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iknowicanbutwhy · 3 years

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Heads up we got an

Adult Hikikomori Sunny AU

I've been waiting to find an AU after the neutral end of the Hikikomori route for a while. What happened to Sunny? How did his life go on after that? Did he go to college? Did he get a fulltime job? Did he figure out what he wants in life?

these are all very good questions because literally anything could be the case. So this AU is just gonna be stuck in a hospital setting for a while.

Here's what I got so far:

Past:

Hospital Psychiatrist (practicing? Training?) Doctor Hero

I imagine after Basil's death, Hero would (eventually) turn to learning how to identify and help people with suicidal tendencies, if he's gonna be a doctor anyway.

In a choice between psychologist and psychiatrist, Hero went psychiatrist. Hero's parents would pressure him into getting a more lucrative job. PLUS psychiatrists go to college for 8 years, then take four more of psychiatry residency. Hero might feel just a little more accomplished, just a little better about himself for earning a higher degree, just to reassure himself that he's working hard and doing his best towards helping people.

Hero did extra studying in psychotherapy. He tried doing it at the same time as he did medical college. He's not.. the best at it because of that, for several reasons, but he knows it's better to combine medicine and conversation. When he has his head on straight, he can manage it.

I have.. no idea whether to put Hero into practice or residency. He'd have to be at least around.. 31, if he were in practice. That's a long time to have unresolved trauma. That's a nice hunk of research i gotta do.

That's it that's all for Hero. His goals are set in the present and focused around other people, as per usual.

Sunny is... not doing so well. He lied about going to college when he moved into some hole far away from his mother. He has no reason to get up in the morning when he can just lie around. He doesn't enjoy whatever hobbies he used to have.

He doesn't even know Basil is gone and he's so bad off.

He's honestly convinced himself that he doesn't care about anything. He still cares about people, however. He'd have stayed with his mom and burdened her with himself if he didn't. When they had moved from Faraway, it was to a cheaper, smaller place. That meant Sunny's mom didn't have to work so much. That meant more time with Sunny. He decided it was.. preferable not to stay.

The only times he does anything is when he tries to remember the past and relearn the person he used to be. What did he do? What did he like? He'd play games, and read comics, and would get frustrated? move on to something else when those did nothing for him, searching for.. some feeling to occur. And then he'd question why, why, why.

Why can't he enjoy anything? Why does he want to feel enjoyment? Why can't he just do something and be happy? Why can't he just do nothing and be fine? Why does he need to exist? Why does he want to move? Why does he want, but can never have, can never get by himself?

If there's nothing he can do, then what is he waiting for?

Vague memories would become clearer with introspection, until he would feel something, finally. An old guilt aching from deep inside his bones. A haunting self hatred, ripping away whatever minuscule strength his limbs had to try anything fun. A sense of iron resignation blanketing and anchoring his body, reminding him that it's much too late to try getting up now. Ironically, apathy got him up in the morning, as much as it keeps him from enjoying anything enough to stay up.

He was always a little too thin, but he used to force himself to do things like eat and work enough to survive. Mostly because to sleep means to not have headaches, and to not have headaches means to eat well enough, and to eat well enough means to have food, and to have food means to have money from a job.

But it's not as if he was all too desperate to sleep, anyway. His dreams have stayed the same for years. They're more eventful and colorful than bland reality, but it's a mix of the same thing every day. Staring at the swirling kaleidoscope of his dreams is exactly like observing the same beige ceiling for hours on end, until it all mixes together into the same shade of empty grey.

It probably doesn't help Sunny's mood that he thinks dramatic things like the previous point, just to pass time.

He only got worse once he was forced to move into one of those really bad apartments. You know the ones, with the rusted metal stairs nobody wants to risk their life on, and practically no privacy with four-to-five thin-walled neighboring rooms, and bad heating in one corner of the apartment. But it was cheap. Too bad he had to go up and down the stairs all the time.

He didn't have a problem with them when he just moved in. Generally, the most he notices is starting at the top, teleporting to the bottom, and a slight shaking of his hands that he barely glances at with empty curiosity.

As it is, some part of him knew this was going to happen. That he'd have one of those terribly introspective weeks, when he just so happens to have his new job with a boss ready to fire him and his sullen face and poor (somehow complete neutrality is offensive) attitude. He's emotionally vulnerable, and the memories on top of the stairs are devastating.

A week goes by. He's fired. He doesn't look for another job. He hasn't gone for groceries in a while. He's exhausted.

He was waiting for death, he guesses. He still wants, still feels that urge in the buzzing of his fingertips, the ghost of movement from his limbs, the phantom shiver in his back - the intent of every muscle in his body one after the other pleading with him to move, but never all at once - and Sunny laments that the human body is pretty stupid. Moving wont help. What would he do, make the end come quicker? He's already thrown away too many chances for that.

He'll stop wanting once he's gone. That's what happens when you get what you want, right?

His landlord finds him. He forgot the rent. He's taken to the hospital. Ugh.

Present:

Sunny is stunted and underweight. He wears baggy shirts stuffed into slightly less baggy hoodies, and sweats. Warmth. He couldn't find his hoodie after they took it off to put in an IV on his first trip to the hospital.

Usually nurses do things like bring food to patients, but Sunny only ever interacts with Hero and Hero wants to make sure Sunny is okay anyway. Not that it's much easier for Hero to encourage Sunny to eat.

Sunny stresses Hero the hell out. But Hero kinda missed Sunny, and his depressing and concerning reappearance brings with it a deadpan, world-weary, often childish humor that fails to take anything seriously when everything in Sunny's situation should be taken seriously. It's as much a relief as it is incredibly frustrating. Some days Hero loves it. Some days it makes him angry. Some days it makes him want to cry.

