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wkemeup · 4 years

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Little Lion Man

summary: Sent on an assignment back to 1943, you encounter a drastically different version of the man you know pairing: bucky x reader warnings: time travel, a charming af 40s!bucky 😉, a sad af present!bucky 😔 a/n: I used the time travel logic from Endgame except fixed points exist. This was also written for @buckysknifecollection‘s 1k challenge! I had the song prompt of Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons! Congrats on 1k hun!!

Weep little lion man, You're not as brave as you were at the start

You found blue eyes lighting up across the crowded courtyard, beaming smile touched on the dirt freckled glow of his face, and it startled you; stilled you right in your tracks and set a stone deep into your chest, made it hard to breathe, because that wasn’t the man you knew.

No—he wore a weightlessness about him, even as he stepped away from the crowd erupting in celebration and shied to the outskirts of the commotion, he was smiling. It wrinkled up by his eyes, left behind dimples in his cheeks, a slight shake of his head as small wisps of hair fell down to his forehead.

He didn’t seem to be counting each moment of joy on his fingers, calculating how much relief he allowed for himself before the shadows came rushing back in to take it away. He was... happy.

Dark army green was torn like rags as his shirt barely hung off his shoulder, exposing the blood and grime covering his skin beneath. Silver dog tags hung at his sternum; muted in their color, lacking the shine they once possessed, though they chimed against one another with each of his steps. He settled outside the Colonel’s tent and as he slouched to the wooden post, they fell behind his shirt. The last remaining tie to his identity nestled by his heart.

You could spot the trail of blood from his left ear, a light scruff covering his cheeks and jawline, bruising under his eyes from a lack of sleep and over exhaustion, but it was his hair that drew your attention; short, swept over his forehead and parted to the right. Its messy strands that did nothing to cover his eyes even as he dropped his chin to his chest and lit the cigarette he’d nestled between his lips.

You knew who he was, heard stories from Steve and read the articles hung in the Smithsonian; stories of what he was like in his youth, before the fall, before Hydra twisted and warped his mind and mutilated his body. And yet, none of it prepared for the laugh that echoed through the courtyard as he waved at an old friend at the center of the crowd surrounded by men who once mocked him, now lifting him on their shoulders for bringing hundreds of their men home alive.

It was him, and it wasn't.

Your Bucky.

You almost forgot why you were standing on a military base in a newly Allied Italian war front in 1943 as Bucky shook the hand of a soldier as he passed by. You recognized him from the drawings on Steve’s desk and the old faded photo album shoved into Bucky’s nightstand drawer.

Dum Dum Dugan.

He was taller than you pictured, rougher around the edges too, but he had a kind smile and a laughter that bolstered through the camp.

It was like a scene from the film clips they used to show you in school; ones of soldiers huddled around campfires in the middle of a war zone, reminding you how incredibly human these men were, that they weren’t just numbers in a fatalities list. They were real and significant in their entirety. They had hopes and dreams, fears and families.

Focus! This isn’t a field trip, you reminded yourself sharply, the words of Director Fury echoing in your head.

There was a file located in the Colonel’s office, the contents of which well above your clearance level, though it wasn’t your business to know what it contained or why Fury decided to risk sending an agent back to a war two of the Avengers’ current members barely survived. You were a part of SHIELD long before you were an Avenger, so you knew how to follow the chain of command. You didn’t ask questions.

Get the file. Get the hell home.

But you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Bucky.

He was laughing again, taking another drag of a cigarette you’d never once seen him smoke in your time as he talked with another one of the Commandos. Jim Morita, you thought. He seemed happy, relieved even, and as Jim made his way to the nurses’ tent, Bucky pushed the lighter into his pocket, pulled the cigarette from his lips with a puff of smoke, and paused.

He narrowed his eyes in your direction, a slight tilt of his head, and you realized your mistake when ocean blue caught you staring from across the open green. A smile slowly curved up broken lips and your stomach plummeted because suddenly he was jogging towards you, dog tags bouncing against his chest with every step he took and there was nowhere for you to escape.

You shoved your gun to the waistband of your pencil skirt and draped the back of your jacket to conceal it. It wouldn’t be surprising for you to be carrying a weapon, not with the uniform you wore indicating you were on rank with the likes of Peggy Carter, but it wasn’t a gun Bucky would recognize. It was from your time, one you did not ever travel without, and the technological advancements wouldn’t be easy to explain.

When Bucky reached you, he pulled to a slow stop and casually ran his fingers through the short mess of hair, pushing it back to expose his eyes, the dirt lining the creases in his forehead, and the bruising above his brow. He tugged his lower lip between his teeth as he looked you over, eyes trailing down to your shoes before returning to your face, a heavy sigh on his breath and he leaned on the wall beside you.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around, doll,” he said and even the tone of his voice seemed different from the man you knew. Lighter, maybe. Confident. Flirtatious.

He smirked, a whistle on his tongue and he seemed a little winded as he shook his head. You wondered if he felt your connection to him, knew the depths of your care for one another before he’d even met you, but you pushed the thought aside quickly.

Wistful thinking.

“Don’t think you’ve been around for a while, Sergeant,” you replied steadily, because even though your heart was racing and your stomach was twisted to knots, you were still an agent and you knew how to manage your emotions and keep your panic hidden behind the surface.

“I guess you saw the welcome wagon, huh?” he chuckled, turning back to the crowd as they continued to gather around Steve.

It was almost as strange to see Steve from this time as it was Bucky. He had the same kind of innocence that the Bucky standing before you carried now. He hadn’t lost his best friend yet, hadn’t made the decision to trade his life for the people of New York and bury himself in the Atlantic, hadn’t missed out on a lifetime with a woman he cared so deeply for, could even grow to love.

Bucky faced you again and you saw it in his eyes, too.

It was hope, you realized. They were still holding onto it.

“Just glad you made it home safe, Sergeant Barnes,” you said evenly, trying not to focus on his left hand as it raked it through his hair. There was a scar on his palm that ran along his lifeline, red and angry and in need of treatment. There was dirt caked under his nails, in his knuckles, dried blood on his wrist, and you resisted every urge to reach out and grab it just to feel the pulse of his heart in his fingertips or maybe even the warmth of his skin.

You were used to cold and metal and you let yourself wonder what it would be like to be held by these hands, hands that were completely and entirely Bucky’s, hands that he didn’t despise and held away from you like it was something outside of himself, like it could act of its own accord and hurt the woman he wanted so desperately to touch with nothing but a tenderness he hadn’t known in decades.

“Please doll, it’s Bucky,” he requested cheekily. He waited for a response, though when he didn’t get one, he was unbothered by the silence.

He twisted the cigarette in his hand, twirling it like a baton and you were mesmerized by the way it danced through the fingertips of his left hand. It dropped ash as it flipped between his middle and index finger.

“So...” he drawled, amused by your trance, “do I have the honor of your name as well?”

You snapped your eyes away from his hand to find that smirk across his face again. It was one that felt strange to you, foreign almost, from the Bucky you knew. It was confident, charming, but there wasn’t a trace of arrogance or presumption. It was the smirk of a man who could still manage to flirt with a woman moments after returning to a camp he was captured from weeks prior. He was quite proud of himself and it read on his face.

“Y/n,” you finally admitted, watching him carefully as he repeated your name, testing it on his lips, and it still sounded like honey and silk. It seemed to be one of the few things that felt constant between these versions of Bucky; your name on his lips, in his voice, as he smiled at you. It was still as sweet.

“Y/n is a lovely name,” he said, “suiting for a lovely woman.”

Steve had mentioned this Bucky was a charmer in stories of their youth. Each time it was brought up, your Bucky would shake his head, roll his eyes, maybe even blush a little as he sank down into the couch as Steve recounted the dates he used to go on, the women he’d bring to Coney Island, the dance moves that could make any woman swoon.

You’d ask him about it, tease him as to why he didn’t take you dancing and win you comically large stuffed animals with his unparalleled marksmanship. He’d brush it off and say it was all luck of the draw but you know better than that. He was a flirt in these days and as handsome as ever, even with blood dripping from his ear and scars on his face. You couldn’t imagine a woman who would turn down a man as charming and beautiful as he was.

You wondered how much Bucky remembered of these days, if he could still recall the one-liners and the flirty comments, or if it felt distant, like he was watching something outside of himself, standing behind a glass wall and simply observing.

He was sweet with you, teased you behind closed doors and made your heart soar, but you couldn’t imagine a world where he would seek you out amongst a crowd, not knowing your name or face and flirt so openly like this.

Your Bucky retreated to corners of crowded rooms with a drink in his hand that did little to relieve him from the anxiety in his veins. He nursed a bourbon as he sought out open spaces away from the overstimulation of music, chatter, glasses on bar tops.

He was quiet, reserved, and favored whispering jokes in your ear that would have you rolling with laughter over saying them aloud for the room to hear. There was an intimacy in it and you were thankful for every glimpse he gave you past the demons who had come to obstruct his heart.

But this, this Bucky, the light-hearted charmer with a world of pain ahead of him, was not a man you ever expected to encounter firsthand.

Over his shoulder, a group of men called his name. He rolled his eyes, trying to wave them off but they only yelled louder, hollering and whistling as he tried to shield you from their teasing.

“I suppose I’m being summoned,” he grunted reluctantly.

You glanced back to his friends, Dugan, Jim, and Steve among them as they waved frantically at him. A smile etched to your cheeks, knowing that this was his element, beside Steve when he didn’t have the shadows cast over him and he could live in a moment where he just might see himself as one of the good guys.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” you smiled at him, enjoying the way his brows pinched together as he shot a glare back over in his friends’ direction before he turned back to you and let his features soften again.

“Will I see you around?” he asked, hopeful and eager, and it took you by surprise.

You didn’t know what else to say so you nodded, eyes glancing to the Colonel’s office. You had a mission to complete. It was the reason you were sent back to this timeline in the first place. It had caused enough problems when Fury assigned you; Steve arguing as to the necessity of it, Bucky leaving the room abruptly without another word. You hadn’t even been able to track him down before you left and you’d never once gone on a mission without saying goodbye to him.

You supposed that for him it may only be a few seconds, but you didn’t know how long you’d be stuck in 1943. You missed him terribly, even when he was standing right in front of you.

“I’ll find you again, then,” he said with a wink. He put the cigarette between his lips again, thought he didn’t light it, and jogged back to his friends. He paused halfway, turned back to you with a simple salute, a shake of his head like he was surprised you’d gone along with his flirting, and then, his back was to you.

Tears burned in your eyes before you felt the lump in your throat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that he was just coming off of weeks behind enemy lines, that he already had the serum running like toxins in his veins; the same Hydra concoction that would save his life when he fell from the train a few weeks later and would allow him to survive long enough to endure decades of torture.

You knew this Bucky carried demons, that he wore a mask the way everyone else did. You knew that there were times that he smiled just long enough for someone to notice before they turned away and his eyes fell downcast to the floor. You knew that he joked and flirted and laughed because how else was a man drafted to a war he never signed up for supposed to cope with the blood on his hands.

They were different masks than the ones the Bucky you knew carried, but they still shielded the pain underneath. The masks you were familiar with were overflowing and demons seeped through the cracks and broke into his soft moments of relief. They were weathered and breaking in your time but he still tried to wear them, still tried to put on a brave face despite the monsters in his dreams and swarming in his past.

This Bucky could still hide his demons.

This Bucky, who smiled so easily, was almost nothing like the man you knew.

But he will be.

Your heart broke for the time in between.

***

Seventy-two hours. That’s how long Fury said you’d need to obtain the file. Seventy-two hours maximum. A load of bullshit that turned out to be because two weeks later you were still trapped in the heart of a world war.

You’d managed to avoid Bucky as much as possible, though that proved rather easy as he’d gone off with Steve and the rest of the Howling Commandos liberating Europe and punching Nazis. But the times in between, when they returned home and regrouped for a day or two, he’d spend his first hour at camp seeking you out while the rest of his team was catching up on sleep.

He was persistent, you’d give him that, but he was never forceful. He’d simply talk with you as you tended to the tasks assigned to the cover you were portraying. He’d lounge out on the grass while you cleaned weapons or follow you through the bunker as you alphabetized personnel files, asking you questions about your day, trying to convince you to get dinner with him at the mess hall, telling you dramatically inflated stories of his heroism on the battlefield that made your stomach ache with laughter.

You understood why Steve was so determined to help Bucky get back to how he was before Hydra. He was incredibly endearing, outgoing, witty. Your Bucky still had those things but they were in pieces, strung together with scotch tape and staples. They were muted a little, but they were still there, scratching at the surface.

It had been a few days since you saw Bucky last and you found him again as you walked right into the square of his chest on your way out of the Colonel’s office, file absent in your hand because yet another day had gone by without any sign of the document.

Hands quickly dart out to grab onto your forearms and he chuckled lightly under his breath, steadying you on heels you were entirely not used to wearing; an era appropriate necessity, Tony told you. You would have like to throw one at his head right about then.

“You alright there, sweetheart?” Bucky grinned, stepping back to give you space.

He had a few new scrapes and marks on his face, but otherwise he looked unharmed. His smile was enough to tell you he hadn’t been injured enough to require medical attention. There wasn’t a pinch in his brow indicating pain, at least.

He brushed his hands off on the thighs of his pants and judging by the mud on his boots and the rifle draped over his shoulder, he hadn’t even made it back to his tent before he came in search of you.

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes,” you replied and despite the way he was smiling so sweetly at you, teeth biting down on his lip, you swerved around him towards your own tent.

“Call me Bucky,” he reminded you, stepping aside for you to pass, though he followed your pace.

“Well, Bucky,” you said, clenching your hands, “it’s good to see you safe. You should get to the med tent, don’t you think?”

“Later,” he shrugged, waving you off, cheesy smile on his lips. “I wanted to see my best girl first.”

It punctured right to your chest and though you knew he was teasing, that he was flirting innocently and smiling when he could be giving into the harsh realities of war, it hurt. It hurt because you saw pieces of your own Bucky in him and knives embedded and broken through skin with every laugh, every smile, every word he said, because you knew how quickly it will be taken away, how hard it will be just for him to find small pieces of this and let his guard down long enough to let even Steve in again, let alone you.

There was a guilt that festered and boiled deep in your stomach, that physically ached and burned. You knew too much about his future, about the things that will happen to him that would rip that sweet smile from his face and turn him inside out, until it took decades just to find the will to live again. You could hardly look at him without tears springing to your eyes.

You thought about telling him, about warning him of what would come and maybe create a new timeline where he was free from Hydra, where he might go home from the war and see his mother and sister again, maybe meet a woman he could love and have a few kids. But then you remembered Tony’s warning, that certain events were fixed and what happened to Bucky that day on the train, would never be changed. There was too much history riding on it.

Your sweet Bucky was fated to Hydra from the start.

"There’s a dance tonight, you know.”

Your heels dug into the grass and brought you to an abrupt stop, balance wavering somewhat as you held your arms out to the side. Bucky chuckled, that smile of his so bright it was almost blinding and he quickly jogged back to you. He offered a hand and you took it just long enough to pry your heels from the dirt.

You tried not to focus on the feel of it; the callouses on his palms or the grip of his fingers, the warmth in his hand or the fact that it was made of flesh and not solid metal. You let go as soon as you were able, though he didn’t seem to take any offense.

“Just a few of the guys are going,” he continued to say, pushing his hands into his pockets. He seemed nervous as he swayed in his stance and brushed his hand through his hair. “Thought it could be fun and, well, don’t know the next time I’ll get the chance to ask a pretty girl to dance with me.”

A pink rose in his cheeks, light and flushed, and it surprised you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sergeant Barnes,” you said slowly, voice almost a whisper and his smile didn’t falter for even a moment.

“Bucky,” he reminded you again. So persistently charming.

