible relationship and show i’d just found out about ending in a heartbreaking moment and then leaving me while trump won the election, it was too much devastation for one week! during all this i was in my first semester of college, living with 3 roommates who are now my best friends. i don’t remember talking about skam to them too much to begin with (they’ll probably say different) but one of my roommates also found out about it on tumblr and i showed her how i watched the first seasons. skam came back and on nov 15th we were all out to eat when ingen lever lykkelig alle sine dager dropped. it was exciting every time a clipped dropped but this one was special because we were at dinner and i told my one roommate there was a new clip and we translated the title word for word on a napkin while our other roommates were like ‘what is happening??’ and the title was sad! and i didn’t want sad! and i spent the next few hours trying to avoid thinking about what it could mean and running around the city with my friends and hoping the translation would be up when i got home

that was the night i created this blog. it started simply as a place to put all the posts i wanted to save and to write down my thoughts so i wouldn’t talk my roommates’ ears off. that was the night i committed to actually being involved in the fandom, something i hadn’t done in a few years and not close to the same extent. but skam was special, still is special, it’s the reason i’ve talked to so many people from all around the world now. i never thought that this blog would get followers or that i’d make posts that people would find interesting or that i’d learn to make gifs or that i’d have any influence on the fandom at all. it’s the weirdest thing stumbling on my posts linked to on twitter or used in discussions on reddit when i’m looking through the parts of the fandom i don’t regularly interact with. there’s a lot of aspects about being heavily involved in and up to date with a fandom that i’m still grappling with, and there’re the aspects i hope i never get use to, but i’ve found so much more joy in this show and with this fandom that i would always choose to be a part of it. i don’t know how long i’ll stay, i don’t know if i’ll eventually archive this blog but i’ll be here until my interest with skam fades, until there are no remakes to critique, until i lose track of the cast, until there’s no one left translating and nothing to talk about but i don’t see any of that happening soon

i’ve loved this show for the last year. even with it’s flaws at the root of it all i still love it. i love what i’ve learned from the show and from the fans, i love that the show made me believe in where i want to go. i’m in college studying film and watching skam during that first semester made me 100% sure this was what i wanted to be doing with my life, making media people could believe in, something that touched their soul and made them think, something new and inventive, something people could find themselves in and fall in love with, something beautiful, and that’s really why i’ll always be grateful for this little show, i’ll always be grateful for the people that translated it and the people that continue to translate, to everyone that made me realize something i never would have and think about something in a brand new way, to anyone that’s sent me questions and enjoyed hearing my thoughts, to everyone that made me laugh with some ridiculous post, to everyone that sent me comforting words when i asked, and to everyone that created content that made me love skam even more, it’s been a great year 💙💙💙

#this is a long post about how i started watching skam #thank you to everyone who follows this blog #i hope it brings you joy #mine

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gashinamoon · 7 years

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One Last Time

Rated: T

Words: 3610

Tags: Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Terrorism

Prompt: Eye Contact

Special thanks to @thebookjumper for creating this amazing writing project!!

Notes: My first fic submission for the Olicity Hiatus Fic-a-thon!

I'm sorry the tags aren't that uplifting... but neither is this story. I had to get it out though. You'll probably understand once you start reading why that is. I was involved in the attack in Manchester last week and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and reliving it and a lot of this was written mid panic attack so any mistakes/typos can be blamed on that and also on that I only read this back once or twice because I really just wanted to get it posted and out of the way. It turns out writing fic about traumatic events is like therapy for me and much like therapy, once I've got stuff off of my chest, I want to forget about it.

Hopefully the rest of my submissions won't be this heavy! But I also hope you enjoy this anyway. Please let me know what you think!

Obvious trigger warnings for terrorism and explosions.

Read on AO3

It had been hours, days even, and she could still hear the ringing in her ears, still smell the burning, of metal or flesh she wasn't sure, could still taste the panic in her mouth, the screams of the thousands of people around her that would never be heard, still see the blood smeared everywhere, the crying faces of strangers she suddenly had wanted to hold and protect but couldn't, still feel the churning in her stomach and the tightness in her chest and the unshed tears behind her eyes.

She’d held it together, she’d had to, she’d had to make sure she got herself home, make sure her friends were safe, make sure they were reassured that she was fine even if it meant saying those words over and over and smiling and pretending her legs weren't trembling and she couldn't taste acid in her mouth. But now she was alone, she couldn't stop reliving it. Now she was alone, she couldn't breathe. Now she was finally alone after days of having places to be and responsibilities to keep, she couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop crying.