I tried doing research into the conduct Hero should display regarding patients/clients in general but it just. Any professionalism quickly devolves between him and Sunny.

As in, at one point, him and Sunny were whaling on each other about having no lives. Hero felt really bad afterwards; he had no idea what came over him. It was a great way for both of them to let out some hidden frustration, though, and they turned out fine afterwards. They even lowkey pick on each other every now and again.

Sometimes one or the other gets a bit too accurate in their teasing, however.

Psychiatrists are supposed to be able to understand, diagnose, and treat mental, emotional and behavioral disorders. So, if Hero were a completely capable psychiatrist, which he is, he wouldn't break down in front of his client. But Hero's late teenage years are wrought with so much grief and trauma, so to see Sunny and not just another client in this state is.. something i imagine he'd break down about eventually. There's also the fact that Sunny is mostly closed off to any help, which only makes things harder.

Hero is trying his best, but after years of never understanding why Mari died, years of thinking and wondering and second-guessing himself, years of guilt after never visiting Basil before he died, years of doing what he was told was "best" yet failing in what's most important to him (his friends) - his best never feels good enough around Sunny. It feels too little, too late. For this reason, and possibly because even if Hero were able to keep himself together he may just not be the right psychiatrist for Sunny, it would be better for him to find another psychiatrist for Sunny. He won't, though.

Hero really needs some time to himself to just think, or perhaps he needs someone else to talk to. Kel is nice, but Aubrey would have better experience handling emotions.

I have a very limited idea of what Aubrey and Kel are doing. Aubrey is a childcare instructor to parents and works in child services. She has studied child psychology. She has studied how childhood affects adulthood. Kel's off trying to make a name in basketball while giving kids high fives and heartfelt support.

Hero, in fact, does not like to be called Dr. Hero, but his shyness (feeling of unworthiness) about it only endears everyone to call him that more. He tells the kids that everyone calls him Hero, but the adults merely find out from the other doctors and nurses. Hero tried introducing himself as Henry to the other doctors, but Kel told them his nickname, and it stuck for obvious reasons.

Sometimes, on days when Hero has to wear his lab coat, he ties it around his neck like a cape. The kids like it, say it makes him look like a superHero.

Hero doesn't really cook. His schedule is always too busy to make anything that isn't quick. But he does eventually figure out that cooking for Sunny is the best way to entice him to eat, so when he makes something, he makes enough for both of them. They eat together.

Hero had to gather Sunny's change of clothes from his apartment when he found out that the reason Sunny has been in the same clothes for the last week is because he's had no one to visit him. Not even his mother. Why?

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

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Dangerous Love (Pt. 13 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 1.7 K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

<- Previous part (12)

{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

Freedom

“Bruce! I'm back!” You yell as you push the door closed with your back, carrying the two bags from the supermarket. Alfred is driving the car to the garage. Today was the fourth time you went out all by yourself. Alfred has to drive since you still can't take your license, but you feel like you're doing well. He stays in the car while you buy the stuff you want, and it's actually good to be out there, with the people. “I met this sweet lady on the line and she was so cute. She told me about her grandson who's starting in the kinder garden this year.” You follow the sound of his voice coming from the living room, leaving the bags on the table at the main hall and making your way there. “She–”

The words get stuck on your throat when you see he's not alone. Amanda Waller and the other five people responsible for Belle Reve are here. You're frozen, busted because you don't know if they should know about all the freedom you're having. You look at Bruce, searching for any signs of what to do. His expression is calm, light, and he reaches out his hand. “Come here, sweetheart.” He says, and you take a few seconds to find your legs, making your way over him, taking his hand, noticing how yours are shaking.

“Is everything alright?” You whisper to him.

“I see Havoc is already allowed out. And apparently without your supervision.” One of the men speaks, his angry eyes on you. This one wants you back in your cell, being beaten up.

“She is. (Y/N) is adapting wonderfully well.” Bruce says. “This is not the first time she goes out without me, and there hasn't been any kind of incident.”

“I couldn't help but notice you engaged in a romantic relationship with her,” Amanda states, reading something on her tablet. “The rest of the world didn't recognize her, but we did. You've been seen with her in... Three different galas.”

“I'm well aware of the contract we both signed, Amanda. I made it. And a romantic relationship wasn't mentioned, which means it wasn't forbidden.” You hold tight on his arm as he speaks. “And yes, I've been to some parties with her, I believe you saw us on the news.”

“I don't need you to tell me about the contract, Bruce. I read it. And honestly, I couldn't care less about who you want to put in your bed.” She mumbles, typing something down. “Let's make it quick, Bruce. We're here for a reason, but Havoc isn't the only criminal we have to deal with.”

“Her name is (Y/N). And soon enough you won't have to deal with her anymore.” Bruce turns to you, placing a kiss on your lips. “I need you to wait upstairs, my love. You can't be present while we discuss this.”

Nodding, you give them one last look before walking away.

But you can't go to your room. You're too scared now. What if you lose what you have here? Your life with Bruce... If you're thrown back in Belle Reve... You can't handle it anymore, you'll die. Inside first, until your body gives up. So you move downstairs, a few steps so the wall is hiding you, sitting down and paying attention, trying to bring sense to their words.

“Mr. Wayne, eight months ago you took in one of Belle Reve's intern, (Y/N) Quinzel, also known as Havoc, to test a project of your creation. In which you tried to rehabilitate her, so that she could have a life out of her criminal actions, being able to be fully reintroduced into life in society.” The man speaks slow, and by the looks of it, they must be recording it. “Do you believe your project succeded?”

“Yes.” Bruce answers.

“Do you believe (Y/N) could be released to live among other people without causing any kind of harm, stealing, killing, torturing, or any other dangerous behavior?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware that the condition for her release is you being completely responsible for her actions from now on?”