“Bucky,” you repeated, “I don’t think it’s--”

“When was the last time you did somethin’ for fun, doll?” Bucky whined playfully, slumping his shoulders until you swatted him on the arm. He rubbed at it with a laugh in his voice. “I promise it’ll be a good time. You have my word.”

“I have work to attend to,” you argued, though your resolve was fading quickly. You never liked saying no to Bucky, even from your time, but it was the innocence, the hope, intertwined in shades of blue that made it that much harder.

“Come on, darlin’,” Bucky smiled sweetly at you, a crack in his lips and a bruising on his cheekbones, still as beautiful as he’s always been, “we’re shipping out to the Alps tomorrow and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. Just one dance, doll, and I swear I won’t ask you for anything else in my life.”

Your heart skipped. “The alps?”

Bucky nodded, pursing his lips. He lost his playful smile for only a minute as it melded into the solemn, determined expression of the soldier you’d seen memorials painted of alongside brick buildings in Brooklyn.

“We were able to confirm Zola’s on a Schnellzug traveling along the Danube River,” he said, quite proud. “We’re gonna bring the bastard in and put an end to this war.”

Your throat was dry, like sandpaper and dust, stones filling your chest, and you kept your features as blank as you could manage but everything inside you was on fire. He seemed so pleased, eager almost, and you felt your stomach lurch.

“Whaddya say?” he asked, a slight tremor in his voice for the first time and you turned to find him nervously chewing on his lip. “Fulfill a soldier’s dying wish?”

“Okay,” you blurted out hastily, biting down on the inside of your cheek because he didn’t know the gravity of what he just asked. You clenched your hands to fists at your side, nails digging into your palms until it stung, but you were well trained and you hid it from him before he could notice.

“I’ll pick you up at eight?” he asked, slowly backing up to his tent with the widest smile you’d ever seen on his face. It wrinkled up by his eyes and stretched into his cheeks. So light, so unburdened from horrors that had not yet warped and twisted their way through his mind and body.

“Okay,” you replied again, unable to say much of anything else for the lump in your throat was starting to choke you.

Bucky disappeared into the camp and you were left standing in the open; tears burning in your eyes, slipping down past your lashes and over your cheekbones, knowing that by this time the following day, he’d be in the hands of Hydra.

***

You located the file an hour before Bucky was meant to pick you up. It sat on the edge of your cot, watching you, because you weren’t signaling Tony that it was time for you to come home. No—you were adorning rouge to your lips and curling your hair the way you’d seen in the movies Bucky liked from his youth, the transmitter hidden in your bag under the mattress.

An emerald dress swung at your hips, one that you’d borrowed from one of the exceptionally kind nurses. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t glaring at you from across the room for daring to take the attention of the famed Sergeant Barnes and insisted you wear it since she was on shift for the evening anyway.

You slipped into the heels, brushing down the skirt of the dress and caught one last look in the mirror. The sleeves hung off your shoulders, exposing collarbone and a faded scar along your clavicle from a mission in Brussels six months prior. Bouncing curls pinned up from your neck and bright red upon your lips, you looked like a painted model in the posters hanging in the bar hall.

You wondered how your Bucky would feel to see you like this, if it would make him happy to be reminded of his youth, or if it would bring back memories too painful to let stir to the surface.

A knock rang on the post outside and you quickly pushed the file into your bag at the end of your bed. Out of sight and out of mind, at least for the next few hours.

“You ready, doll?” Bucky called from outside the tent as you started to make your way to the exit. “Steve’s been breaking my back all day saying you weren’t gonna show and I really need to prove him wro— oh wow.”

You stepped out from behind the flap of the tent, ducking under the low hanging ceiling and Bucky’s words seemed to die on his tongue. He pulled a lip between his teeth and eyes glanced down over you; not with a hunger, but instead with a genuine kind of awe. His smile was aching on his cheeks as he tried to bite it back.

“You look stunning,” he exhaled, shaking his head. “You’ll be the envy of every dame at the dance.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself, Sergeant,” you replied.

He wore his dress greens; dark olive overcoat with golden buttons down the center, two pockets at the breast, two at his hips, golden tie around his neck and a series of military badges in bright, vibrant colors along the right side of his chest. He looked like the images you’d seen in the Smithsonian; the man he tried so desperately to emulate; the one with honor and dignity, he said.

Bucky offered you his arm, and you took it graciously. Your hand slipped around the crook of his elbow, holding onto muscle where you once only know metal, and he guided you down to the jeep at the edge of camp. There, Steve, Dugan, Morita, and a few of the other Commandos were there waiting.

Steve stood against the door of the jeep, a woman you easily recognized in a dark red dress at his side; Peggy Carter. Steve seemed surprised to see you on Bucky’s arm, but when he hung his head, he was smiling, like maybe he was pleased to lose his own bet.

Bucky grinned, nudging your side before he turned to his friend. “Pay up Rogers!”

***

People were laughing, smiling, amongst the backdrop of a war that would almost certainly take the lives of half the men in this room. It was something of beauty to witness until it started to break your heart.

You’d spent nearly an hour on the dance floor with Bucky; letting him spin you around, lead you through dances you should have known if you had grown up in this era, though he paid it no mind. He liked teaching you, liked it when you stepped on his toes and grimaced apologetically at him. He liked seeing you flustered because you were not a woman who easily blushed. He enjoyed the twinge of embarrassment in your ears when you’d bump into a couple beside you and he’d quickly yank you back to his arms in a protective cage, the light rumble of his laugh in vibrations through his chest.

“I tried to tell you I’m no good at this, Bucky,” you said after a young couple on your left sent another glare in your direction for turning the wrong way in the middle of a Charleston Stroll.

“I don’t need you to be a good dancer, doll,” he smirked, pulling you impossibly close so that your chest was flush against his, the slow sway of your bodies in contrast to the fast-paced jives surrounding you. “All I wanted was an excuse to hold you like this.”

The music faded into long, melodic notes as your breath stilled in your lungs. The chaos around you fell into gentle motions as couples hung off of one another and the world seemed to come to a stop. You expected to find a teasing grin on his face, maybe even a hint of laughter, but there was sincerity in the blue of his eyes, a slight trace of longing because he knew what he was facing the next day on a train running through the ravines of a snowy mountain.

He smiled sweetly at you, carefully slipping your hand into his and guiding your other up to his shoulder. He set his right hand at the base of your back, fingers pressing into the soft curves like the keys of a piano, just feeling, and it reminded you of how your Bucky grounded himself in the worst of his nightmares; how he’d hold onto you, grip you so tightly he’d leave marks by the mornings that would ultimately add to his guilt, though they were colors on your skin you cherished. A physical symbol of his fight towards recovery.

You found yourself doing the same as you clasped at his left hand. With every dip of the beat and every sway of his body to yours, you squeezed at his hand; feeling for the slight give in the muscle, the warmth of flesh, the hard callouses on his palm. It was so real, so him, so tangible right in front of you and you felt tears prickle in your eyes.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked quietly, noticing the trail of your gaze on his hand and the glossiness consuming your eyes.

You shook your head, brushing away the wetness on your cheeks and setting your hand back to his shoulder, though this time you curled up closer to him, focusing on the steady beat of his heart under his fingertips. “Nothing, honey.”

“’Honey’?” he repeated, chuckling a little under his breath. “You getting sweet on me, doll?”

You smiled, letting your head rest onto his shoulder, cheek brushing his collarbone. His hand started to run in smooth circles on your back, his nails traces shivering into your spine. It was something your Bucky did for you, to help ease the tension from your muscles.

“’Course not,” you replied in a breathy sigh, “I’ve got a fella, you know.”

"You don’t dance with me like you’ve got a man waiting on you,” Bucky retorted cheekily, though there was no jealousy in his voice, no resentment. He didn’t seem surprised, but he didn’t pull away either. He sighed, a heat of his breath brushing over your exposed neckline. “Tell me about him?”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, just long enough to caught sight of the tenderness with which he watched you. The corners of his lips curved up, only a little, before they fell again.

On some level, you wondered if he knew that he would never find even a semblance of normalcy in returning home from war, that he’d never settle down in the time that he knew and grow old and have children running around at his feet; that instead of showing up on his mother’s doorstep with bags in hand and a smile of relief, it would be two men dressed in uniform even he didn’t know, carrying an envelope that would break his mother’s heart.

You squeezed his left hand again, letting your right trace up along his jawline and cup the side of his face. He sighed, leaning into the touch. Clean shaven and smooth on his cheeks, decades younger.

“He’s a good man, even on his worst days,” you said tenderly. “He’s been through... so much, things that no one should ever have to experience. Anyone else might have crumbled under all that pain, but he’s still kind, still loving and impossibly sweet. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me though he argues against that most days.”

Bucky nodded, listening quietly as you continued.

“He’s handsome, like you, though his hair is longer, his shoulders a little broader with muscle,” you teased lightly and Bucky scoffed, feigning an offense, though he was smiling. “He’s quiet, different than he used to be, and there are always setbacks, always days where the pain outweighs all the good in his life, but doesn’t give into it. He’s a fighter, a survivor. He’s my best friend.”

“He take you dancing?” Bucky asked with a grin and you shook your head.

“No, not like this. Crowds aren’t easy for him.”

“He one of ours?”

A military man. He knew exactly what you were alluding to, so you nodded.

“Parts of him never came back from the war,” you confirmed, a frown pushing at your lips, “but he’s not broken. He’ll dance with me in the living room if I ask, let me hold him like this even when he feels like a stranger in his own skin. He tries, he heals. I know how hard it is for him to open up and I’m grateful for every moment he can let his walls down, if even for a second, and he shows me pieces of who he used to be, pieces of who he still is.”

A silence passed over the two of you, the music and the sight shuffling of feet around you taking over as you curled into Bucky’s side.

Bucky, but not your Bucky.

“You love him?”

Your relationship with Bucky was messy and complicated. You slept in the same bed most nights, pressed against one another to fight off the demons in his sleep, but you’d never touched him intimately, never so much as kissed his lips no matter how many times you’d wanted to. You met him in the ring and sparred until you were both aching and sweating, until you collapsed to the mat and talked for hours just staring up at the rafters. You were the first person he sought out when returning from a mission and it was his name you shouted for when you were surrounded behind enemy lines.

But there were darker forces between you; ones that kept him from letting himself open up completely, that kept him on the edge from you because Hydra was still in his mind, still convincing him he wasn’t worth the good in his life and he didn’t deserve to be treated with the affection and care with which you showed him.

Even when he kept you at a distance, he still held pieces of your heart, exposed and vulnerable in the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes darting to the collar of his shirt because you couldn’t dare to look him in the eye. You felt him squeeze at your hand, patterns on your back, and he pressed you closer to his chest; so perceptive of the heartache in your voice.

“Sounds like you might want to get home to him, huh?”

You shook your head, feeling embarrassed. “What? No, of course not. I’m-- I’m here to dance with you, right? You’re shipping out tomorrow for the alps and I—I owe you a dance, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled. “Sweetheart, we’ve been dancing for hours. Look around, everyone’s practically gone home for the night.”

You narrowed your eyes, surprised, until you scanned the room to find that he was right; the dance floor was near empty and the staff had already begun cleaning up the refreshments table. Only the pianist remained on the stage, playing gentle melodies while his bandmates placed their instruments in their cases. He smiled at you, a short wink before he turned back to the pages of his sheet music.

Steve and Peggy were sitting by the bar, talking quietly with one another, unbothered by the lateness or the lack of party guests and the absence of alcohol beside them. Jim and Dum Dum must have hitched their own rides home because they were nowhere in sight, though a few stray men swaying on unbalances legs stumbled by the door.

“I’d say this was a pretty nice last go of it all,” Bucky sighed, a genuine smile on his face. “Zola’s not a threat physically. Can’t imagine we’ll have too much trouble bringing him in, but you never know, right? I couldn’t pass up an excuse to bring a beautiful woman to a dance.”

You bit down on your cheek until blood pooled in your mouth. You swallowed it back, tasting of copper and it burned on the way down.

“Certainly can’t blame you for that,” you replied, forcing your voice as steady as you could manage.

The pianist slowly brought the song to an end, chiming on the high end of the keys before closing the lid and stepping away. Bucky sighed, a nod the indicated that the magic of the night had ended and he moved to step away, but your hands darted out to the sides of his face.

“You’ll get through this,” you said sternly, adamantly, because he needed to hear it. The confusion read on his face though he didn’t question you. “You’re strong, Bucky. You’re brave. Please remember that.”

He narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed, though he nodded slowly.

You stepped back suddenly, letting your hands fall away from his face. It was a gesture too intimate for the man standing in front of you, one you’d done countless times for the man he’d ultimately become, and while he didn’t flinch at the touch, it surprised him. Perhaps it was the heartbreak on your face, the guilt, that confused him most.

“I--I should go,” you said quietly. “Thank you for the dance, Sergeant Barnes.”

“The pleasure was all mine, doll,” he replied, a soft smile etching up onto his features.

He was so young, so untouched by the damages that would be inflicted upon him; even after he’d already been captured and held by the same men who would break him from the inside out, he still carried a hope about him. He was different at the start of it all.

You loaded into the back of the jeep and Bucky slid in beside you. He kept his hand at his side, didn’t try to push into your space because, after all, you had someone waiting on you, but you could see the twinge in his fingertips, how he ached to hold your hand. It broke your heart.

At the end of the night, he walked you back to your tent. Hands shoved deep into his pockets and a tight smile on his face, he asked, “will I see you again?”

You thought again about telling him the truth, warning him that he wouldn’t find his way home for nearly seven decades and when he did, he’d be a changed man in a time he didn’t know. It wouldn’t change anything. Your Bucky had always gone through the horrors of what Hydra inflicted on him and what you did in this time wouldn’t affect that.

“Of course,” you replied with a smile light on your lips though you forced it into your cheeks. He sighed of relief. “I’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“What about your man?” he inquired, a teasing grin and a raise of his eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you don’t believe in friendship, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Whatever you’ll give me, sweetheart,” he replied, smiling so wide it much have ached, and you tried to memorize the way it wrinkled up by the blue of his eyes. You wondered if you’d ever see him smile like that again, like the very act of it didn’t rip him to pieces.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, light and short, a feather’s touch, and you watched as a light pink flushed his face. A thumb brushed along his cheekbone to rid him of the lipstick staining on his skin, but he gently pushed your hand away.

“Let me brag a little to the guys, won’t you?” he laughed. It was a sound so sweet it threatened to tear you in two.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you said slowly, stepping back to the tent.

He sighed, shaking his head as he took one final look at you, the last one he’d know for nearly seventy years. “Goodnight, Y/n.”

***

There were still tears in your eyes as you were pulled from between the cracks of space and time to land on the platform of the Avengers’ hanger in update New York.

Tony was down on your left, adjusting the buttons and levers on a massive computer board, slamming his hand against a faulty monitor until it shifted from a grainy static to a sharp input of bright green data. Steve was rushing up to you, already starting to remove the gear from your back and help you out of the suit. The file had slipped easily from your hand into Natasha’s and she was gone from the room before you even noticed, racing it off to Fury.

"Where is he?” you choked out, lump burning in your throat.

Steve paused for a moment, eyes flickering down to the floor because he must have seen the tears in your eyes. There was no need to specify. Steve knew exactly who you were looking for.

"The training room, I think.”

“Training room?” you repeated, surprised, eyes narrowed as Steve helped you slip your arm from the sleeve of the suit.

"He’s, um, he’s not coming, Y/n.”

“He always comes,” you insisted, peering up and over Steve’s shoulder to get a better look at the door, but they were still closed shut. There wasn’t a time since you’d joined the Avengers that Bucky wasn’t the last person you saw before you left and the first person you ran to when you came home.