That night was supposed to have been one of the best nights of her life. She’d been looking forward to it for months, counting down the days even. It had been that one thing that made the shittiest of days worthwhile because even those days meant she was one day closer. She didn't care that it was dumb for an adult woman to be counting down the days to a pop concert or that her friends teased her relentlessly about her music taste and told her she was crazy for spending so much money on a ticket. She just didn't care. There wasn't much Felicity Smoak had to be excited about in her life so she’d be damned if anyone made her feel like she couldn't be excited for this.

She’d taken the night off from the team even though it had kind of killed her to leave her comm behind; she really couldn't remember the last time she’d had a night off and being away from them and in the city by herself had been both exhilarating and extremely unnerving at the same time. She’d told them she’d be back by 11 and would drop by the bunker before she headed home. They’d all laughed and told her that even on her nights off she couldn’t take a night off. Felicity had laughed too but in her head she’d just thought about how nights off felt wrong anyway because working with them was where she was happiest. She’d never really felt like she belonged anywhere but working with them had changed that, changed everything. And as excited about the concert as she had been, she still couldn’t wait to get back to them. Her night had been supposed to end like any other night. Except it hadn't.

The day had been unusually warm for mid-May and there was a feeling in the air that she couldn’t really describe. It just felt like contentment; the winter just gone had been so long and today had been the first day in a long time where she’d been reminded just how good it felt to have the sun on her skin.

She’d already seen her favourite artist perform before, two summers ago, but seeing her again had still felt like that very first time. The excitement had made her giddy, made her insides turn to butterflies and even queueing on her own outside the venue hadn't dampened them. She’d chosen to go to the concert on her own mostly out of necessity because none of her friends liked the artist and the tickets were expensive. She hadn't wanted to force any of them out of their evening jobs anyway; the team was much more important than her not being alone for a concert. Besides, Felicity had spent a lot of time alone in her life and she wasn't the kind of person who would miss out on things just because she didn't have anyone to go with. She liked that about herself; she was strong, not lonely.

When she’d finally made it to her seat she hadn't been short of people to talk to anyway. Two teenage girls on the row in front of her had turned around and chattered excitedly about how it was their first concert without their parents, she’d complimented a guy behind her who had been wearing knee high boots, fishnet tights and a crop top, telling him he looked incredible. She wished she’d asked for a picture with him now. She’d asked a woman to her left who was sitting with her young daughter if she knew what time the artist was due onstage and it had lead to a lengthy conversation between the support acts about nonsensical things. Everyone had been so happy, so excited. She remembered thinking to herself right there that concerts had to be one of the safest and most uplifting places in the entire world where everyone was full of so much love. For each other. For the artist onstage. For life. She couldn't stop thinking about those people now, about the people she’d spoken to or made eye contact with or smiled at throughout the night. She wondered, hoped, prayed that they’d made it out alive.

Alive. That word. She was alive. She didn't know how or why, but she was.

The explosion had taken everyone by surprise. Of course it had. No one expects one of the happiest nights of their lives to end in terror.

She’d been on such a high, everyone had; everywhere she looked she’d seen smiles and heard laughter and people singing and dancing even though there was no music playing anymore. She’d smiled to herself at the sight of it all, at the atmosphere in the air that was so electric she could feel it running through her bones. She’d taken out her phone to text Oliver, to let him know that the concert had ended and she’d be on her way home soon. He’d asked her to let him know when it ended so he’d know when to expect her back, only she’d never actually got around to sending the text. The text that read “Hey! I'm about to head out now so should be home in an hour or so. I've had the best time, I can't wait to annoy you all by talking about it non-stop for the rest of my life ;) xo” was still sitting in her drafts on her phone, unsent. She’d barely looked at her phone for four days now. It wasn't like her but every time she picked it up, she felt like throwing it across the room. So she’d started leaving it in her purse. It didn't matter anymore.

Closing her eyes, she tried to remember how to breathe normally. Her chest had taken to doing weird things the last few days and every now and then she’d realise she wasn't really inhaling properly and would choke on the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

And every time she coughed, she could taste the burning again, the smoke, the terror.

She gasped then and stood up quickly, needing some air. She let herself out onto the balcony and collapsed into one of the wooden chaises she kept there, overlooking the city. She’d thought the fresh air would help but it was a Friday and the city was too loud even though it was nearing midnight. She covered her ears with her hands but could still hear sirens on the streets below.

Sirens. So many sirens.

Screams. So many screams.

She couldn't breathe. She needed to breathe.

Her palms felt sweaty and she rubbed them on her pants, seeing blood even though there wasn't any. She’d washed the blood away. She got home and scrubbed her hands raw until there couldn't possibly have been even a single remnant of anything left on them but all of a sudden she could see the warm, red liquid smeared everywhere.

She wanted to scream.

She was fine, she knew she was fine but the panic was still there, riding inside of her and she didn't know what to do. It didn't matter whether her eyes were open or closed because all she could see either way were faces streamed with tears, with blood, with fear, bone chilling fear that made her shake.