“Yes, I am.”

“It will be like a damn marriage, Wayne.” Someone says, and your heart stops. “Anything she does, she steals a freaking pencil, you'll have to answer for it. You'll be bound for life.”

“Good,” Bruce mumbles, and you hear some laughs.

“For goodness sake, Wayne. I get that you want to have fun with her. The girl is insane but pretty, I'm not blind. But–”

“I'm not having fun with her. And you will watch your tongue before talking about (Y/N) again.” A smile comes to your lips, and you cover your mouth with a hand. Every passing day you're more and more sure that Bruce is going serious with you. That he has a goal with your relationship, but it still warms your heart when he says something like that.

“Whatever you want, Bruce Wayne,” Amanda mutters. “I will need you to sign here. And your fingerprints.”

A silence falls, and everything you hear is your heartbeat. Bruce told you he was starting the last procedures to set you free once and for all, but you didn't think it would happen so fast. Guess he did had everything under control after all.

Your mind suddenly floats back to when you first got here, when you tried to run, when you attacked him so brutally. Back then, on the first days, you never thought you'd fall for him. And it took a while for you to even allow yourself to. Bruce, being Batman, the hero, could never have feelings for you. And it's true that the signs where there, when he touched you, or when he went to your room to dance with you, leaving the party behind... But you were so scared back then... That you'd have your heart broken for the very first time.

But it had a happy ending. An ending you know you don't deserve. You want to be with Bruce, you want the life you have now, to go to college next month, study and become a nurse. Find a job and... The rest you don't know. But you know it'll be good.

“Go get the girl. I need her fingerprints too.” Amanda speaks up.

You hear his footsteps as they grow closer. You stand up when you see him on the bottom of the stairs, waiting until he reaches you.

“Did you hear it?”

You nod, letting yourself fall into his embrace when he opens his arms. “I don't want to see any of them ever again.”

“You won't, I promise.”

“Bruce... A-are you sure you'll sign that thing? I heard what they said.”

“Hey...” He pulls away, just enough to look into your eyes. “I already signed and I don't regret it. This is the last step, (Y/N), don't let them get to your head.”

“Okay,” you mumble, tiptoeing to kiss him.

Bruce guides you back to the living room, and you try to keep your head up, fearless.

“Havoc. Put both your hands here.” Amanda says, her voice filled with anger and disgust. She doesn't want to release you, but she has no choice. Nodding, you place both hands on her tablet. You watch as the screen reads all your ten fingerprints, and your picture appears on the top. Then, a green X covers it, blinking, and then everything is gone. And now, with your hand still on it, the screen shows up a few dots, and the word ‘searching’. “It's done, Havoc. But don't you ever come back under my jurisdiction again... I won't give you any other chance. Even if another Kryptonian comes from the sky demanding for it.”

“(Y/N).” you simply say, stepping back until you're by Bruce's side.

“Of course.” She mutters. “Well, I believe this is it. Mr. Wayne, I believe we're done here.”

“You may now kiss the bride, Wayne.” A man says, and two others laugh with him. You sink a little, stepping back, letting Bruce's shoulder hide you.

“You won't get an invitation Mr. Rochford, but I'm sure you'll know about it on the news,” Bruce says and the men immediately shut up. “I must ask you to leave now. Our business is over. For good.”

“I wish you luck, Mr. Wayne.” Amanda Waller reaches out her hand and Bruce shakes it.

You stand there, watching them leave. It's ridiculous, but you feel like your chains are falling off. All the terror, the infinite days and neverending nights in that hell are over. You still don't like thinking about it, and remembering is painful, but you're glad that's what it is now: a memory. A distant, faded memory. Some scars will accompany you for the rest of your life, even though Bruce has you under some esthetic treatments to get rid of most of them. But you're ok with that, with the ones that will stick around. They'll be a different kind of badge now, a prove that you crawled out of that nightmare, and despite needing a little push, you did some of the work too.

“Why are you crying, my love?” Bruce asks when he comes back, but you haven't noticed the tears rolling down.

“It's nothing, I just... I'm happy. Truly, wholeheartedly happy, I...” He pulls you into his arms, holding you tight. “I love you so damn much, Bruce, but... I guess I love me too. Who I am now, who I want to become.”

“Whatever happens now, (Y/N), it's up to us. To you. You can make your own decisions, and I'll be here to support you.”

“I know, babe.” Pulling away, you jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Life starts now, and... I want you in it.”

“Me too, sweetheart. That's why I had no trouble sighing that contract.” His eyes get darker, and you furrow your eyebrows.

“What is it, Bruce?” He's dead serious, bouncing you up to have a better grip.

“Marry me.”

Your heart stops, as the answer slides down your tongue. Enough with the nightmares. This life is way better than any dream you couldbever have.

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gagmebucky · 4 years

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thank you to taylor @blessedbucky, mia @theamericanfalcon, liz @marvelous-mr-stark, raechel, shayla, lauren, courtney, em and tina for allowing me to write this content as well as my beta reader kat @angel-fire! love you all!

read the full synopsis and excerpt // read chapters snippets here.

o. in which you accidentally send your nudes to your brothers’ best friend. (includes reader’s pov, bucky’s pov, mentions of sexting.)

—

Initially, taking the photos—exposing yourself in such an intimate state to another—you were hesitant. It wasn’t the possible repercussions, i.e. revenge porn, that gave you pause but more-so an insecurity in your own body. Having never done something like this before, you briefly dithered between whether you should or not.

Ultimately, however, you do. The guy had spent money on you, went through the trouble of finding something you’d like and shipped it discreetly. And when you slip the racy number on, your insecurities wash away and leave excitement in its wake. Everything about it you love, and it has you preening in a solo photo shoot you’re eager to show off.