Steve swallowed, continuing to work on your suit. “Y/n, the—the idea of you going back there, it wasn’t easy for him. You saw how he stormed out of the debriefing when Fury assigned you to this mission."

“He’s never not been here, Steve. Why would he--”

“Well for one,” Tony piped up, eyes still glued to the computer board, “he wasn’t entirely keen on shipping you back to the time where he was walking around with a brain that had yet to be thrown in a blender and a personality with a range wider than a pet rock."

You gritted your teeth, hands clenched to fists. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Tony shrugged, powering down the platform as Steve removed the last remaining panel from your suit, “just means that he’s probably sulking somewhere because only that idiot could be jealous of his own damn self.”

You looked to Steve who only bowed his head, lips pressed to an apologetic line, and suddenly, you took off running; sprinting across the room and shoulder shoved to the double doors at the exit. Neither Tony nor Steve were foolish enough to call after you, to believe that you’d stop for anything when it was Bucky you were running towards.

You passed by Sam in the living room, who pointed a finger to the gym, not even lifting his head from his cereal bowl. Clint waved from the couch, cheesy grin and all, before Wanda threw a pillow at him, hushing him as he tried to ask you how the mission went. It was all noise; nothing that you could hear when your focus was on Bucky.

When you made it to the gym, you found it to be empty, save for the distinct grunts in the far back corner, the slamming of fists against a sandbag, the labored breaths of a man in pain.

Bucky stood with his back to you, muscles evident under the thin layer of his navy t-shirt, sweat soaking through the fabric and clinging against him. His whole body utilized in every punch and you stood back and watched until he ultimately hit it too hard and the bag dislodged from the ceiling, falling to the ground and rolling next to two of the same. Sand poured from the hole he’d created.

Bucky groaned, brushing his hand over his forehead to rinse the sweat from his eyes. As he turned around to hang another bag, his eyes landed on you, a flinch flexing throughout his body, a catch in his breath, because it wasn’t often you could sneak up on him. He swallowed, trying to find his bearings.

“You forget something?” he asked, voice low, tired. He didn’t realize you’d already gone and come back.

“No,” you replied, trying to mask your hurt though it did little use, “did you?”

He clenched his jaw, eyes darting down to the floor as he bent to grab another sandbag from the line. There was guilt etched into his features as he hung the bag on the chain as if it weighed nothing. It was then you noticed his bare hand, how it was beaten raw and bloodied.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, reaching out for his hand and for the first time in nearly a year, he pulled away from you. He held his hands close to his chest, crossing his arms when he’d realized what he’d done, having seen the hurt on your face. You stepped forward to comfort him, but he flinched away.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded, tears in your eyes because you’d just left him to face 70 years in hell and all you wanted was to hold him again. Your agony for him ached deep in your bones, but he was keeping you at a distance, walls up, protecting himself from a threat you couldn’t see. “Did I—Did I do something?”

“No,” he said quickly, sternly, because it was one of the few things he was absolutely certain of. “No, sweetheart. It’s never you. It’s never anything you’ve done.”

“Then what is it?” You took in a shaky breath, one that barely took in air for the stone lodged in your throat. He glanced up at you and winced at the tears burning in your eyes.

“You saw him, didn’t you?” he asked slowly. He swallowed. “Me. You saw—me.”

“Yes.”

“But is wasn’t me,” he said, almost in a question. “It was some parallel version of me, right? That’s why I don’t remember... not because of what Hydra did to my head?”

You nodded, taking a cautious step forward. When he didn’t retreat from you, you took another. He kept his stare on the ground by your feet; appearing small, as if he didn’t tower over you, as if the strength of his body couldn’t snap a cement brick in half. Your hands slipped into his and you felt his whole body sigh of relief as you brought them closer to you.

Even the cold metal of his left hand was a familiar comfort for you; cool and solid, tangible. It was a piece of the man you knew. His right hand was swollen, skin broken at the knuckles, raw and bleeding. You winced as you quietly examined the wounds, carefully turning his hand in yours to get a better look.

“Will you let me wrap this?” you asked gently and after a few moments, he nodded.

You led him carefully to the edge of the ring and sat him down on the raised edges; a kiss to his forehead as you backed away and you quickly grabbed the first aid kit from the latch under the ring.

Box in hand, you sat down beside him and pulled out the bandages, disinfectant wipes, and soothing gel. You set the kit on the floor and gestured for his right hand. It was quiet as you worked, applying the disinfectant and cleaning the damage he’d inflicted. You felt his gaze on you, studying you as a crease furrowed in your brow in concentration.

Several moments of silence passed before he spoke again.

“Do you see it now?”

You narrowed your eyes, confused by his sudden question. It was something he did often, let his mind wonder and spin until finally something stumbled out, whether it made much sense or not, but you were exceptionally patient with him. You sighed, gently easing the cooling gel onto his knuckles. He hissed at the sting of it.

“See what, honey?”

“Why you shouldn’t be with me.”

You closed your eyes, jaw aching from how tightly you clenched it. You could feel your lower lip trembling, tears burning in your eyes when you looked at him again.

He was better than he was when you’d first met. He didn’t wear the dark circles under his eyes in permeant stains anymore, didn’t leave grease caked into his roots, or wasted away closed off in his room without food for days at a time. But he still carried guilt in his eyes, still hung a heavy shame over his shoulders, still found himself unworthy and irredeemable, even on his best days, no matter how hard he tried to believe you otherwise.

“Bucky,” you sighed, his name aching in your voice, “why would you say such a thing?”

“You know now,” he replied flatly, like it was what he’d been waiting for, like he was so sure that his worst nightmares were already true, “you know what I was like then and how—and how broken I am now. I can’t be him, Y/n. I won’t ever be like that again and I-- I can’t give you the things he could. I won't be enou--”

“Stop, please,” you whispered, holding tightly to his hand as you wrapped the bandages. A tear slipped past your nose and fell to the white fabric along his knuckles, soaking into the cloth. “It broke my heart to see who you used to be, what you were like before Hydra, before all the pain they’d inflicted on you. You were... light and sweet and so impossibly charming.”

He clenched his jaw, eyes to the ground ahead of him as he listened, nodding along. You could tell he was preparing for the worst, like you might tell him that he was right, that this past version of himself opened your eyes to how empty he’d become, how weak and burdensome, how he was only a shell of the man he used to be and he’d never be enough for you.

His hands were shaking in your own and you swiftly lifted them to your lips and kissed at his knuckles, first upon flesh and then to the cold metal of his left. It pulled a gasp from him, an involuntary sigh of relief.

“I saw pieces of you in him, Buck. In the way he’d watch from a careful distance, how he smiled to himself when he thought no one was watching, the kindness in his eyes, the way he said my name,” you continued, letting his left hand sit on your leg so you could reach up to cup the side of his face, gently drawing his attention back to you. His eyes were red, strained, and you smiled sweetly at him. “It’s the same way I see pieces of him in you. You still tease and joke, even if it’s quieter, more intimate. You still make me feel like my hearts going to beat out of my chest when you look at me. You’re still impossibly charming, Buck. You are to me, anyway.”

He shook his head, biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Sweetheart, you’re not broken,” you soothed, sweeping your thumb along his cheekbone. You grazed bristles of hair along his face, scruff from a few days without a razor. “You’re not less than who you were then. Just different. The things that happened to you changed you, Bucky. They’d change anyone. I don’t ever expect you to be the man you were before the fall.”

Bucky took in a shaken breath. “I thought—I thought you might prefer him. The way Steve does.”

“Oh honey,” you exhaled, pulling him into your arms, his head resting on your collar and you stroked your hand along his back to ease the tremors away as he clung to you, “Steve doesn’t--”

“He wants me to be how I was,” Bucky mumbled, his lips muffled by the sleeve of your shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling himself closer. “He doesn't think I can see the disappointment on his face, but I can. I know he misses how things were.”

“Steve just worries about you, Buck,” you said gently, rubbing circles along his back. “He just wants you to be happy. He wants you to be okay.”

It was like he didn’t even hear you, so caught up in the rush of consuming thoughts in his mind, threatening to do him in.

“I’m scared you’re going to start looking at me like that.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, though you willed your voice as steady as you could manage. “Like what, sweetheart?”

“Like I’ve disappointed you,” he admitted simply, like he’d thought about it a dozen times over. “I always thought I had nowhere to go but up with you. You’d only seen me at my worst but… but now you’ve seen me then and—and I don’t know if I can take you wishin’ I was him, doll, because I’ve tried and I—I can’t and I don’t want to lose you because I think it might ki—”

“Look at me,” you requested sternly, pulling him from your embrace and guiding his eyes to you. His cheeks were red, ocean blue of his eyes wet with tears as the words died on his tongue. “I will never ask you be someone you’re not. I would never want you to.”

He shook his head against your hands. “But I’m—”

“You are the man I’ve always known you to be,” you insisted. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, one that you felt his breath leave him as you pulled away. His eyes were glossy but they were vibrant blue as they met yours. “You are the man I fell in love with, Bucky. You, as you are right now. Not some idealized version of who you think you should be. Not the man you were in the forties. You.”

His entire body was rigid in your arms; solid, like stone and steel, and when he finally pulled back, there was an ocean of disbelief in his eyes. Lips slightly parted, brows pinched at the center and a flush of red in his cheeks. An imprint of your sleeve was prominent along his temple as his eyes searched yours, seeking out a deception he would never find.

“You love me?” he whispered, voice barely audible, but you watched as his lips mimed the words; the way he licked at the dryness and tried to swallow back the sandpaper in his throat.

“With everything I have, honey.”

When he finally did let himself exhale again, the breath carried a world of relief in its release. A smile hung on his lips, curving up into his cheeks, and wrinkled into his eyes. A vision of a man decades younger, lighter, where the blue was brighter and the stones were lifted from his shoulders.

“You love me,” he said again, though this time it wasn’t a question but simply a statement of fact. He repeated it again, like he was engraving it into his mind, into his memories where Hydra couldn’t touch it, where it would be protected and entirely his.

“I do,” you giggled, playing with the ends of his hair. “Any chance you might--”

Lips were suddenly on yours, melded and perfectly warm, soft, eager, and you wondered why you ever thought he was any different from the man he used to be. His hands snaked up into your hair, curling delicately into your scalp as a sigh left his breath and touched your cheek. He kissed at your jawline, your cheekbones, the tip of your nose, and returned to your lips where he was wanted most.

When he finally pulled back, you let him go reluctantly, and he set his forehead to yours; the brightest smile on his face you’d ever witnessed and you were almost certain it must have ached in his cheeks from lack of use, but god, was he beautiful.

“I love you, too.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#buckysknifecollectionchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

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feral-dumbass · 4 years

Text

Funny You Should Ask

James “Bucky” Barnes/ Female Reader

Summary: The longer Bucky knife trains with you, the more sexually frustrated you get. Bucky is more than willing to help you with your problem.

Includes: Knife kink, Clothes being torn, Choking, Oral, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Unprotected sex, Size kink (you can’t convince me that Bucky’s not packing)

Words: 3,151

A/N: Hi, it’s me again. Helping to spread filth on the internet. Do I need to warn about public sex even though no one’s around? Either way y’all fuck on a counter in the common kitchen area. Title credit to The Front Bottoms. No need to listen to the song. Finding songs that somehow fit with my writing makes it easier to post. Tagging @babybluestan and @gagmebucky.

Masterlist 😊

Bucky Barnes is shirtless right in front of you and you can’t do anything about it. That teasing son of a bitch is only wearing black cargo pants and his tactical boots. An interesting choice of outfit, but you’re not complaining.

On a lazy Sunday, Bucky tries to teach you self defense with knives. He even got you your own knife. Expecting you to carry it around everywhere when you’re only at the compound and your apartment is a little extreme, but you’ll talk to him about it. Maybe after a blowjob.

Bucky’s stance is defensive, tilted away from you. One boot facing you and the other facing where Nat and Sam are lifting weights. His favorite knife is sheathed in leather pointing away from his chest. He’s smirking. His free hand is motioning for you to come at him.

You blow a tendril of hair out of your face before you attack him. You go in with your knife over your head. Bucky blocks with his forearm. In your attempt to drop your knife into your other hand like he’s done so many times before, Bucky intercepts your knife. This is the third time he’s done this. You’re starting to get frustrated in more ways than one.

Bucky flips your knife so the handle is facing you and holds it out. Stuck on the same move for the past thirty minutes. He won’t let you move on. You hyperfocus on a sweat droplet running down the ridge of his neck. “Again.” Your eyes tear away from his neck. He licks his bottom lip and nudges the knife forward.

You sigh, taking your knife from him. You go through the same motions and yet again, Bucky intercepts.

“You’re distracted.” Yeah, no shit. If this room was vacant, you’d have Bucky pounding your ass into the mat right now. You catch yourself rolling your eyes. Those super stealthy spy skills are certainly hard at work. Bucky senses your tension and flips his knife back into his pocket. “Let’s take a break.”

“Oh, thank god.” You push your knife closed ready to follow him out of the gym. Bucky’s dog tags clink together as he walks to the common area with you. You get distracted by the chain sitting at the base of his glistening neck before you’re grabbing his hand and dragging him to the kitchen. It’s weird to be able to hear your footsteps echo. Bucky’s steps are silent out of habit. The commons are empty, everybody off doing their own thing.

You jump up on the island counter and swing your legs. Your hand pinches his pocket, pulling him closer to you. Your other hand holds the back of his neck to bring his face closer down. You kiss him sweetly. Tongue only sweeping out to lick his bottom lip a little. You nip and suck on his bottom lip as he pulls away.

You manage to slip his knife out of his pocket before he walks to the fridge. You start fiddling with his knife, tossing it in the air. The weight of it more familiar. It’s a mini bowie knife about 8 inches long with a handle wrapped in leather and a matching sheath. Bucky doesn’t leave his room without it.

“What is with you today?” He rubs your spit off his lips before opening the fridge.

You shrug even though his defined back faces you. The knife almost clatters to the counter as you think about marking it up. “I-I don’t know. Just a little ornery I guess.”

“I thought you were doing well with the practice. What’s up?” He glances back over his shoulder.

“We’ve been working on the same move forever.” He closes the fridge, holding two water bottles in his big hand. You stop flipping his knife long enough for him to toss one to you.

“You’re getting the hang out of it. Just a few more times and I’ll stop torturing you.”

“Yeah right. It’s not like you’ve used that excuse before.” You’re grumbling underneath your breath as he brings the water bottle to his lips. This man is actually making you jealous of a piece of plastic.

“Heard that.” He mentions before drowning the water down. Fuck super hearing. You twirl his knife in the air. Water escapes out of the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin to his neck. You want to lick the water off him. Your mouth suddenly feels very dry. You can’t watch it travel down his thick chest probably to stop somewhere around his abs. His knife bounces off your thigh and hits the counter top. Bucky raises an eyebrow at you and throws his emptied bottle in the recycling. This… This is torture.

“Sorry.” You’re sheepish as you pick his knife back up. You toss it back up, trying to distract yourself from your shirtless boyfriend. At its highest point, Bucky swipes it from you, handle in his palm.

“You should stop playing with knives.” He unsheathes the knife and flips it.

“You should stop being a fucking tease.” You use the exact same tone. “Do you know how much of a distraction you are being?”

“Uh yeah.” Bucky situates himself between your thighs. “Gawking at me for the past two hours speaks volumes.” He rolls his neck and drops his free hand on your spandex covered thigh, rubbing it soothingly.

Bucky uses his knife to lift the hem of your tank top away from you chest, exposing more of your cleavage. He looks down as you speak. “You knew?” You pull away from him a little pissed you didn’t get hot gym sex. Hell, you would have even let him take you in the showers. The sharp blade rips a line through your top.