She knew she should call someone, her mom or Oliver maybe, but she couldn't. She knew she’d never get the words out. And anyway, they all thought she was fine. She’d told them enough times over the last few days that she was fine.

She was fine.

She was alive.

She was home and she was safe and she wasn't hurt but it didn't matter, none of that mattered because her brain just couldn't stop reliving everything. Reliving those moments right before she’d started reassuring everyone that she was fine.

She took in another mouthful of air, forcing her lungs to cooperate even when they protested and she felt bile rise up in her throat.

She could feel the muscles in her legs aching again, the way they'd ached as she’d laid in bed that night unable to sleep even after walking the three miles home without even realising, the shock and adrenaline pumping through her veins and keeping her moving until she’d unlocked the door and collapsed in exhaustion. It hadn't mattered how far she walked though, she could always hear the screams, the sirens, the explosion itself. They'd followed her home. They'd followed her home so that she didn't even feel safe there anymore. She didn't feel safe anywhere.

She was supposed to be able to cope with this; she had to deal with trauma on a daily basis working with Oliver and the team. But this was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

She’d seen people dying, watched them bleeding out on the floor, screaming and crying or not saying anything at all, and she hadn't been able to help them. Her survival instincts had kicked in and she’d walked right past them, trying to block out the sounds of their cries by focusing straight ahead, focusing on getting out of the building where the air wasn't thick with smoke. She hadn't even looked back. She’d just left them. It hadn't hit her until she was miles away that she should have done something. And then the blood on her hands that she hadn't even realised was there had started to sting, but not because she was hurt, because someone else was, had been, and she hadn't helped them. The blood on her hands stung like it was coming from inside her, but it wasn't, it wasn't her blood, it was the blood of someone else, another person she hadn't been able to help.

She just hadn't helped them. She'd saved herself and left. And she couldn't stop thinking about it.

The guilt was tearing her up inside and making it hard to breathe again. The guilt that she was fine, that she was alive, that she was safe, and so many other people weren't.

She hadn’t even looked back.

She could hear a banging and in the back of her mind something was telling her that it was just the door, someone was knocking on the door, but it felt too loud, everything felt too loud and her ears were starting to ring again and every time she inhaled she expected to taste smoke. But the taste never came, and suddenly she wasn't alone anymore and she could hear someone saying her name.

“Felicity,”

It wasn't a question, he wasn't asking her anything, he was just saying her name.

“I'm fine,”

She could hear herself lying even with her hands over her ears still and she didn't even know why. She wasn't fine. Of course she wasn't fine. And Oliver knew that. He'd always known that. He'd known since the moment she finally made it back to the bunker at 2:30am after retouching up her makeup and pulling her hair back into her usual ponytail and forcing a brave smile onto her face as she told them she’d left early and hadn't even been involved. They'd made eye contact as she was speaking, and she'd known even then that he knew she was lying, but he hadn't questioned her, hadn't even brought it up again. He'd known that's what she needed. Of course he’d known. It was Oliver. The look he’d given her as their eyes met had been heavy, so heavy it broke her heart because they both knew that he wasn't supposed to look at her like that anymore.

“Felicity,” he said again, softer, quieter, and she knew she should respond but she couldn't, she couldn't even move.

She just stayed sitting there on the wooden chair in the dim light of the balcony with her hands over her ears trying to forget that she existed, her chest tightening and loosening, her eyes squeezed shut.

She didn't know how long she stayed that way. Time had really stopped meaning anything since that Monday night. She knew some time had passed because when she finally felt able to uncover her ears and open her eyes, the city really wasn't so loud anymore and a lot of the lights in the building opposite hers had been turned off, blinds and curtains drawn for the night. She wondered absentmindedly who lived behind those windows. She wondered if they could sleep at night.

“Felicity?”

It was definitely a question now. She looked up and faced him, not even trying to understand the expression on his face or why he was here when he hadn't come over uninvited for so long.

She wanted to tell him she was fine, but she couldn't make herself say the words. There wasn't any point in saying them. So instead she said, “I'm sorry,” even though that didn't make sense either.

She hoped he would understand anyway. He usually did.

“Talk to me,” he whispered, taking her hand in his.

Tentatively, hesitantly; it was never like this before.

She hadn't realised how cold she was until all she could feel was his warm skin closing around her fingers. She shivered involuntarily at the sensation of his warmth. At his hand holding onto hers. If he noticed, he didn't say. She knew this should feel strange, but it didn't. This was okay. This was and always would be okay.

“I was there. On Monday. I was there when it happened,” Felicity said, not knowing where to start but starting anyway.

“I know. I knew the moment you came back,” Oliver replied, his voice so soft and quiet, his grip on her hand tightening just enough to notice.