After a good time of selfie shutters bulking your phone’s storage—positions of you scantily-clad standing, sitting, a cross of both—you finally relent. There’s too many pictures to pick from, but you do. Three poses that optimize the best aspects of the outfit and that you think he’ll like the best have you buzzing in anticipation of his reaction.

Giddy, you tap them directly on the album app and click the share button; you input the letter B in the ‘To:’ slot. Since there’s only two contact names under that letter, his name shows up immediately, the first with the nickname Bucky beneath it. You gloss over that and in quick succession, you quickly hit the contact and press send.

For a split second, you’re proud: you’ve taken this e-relationship to the next level like he wanted, and he’ll be happy with you. Then it hits you like a brick through glass. A replay of your actions travel to your brain, and you belatedly realize what your eyes saw—your thumb smearing too low on the screen, so instead of Brock as the recipient, it’s Bucky.

“No, no, no!” you whisper as your heart hurtles like a jackhammer stuck in your rib cage.

A part of you insists it’s your paranoia playing tricks on you, and that’s a valid rationale because this whole thing does worry you about getting caught. Except, upon checking its legitimacy, you confirm what you accidentally did. There’s no mistaking it, now, because with your brightness turned up full, your partially nude figure stares you in the face underneath of a thread between you and your brothers’ best friend.

James Bucky Barnes—the man who’s nicknamed you bambi because the numerous times he’s seen you face-plant over your own footing, the twenty-four year old who still ruffles your hair when he greets you, the soon-to-be business owner who dates certified models—has a trio of your attempts to be seductive; bottom lined with text you hope comes off likewise seductive.

Mortification swallows you. Your skin burns hotter and hotter by the second. Sure, you’ve embarrassed yourself before: you fall a lot, and you’re awkward conversationalist. But never something of this magnitude, not something that makes you seem so desperate and pathetic.

You can imagine him opening the messages. He’d immediately assume, understandably, it’s a come-on; a girl trying to be a woman’s failed goal to enthrall a man like him, his best friend’s kid sister’s pitiful effort to be anything other than just that. As if you could ever measure up to the types of women he dates.

And, yes, there’s been a time where you had a crush on him. But it’s not your fault when he looks like how he does, a rugged example of masculine sex appeal, and treating you the way he does, teasing but with a twist of kindness, and the fact that he’s the only non-blood related man allowed near you.

But that time has passed. Even then, you knew the one-sided attraction was delusional to have. You were—still are—so sure about it that you never even dared to fantasize about him and the rumors that used to trek behind him about his sexual escapades. There’s no hidden desire to be with him, and that worsens it because it’s not like you’d feel any relief in knowing his reaction. You don’t care about his reaction in the first place!

Now, no matter how much you will insist it’s an accident, there will always be a dubiousness about it. With how close your families are, things are going to be tense. Because there’s no forgetting he’s viewed you like that, and there’s photo evidence of it.

It hits you then. The extremity of your fuckup douses you in ice, and your muscles freeze because you register that since he knows about your family borderline patriarchal values concerning you, he has to tell them you’re taking nudes, and it will be over for you.

It has taken you twenty years of your life to finally venture outside what your family has allowed, to sate your curiosity of what exactly your fathers and older siblings have kept so strictly from you: sex and all the goodness it entails.

It has taken you an additional six months to explore in-depth and build the courage to start something tangible, to wander the depraved side of the internet where strangers did things to each other that made you want to do things with someone of your own: stirring foreign but oh-so amazing feelings in your nether regions.

For twenty-six weeks you carefully treaded across in order to ensure your family had no clue what you’re doing, clearing your web history and using incognito mode, all your accounts anonymous, keeping your notifications on silent in case anyone becomes suspicious of who’s continuously contacting you.

One hundred and eighty-two days later—in the middle of which you started your sex-based communication—of preparing to lose your virginity, your family will find out what you’ve been up to, and your life will be hell.

Everything has been going so perfectly. You found a guy enough distance away he isn't affected by your family’s influence, middle-aged so he’s experience and doesn’t mind handling a virgin, and is willing to drive an hour to meet you at a specified hotel when the time comes.

All that hard work down the drain.

You toss your phone and jump to your feet. Panicked, your bare feet pad back and forth on your rug-covered wood floors. Your teeth gnaw at your thumbnail as different scenarios of how everything will transpire flit through your head. Each one is more terrible than the last, and your anxiety heightens.

Somewhere in your disquietude, it occurs to you. Your brothers are downstairs and so is Bucky, but it’s ten o’clock at night, and that means they’re gaming. That particular activity coined a rule that all players have to stow their phones in the guest room. The specifics are blurry but it was something about Bucky interrupting the session due to excessive texts.

It’s an opportunity. A chance that you can creep downstairs, swipe his phone and delete your mistake—hell, you’ll break his phone if you need to—before he’s any the wiser.

“And—” Bucky Barnes drawls out the vowel as the rough-textured ball hurls through the air and swishes sharply into the hoop. “—nothin’ but net.” He relaxes from the perfected basketball follow-through stance, hands dropping to his sides, while he regards his old friend with a cocky smile. “Beat that, Rogers.”

Steve snorts and catches the ball when it bounces onto the concrete. Palming it in one hand, he dribbles it twice and trades positions so instead of being stationed next to the hoop, he’s descended to the driveway curb where the established three-pointer line is.

“You still got it, Barnes,” the blond admits, loosening his shoulders and spreading his footing to be a width apart. His right hand balances the ball from below, elbow tucked underneath, while the left splays against the side as his knees bend, and he springs up. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he releases the orange sphere at the top of his jump. It catapults in a flawless arc and drops through criss-crossed netting with a similar swish. His lips curve with satisfaction as he adds, “But, so do I.”