“I like watching you squirm.” He mumbles. His eyes are transfixed on the tear, your cleavage peeking through. “Hey, quick question. How much are you invested in your outfit?” You know exactly what he’s thinking about with his eyes glazed over with lust still glued to your chest.

“If you’re using your knife, rip it to shreds.”

“I fucking love you.” He groans before smashing his lips against yours, teeth clacking together. You don’t give a fuck about it as Bucky rips open your tank top with his hands.

“Off.” He mumbles against your lips. He’s pulling on the top’s strap. You shrug it off, letting it fall to the floor. You turn your head, gasping out. Bucky presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, leaving a trail of kisses down to your jaw all the way to your neck.

“You can tear off my leggings too.” He groans, lips vibrating against your pulse. He eagerly reaches down and yanks at the skin tight spandex. Bucky almost makes you fly off the counter onto your ass in his haste. Bucky catches you and sits you back on the counter as you cackle and hang onto his neck.

“Sorry.” He can’t help but grin.

You hum as you scratch the back of his scalp. “You’re fine.” You’re giggles die down with Bucky’s final yank. The seams of your spandex finally give under Bucky’s strength. You get to witness the hottest sight. Bucky rips the leggings down your legs, biceps bulging as he throws the scrap of clothing over his shoulder. He drops down to his knees and grabs your foot to kiss your ankle. You lean back on your hands to enjoy the show. He trails kisses up your inner legs. Darkened grey eyes stay on yours.

He’s leaving hickies on the sensitive parts of your inner thigh when he finally notices the obscene wet patch of your panties. His teeth bite into your thigh. Stinging pain blooms before he can separate from your skin. You’re into Bucky’s teeth marks on your thigh. You’re not gonna lie. It’s hot.

He tries to blow cool air on the reddening mark in between multiple expletives. Eyes trained on the apex of your thighs, you‘d think you were wearing Bucky’s favorite lingerie. Nope, a plain black sports bra with simple underwear and Bucky’s drooling.

“Poor sweetheart. Soaking through your panties.” He rubs the wet patch through your underwear. “Bet your pussy’s just begging for my dick, yeah? How empty does your cunt feel without my cock, huh?” His fingers press down harder before they’re gone. He licks a stripe up your panties. You can feel the wet heat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit. He kisses your clit through the cotton.

Your eyes roll back as you stammer his name. You gather the strength to shove him off as he continues to mouth through your panties. You’re panting trying to find words. “I’ve been ready for y-your cock all day, you fucking tease.” You pull his arm up to get him standing.

He finally stands as he leans down to kiss your cheek. You reach for his pants, unfastening his belt at a speed even you are surprised at.

“Oh, if you were gonna get this desperate, I should have teased you sooner.” You ignore the bastard’s comment and unbutton his pants. You pull down the zipper, tugging down his pants. That fucking prick is just as turned on as you. You lick your palm before stuffing your hand down his boxers and gripping his cock. You twist and pump at a speed he likes.

You admire the flutter of his eyelashes as he moans out. “Wait, wait, wait.” His hips arch into your touch. “You’re so damn insistent right now. I’m gonna cum in my pants.” The knife scrapes against the counter when he picks it up.

You pause. “Bucky, if you cum right now, I’ll kill you.”

“I fucking know. Get your hand out of my boxers.” You slip your hand out of the black cotton. “Act like this and you can get my cock anytime.” He slides the knife under the band of your sports bra and uses his free hand to stretch the fabric across the sharp blade. With his strength, it tears easily. “Arms up.” You raise your arms in the air. He does the same process with each band at your sides. It’s like the knife is sliding through butter with his expertise. Excitement runs through you. Bucky grabs the fabric off your back and throws it with the rest of the scraps.

His chest rumbles, groaning at the sight of your bare breasts. “Can never get tired of these.” He leaves an open mouth kiss on top of each breast.

“James, please, the task at hand.” You’re ushering him on before he can suck one into his mouth.

“Can’t help it, baby. Look at you all sprawled out for me. If I don’t drown you in attention, who am I?” He kisses your swollen lips, sucking on your tongue as he moves his knife to your underwear. The knife tears smoothly through the band on each thigh. He reluctantly pulls away from you and pushes you down your shoulder for you to lay fully back. The cool granite feels nice against your hot skin. He slips the broken cotton off you and pulls your thighs closer to the edge. “Fuck.” His groan is drawn out. Your pussy glistens under the fluorescent lights for him. “Stunning. I’m so hard for you right now. Fucking gorgeous.” Before either of you can think, Bucky is bringing his knife up. The handle easily slides through your drenched folds. He circles your clit before going back down, barely dipping into your entrance.

“As much as I love the idea you fucking me with the knife handle, can I please have your cock now?” The pressure of the handle is lost as Bucky pulls his boxers down.

“Yes, but I will bring up that concept later.” Bucky pushes his dick into you. You’re whimpering. It’s a challenge taking Bucky’s cock no matter how turned on you are. Although, you’re arching your hips trying to get him deeper as he stretches out your walls slowly.

He takes the opportunity while you adjust to his sizable width to slam his knife into the countertop a few feet away from your head. The marble splinters from the strength and he leans down to finally catch a breast in his mouth. He’d never hurt you. You trust Bucky more than anyone else, but the show of brute strength has you clenching Bucky’s cock in a vice grip. It’s one of the hottest things he’s done and that’s a long list. Bucky groans against your chest. His hand is splayed right next to your head and one hand reaches down to his cock as he leans up. He has to squeeze the base so he’s not cumming prematurely.

“Do you think I can lather your chest in hickies in peace? You can’t avoid it. You know? You're gonna get them either way.” Tendrils from his messy bun fall from his hair as he stares down lovingly at you. You raise your chest as you try to take him deeper.

“S-sorry.” Bucky is the epitome of heart eyes as you stutter. You have to literally wait for you to calm down before either of you can move.

He sweeps sweaty tendrils off your temple before cupping your cheek. You’re in love with the feel of his calloused fingertips against your soft skin. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m totally going to make you do that again.” He pets your cheek adoringly as you huff.

“Will you- FUCK.” He cuts off your complaint halfway through as he pulls out and thrusts deep inside you.

“Huh, what was that? Too busy on my cock for a coherent sentence?” Bucky leans his hand back on the counter near your head and you hold onto his forearm. You stretch out your neck. He continues thrusting as he clicks his tongue. “What a good whore.” He places his free hand on your neck. Not pressing down or anything. Just stroking your hummingbird pulse under his thumb. You swallow as the ghost of the airy light feeling creeps into the synapses of your brain. Without a word, your free hand lays over Bucky’s hand wrapped around your throat and squeeze. Bucky groans when he gets the memo.

“Please.” You whimper as his calloused fingertips press down on the sides of your throat. Your groan is long, welcoming the real feeling of floating like an old friend. Your eyes flutter shut.

“You know I was hoping I could fuck my girlfriend without choking her for once, but you’re too much of a slut for it. Aren’t you, baby?” He squeezes down just a bit harder. Your undulating pussy makes him restless. He stands again. Hand still around your neck as he licks the pads of his metal fingers, bringing them down to tease your clit. He circles the nub slowly. Small shocks of pleasure travel through your nerves. You can feel just a fraction of his weight against your neck. He knows what he’s doing. Leaning a bit into you.

“Y-yeah.” You sigh, breath hitching at his rough thrusts picking up. His cock hits sensitive depths within you. You can practically feel Bucky in your tummy. “L-love your… your- fuck- hands. Bucky, sweetheart, p-please touch me.” His fingers pick up speed against your clit. You smile lazily, happy he didn’t make you beg for it. Your glazed eyes open to stare at him heavy lidded, tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip. Bucky curses at the sight.

“My hands, huh? Is that what you were imagining? My hands wrapped around your throat as I make this pretty pussy cream?”

“D-don’t forget the… the… the…” Your brain is forgetting words as the spring in your abdomen starts to coil. The pressure on your throat loosens, but his hand doesn’t move. Both of your hands make sure his stay in place wrapped around his wrist and forearm.

“The knife. Right.” He scoffs out a laugh and grins. His own pace makes him catch his breath. “Getting stupid, baby?”

You nodd, tongue too heavy and head foggy. So fucking close.

“Why don’t you cum for me, pretty girl. Wanna feel this wet pussy cream around me.” He’s squeezing lightly again. “C’mon, don’t you wanna be a good girl.” He coos. You do. You do want to be a good girl.

And… the spring pops free. You cry out his name in between expletives. Your orgasm soaking his cock. Your ears ring and your feet arch. Bucky always manages to make you feel so euphoric during sex. Maybe he should put that on his resume. Bucky Barnes. Esteemed Avenger. Pussy destroyer.

“Such a fucking beautiful sight. You’re goddamn gorgeous.” Bucky praises as you come to. His thrusts pick up even more speed if that’s possible. You allow him to take his hand off your neck and he slides it down your chest. Temporarily, stopping at your breasts to roll a nipple in between his index and thumb. He stops to splay a hand at your tummy. “Baby girl. Sweetheart. Honey. Sweet ass. Will you please look down?”

You entertain Bucky and lean on your elbows to look down. Your cunt clenches Bucky’s cock in deeper at the sight. Both of you are at just the right angle for your lower tummy to bulge. When you were feeling his formidable cock in your stomach, he was literally in your lower tummy.

“This is what made you so fucking stupid. Look.” His palm rubs the pulsing bulge. “Made you forget sentences halfway through.” You cocky boyfriend pats the bulge before he’s grabbing both sides of your hips. Fingers indent the soft skin, jerking your hips to meet his cock.

With a mini orgasm sneaking up on you and making your pussy tremble, he only lasts a few more thrusts. Bucky’s Adam’s apple bobs in a groan. Fingernails digging little crescent shapes as his warmth scorches your insides. Seems like a heavy orgasm for him too. Better get comfortable.

You hook your finger into his chain and pull him down to kiss your bitten lips. His lips are so soft. You could kiss this man all day. However, He has other plans. He nips your bottom lip, sucking on it before he travels his kisses south. You know exactly where he’s going. You thought it was unusual to leave such few hickies. Sure enough, he stops at your breasts. He alternates between open mouth kisses and leaving marks.

“You know… we’re naked and our place is like five levels up.” He mumbles against your chest before licking at your sweat and sucking a hickey into your skin.

You hum, unwrapping his scrunchy and running your hand through his damp hair. He moans as you scratch his scalp. “You could wear your boxers. You think I can fit into your pants?”

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

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more hermit!tommy because @petrichormeraki ‘s au is just wonderful

part two of that war i started, why am I focusing on the dsmp characters, i barely know them aaaaaaaaa

had one friend who likes dsmp a lot to help me a little but they were really busy so it was only a little.

When the members from the smp looked up, distracted by the numerous flying hermits, Grian gave a flap of his wings, escaping from Techno’s hold. With another flap he was in the air, giving the hermits an opening to throw down a barrage of potions.

As they were moving, not all the potions hit their target, but even then, the harming potions did a fair amount of damage. In retaliation a few smp members used riptide tridents to get into the air and attack the hermits. They did enough damage to make the hermits retreat higher into the skies. They couldn’t be hit there, but it would be harder for them to send as many attacks.

Dream stared up at the figures obscured by the sun behind them. Maybe they would send some arrows down, but they were being too cautious. He smiled and called for the rest of those from the smp to advance. Any time the hermits tried to come closer to the ground, the smp members would start attacking. Even on unfamiliar ground they were winning, so Dream was sure they would get Tommy back.

Suddenly, two of the hermits swooped down from the skies, one of them crashing into about two buildings as they descended. Dream immediately ran towards them, knowing that after crashing like that, it would be an easy kill.

He ran into what seemed to be a main street, Techno close behind with Philza bringing up the rear. Seeing movement, Techno managed to grab one of the Hermits, they too wore a mask of Tommy, though it was cracked and dented. Dream joined Techno and was more focused on the person. “Ah, Scar was it? Masks don’t seem to be the best protection against crashing into everything you see, now is it?” Dream then yanked the mask off and crushed in under his foot. “We can kill you again, but it would be so much easier if you just hand Tommy over.”

“Well, uh, sorry to disappoint but he doesn’t really want to leave. Again, if you want to do the paperwork.” Scar tried speaking, but Techno stabbed him. Since he was wearing some armor this time, it wasn’t enough to kill him, but it of course still hurt.

“Nothing good comes out of government people like you.” Techno said gruffly. He nearly attacked again but Philza stopped him.

“Please. Tommy’s my son. You can’t keep him from me, from us. At least let us see him.”

Scar actually looked surprised by the words. “Wait, family? Does that mean-? No he would have- I mean I guess it would make sense. But your sons?” Philza paused, he was about to ask about the mention of sons, plural, but then Scar shook his head. “Well, again, paperwork and all that. I’d love to let you visit, but certain contracts have already been signed.

Philza’s blood went cold as the comment was followed by some mischievous giggles. He drew his sword and started looking everywhere he could. Dream and Techno were confused for a moment, likely not having heard what Phil had. “Vex.” was all he said and suddenly the other two were ready with their own weapons.

Behind them stood a hermit, also with a mask of Tommy, and he had wings on as well, but they didn’t look like elytra. Those were vex wings. Before any of the trio could react to this new foe, he simply gave a snap of his fingers and suddenly they were surrounded by vex.

While most of the chaos of the battle took place, Tubbo was pulled away by Fundy, both of them swimming deep underwater to escape the eyes in the sky. It only took a few doors to help them breathe before the two of them were sufficiently away from the battle. “Fundy, this is perfect! While everyone is fighting, we can go looking for Tommy.”

The fox looked unsure of himself. Of course he was going to be here when Dream asked, but this seemed like too much. Still, it’s not like he could easily back down right now. “Uh, yeah. In fact, I’ve got some inside info and I think I know where they’re hiding him. We just need to get to a nether portal.”

“Well there’s probably one in the middle of that island, right? So we should go back there?” Tubbo suggested, though Fundy shook his head.

“Everyone’s going to be there, so sneaking to Tommy and back would be hard. Besides, we’re right near some mesa and I’ll bet there’s a portal in there since it’s so close.”

Tubbo looked over at where they were swimming. “That doesn’t really look like a mesa.”

Fundy followed where Tubbo was looking and found he was right, the small islands next to them were obviously based in a mesa biome, but ahead of them there was a large landmass. It was half grass, and was that mycelium? Further on was a large first wall topped with green and purple blocks and words reading ‘turf war’. “Well, either way, I’m sure there will be a portal somewhere over there.

After a bit of searching, the pair did indeed find a nether portal, though it was on the other side of the dirt wall in what seemed to be a small town. Fundy was glad to see some signs with a familiar name on them nearby. He tried to pull Tubbo along, but it was a little hard with him being distracted by the area they have come through to. It was well decorated with Nether brick and warped wood, and hardly a block was out of place. “Oh god are they keeping him in here? Something this fancy must be a prison or something!”

“Calm down Tubbo, we’re right near the spawn nether. You saw their main island. Maybe it was really bad and they ended up deciding they had to make this.”

Tubbo didn’t look convinced, though Fundy’s excuse was weak in the first place, but instead of trying to argue, he just dragged Tubbo along a path.

By the time all the vex were fought off, the two Hermits that seemed to control them were gone. At the same time most of the smp group had caught up. While they were no longer in the water, they were now surrounded by buildings. And buildings meant cover from people with elytra.

They ducked into a large building surrounded by water, perfect for cover and for their riptide tridents. While most people focused on watching the skies and the exterior of the building, a few noticed the place was filled with chests. “Hey, check out the chests!” someone said and then more people noticed.

While most of it seemed to be junk, there were also chest labeled with golden carrots and netherite tools. Excitedly the chests were opened only to find them completely empty. Well, the golden carrots had a stack left and ten diamonds, but with most of the people here in netherite, it wasn’t much of a help.