“I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want you guys to worry. I wanted to just forget about it. I wanted to just pretend it never happened and go back to the way things were before I left the house that night. That's why I didn't say anything. I didn't want to lie, I just… I wanted to forget.”

She wasn't really making much sense, she knew that, but she also knew that Oliver would understand anyway. Oliver, more than anyone on the planet would understand. He’d gone through enough of his own trauma ten times over.

“Oliver I… I didn't help them. I just walked. I didn't even look back,”

She met his eyes then, half expecting judgement but knowing she wouldn't find it. Not in his eyes. Not ever. He didn't speak, and she was grateful. She knew there wasn't anything he could say that she wanted to hear.

“When it happened, I was so terrified. I always thought that this job, the job we do together, would prepare me for situations like that but… it didn't. When it happened I just froze. Everything you'd ever taught me about what to do in a dangerous situation just didn't exist anymore. My body just reacted and my brain would do anything except tell me to get out of there even though I wanted to stop and help people. So many people I could've…” She stopped, needing to gather her thoughts before she started crying again.

She knew she could cry in front of Oliver, it wasn't that. She just knew that if she started crying, she'd never be able to get the words out.

“Every time I close my eyes I can see them. Crying and screaming and bleeding and literally dying right in front of my eyes. I can't make them go away. They're just there, everywhere. I can still taste the smoke in my mouth, still feel the blood on my hands but I don't even remember how it got there. Someone slammed a cupboard door in the coffee shop yesterday and I had to run to the bathroom because I was so scared and the sound just took me right back to that moment, to the explosion and I-”

She stopped again. The more she talked, the more vivid the memories were becoming again and she didn't know if she could go on. The sights and sounds and smells were enveloping her from the inside out, or the outside in, she wasn't sure.

“I can't breathe,” she managed to say, meeting his eyes again, knowing that hers were full of panic and fear.

He took her other hand in his so that he was holding onto both of them and squeezed them tightly.

“Hey, it's not real. None of it is real. Not anymore. Not right here. This-” he squeezed her hands again. “This, is what's real. Focus on that. Focus on your hands. On my hands. They're real. You're safe,”

She was safe. She knew she was. And of course she’d focus on her hands, on his hands; she hadn't held his hand in so long. A new kind of pain crept into her chest at that and she wanted to pull away and hold on for dear life all at the same time.

She closed her eyes again. She didn't even know why but keeping them open was exhausting. She didn't want to cry.

“It's okay,” she felt rather than heard Oliver whisper, his voice so gentle and delicate that goosebumps erupted all over her skin.

Somewhere inside of her she knew those were the exact words she’d been needing to hear because all of a sudden she was crying again but it all felt different this time and there wasn't a force of nature on earth that could have stopped her right then from ending up in Oliver’s arms, soaking his shirt with her tears, his warmth scooping her up and making her feel like Monday night was miles away in every sense of the term.

“I should have helped them, shouldn’t I?” She sobbed, clinging to his shirt like her life depended on it. “And don't lie to me, Oliver.” It probably did.

“Felicity,” he shushed, one hand stroking soft circles into her lower back, trying to soothe her.

“Oliver, please. Tell me I should have helped them! I need to hear you tell me that I should have helped them. The guilt is eating me alive and I just need to hear from someone else that I deserve it!”

She wasn't making sense again. She didn't know why she was yelling at him. She didn't know anything anymore.

“You don't deserve it. Please don't-”

He trailed off and instead just held her tighter, wrapped his arms so closely around her that she found herself being lifted up onto his lap and had no choice but to press her face right into his chest.

“Felicity you- you did what you could. I know you feel like you could have done more, but you couldn't. You were a victim in this. It wasn't your place to be a hero. Not this time,”

“I could, Oliver. I could! I could have stopped and turned back at any point and helped someone, anyone. Even if physically their wounds were beyond my basic medical training, I could have held someone’s hand and stayed with them so they weren't alone! There were kids there. Children. Children without their parents who were screaming and crying and I could have helped them. I should have helped them! I don't even know if they're alive. I haven't been able to watch the news or look at my phone because I'm terrified I'm going to see one of their faces and hear that they didn't make it and I know it won't be my fault but I'll blame myself anyway because I just walked away and left them there. And now I'm here and I'm safe and I should be happy because I'm alive but I’m not, I'm just not, and I feel guilty every time I realise that I'm breathing and it's just sick that part of me wishes I'd been injured too because then at least I might have a reason to still be feeling so messed up and terrified inside and-”

He cut her off then by holding her even tighter, impossibly tighter, and she felt his chest convulse with a sob and realised he was crying with her, for her and she knew it was because he understood. She knew he understood everything she was feeling, she knew in her bones that he did, and suddenly she didn't want to say anymore.

So she didn't.

She just let him hold her. Let herself be held.

Eventually, the sun started to rise over the city.

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