Bucky laughs and seizes the ball as it falls free. “Callum and Henry have no idea they’re going to get obliterated,” he says, coming to slap his palm in an affable embrace. “Fair warning, they’re still as sore losers as they were five years ago so be prepared for that.”

Steve Rogers chuckles. The former fourth to their high school cliquè, he’s aware of just how bad sports they are.

After graduation, he left out-of-state to pursue a degree in technological engineering, which he acquired last month in May, prompting his return back to New York. Between the four of them, Bucky and Steve are the level headed ones so he’s glad to have the support to handle the wild children his childhood best friends are.

“Speaking of,” Steve starts, dirty blond eyebrows knitting as he glances around the neighborhood’s cul-de-sac. “Where are they? I thought Henry was supposed to be waking up Callum? If we aren’t starting yet, then can I get my phone back?”

Bucky clicks his teeth. “Yeah. They’re probably stuffing their faces right now. Their sister went grocery shopping and got a cake so. . .” He waves his hand in gesture before continuing in vehement passion on the second point, “The whole phone thing is bullshit, though. I miss a few winning shots ‘cause I was busy with some pretty little thing texting me, and now there’s a ‘no technology rule’.” He scoffs and folds his arms.

Now that he thinks about it, he could totally have his phone right now. And he’s more interested in having it than usual. There’s this girl he’s been seeing frequently at local parties—six feet tall with gorgeous brown skin, always done up in intricate eye makeup, silver tongued (he’s very interested in her tongue) when she speaks—and he’s finally gotten her number. She could be texting him, and he doesn’t even know it!

“You know, yeah, we should get our phones back if those assholes want to take all day,” Bucky decides, agreeing with steps toward the closed storm door, but opened front door until he hears the inquiry:

“How is Y/N, anyway?” Steve’s voice is genuinely and harmlessly curious behind him, and he stops in his tracks because Bucky remembers the poorly hid crush he harbored for you. “I saw her instagram the other day, and she must be quite the heartbreaker.”

Spinning around to face him, Bucky lifts a brow. “Huh?” Then he processes the implication that you’re out dating and such. The mere prospect has him surprising laughter.

With their dad and his girlfriend on a tour of the world, the three of them are the only ones in the household. Given you’re the baby of your siblings, despite being an independent twenty-year-old, your older brothers have taken it upon themselves to ensure you focus solely on school work. Callum and Henry know exactly how to threaten their message across that you are not to be bothered, and anyone who tries will end up battered and bruised.

He shakes his head. “Nah. She’s not with anyone, hasn’t been ever,” he tells him. “If you thought Callum and Henry were overprotective back then, you should see them now.”

Gunmetal blue eyes blink surprised at him, and there’s a faint battle between delight and disappointment. “Really?” He shoves his hands in his sweats and falters somewhat. “It’s gotta be hard considering the way she has grown up,” he says but Bucky’s face scrunches in confusion. “You can’t tell me you don’t see how cute she is.” Before he can respond, Steve adds, “Obviously I wouldn’t ever see or be with her in that way—I wouldn’t betray Callum or Henry like that—but objectively, you can admit she’s gorgeous, right?”

Bucky has to take a moment and genuinely consider it—consider you—because he hasn’t before. (Other than noticing the genetic similarities to Callum, who shares your eye and hair color but is a shade lighter than you, and Henry, who shares your complexion and eye color, but his hair is darker than yours.)

There’s no denying your looks are better than most: the structure of your face works beautifully, dazzling eyes framed by your lashes and occasionally accentuated by mascara, lips usually adorned in gloss or anything that keeps them hydrated which could be described as alluring, and your hair is almost always done, sometimes switched up in style. But there’s an inherent innocence there, a sweet and clumsy awkwardness, and maybe because he’s watched you grow up, four years your senior, but it just doesn’t do it for him.

You’re his best friends’ baby sister, for God’s sake. He’d never at you like that in the first place. Especially not when he’s been aware, in the past, you harbored a schoolgirl crush on him. It was painfully obvious, to your chagrin, but he found it adorable—flattering but unsurprising considering girls flock to him like seagulls to boardwalk french fries.

Currently, he’s sure you know he won’t ever pick you—under principle, under the lack of attraction. Other than pleasant smiles and occasional small talk mixed with teasing, you don’t gaze at him with starry eyes anymore, at least it’s waned significantly as you matured.

Back to the question: “Uh, no, not really. Even if Callum and Henry didn’t care, I don’t think I’d be attracted to her,” he answers truthfully. Your purity doesn’t provoke his sexual attraction although it does invoke a duty of protectiveness. “She just isn’t my type.”

Steve arches a brow, a surprised playfulness in his expression. “Oh? Then what is your type, then?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow. ‘Cause from what I remember you’re up for anyone and everyone.”

“That makes me sound like a whore,” he feigns offense but digresses into a fit of chuckles as he thinks back to all his various sex-capades and Steve flashes him a look that says aren’t you? “Yeah.” He nods with a prideful chortle. “But I’m into more frisky girls, y’know? Ones who’ve been everywhere and done everything. They’re brass and loud and just do whatever the fuck they want. I like to be one of those things.”

Behind him, his best friend, Callum’s orotund voice rings out between the pressurized shh of the storm door, “Buck’s into slutty girls, Steve.”

He cringes at the diction. “Don’t call ‘em slutty. Sounds degrading when you guys say it like that.” Most of the time, he agrees with him—and his brother—but when it comes to women, there’s usually a dissent and a need for correction. “But yeah. I prefer girls with experience,” he declares strongly. “They don’t get attached like girls with... less experience do.”

Callum rolls his eyes, bounding down the porch stairs to the recently pressure-washed driveway, and he plucks the basketball out of his hands. “Here we go again. Bucky and his ‘I hate virgin’s’ campaign,” he mocks, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make any sense to me ‘cause everyone knows virgins are the tightest.”