Suddenly, hermits were showing up, coming from the ceiling. Only now did they realize that the roof of this place had a giant hole in the middle. And while before they were weakened without a chestplate, the hermits took their elytra off now that the battle was close quarters. While it was disappointing in some aspects, it was good in others as now it was more of a level playing field.

Dream stood back as he let the others fight for him. Someone placed a bed and they were mostly all able to set spawn points, though a few people like Ranboo and Quackity weren’t fast enough.

With Technoblade on their side, the smp was making quick work of the hermits, but it seemed like there was an endless supply. Each of them wore a mask of Tommy which frustrated Dream and the rest of his army, but it also disguised their opponents, making it hard to distinguish them from one another.

Eventually a hermit got to the middle and stole the bed the smp members were using. As soon as another bed was placed, it was broken. When they tried to kill the hermit, two more showed up to help with the chaos. It wasn’t long before there were no more beds to use and the hermits started whittling down the health of the smp army.

In a panic to heal, Sapnap dug down, then there was the familiar crunch of him finding a cave. While he died, there was a bit of yells and screaming from below. From that, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where all the hermits were coming from. “They’re under us!” Dream shouted and then everyone was headed down.

After the digging commenced, one hermit yelled out. “We’ve been rumbled! Call Zedaph!” Dream wondered just how one more hermit would be able to help.

As the army started to surround the hermits, he noticed none of them were fighting, they were just picking up all their supplies. “Don’t bother! There’s nowhere for you to run! Try to dig out and we’ll just catch up!” He cornered one of the hermits and pulled their mask off as he swung his sword down. But when the mask was removed, a nearly identical face was beneath it.

Dream hesitated just for a moment, surprised to see Tommy there. “Hey green boy. Miss me?” Tommy smirked up at Dream and then suddenly he was gone. Turning around, Dream found all the hermits were gone.

#hermit!tommy au #tommyinnit #dreamwastaken #goodtimeswithscar #convex #technoblade #philza #grian

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

Text

CONTINUED FROM!!

Nose is back to the Zhaang grindstone! @theboyfrommakapu let me borrow their tough little nut Mizuki, and as 2021 can and should be the year of Dad!Zhao (and Flame was instrumental in the effort ✨)...

—

Aang bent the cord around his finger, waiting, in much moroseness, for the line to answer.

“Chief Beifong speaking.” A soft chuckle peppered the other end. “Did you know I’ve started tapping into the wires? Copper, silver - they run all over the place, tingle a little when someone flips a switch. I can almost tell you’re nervous, Twinkle Toes. Quit fiddling with the cord.”

How did she...?

Nevermind. Toph’s abnormally dense interconnection with the world would prove useful another time.

“I...” Aang cut to brass tacks. “I lost him.”

“What?” -a creaking desk, then a stern officer folding over the cheeky old- “When? His bending’s diddly-squat in the surface world. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I know, I know. It was-”

“Don’t expect my men to find your prized fossil and return it to the Zei Museum. You’re the one who begged me to keep this under wraps.”

He squeezed in a smile, hoping to feign confidence. “I wouldn’t pain you with the paperwork, Toph. Besides, it’s out of our hands. Bumi’s handling it. Well, he worded it differently, but... he promised the search would be short. In the meantime, just - keep an eye out, will you?”

“Aang.” The voice turned from scratchy to uncomfortably firm, clear as if she were right behind him. “You said he wasn’t dangerous. Now you’ve got top-notch eel hounds on his scent.”

You had better expect a visit, were her last regards. The line snapped shut, leaving him with a limp cord and heavier phone than when he’d dailed.

Aang shifted, lips tightly pursed before the air was sucked out of him in a groan. “Monkey feathers...”

—

Trees.

For a handful of miles offshore where he’d dragged his weight off a humble boat, lower half caked, gritty, and buried to the soles in sand - trees.

It was a relief.

The city was a noose. Like he could sense its tailspin out of trajectory as the safe haven of the world risen from the four nations… now a reeking, hot swamp.

Not of smell - of lost souls. The indebted, distressed, heartbroken, restless. Even a switch sent ripples. He heard enough from his own mind.

Climbing over a rock as the wind rustled and sun warmed his hands (oh, how the sun felt on his skin) Zhao found his urgency suddenly depleted. He was well inland, well surrounded to muffle the thick of civilization.

The sun’s touch grew cooler by the time he sorted out the dissonance; someone had been weeping - the lights were too bright - traffic had blared and their shrieking carried over. It was a noise he expected to see printed in the… called the… newspaper, if Zhao could be so bothered.

He finally stirred when a faint ringing sharpened to a painful, yet balanced point - smoothed to exude an artful control. In the whirlwind settled one thought:

Fire.

He fumbled out of the way (apparently so inert that a mistaken frog squirrel scampered off his chest) just as an arrow planted in his sleeve.

Zhao yanked it out on the third tug. Before his senses were aligned he was sprinting for cover, because if nothing kicked in, training did - the fletching provided the revered accuracy and spin of the fire swan… to the extent of his years, found nowhere else.

If only training brokered with his physical state and found some hidden reservoir of adrenaline. Compared to feet gracing the treetops and sailing within range in seconds, he was a leaf trying to escape a stone. His shoes dunked in creek water, turned nonsense corners to bewilder the immovable upon him. Arrows plunged in Zhao’s trail - the first one hadn’t pierced him.

It could have, easily.

So, at least one person in the world preferred him alive-

The denounced admiral lost his head start; his ears pricked at the ripping of a seam before his back lodged to a tree. “No—!” He was their pin cushion before he could recognize the grate of bark.

A group of less than dozen descended from the canopy, their focus as deathly still as Zhao was forced to hold - nocked like the bow, even now. Then the leader swung down in front of him, ten steps short of her squad.

Lithe. Tightly bound hair. Unsettlingly familiar eyes.

“Pathetic. No wonder you were the last candidate for the Natural Leadership Award.” The what? “It went to Admiral Tung - he couldn’t start a fire without his hands.”

He must have stared in a way that made their distance transparent. Her frown aged her, too much.

“What’s the blue smear on your forehead?”

No answer. The archer struck him over the temple, hard; the resulting darkness wasn’t as merciful as to be dreamless.

—

… Two hours before the commander made landfall, he served (against his will) as a conduit for the last ten decades, lobes picked clean.

The encampment was secluded, scattered in the trees with stuffed straw rooted in rows. Arrows that had pierced already split targets, embers in the dark where game was strung over pits. Somewhere over the treetops was the crash of indolent waves.

Zhao would have made his peace with the circumstances if it weren’t for the rope affixing him to a tent’s post and the incessant girl.

An ambush squad; the leader seemed to be convinced Zhao was so ancient that he hailed from Szeto’s time. Or she was mocking him. At this point, he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t as well-preserved as the Avatar led him to believe. The Spirit World reject’s head pounded. How was he tracked this far?

“Were you eligible for the land grants after Minister Szeto’s relief fund was exceeded by thousands of ban? Did you move to the islands? Do you have family there still?”

“I’ve never-”

Her brows settled knowingly. “Ah, so you were one of the needy who joined the warring clans to survive. Did Szeto show you mercy? Did he use Firelord Yosor’s stamp and feed your hungry for months?”

“No! I was-”

“You’ve never stood in his presence?”

“I haven’t, I don’t plan to, and unless you have some sort of incentive I’ll resist throwing myself at the Avatar’s feet and begging him to contact his however-many-past-lives so you’ll shut your mouth.”

“Ai,” her lip twitched, “Grandfather Zuko did that already. Szeto was busy tallying entries in the spirit world on his famous abacus. Did you know? It was carved from-”

“I did not!” He snapped, and until his thoughts caught up with him, Zhao was just short of fuming. He heard it then - and balked.

“G… Grandfather?” His eyes flickered, the weight of the crown steeping the room like a tea prepared with lead. The archer blinked innocently, folded forward on her stoop. “Who are you?” Zhao demanded.

“I think you know.” She stood up, stretching idly. He was no threat - not to the Yuyan, not to a princess. “You talk in your sleep. Almost confessed to putting thorns in Uncle Aang’s shoes. Other than that, dragons, Firelords… my father. How do you know so much?” The archer muttered to the side, “and so little…”

Maybe he should run from the island more often. Next time he could shake hands with the president. “I didn’t- wasn’t aware… you were…”

But he did see things, didn’t he? For the same reason he’d fled the city, and the Avatar’s tour of the park backfired before he could point out his favorite birds in the trees.

Zhao, at least, could figure where he’d seen those eyes.

The same boy who reached out when he could have let him fall - the same old man who’d tried to guide him from a spiraling path. Wise in ways the all-powerful Firelord was not. Strangely, his lips moved on their own.

“He does care.” Zhao’s arms were chafed and mosquitos had taken to vintage blood like a honeypot - what did he care, for one? “You don’t have to believe me. I’m not the Knowledge Spirit - now that one was a pain in the ass - but you heard it from me, and I know what I know. He… is fond. Of you.”

Finally… a moment of quiet. Though it pressed like a blunt tip to his pulse.

Her resemblance wasn’t striking, not in the sense of royalty Zhao had known. The girl’s hair was lighter, her features sharp to a gentler fault - and no one capable of the royals’ level of skill would choose a bow over raw fists.

“Who?” The princess’s voice turned severe.

The bygone soldier blinked. “I think you know.”

She looked affronted, or twice as curious - stormed from the tent with the blazing corona of esteem and shaken pride dimming like her steps. The Yuyan were rumored to be silent as the spirits… Suppose some things made you mortal, made inescapably of flesh and burden.

Ages had passed since Zhao was in such a presence. He’d forgotten the family of condensed sunlight - forgotten his mission and how low he bowed at their feet.

He almost unconsciously straightened when she re-entered later with ease, a mask pinned tightly over the face that beamed in recitation of Szeto’s legacy. What’s wrong? Zhao wanted to mouth (before recoiling at his own instinct).

A tall, middle-aged man bolstered by boots and a shining coat ducked in suit. Instead of lowering a distasteful greeting on a lowly captive, he cracked a wide smile. “Got your steps in?”

“I haven’t seen Dad in such knots to find someone since Kya lost her lop-eared bunny. Hell-raisers,” he chuckled, “what can you do but keep an eye on them?”

The princess’s eyes narrowed, twin points tensed on a bowstring by themselves. Zhao swallowed.

“Uh… your daughter - was good company.”

Commander, Firelord - he acted like neither! - slid his hands in his pockets as men brushed past, hauling Zhao off his legs as blood rushed to receive him. A sideways wink was his answer, and while it baffled the Yuyan’s catch of the day, it bounced right off his child. How couldn’t she know she was adored? The commander gave off delight in overwhelming, sunny waves.

The Avatar’s son?

… Made sense.

Zhao’s hand slipped from under the soldiers’ hold, motioning with his fingers; a short goodbye, if anything. The young archer didn’t so much as glance over.

To think he’d set out to find quiet… He wanted to seek out the loudest voice he’d met since.

#HAI FINALLY I HOPE YOU LIKE!!!! (apologies in advance if i quash her character in all its riches)#(mizuki my beloved)#your local clown writes!#zhaang #mizuki #flamehotman of my heart ❤️‍🔥

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i-am-a-reader-fear-me · 3 years

Text

A Percabeth AU where they keep their relationship secret in fear of what their parents might think. (Warning: this goes over both PJO and HoO so it's very long):

The beginning of TLT goes as it should but after Percy is claimed, Annabeth is suddenly meaner and colder.

He remembers the Poseidon/Athena rivalry but doesn't see why they have to hate each other bcuz of their parents.

But Annabeth doesnt relent.

They still go on the quest together bcuz "you are so going to fail without a daughter of Athena."

But they still argue a lot and give poor Grover a satyr migraine.

When they have that bonding moment on the truck, Percy thinks maybe they're sorta friends, but Annabeth proves that wrong later by calling him a "Seaweed Brain" bcuz he's so stupid.

Percy fires back with "Wise Girl" but Annabeth seems to take that as more of a compliment than an insult.

(He doesn't stop calling her that tho)

After Luke betrays Percy, Annabeth's the one that found him after the dryads and she drags him to the infirmary but completely denies caring about him afterwards.

By SoM, Percy is so done with this and goes over to her asking if they could be friends.

Annabeth, who actually would like to be his friend, agrees with reluctancy, saying, "We have to keep it a secret though, or who knows what our parents might do."

Percy agrees.

Grover knows they're friends now cuz of the empathy link, but doesn't say anything.

In TTC, when Annabeth falls off the cliff, he blames himself more than ever, bcuz if they hadn't been fake arguing she might not have been distracted and fallen.

Thalia blames him even more too, and he has to keep his cover and can't tell her he knows it's all his fault.

Nico asks if Annabeth is Percy's girlfriend.

He says no, but he has a funny feeling in his heart.

He goes to the attic to ask the Oracle about Annabeth.

It doesn't answer.

When he thinks Artemis is about to ask Annabeth to join the Hunters, he knows he has to tell her something, even if it meant blowing their cover.

He breathes a sigh of relief when Artemis asks Thalia, and Annabeth is waiting for him to talk with narrowed eyes as if trying to figure out what he wants to say.

He chokes. (~Like doesn't say his feelings, not actually choke lol~)

In BotL, they are totally going out on a secret unofficial movie date but ofc the fiasco with Kelli at Goode happens.

Annabeth gets really jealous when Rachel appears. (Especially since Rachel has more opportunity to go out with Percy bcuz Annabeth and Percy have to pretend to hate each other.)

Percy, ofc, does not realize why in Hades she's acting like she really hates him even though they're in private.

At camp, they're playing Capture the Flag when they stumble on an entrance to the Labyrinth.

They go down to hide from monsters and end up stuck.

It's so dark Annabeth grabs his hand to keep from being separating. (~this is canon, they were holding hands I checked~)

When they find their way back out, it appears almost an hour had gone by when they were sure they were down for a couple minutes.

The campers were searching for the two of them and are immediately suspicious when they find the two alone. Together.

But they forget about that when Clarisse comes and asks about the "hole" they fell into and Annabeth suggests they continue talking in private.

It is then that Annabeth, Percy, Grover, and Tyson go on their quest.

When Annabeth and Percy reach Mount St. Helens they are quickly found out.

Percy tells Annabeth to escape saying he has a plan. (He really doesn't)

She kisses him. (~whaaaaaaaat~)

When she leaves, Percy apparently decides to cause a volcano to erupt. (~ya he doez~)

He lands on Ogygia, while Annabeth, thinking he is dead, goes back to camp, alone.

When she returns, they ask where Percy, Grover, and Tyson are but she refuses to say anything.

They realize what happened.

They have a burning of the shroud ceremony where she doesn't say anything, sitting, her face emotionless, but her heart in turmoil as she listens to Chiron.

That's when Percy crashes the funeral.

Annabeth is outraged.

She pretends it's because "THE WHOLE QUEST IS BEING HELD UP BECAUSE OF YOU! AND WHAT WERE YOU DOING, ENJOYING A VACATION AT PARADISE ISLAND?!?!"

It's really because she was head over heels with worry and grief (while he's off with sOmE imMorTal gOdDeSs) but she can't let anyone know that.

She is certainly not happy when Rachel joins their quest.

(Percy still doesn't get it.)

Before TLO, they are playing Capture the Flag, and the two are on opposite sides. (~in The Demigod Files, the story they find Festus for the first time in~)

Annabeth and Silena capture Percy and Beckendorf and the boys suffer an utter loss. (Were the myrmekes part of the plan? They'll never know.)

Beckendorf and Silena totally know they like each other no matter how much Percy and Annabeth fake it and try to get one of them to ask each other to the Independence Day firework show.

Annabeth does end up asking Percy and they watch the fireworks secretly next to the woods so no one sees them.

They hold hands or something else just as cute idk.