This time, Bucky is the one to roll his eyes. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense considering tightness isn’t dependent upon whether it’s their first time ‘cause, y’know, vaginas stretch, you morons.” Sometimes he has no clue how Callum passed sex education (then he remembers that he bribed the health teacher). “Meaning a girl can have sex, then after a period of time, her virgin ‘tightness’ eventually returns. The only reason virgins may seem tighter is because they’re usually nervous.”

The look on Callum’s face says that what he just said went right over his head. “Whatever.” He shrugs and starts dribbling the ball half-heartedly. “I just know the woman I end up with better be a virgin.”

“Right!” Henry’s likewise orotund voice, a pitch higher, speaks after he pushes through the glass door. He presses to the court-slash-driveway, wiping icing off his mouth. “That’s marriage material. I’m not fucking around in a relationship with no woman that’s been fucked already, y’know?”

Bucky’s eye twitches, jaw locking for a millisecond. “But you guys aren’t even virgins yourself,” he points out their hypocrisy. When they look at him to rebuttal, he automatically knows it’s going to run his blood pressure up and it’s not worth it. “You know, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. You guys have fun with your conversation.”

Swiftly, he whirls around and heads for inside. The last thing he hears is Steve’s ambivalent, “I get the appeal of virgins. But you know, I don’t think it really matters. I think it just matters if you’re into them, and if they’re into you. I wouldn’t care either way but. . .”

The air conditioned air greets him coldly, and he revels in it. The June sun is killer, though perfect weather for playing a game outside, and the chill dries the sweat beaded on his forehead. He pads down the foyer, turns the corner to the bathroom and enters to take a much needed leak.

Bucky has so much brotherly love for your brothers: neighbors since being in diapers, his mother the female figure in their life, and becoming and remaining best friends for over twenty years. There’s only one thing that grates his nerves when it comes to them and that’s their view of women is somewhat skewed. Sometimes—most of the time—went the topic comes up, he’s always one second away from throttling them.

Hopefully after he pisses, they’ll be talking about something else, and finally they all can play basketball. It.

Flushing the toilet, he goes onto wash his hands. He lathers up in orange antibacterial soap and rinses the suds off with hot water. There isn’t a towel, at least not a clean one, so instead he just lets the remaining droplets drip onto the floor.

Emerging from the bathroom, James pauses and absentmindedly wipes his hands dry on his mesh-polyester shorts. His attention automatically draws to the guest room’s closed door adjacent to his position. A decision strikes him, and he steps forward and casts a curious glance down the corner.

When boisterous and distracted laughter filters through the front door and down the empty corridor, it springs him into action. He figures there’s no harm in checking his phone while he’s here. He’d been especially resistant to giving it away because he’s engaged in a particularly stimulating conversation with a particularly titillating woman—popular in her own right, he can’t afford to miss his shot with her.

His fingers turn the knob, and he shoulders through. The furniture is decorated and accented in yellow and white, condition otherwise pristine, save for the phones littered across the king-sized poster bed’s fluffy duvet. He strides across gleaming light oak floors and hones in on the only golden-colored, rubbed encased titanium.

As he grips it, long digits curling around the back, pinkie supporting the bottom, thumb tapping the screen to life, he can hear the dwindling of high-spirited jesting through the en-suite’s rectangular horizontal slider window; a wondering of where he’s gone has him speeding up.

Although he’d been gone for under an hour, his screen is bright with various notifications, social media accounts and text messages. He ignores the former and searches for the latter, specifically the contact, Val 😛💦. Scrolling quickly, he comes to a stop but not because of his original intent.

His head cocks, and he knits his brows when he sees your name instead; formally nicknamed, bambi, due to your penchant for clumsiness and general fragility. You don’t text him—except for that one time you needed to be picked up from the library—and considering you know he’s just outside, his baffled curiosity is further spurred.

With a sideways swipe of his thumb, your thread enlarges on the high-definition display. He isn’t sure what he expected, but this? Oh, this, definitely is not it. His eyes widen as the content loads, and reveals you, in all your half-naked glory.

“Shit,” he breathes out raggedly, blinking multiple times because he has to be seeing things. But, nope, it’s still you—looking like that, wearing that. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your brothers are beginning to call his name, demanding his attendance, and he froze in shock, unable to tear his stare away from the girl who’s tripped over her own feet more times than he can count; the wallflower who spends all her time studying in her room; the forbidden fruit who’s innocent has always stirred a vigilant feeling inside him—now stirring something hard between his thighs because there you are.

Like always, your hair is done prettily, wispy-lashed eyes big and inviting, a saucy pout to your glossed lips. Your flawless complexion seems to glow in the reflection of the mirror, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the warm lighting, or if it’s the confidence you exude in your faux-innocent expression from where something so sinfully sexy.

Three photos, and every single one is like a punch in the gut; displaying your usually hoodie-hidden figure in its bare, exquisite form. The skimpy white two-piece caresses your breasts in a lace halter top, leaving a teasing amount of cleavage. Your navel exposed, he becomes aware of how soft your skin would be. Moving lower, your untouched flower is wrapped in a thin thong with a bow on the center of the waistband.

A million things flit through his head; a million disgusting things he never thought he’d think about you.

The main one is every sort of attraction these snapshots arouse. A laser slices down his center and sears him to the core. The multiple poses calls every hungry part of him to attention, the curve of your breasts, the contours of your hips and the jut of your ass. And he shoves to the darkest recess in his mind because that’s just an innate reaction to lingerie. (Right? Right.)

He combats your images with that of Val: knows-what-she’s-doing and equally promiscuous as him Val. The anthropology major who downs beers within seconds and tongue kisses the first person she sees afterwards.