In TLO, when the Battle of Manhattan starts, everyone is surprised when Annabeth let's Percy take the lead.

When she takes the blade for Percy she says it was bcuz "I didn't know it was him!"

"So you would take a blade for anyone if it wasn't Percy?"

"...yes."

But by this time everyone secretly ships Percabeth so no one questions it.

After the war, Percy gives up immortality mostly for her but only those two know it. (And maybe Grover).

Annabeth asks him to meet her in the woods and when he does, she brings him a lumpy blue-colored cake which Tyson helped make. (Bcuz of course Tyson knows that they're secretly friends but Grover told him not to tell anyone).

They kiss, duh.

But then a monster comes out from the woods and they don't want to fight it after they just had a war so they run.

They end up by the lake and Percy pulls Annabeth in to get away from the monster.

Cue best underwater kiss ever.

They date in secret for two months but Percy's mom knows.

When Percy goes missing, Annabeth freaks.

She searches for him everywhere and if anyone asks why she's searching so hard for someone she doesn't even like, she just replies, "He probably just disappeared bcuz it's his turn to do the camp chores and I will not let him slack off," or "Who else am I supposed to use for target practice???"

(None of the campers who'd been in the Titan war buy it.)

In SoN, the only thing Percy remembers is Annabeth, but for some reason, he has this instinct to not tell anyone about her so he doesn't.

In MoA she still judo flips him and acts all mad (which she is) but he still laughs it off and says all sarcastic, "Oh, did the smartass daughter of Athena miss me?"

But he missed her too.

When they go to eat lunch Annabeth and Percy excuse themselves to "go to the bathroom" but they really snuck off to have their own private reunion.

"I missed you so much, Seaweed Brain. Don't ever disappear like that again."

"I'm sorry, Wise Girl. I missed you too."

*kissing*

Later, when Annabeth and Percy sneak off to the Pegasi stables on the Argo II and sleep next to each other.

Frank finds them.

They swear they didn't do anything and threaten Frank into silence.

He can never look at them the same way again though.

When Annabeth has to get the Athena Parthenos, Percy paces the deck of the Argo but says he's not worried about a daughter of Athena.

When she finally gets the statue, he goes down to meet her but she trips and falls into the Pit.

He catches her, but now he's hanging on a ledge.

"Percy, let me go. You can't pull us both up." She whispers, knowing they're too low for the others to hear.

"We're staying together. You're not getting away from me. Never again." He whispers back.

"As long as we're together."

At least in Tartarus, they don't have to pretend they don't absolutely, utterly love each other.

In Blood of Olympus, Percy, Annabeth, and Piper are walking underground to the monster's base in the Parthenon when they see a trident mark in the ground.

Annabeth says it's the place where Poseidon struck the ground.

At this point, Percy turns to Piper and asks, "Can you keep a secret?"

Piper nods.

That's when Percy kisses Annabeth.

When he pulls away, he says, "This is where the rivalry ends….for us, at least."

Piper acts surprised but on the inside she is rAGING bcuz now Leo owes her ten bucks but she can't tell him.

After the Giant war they consider telling their friends, but they're not sure…

Idk how to end this just keep going

Sort of a bonus:

The Hephaestus and Athena cabins worked together to make everyone monster-proof phones (which also correct their dyslexia) and Annabeth and Percy use them all the time to text each other and no one knows.

Jason asks Percy to come to a cafe with some of the others, and Annabeth and Percy are texting the whole time.

Their convo goes something like this:

'hey Annabeth, me, Jason, Frank and some of the others r going to that cafe on 31st street'

'*Jason, Frank, some of the others and I' 'Really? Piper, Hazel, and I are going there too. They mentioned Jason, Frank, and Leo might be there, but not you.'

'weird, they didn't say anything about u either' 'hey wait a sec, Jason's texting on some gc called Operation Get Them Together' 'the other guys' phones r ringing everytime he sends something…'

'What? Operation Get Them Together???'

'yeah'

'....'

'what'

'Oh no.'

'what??? Annabeth????'

'They're trying to set us up.'

'wdym set us up'

'I MEAN, they're TRYING to get us TO GET TOGETHER'

'huh?'

'THEY WANT US TO GO OUT PERCY! YOU KNOW, TO BE A COUPLE???'

'ok okkk u don't have to yell'

'🤦‍♀️'

'so what do we do'

'I think we should go along with it.'

'wait hold on, Jason's asking me who im texting'

'Wait, tell him it's your girlfriend. Just to screw with them.'

'haha yes ur a genius'

'I know.'

Percy tells Jason that he is texting his girlfriend, to which Jason replies by "What?!" and frantically starts typing on the group chat to tell everyone that 'YOU GUYS PERCY SAYS HE HAS A GF ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION!!!'

To which Piper is the first to reply, saying, 'Nah, trust me, keep going with it'

At this point, they reach the cafe, and the boys and girls meet up at a table.

Annabeth, immediately going into acting mode, says, "What is he doing here?"

Percy fires back with a scowl and says, "You didn't tell me she was going to be here. I'm leaving."

Jason stops him tho

Percy and Annabeth sit down at the table, but everyone is still standing.

Piper and Hazel say they have to go to the bathroom and leave.

Jason and Leo say they're going to go order (even tho it's a sit down with a menu and order type of cafe???)

Everyone seems to have some kind of excuse to leave until Percy and Annabeth are left alone.

The two pull out their phones again.

'Seriously? This is their plan? Say we're all going out to eat and then leave the two of us alone?'

'ig' 'what do we do now'

'I don't know.' They're probably spying on us…'

'um is that Reyna, Hazel, and Calypso in the bushes with mud and green war paint on their faces?'

Reyna, Hazel, and Calypso were indeed hiding in the bushes (with binoculars) with mud and green war paint on their faces.

'Wtf?? How'd they do that so fast???' 'And is that Leo and Piper holding newspapers with eyeholes cut through???'

'lol yea...then that eagle flying above us is prolly Frank'

'Jason is hiding in the clouds to your six.'

'where r Nico and Will?'

'I think that's them making out in the bushes.'

'lmaoo im so gonna tease them for that' 'so what do we do now Wise Girl'

'...' 'Follow my lead.'

'k'

Annabeth puts away her phone and stands up.

Percy follows her lead.

She says, "We know you guys are there, just come out. It's not going to work. And we see you too, Nico and Will."

The other demigods come out of their hiding spots (the two who had been called out looking especially sheepish).

"Why not?" Piper says, knowing perfectly well why not.

Percy looks between Annabeth and Piper, and seems to come to a decision.

"Because," he says and goes over to Annabeth and kisses her, "we're already together."

The responses were very diverse.

"What?!"

"I knew it!"

"Leo! My ten bucks. Now."

"Yeah, I walked in on them sleeping together…"

"So we did all this for nothing???"

"Wait, did you say sleeping together?"

They arguing stops as two flashes of light almost blind everyone and two gods appear.

Poseidon and Athena.

For several seconds, the two gods just stare at Percy and Annabeth (who are now holding hands just bcuz)

Then, finally, after what seemed and EXCRUCIATINGLY long time, Poseidon turns to Athena and says:

"I was right, you were wrong, I was RIGHT, you were WRONG, I WAS RIGHT, YOU WERE WRONG, YOU OWE ME FIFTY DRACHMAS BIRD BRAIN"

This was not the reaction the demigods was expecting if you couldn't tell

Athena just scowls and makes a pouch filled with drachmas appear, and throws it at Poseidon.

Poseidon catches it, bringing out what appears to be a phone and starts calling someone.

Athena goes over to Percy and Annabeth.

She looks mad, and Annabeth tries to let go of Percy's hand, panicking, trying to think of a lie, but Percy doesn't let go.

"My daughter is the smartest and best of my children, and as much as I don't approve of this, if she chose you, sea-spawn, she must have a good reason. But if you step one foot out of line, I will have you punished, understood?"

Athena addresses this to Percy, who nods fearfully.

"Good."

Suddenly there are a bunch more flashes of light as more gods appear bcuz apparently, Poseidon wanted everyone to see that he was right and Athena was wrong.

Ofc chaos ensues.

But Percy and Annabeth are still holding hands and look at each other and feel overwhelmingly happy for the first time in a long time because now they don't have to keep their relationship a secret anymore.

THE END~

WTF HAVE I WRITTEN.

68 notes · View notes

obxfics · 4 years

Text

The Lines We Cross

summary: you are topper’s brother and just happen to be secretly dating JJ when the truth gets out, and things get ugly

pairing: JJ Maybank x male!reader

word count: 5,076 (this one really... it really got away from me lmao)

requested by: @ueomega

a/n: so this is a really, really long fic and i hope it’s good! i honestly dont know how it got this long lmao but it was requested weeks ago so hopefully this makes up for the wait!

Being a Kook definitely had its perks. Got to go the best schools, nice vacations, could basically buy anything you could ever want with Daddy’s money, and, most importantly, you had options others didn’t when it came to your future. On the flip side, there were also certain expectations that came with all the perks. For instance, you were expected to be well behaved, to do nothing that could reflect badly on the family, and you needed to be smart, or at least smart enough and accomplished enough to get into the best schools Daddy could pay for. And for you, specifically, to be absolutely perfect.You were known on Kildare Island for the longest time as Topper’s twin brother, his built in competition. As the two eldest sons, much was expected of you, but only one could come out on top as the golden child. And for the longest time, everyone thought it was you. Your father was certainly looking to groom you as the future heir to his company. And then you entered eighth grade. Topper found some pictures hidden under your bed and discovered your biggest secret: you liked boys. It wasn’t long after that until your parents found out, and suddenly you weren’t treated like the successful son you were. Your mother took over the job of looking after you, and your father in turn focused on grooming your brother for the role you were supposed to have. According to your mother, this sort of thing getting out could be detrimental for the company if you were allowed to take over. Having a gay son wasn’t bad, but having that gay son become the CEO? Unheard of.

So, you were to be perfect. Who would be upset at the sweet gay kid who shut his mouth? The one who didn’t stir shit up? So you kept as low a profile as you could. You hung around Topper and Rafe, accompanied girls to their debutante balls, and any relationships you had were either with other perfect Kooks or low profile hookups. Everyone learned to turn a blind eye at any parties at the Boneyard if they saw you standing maybe a bit too close to some handsome tourist. Relationships were hard to come by, and you never hooked up with someone from the Cut.

That is, until you did. It was at some party at the Boneyard, a kegger some of the Pogues were throwing, and you arrived with Sarah Cameron instead of your brother. While she had broken up with Topper, you still liked to spend some time with her. Gave you a break from having to act so perfect all the time. She led you towards the booze, her arms wrapped around your waist with your arm slung over her shoulder. None of the other Kooks you ran with where around yet, so you felt more relaxed than you had in months. She had helped you get ready, convincing you to keep your shirt unbuttoned to entice any cute guys at the party, and you had to admit, you were having a pretty good time. That is, until your eyes met those of JJ Maybank over by the keg.

It wasn’t that you hated the blonde, but you didn’t necessarily like him. You heard Topper complain about the boy enough times to know that you should steer clear of him. He was bad news. After all, wasn’t he always getting into fights with your friends? But he was best friend’s with John B, and Sarah was with John B, so you couldn’t really avoid him for much longer. So you allowed her to tug you over to the two boys who were serving the drinks. At least you’d be getting alcohol. JJ mentioned something about you being Topper’s better half, causing you to roll your eyes and down the drink he gave you. You were supposed to be the golden child, the one that caused people to remember Topper as your brother, but your parents had stolen that from you.

You didn’t really remember much more about that night, but you did remember the end. You and JJ had ended up getting into a heated argument towards the edge of the party, and others began leaving. Eventually there was no one around you when the whole thing came to a head; JJ grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you. To say you were shocked was an understatement. Before that, you had heard JJ would sometimes pick up male tourists, but you never even suspected he would ever go for a Kook like you, but there he was, kissing you like he was an addict and you were his next hit. What you two did later that night in the Volkswagen he’d borrowed from John B was supposed to be a one time thing. Until a week later when he appeared at your window and dragged you to a secluded part of the beach to have a repeat. And then a few days later when you showed up at the Yacht Club where he worked and tugged him into a storage closet. Then suddenly you were just talking and going on picnics until the both of you realized you weren’t just hooking up. You were dating. It was immediately agreed that it should be kept a secret; if it got out that you were dating a Pogue, your reputation, and that of your family’s, would take a hit, and JJ was known to hate Kooks. He couldn’t be seen having feelings for you. This worked for the two of for just over a month before you started getting sloppy.

One day you were spending the afternoon with Sarah, laughing as you lounged on her family’s boat. She had somehow convinced her dad to let her take it out with you, and it seemed like you had the entire intercostal to yourselves. You let out a contented sigh and stretched out your limbs like a cat in the sun. You glanced over when Sarah suddenly gasped.

“What is it?” you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows to properly look at her.

“Oh my god, when did you get those?” She reached out to touch your chest. You looked down to see love bites littering your torso. “When did you find someone to hook up with?”

“I, uh, it’s no big deal,” you tried to brush off her questions. “Just some dude I’ve been hooking up with from the next town over.”

“Wait, the same guy? For how long?”

“Sarah, it really isn’t that big of a deal. I’ve gone through most of the dudes here, and I’m bored of seducing tourists, so having a booty call half an hour away is the easiest thing.”

“Sounds pretty tedious, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly have a deep pool of potential lays, do I, Sarah?”She sighed and nodded, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “You’re right. I’m sorry for pressing. I just wish your family didn’t put this pressure on you to be so perfect. You should be happy.”

“They let me be out,” you tried to defend your parents.

“On certain conditions, y/n. You can no longer have the job you deserve, you can’t date anyone who isn’t a Kook, and they won’t even let you really be proud of who you are. You need to stay reserved, a respectable gay man, not gay teenager having fun.”

You shrugged. “It is what it is, Sarah. We can’t all rebel against our families.”

Oh but you wished you could. As you helped Sarah get ready for her date with John B, you wished you could be the type to rebel against your family. You longed to hold hands with JJ in public and kiss him whenever you wanted to, but you knew it wasn’t just about you. What about JJ? You never knew where he stood with possibly going public one day.

“What are you gonna do while I’m gone?” Sarah asked as you handed her a purse.

“I do have a life outside of you,” you laughed. “Maybe I’ll hit up my boy for a booty call.”

“Be safe!” she called over her shoulder with a smile.

“You as well, Miss Cameron! Tell your boy to keep his hands to himself or I’ll kick his ass!”

She threw her head back and cackled. “Because John B will believe that. Besides, we both know I’m the one with the wandering hands.”

You shook your head and checked your phone for any texts from JJ. Bingo. With John B and Sarah going for their date, JJ had the Chateau to himself, and he was inviting you over for some fun. You couldn’t keep the grin from your face as you climbed into your car and made your way to the Cut. You made sure to park a few streets over so none of the Pogues would see your car parked out front of John B’s and walked the rest of the way. By the time you stepped foot on the porch of the Chateau, you were covered in a light sheen of sweat. You spotted your boyfriend messing around in the kitchen and walked up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist.

“Glad you finally decided to show up,” he laughed, turning his head to look at you.

“Mm, I had to finish up with my tourist booty call,” you teased, rubbing your nose against his. “I’ve missed you.”

He turned in your hold and slid his fingers into your hair, smirking when your eyes fluttered shut. You felt his lips on yours, slow and sweet at first. It was nice, but you hadn’t seen him in nearly a week. You didn’t want slow and sweet. He groaned when you tugged him closer to you and deepened the kiss, your tongue slipping into his open mouth. His hands slid under your shirt to caress your chest. You separated just long enough to rip your shirt from your body and throw it over your shoulder, watching with hungry eyes as JJ did the same with his. Then you were attacking his neck, sucking and nipping at his throat before soothing the bites with your tongue. A smirk twitched at your lips when you heard the pants escaping from JJ, his head thrown back as he allowed you to mark up his beautiful skin. The both of you were so caught up in each other, his hands moving towards your belt, that neither of you heard the screen door creak open.