The next is the one he focuses on, that you would take these and send them to him—as if he’d betray your brothers like that. Second-hand embarrassment strikes him because he knows if you’ll send something as risky as this, he’ll have to formally reject you and break your unreciprocated pining heart.

He grimaces at the thought. This is why he doesn’t do virgins and the less experienced in general. The inherent strings are a killer, and he resents the drama; and it’d be ten times worse with you because of the added complications of your siblings.

In fact, he hears something beyond him, coming down the hallway, and it’s probably them, but he can’t stop rereading your text accompanying the photos, partially imagining how it’d sound in your delicate voice:

bambi (4:21PM): is this as pretty as you imagined? did i do good? just tell me what you want, and ill do it. i want you. soon, please - and yes, ill beg. i promise itll sound even better in person.

[read it in its entirety on my patreon - one time fee of $5 to access!]

#bucky x reader #bucky x you smut #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel x you #bucky smut series #marvel chaptered fics #my writing #tva

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bakubabes-tatakae · 4 years

Text

The Uchiha In The Leaves (Part Nine)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be in a taglist for this feel free to let me know! Happy to do it for anyone!

(Kakashi x Reader)

Summary: What happens when Y/N finally returns to the Village Hidden in the Leaves? Her life is flipped upside down when not only does she find the man that’s awaited her return, but she finds someone she thought she’d never see again.

Part One, Part Two: *NSFW Ahead!*, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight: *NSFWish Ahead!*

Part Nine:

Word Count: 2,202

*Y/n's P.O.V*

I found Sasuke sitting on the small porch in front of the house. He was sitting on the step when I opened the door. He didn't move when I came out so I sat down next to him. I put my head in my hands for a minute before I talked to him. "I'm sorry Sasuke."

He looked over at me. "For what?"

"Last night, I should never have taken my anger and stress out on you like that."

"It's okay. I get it. I struck a nerve with what I said and I shouldn't have."

I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and pulled him into me. "You know that I cared more about you and your safety than I did having Zabuza alive, right? I would have died trying to save you if he had gotten any further yesterday."

"I know." Sasuke looked up at me. "I just couldn't stand to see you as hurt as you were when he went after Kakashi-Sensei. You two weren't as secretive as you thought you were walking through the woods either."

I chuckled at him. "You three can't say anything when we get back to the village. It has to stay between the three of us. Kakashi and I don't want people in the village to look at us any differently. I don't want them to break our team up. It's going to be hard enough to hide that the two of us are together when you come home with us."

"You have my word Y/n." Sasuke stood up from the porch, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. "Love you big sis." He smiled as he walked back into the house.

As Sasuke walked through the door Kakashi walked out. He sat down next to me with a loud sigh. "Are you alright?"

I looked over and smiled. "Yea. I'm fine. Just had to have a heart to heart with him after what happened yesterday. I told him that the three of them needed to keep our relationship to themselves until we're ready to say something."

Kakashi kissed the side of my head. The Mask was silky as it touched my temple. "Eventually we will. We just need to find the right time."

I sighed and laid my head on his shoulder. At least with the kids knowing it would be a little easier for us around them. We wouldn't have to worry as much about what we said.

* * * * * *

Training the kids for the upcoming battle would be the hardest thing we had to do. We had told them to meet the two of us in the forest the following morning. Kakashi still wasn't completely up to par and had resorted to walking around using crutches to keep his balance as much as he could. I was still recovering from my injuries, but we had to prepare them as soon as possible. Who knew when Zabuza would strike again? And who would he bring with him this time?

The three of them stood in front of us, ready to learn. Kakashi leaned on his crutches and was hopeful that the kids were as ready to learn as they looked. "Okay, training starts now."

Naruto was excited, like he always was. "Alright!"

"First," Kakashi put one finger up. "We'll begin with a review on chakra, the ninja's basic source of power. Understanding chakra is essential."

Sasuke was getting cocky, something that was his specialty lately. "We know that."

Naruto piped up with him. "He's right, a long time ago we learned about catra..."

I hung my head and looked over at them, hoping my disappointment was clear. "Chakra..."

Naruto looked embarrassed and started to sweat. Kakashi looked over at Sakura. "Go ahead Sakura." He knew she would be able to explain everything to Naruto quickly.

Sakura put her hands on her hips and I smiled and chuckled a little, Kakashi watching me out the corner of his eye. "Alright, Naruto. I'll explain it simply so you can understand it. Chakra is the elemental life energy that a ninja uses in jutsu. It's the source of his power. Now this energy comes in two forms; there's the phsyical energy which exists in all the cells and the entire body all work together. The other is spiritual energy, the primal source of power which is intensified by training and experience."

I yawned and saw Kakashi smile at me, trying not to laugh at me as Sakura continued. "As you see, these two chakra must be drawn out and brought together in order to perform jutsu. Finally, hand signs focus and unleash the chakra."

When Sakura looked back at Kakashi with a smile he looked over at Naruto. "Right on all points. Iruka-Sensei really did have some excellent students."

Naruto was still sweating. "What's the big deal with all these complicating explanations? The whole point is to learn the jutsu, isn't it?"

Sasuke looked annoyed, but he couldn't help but agree with Naruto. "Naruto is right for once. We're already using chakra in our jutsu."

I looked over at me little brother and raised my eyebrows. "No! You have not mastered this power, you've barely scratched the surface of it!" I was just as frustrated with Sasuke's cockiness as Kakashi was getting.

Naruto started to raise his voice. "What do you mean?"

Kakashi sighed. "Calm down a listen." How did we end up with these two stubborn kids? "It's just like Sakura said, you have to draw on physical and spiritual energies and then combine them. But, how do you do that?" Kakashi looked over at me, clearly wanting me to continue. He knew that Sasuke listen best to me.