“What the fuck?” That you did hear.

You two sprang apart, lips swollen and chests heaving with the effort it took to catch your breath, and your eyes fell upon Sarah and John B. It was John B who had spoken. He seemed the most surprised out of the two of them. Sarah just looked at you with sad eyes. She understood what you were going through; she, after all, had attempted to keep her relationship with John B a secret too at the beginning. She knew the trouble that would follow if anyone found out.

“That… we, uh, we can explain,” JJ rasped, clearly trying to think of some lie, although he knew it was useless. How the hell was he going to explain why he and some Kook were practically grinding against each other in his best friend’s kitchen? He sighed and reached out to take your hand. “We’re together.”

Panic filled you when you saw the look on John B’s face. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t going to tell anyone was he? Sarah must have noticed the look on your face.

“You two should talk,” she suggested to the two Pogues. “y/n, why don’t you come with me?”

You quickly pressed a kiss to JJ’s temple before taking Sarah’s hand and following her out of the Chateau. She squeezed your hand as you walked towards where you parked your car.

“So… how long have you and JJ been together?” she asked.

“Um, a little more than a month. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We just… my parents… you know.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” she reassured you. “You know I understand better than anyone hiding a relationship with a Pogue.”

“What if everyone finds out?” you whispered.

“How would you feel if they did?”

“I… I hate all this hiding. And… I don’t care what my parents think. I would stay with JJ. I love him.”

“Everything will work out, I promise. Let’s get you home.”

Meanwhile, at the Chateau, a much different discussion was playing out. JJ, sick of keeping everything a secret, had agreed to invite Pope and Kie over to tell them everything, and he sat looking at his best friends after it was all laid out.

“So you… and Topper’s brother?” Kie broke the silence. “And it’s like an actual relationship?”

“Yeah.”

“JJ, you know we support you and love you no matter what,” John B said, “but… you can’t be with him?”

“What? Why?”

“Why?! Are you out of your mind? He’s Topper’s brother! The only one worse than Topper is Rafe!”

“He’s nothing like his brother!”

“JJ, being with him is dangerous,” Pope agreed. “Rafe and Topper almost killed John B for seeing Sarah. Everyone knows y/n was the favorite son. Hell, he probably still is, even with all the drama about him being passed over or some shit.”

“Exactly. He was the golden child. The whole Figure Eight will be out for you.”

“This is ridiculous,” JJ sighed. “What are your thoughts on this, Kie?”

“I… I knew y/n, at school when Sarah and I were first friends. He liked to hang around with us, even crash our sleepovers, but we never minded. I saw what he went through. He still carried around the hurt about being cast aside, about being second to his brother, about having to pretend to be someone he’s not. He’s a good guy, and JJ’s right. He’s nothing like Topper.” JJ was about to thank her when she said, “But I also know that Pope and John B are right. His family will never stand for this relationship, and from what I know about him, he won’t risk disappointing them. If it comes down to it, he’ll throw you aside to stay in their good graces.”

“That’s not true!” JJ couldn’t help but feel betrayed by both his friends and his feelings. Doubt crept into his heart and clouded his mind. Would you really not hesitate to leave him behind? His mom didn’t. “That’s not true… he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t do that.”

A sob escaped him when Kie wrapped an around his shoulder. John B placed his hands on his best friend’s thighs while Pope rubbed JJ’s back.

“The best thing, I think, is for you to just end it now before anyone else finds out,” John B suggested. “That way you can protect him from his family finding out, and you can protect yourself from him leaving you.”

You spent the whole night worrying. Every single time your brother got a text from one of your friends, you were terrified it was about you and JJ. You weren’t even sure how they would find out because it wasn’t like John B was going to send Topper a text like, “Hey did u hear ur brother is hooking up w my best friend?” But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. Finally you got a text from JJ asking you to meet him in your backyard. You made sure everyone was asleep before sneaking outside.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a shy smile, “how did your talk with John B go?”

“It was… good. I told Pope and Kie about us.”

“And?”

“y/n,” he sighed, making your stomach clench unpleasantly. “We need to talk.”

“Did they… did they say anything?” You saw his jaw clench and how his eyes couldn’t meet yours. “What did they say? If they disapprove because I’m a guy—“

“Of course they wouldn’t disapprove because of that! My friends love and accept me the way I am!”

“So they do disapprove of me.”

“They… they had some important things to say.”

“Like what?” you whispered, afraid of what he would say next. “What did they say to you, JJ?”

“Nothing I hadn’t already thought myself. And they were right. What would have happened if it had been your brother who had seen us? He would have told your parents, or given you some ultimatum, right?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“And you would have gone along with what he said.”

“How can you say that?” You tried to hold back tears as you felt your heart break. “You know I love you. How can you say that I would just submit to my family?”

“Because that’s why we kept this thing between us a secret! Because you’re ashamed to be with someone like me! It would ruin your stellar reputation!”

You stood there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, and stared at JJ. You schooled your face into your Kook persona, looking at him with cold eyes.

“So that’s it, then?” you asked cooly. “We’re just… over because you want to listen to your friends over your own boyfriend?”

“Are you really going to say you would do something different?”

“Well what would be the point? You’ve already made up your mind. Nothing I say will change what you’ve decided to believe, so why waste my breath?”

Tears seemed to fill JJ’s eyes. “You’re not going to even fight for us?”

“Did you?”

“y/n?” you heard your brother’s tired voice call from the balcony that overlooked the yard. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing. Maybank was just leaving.”

You turned your back on JJ and hurried inside, waiting until the door shut before you broke down in tears. You could hear Topper stumble down the stairs and freeze when he saw you crying at the bottom.

“I—are you okay?”

“Just peachy.”

He sighed and sat down next to you on the bottom step. The two of you, despite being twins, were never particularly good at the whole supportive sibling thing. You cared for each other, but after your parents pit the two of you against each other since birth, it was hard to be particularly close. In this moment, however, Topper hesitated only a moment before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and bringing you close, allowing you to sob into his shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s happening between you and Maybank… but… I’m sorry. It didn’t look like you guys were making up.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Gonna tell Mom and Dad I was sneaking around with some guy from the Cut?”

“No. What good would that do? They would just get pissed and push you farther away. What’s the point in having them hate their favorite son more?”

“I’m not the favorite. Not anymore.”

“Well… neither am I.”

The two of you sat together for what seemed like hours, not really needing to speak to offer comfort to each other. Your parents ruined your sibling bond before it could really start, and you knew your brother could be an absolute asshole, but there was a sort of understanding between you now. You both had been broken by the constant pressure and judgement of your parents, and neither of you would ever good enough. Not anymore.

When you woke up the next morning, you felt like shit. You were supposed to meet Sarah for brunch at her place, but you didn’t want to tell her that JJ had broken up with you. She’d ask why, and you didn’t want to have to say it was because her boyfriend and friends got it into JJ’s head that you were going to abandon him. So you stayed in bed, curled up under your duvet with your phone turned off. You didn’t want to deal with anyone. You should have known your best friend would not stay away when she realized you weren’t reading her texts. You groaned when your bedroom door opened, Topper giving you an apologetic look before Sarah barreled in.

“Sorry, bro, she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ll just… leave you two alone.”

You glared at Sarah from underneath the mound of pillows you had created to snuggle with. Why was she ruining your pity party?

“What the hell is going on? Why haven’t you been reading my texts? We were supposed to have brunch!”

“Ugh, tone it down, Cameron. I’m clearly not in the best of moods.”

“Is this because John B found out yesterday about you and—“

“Do not fucking say his name,” you growled, your heart twisting at the thought of JJ. “I don’t want to talk about that Pogue ever again.”

“Whoa, okay, what is going on? Seriously, talk to me.”

You sniffled as you felt another round of tears coming. “Last night, he came here. And… and he broke up with me.”

“What? Why?”

Sarah slid under the covers beside you and wrapped her arms around your trembling figure, drawing you close so you could rest your head on her chest.

“Talk to me, honey. What happened?” she whispered in your hair.

“I don’t know. He was talking about some shit like if Topper found out, I would leave him to make my family happy. He didn’t even ask me. He just… said it like it was fact.”

“Did he mention anything from his talk with John B?”

“Just that they told him some important things.”

“Oh, I’ll kill that boy,” she snarled.

“No, Sarah, please don’t make a big deal of it! Please, I just… I just want to forget all about this.”

“Can you really move on so quickly?”

“…It fucking hurts,” you whimpered. “I thought what we had… it was special. I wanted to keep it secret so the people here wouldn’t fucking ruin it. But I guess we already did that ourselves.”

Sarah didn’t say anything else, just let you cry it all out in her arms. She would occasionally kiss your hair and stroked your back, trying her best to get you to feel better at all, but she knew this would take time. You were heartbroken. There was no quick fix to this. Except maybe…

A few days later, you looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. In a weird twist that no one saw coming, Sarah and Topper had taken it upon themselves to throw a huge party for the Figure Eight at the Yacht Club. You weren’t exactly sure of the theme, but Topper instructed you to wear the clothes he had set out for you, and so you stared at your reflection all dress up in slacks, button down shirt, suspenders, and the scuffed up Vans you decided on over the dress shoes Topper wanted you to wear. You hadn’t been in the mood for a party until Sarah told you with a wink that this would be the perfect time to get laid and forget your heartbreak. Probably not the healthiest way to cope with a breakup, but it sure beat getting blackout drunk and waking up with the world’s worst hangover.

“Yo, you ready?”

You looked over your shoulder at your brother and shrugged. You weren’t even sure why they had decided to plan this party, and you weren’t in the proper headspace to start the process of understanding how the fuck they had agreed to work together.

“Still can’t believe you and Sarah are throwing me a pity party.”

“It’s not a pity party. It’s a ‘y/n needs to get laid and stop moping’ party,” Topper grinned. “Come on, let’s get you to the club, shall we?”

With a heavy sigh, you followed your brother out of the house to his car. You weren’t sure what the official story for the party was, but you assumed it was not ‘hey let’s get y/n laid’ because you were sure your parents wouldn’t think that was good for the family’s reputation. How the hell were you supposed to pick up some dude if your parents were right there? Obviously Topper and Sarah had overlooked some things, but it just seemed like getting drunk was the move.

“You are seriously not about to make a beeline to the bar,” Sarah intercepted you. “You literally just got here.”

“Damn it, Sarah, I’m dealing with heartbreak here. Show some sympathy.”

“I’m not letting you get wasted in front of your parents.”

You watched as she snagged a bottle of champagne from the bar and motioned to the club with her head. She led you into the locker room and opened the bottle with a loud ‘pop!’ causing the two of you to giggle.

“Sorry about the party.”

“Sarah, it’s barely started,” you laughed. “Nothing really to apologize for yet.”

“Yeah but it was my idea. I thought it would help you.”

“Just having you by my side helps.”

“I yelled at John B.”

“Well why would you go and do something like that?”

“He deserved it. He came clean about what all the Pogues said to JJ. They all felt terrible because JJ looked awful. Like probably as bad as you.”

“I look stunning,” you grumbled before taking a long swig of the champagne. “But what did they think was gonna happen?”

“They’re all idiots. Even Kie. But I set them straight about you.”

“Ah, so they think I’m just some helpless Kook who only does what Mommy and Daddy tell me to do.”

“Once upon a time you might have been.”

“Then they decided that because of my sexuality I didn’t deserve to be an important part of the family. I was immediately relegated to the disappointment. And for what? For them to continue to control my life like I matter to them?” You took another sip of the alcohol. “I would have done anything for JJ. Even defy my family. They’ve already decided I’m no good, so what did it matter if I dated him? What difference would that even make.”

Sarah rubbed your back and took back the bottle of champagne. She stood up and offered you a hand.

“Let’s go dance and get shit-faced.”

You grinned and took her hand. “Hell yeah, Sarah Cameron.”

As you walked back out to join the party, you eyes fell on a familiar head of golden hair. What the hell was he doing here? You could see your parents notice him, and then security was headed his way. Shit. Against your better judgement, you hurried outside.

“What’s going on?” you asked, causing your parents and JJ to look at you.

“A party crasher,” your mother told you, looking at your ex-boyfriend with a look of contempt. “No doubt trying to steal some of our expensive alcohol.”

You caught sight of the Pogues hovering at the edge of the party. Seriously, what the fuck was going on?

“y/n, I came here to talk to you,” JJ said as he desperately struggled against security’s tight grip on him.

“And so you decided to crash a party? Honestly, what was your thought process here?”

“I… I,” his voice cracked as his eyes flashed to your parents. He looked at you as if asking for permission. A chill ran down your spine when you realized he was asking for permission to talk about your relationship in front of your parents. Intrigued, you nodded.

“What is going on here?” your father asked, cutting JJ off before he could even utter another sound. “Do you know this…” His lip curled as he looked over the boy you loved. “Do you know him, y/n?”

“Please, y/n, I’m sorry,” JJ whispered. “I shouldn’t have just jumped to conclusions. I should have just talked to you.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

“My friends are a bunch of idiots who don’t even know you… but… they want to. Get to know you. Without bias.”

“What are you—“

“I was a mess after the other night. I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t sleep and… I looked like shit.” His eyes met yours, and you were taken aback by the emotion in them. “I realized my life fucking sucks without you.”

You took a step towards him and asked, “Why?”

“Because I love you.”

The breath caught in your throat as your parents yelled at security to drag JJ away. He’d never said that to you before, and looking into his eyes… you knew he was telling the truth.

“Wait, let him go!” you demanded.

“y/n, what are you doing?” your father barked, his hand wrapping around your arm to keep you in place. “You cannot possibly be thinking about reciprocating this… this lowlife’s confession! Remember what we talked about.”

Suddenly Topper was coming between you two, causing your father to drop you. You could see the absolute surprise cross your father’s face. Never before had either of his sons stood up to him. Your brother gave you a nod. His permission, even if you didn’t need it. You hurried to catch up to security, who were close to throwing JJ off the premises.

“Wait! This is my party, and I say he can stay,” you told them, standing firmly in their way. “Let him go.”

The two guards looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Probably didn’t want to get caught up in some teenage drama, so they dropped JJ and backed away. You helped him up and placed your hands on his shoulders.

“Did you mean it?”

He looked deep in your eyes and nodded. Tears filled your eyes, and he was quick to brush any that fell away.

“I’m sorry that I’m such an asshole,” he whispered. “I’m not good with emotions and abandonment… I should never have accused you of all that stuff. Obviously I was wrong.”

“You are an asshole… but you’re mine. And I love you for it.”

Then, with the cheers of Sarah and the Pogues in the background, he pulled you in for a kiss. You knew for sure you were crossing a line with your parents, but at that time you couldn’t really find it in yourself to care. You were way too focused on the beautiful boy you loved. The beautiful boy who loved you back.

#outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks imagine #outer banks x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #obx #obx netflix #obx imagine #obx x reader #male reader #jj maybank x male reader

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littlelovelyspiderling · 4 years

Text

Legacy

haha oops again, anon request was too good to pass up

After a string of losses, Zuko is acting uncharacteristically dejected. Iroh employs one of Ursa’s old methods to reanimate his despondent nephew.

word count: 3,006

__________________________

Zuko hadn’t been right for over three days now. After losing his entire naval crew, then being betrayed by Azula, then letting the avatar escape him in the outskirts of the Earth Kingdom, the young prince had transformed from his usual fiery, driven self into a spiritless husk. It didn’t help that they were basically living as refugees, scrounging for food and shelter in the woods surrounding a collection of tiny Earth Kingdom villages.