I nodded. "Each jutsu uses a differnt type of chakra and in different proportions. You must select and combine them in exactly the right way. Up to now you've just guessed at the proportions, hoping they'd come out right. Even if you produce a lot of chakra, if you can't balance and control it, it's all worthless. The jutsu wont work at all of it'll be a joke. You waste so much energy that way and then you're out of chakra and you can't fight at all, you're just a target."

Naruto looked a little embarassed, knowing he had a problem with that in the academy. He scratched his head. "So how do we change that?"

I was getting more frustrated so Kakashi cut me off. "Train so hard that controlling your chakra becomes second nature. To achieve this goal you must be ready to put your life on the line."

They all looked confused, especially Sakura. "What do we have to do?"

Kakashi pointed up. "Climb a tree."

They all spoke at once, complete confusion in their voices. "Climb a tree?"

"That's right." I smiled and cut Kakashi off. "But there's one rule; no hands."

Now the kids were even more confused. Sakura just looked annoyed. "What? You're kidding?"

"Are we? Let's see." Kakashi looked over at me and nodded. We both put our hands together and balanced our chakra. Kakashi hobbled over to the nearest tree and I followed. We climbed up the same tree , using just our chakra, focused on our feet. The kids stared dumbfounded on the ground. Just to throw them off even more we walked to the largest branch on the tree and hung upside down, having to focus even harder so we wouldn't plummet to the ground. "You get the idea. Focus your chakra to the soles of your feet and use it to connect to the tree. This is one way to use the power of chakra." Kakashi smiled at them.

"Wait a minute, that's a nice trick, but how does that help us fight Zabuza?" Sakura was once again, full of questions.

I let out a breath to calm down a little before speaking. "It's the only way to fight Zabuza. That's the entire goal of this training you guys. First, you'll learn how to draw a precise amount of chakra to a precise part of your body. This is difficult for even advanced ninja. This type of climbing requires a precise mixture of physical and spiritual energy and the bottoms of the feet are the most difficult place to balance chakra. Are you getting the picture? If you can master this, you can master any jutsu."

Kakashi interrupted me. "Well, theoretically," I shot him a glare. "The second point is to learn to maintain your chakra. When a ninja is in battle it's even harder to maintain and control his chakra levels, a deadly mistake. To avoid this maintaining chakra must become second nature, effortless." I paused for a second. "Well, I could talk about this all day, but that won't advance your skills, will it? You need to apply the power of chakra through training."

Kakashi pulled out two kunai and I pulled out one. We threw them to the kids. Naruto and Sakura caught Kakashi's and Sasuke caught mine. I spoke. "Use the kunai to mark the tree at the highest mark that you can climb, without using your hands. Then try to get past that mark the next time. At first you'll need to run at the tree so your momentum will take you as high as possible. Until you get used to it anyway."

Kakashi continued where I left off. We were trying our hardest to teach as a pair. "Ready?"

Naruto picked up his kunai. "I'm ready. This is gonna be no sweat all the way, believe it. Remember what you said Sensei. I'm the one that's grown the most."

It was then that we knew we should never have said that to him. Kakashi sighed. "You're definitely the one that talks the most. Now get focused and do it."

Naruto looked offended, but shook it off. The kids put their hands together and started to balance their chakra. They all took off at a run. Naruto made it two steps up the tree before falling. Sasuke made it about a quarter of the way before his chakra balance went off and smashed the tree some with his foot, marking it with the knife before coming back down. Sakura on the other hand sat on a branch about halfway up her tree, smiling down on the boys. I was extremely proud of her. "Well," I looked particularly at Sasuke, not afraid to be the toughest on him. "Looks like the female member of the squad has the most chakra control."

Sakura stuck her tongue out at the boys and Kakashi praised her. "Well done Sakura."

Naruto was at least being a good sport about it. "Yea! Good job Sakura. I always knew you were awesome, believe it."

Sasuke looked up at me and mumbled, not realizing that we could all hear him. "Whatever."

Sakura was instantly distraught, clearly she was hoping she would impress him. Kakashi tried to help her out a little. "Not only can Sakura control chakra, she can hold and maintain it as well." He looked toward Naruto. "We spoke about someone becoming Hokage one day, didn't we?" He was trying to get a rise out of the boys to make them try harder. "Seems Sakura's got the best chance of that. Wouldn't you say?" Kakashi stepped over the line with his next crack, not only getting a rise from Sasuke, but from me. "And as for the great Uchiha clan, maybe they're not so great after all."

Sasuke and I glared at Kakashi, and so did Sakura. "Shut up Sensei, you talk to much."

Kakashi looked over at me. "Alright, I think they're motivated. I know Naruto and Sasuke have much more chakra within. If this training works their mastery of chakra will become a valuable asset."'

I was still glaring. "And you little comment about the Uchiha clan? What was that?"

"I was just trying to get your brother going, I know how he feels about your clan."

"Well, don't push it with that again Kakashi, or I'll knock your chakra off balance and let you fall from this tree."

He chuckled at me. "You're cute when you're angry." If steam could be coming from my ear it would be. And with that, they all began to attempt the tree again, each time getting just a little farther.

* * * * * *

After an hour or so the kids were all exhausted. The kids were definitely learning from the teamwork. Naruto went and huddled next to Sakura. Kakashi smiled at me. "He's catching on. From now one he'll only get stronger and stronger. How strong tho?"

I leaned my head on his shoulder. "Naruto possesses more chakra than Sasuke. I can feel it."

"In fact, the amount of chakra he possesses is greater than my own, and yours."

Taglist 💕 @nubiadethemyscira @nimeryaa @o-franzii-o @chidori-mint @fan-g0rl @ari-hatake15 @puredicks @hunie-hun

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