It wasn’t like his nephew to get discouraged. And in the few instances he had, it had never lasted this long. Even when met with the bleakest odds, Zuko always found a way to power through, to hold out hope, sometimes to an unhealthy degree.

Now, Iroh was amazed to find himself actually missing his nephew’s rage-fueled rants and outbursts. He had years of practice navigating Zuko’s temper: an angry Zuko was something he could handle. Plus, in expressing his frustrations, Zuko was at least being passionate about something.

But a hopeless Zuko? An idle, dejected, not-eating-or-moving-for-days Zuko? That was not Iroh’s area of expertise. When he ducked into their cave hideout to find his nephew lying in the exact same position he’d left him in over two hours ago, Iroh sighed.

“Prince Zuko,” he said, placing his foraging findings beside the teen’s head. “You are worrying me.”

Zuko didn’t respond other than a slight shift in his shoulders. Iroh sat next to him and leaned against the wall of the cave, the rock cool against his back.

“I know times are difficult for us right now—more than they have ever been. But you cannot give into despair. Your destiny is in your own hands now. Whether you choose to continue searching for the avatar or to pursue a different path, I will do whatever I can to support you.”

When Zuko still didn’t answer, Iroh laid his hand on his shoulder. The teen tensed beneath his touch.

“Why should I even try anymore?” he said, voice small. Iroh ran his thumb along his back in comforting circles.

“What do you mean?” he pried, encouraged by the fact that he was at least speaking.

Zuko hunched his shoulders. “I’ll never capture the avatar. Not like this. It’s over. I’m going to live out the rest of my life as a banished failure hated by my entire country.” A shudder ran through him. “I’m never going home. I’ll never win Father’s love back.”

Iroh knew this wasn’t the time to boast of his brother’s cruel nature and confirm Zuko’s greatest fears. He placed his hand on his nephew’s head. His hair was thin but soft; it was finally beginning to grow back after he’d cut it. Zuko hadn’t had a full head of hair since his father had scorched his face, burning off much of his hairline with it. The area around his scar was still patchy in places, but not in a way that was too noticeable. His new look was quite becoming of him. Under different circumstances, Zuko could easily win the hearts of an entire town of pining adolescents, maybe even find someone to settle down with. But that seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

“That’s not true,” Iroh insisted. “None of it is. You can still find the avatar and reclaim your honor.”

Zuko sat up suddenly, turning on him with desolation in his eyes. “How, Uncle? Look at us! No ship, no crew, no transport of any kind.” He swatted the pile of berries across the room. “Scavenging for food like animals. We’re enemies of every nation at this point. There’s nowhere for us to go where we won’t be imprisoned or executed. How can we hope to find the avatar like this, let alone capture him?”

Before Iroh could attempt to summon a reply, Zuko dropped his face into his hands, shaking his head. “It’s pointless, Uncle. I can’t do it anymore.”

Iroh gazed upon his nephew with a deep ache in his chest. It cut him up inside to see the boy he loved as his own look so miserable. He wished he had the words to make everything better, but none existed. He leaned forward and gripped both of Zuko’s forearms.

“And you don’t have to, if that is your choice. But don’t choose this path because you are giving up, Prince Zuko. Choose it because you want to carve out a new destiny for yourself. A fresh start in life.”

Zuko released his face and stared at the ground, eyes foggy with defeat. He wrenched out of his uncle’s hold and laid back on the floor, curling his knees to his chest, balling his hands under his head. Iroh exhaled despondently, stroking his beard as he probed his mind for a solution to this predicament.

While he observed Zuko’s pouty silhouette, a memory resurfaced in the back of his mind. A grassy hillside on Ember Island, young Lu Ten by his side, griping about some fight he’d had with another boy at school. Iroh scooping his son into his arms and tickling his belly until everything that was troubling him had washed away in a flood of happy laughter.

Then another memory, this one after Lu Ten had left to fight in the war, with Iroh soon to follow him. It was his last day in the Fire Nation before shipping out to Ba Sing Se. As he was taking in the royal courtyard one last time, he spotted Zuko and Ursa sitting together by the turtle duck pond. Zuko was young, probably about eight or nine, and looked upset about something. Iroh considered going over to try to cheer him up, but Ursa had it under control. After talking gently to him for a few more moments, she dragged Zuko into her lap and pulled up his shirt, blowing a giant raspberry into his tummy before he could even register what was happening. His shrieky, hysterical laughter had warmed his heart, making him eager to be at his own son’s side again.

How he longed to return to those days. How he longed for Zuko to experience that kind of happiness again.

Iroh blinked and found himself back in the cave. Back with the berries and the darkness and his now older, grumpier nephew. The warmth in his heart shriveled away. How could that joyful little kid and the broken teenager in front of him be one and the same? He couldn’t recall the last time Zuko had laughed authentically. He couldn’t even remember what his laugh sounded like.

I wonder if that tactic still works on him. The thought was bittersweet, but also incredibly endearing. It wasn’t entirely out of the question, he realized. Maybe he’d never grown out of it.

Iroh found himself smiling at the idea—half out of curiosity, and half out of mischief. It wasn’t like he had any other means of lifting his spirits at the moment. Why not give it a try?

“I’m afraid I do not have a way to fix your situation, Prince Zuko,” Iroh said, scooting closer to his side. “But I may be able to temporarily brighten your mood.”

Zuko huffed. “I don’t want any tea, Uncle.”

“Not tea,” Iroh chuckled. His nephew knew him too well. “Not right now, at least.”

He felt unsure suddenly, like he was about to breach some unspoken social contract. But the possibility of cheering up his downtrodden nephew was too tempting to dismiss. By now, he was desperate to get his old Zuko back.

So Iroh reached out and gave Zuko’s side a few experimental squeezes. The response was immediate and frenzied. The teen jolted and yelped, jerking away from Iroh’s touch and whirling on him with bulging eyes.

“Hey! W-what are you doing?” Zuko stammered. A hint of pink bloomed in the apples of his cheeks.

Delight sparkled across his uncle’s expression. “Ah! So it does still work!” Grinning fiendishly, he curled his hands into claws and pounced on the young prince, making him gasp in surprise.

“Uncle! What’re you trying to—wha!” To his disbelief, Iroh wrapped his hands around his torso and started tickling his belly, pinching at his sides and kneading underneath his ribs. The sensation was so unexpected, a smile sprawled across Zuko’s face faster than he could stop it, followed by an enormous wall of laughter. It bubbled up his throat and poured from his lips, shrill and squeaky and uncontrollable, making his blush deepen.

“Ahahack! Whaha—s-stohahap! Iroh!” He grappled with his wrists and kicked his legs, but his uncle wasn’t messing around. He loomed over his nephew, using his superior weight to keep the lanky teen trapped underneath him—and helpless to defend himself against the surprise tickle attack. Although Iroh’s technique was diabolical, his expression was warm and cheerful as Zuko’s laughter filled the cave.

“Aw! Look at you, Prince Zuko! I can’t remember the last time you were this happy!”

Zuko thrashed and squirmed, giggling hysterically, smiling from ear to ear. “Quihihit it!” he cackled, tugging on his arms. “Thihis isn’t—I’m nahat—ehahaha—h-hahappy!”

“Are you sure about that? You look pretty happy to me!” He switched to targeting his ribs, recalling them to be a particularly sensitive area on the young prince. His memory held true as Zuko threw his head back, pealing into loud, high-pitched belly laughs.

“Ahahahuhuncle!” he squealed, wrestling uselessly against his hold. His adorable giggling coupled with the gigantic smile on his bright pink face formed a combo too cute for words. Watching him in that moment reminded Iroh just how young the banished prince truly was. It was easy to forget that the scarred, powerful fire bender he called his nephew was still only a kid. He wondered why he hadn’t tested this out on him sooner.

“I never expected tickling to be so effective on you, Prince Zuko,” Iroh observed amusedly. “You better hope no one else finds out. Someone could use it against you!”

At that point, Zuko was beyond flustered. Embarrassment radiated off him in sizzling waves. He, Prince Zuko, royal heir of the Fire Nation and son of the Fire Lord, was collapsed on the ground in a giggly heap, being tickled to tears by his uncle like a helpless little child. Even worse, Uncle was teasing him about it! And there was nothing he could do to stop him. Zuko’s fire was fueled by constant rage and steady breathing, neither of which he could maintain in his current state of hysterical laughing. His brain didn’t seem capable of recalling any aspects of his many years of martial arts training while occupied by the feeling of Iroh’s fingers drilling into his rib cage. Plus, it wasn’t like he wanted to actually hurt his uncle. Just get him off so he could escape this unbelievably mortifying situation.

Zuko arched his spine, desperately trying to buck Uncle’s weight off so he could slip out from underneath him, but it was no use. To his horror, Iroh’s hands shot under Zuko’s arms and began wiggling against the hollows, making him yelp and sputter. His laughter jumped to an octave that surprised both of them.

“GAHA—nohohahaha!” Zuko bellowed. He knocked Iroh’s hands aside and managed to roll onto his stomach, but Iroh caught him by the waist and dragged him into his lap, wrecking his tummy with tickles. Try as he might, Zuko couldn’t wriggle free or pry away the fingers endlessly needling his belly.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Iroh asked playfully, his hands darting all over his midsection, ticking every inch of his sensitive torso. “I’m not done with you! You haven’t smiled this much in years! I haven’t gotten my fill yet!”

Iroh seized one of Zuko’s wrists and held it above his head, then used his free arm to pin him down and tickle the entirety of his now defenseless left side. His fingers scuttled along his rib cage and burrowed deep into his exposed armpit, sending shocks through Zuko’s entire nervous system and making him cackle. It was a cruel trick Uncle used to pull against him as a child that, unfortunately for him, proved just as effective today as it did then. The harder he fought to escape, the crueler Iroh’s tickle tactics became.

“Ahahagh! Stahahahap!” Zuko laughed, his frenzied squirming only driving him further into Iroh’s lap. “Uhuncle! Pleehease! Hahahahahaaa!”

By now, poor Zuko was falling to giggly pieces. Hiccups began punctuating his happy laughter. He’d never been tickled this viciously for this long, and therefore had never realized the severity of his sensitivity until now. How was it that he could suffer through burns and battle wounds and fatigue with steely perseverance, but barely handle two minutes of tickling? He doubted he would ever live this day down.

Who knew his uncle could be so silly and so merciless at the same time?

Iroh smiled at his nephew’s flustered pleas. If he was actually resorting to asking politely, he must’ve been desperate for the torture to end. “I’ll only stop if you promise to start taking care of yourself again,” Iroh said. He dug his thumb into Zuko’s hip bone, causing him to buck and flounder. “And don’t just say it—mean it, and act on it.”

“Ohokahay!” Zuko giggled, yanking at the hand spidering across his tummy. “Ihi prahamise!”

Iroh soaked in his nephew’s bright laughter and radiant smile for a few more precious seconds. Then, with evil glee, he pulled up his shirt and leaned over his stomach, blowing a gigantic raspberry directly into his bare belly.

The sound that jumped from Zuko’s throat was less like a laugh and more like a shriek. He thrashed out of Iroh’s lap and rolled onto the ground, scrambling backwards until his back hit the wall, panting heavily.

Iroh chuckled at his nephew’s frantic response, clutching his large belly. “I’m happy to see Ursa’s secret weapon still works on you. Even at sixteen.”

Zuko hugged himself around the middle, blushing from head to toe, knees tucked against his chest, eyes wide. “W-what on earth was that for?” he stammered bewilderedly, voice shrill. “You can’t just—just do that to me!”

“Why not?” Iroh inquired.

“Because—” Zuko bristled. “Because I’m the prince! And I—I forbid it!”

“You forbid me from tickling you?” Iroh snorted. “All right. Good luck enforcing that.”

Zuko scowled at his feet. “I’m not a child anymore. You can’t treat me like one.”

“Then don’t act like one,” Iroh retorted, standing upright. “You’ve pouted in the dark long enough, Prince Zuko. Now it’s time to face your destiny and show the world the beautiful person you’ve become.”

When Zuko didn’t reply, Iroh gave his side a quick jab, making him recoil with a sharp giggle.

“Hehey!” Zuko protested.

“Besides, I’m a prince too, you know. And I say I get to tickle you whenever I please, especially when you’re needlessly beating yourself down. And since you believe you’re going to be a refugee for the rest of your life, not a prince, my word supersedes yours.”

Zuko burned inside and out. His skin still tingled all over, buzzing with phantom sensations of Iroh’s wiggly fingertips. He was too humiliated by the entire situation to figure out how to deal with it.

Uncle could sense the teen’s bashfulness and grinned sympathetically. “Come now, Prince Zuko. There’s no need to be embarrassed. Your laughter is quite adorable.”

Heat rushed up his neck and into his ears. He grimaced shyly, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re telling me that your mood isn’t the slightest bit improved after all that smiling and laughing?”

“No,” Zuko growled. Never in a million years would he admit that being tickled by his dumb, goofy uncle cheered him up in any way. He’d never let himself or anyone else believe for one second that it felt kinda nice to laugh authentically for the first time in what seemed like decades. It definitely didn’t remind him of his mother’s warm, uplifting presence, or solidify the fact that Uncle Iroh loved him as his own and wanted to see him happy. It was a stupid, childish thing he never wanted to acknowledge ever again.

Iroh grinned wryly, stepping closer. “Really? Not even a little bit?”

He reached toward him suddenly, making Zuko flinch and giggle reflexively. His hands stopped a few inches back without making contact, his fingers simply wiggling in his nephew’s direction, but that was more than enough to set off Zuko’s nerves and make him squirm with anticipation.

“Stohop it!” Zuko demanded, shrinking into himself and laughing sheepishly.

“Stop what? I’m not even touching you!” Iroh couldn’t get enough of it—seeing his historically grouchy nephew so smiley and giggly. He would most definitely be exploiting Zuko’s ticklishness again in the future. At that moment, he spotted a vulnerability in Zuko’s defenses and made quick work of it, tasering his side with his index finger. Zuko yelped and flailed and flew to his feet.

“Ehenough, Uncle!” he shouted, biting back another wave of giggles. He stomped toward the mouth of the cave, hands balled into fists. “I’m going to find us some real food—not some stupid berries that are probably poisonous.”

Iroh smiled at the sight of his nephew on his feet again. The fire had finally returned to his eyes. The truth was obvious, even if neither of them ever said it out loud: Iroh’s mischievous plan had worked.

“Wonderful!” Uncle exclaimed, fishing a kettle out of his bag. “I’ll make us some lovely ginseng tea to share once you are back.”

Zuko huffed and stalked into the forest, blush continuously burning in his cheeks. No matter how humiliating all this was, at least he knew if he was ever reduced to a hopeless wreck again, Iroh had a way to snap him out of it. At least he’d learned he wasn’t completely incapable of laughter and happiness, even after everything he’d gone through—a realization that had taken him thoroughly by surprise. Mom would’ve been happy to know Iroh was here, carrying on her playful legacy.

#ticklish!zuko #tickle fic #zuko #atla #atla tickle fic #atla ticking #avatar #avatar tickle fic #iroh #the last airbender #avatar fic #atla fic #avatar tickling #sfw tickle fic #sfw tickling #uncle iroh

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romiithebirdie · 3 years

Text

From the Furthest Tether: Part Four

Sirens wailed through the streets, upturned cars and shattered glass from broken windows littered the pavements of many quiet areas all over Japan. Criminals, petty and major, ran amok with little care of the panicked civilians around them.

Watching from a temporary stronghold, one of the main members of Shigaraki's minions, Dabi, was nursing a scorched arm while biting back a hiss of pain at the back of his throat. Their resident blood-sucking ally, Himiko Toga was still missing while Spinner and Shigaraki had left on an "important" mission of some kind…

A loud scream of terror erupted from outside and Dabi's lips twisted into a gleeful smirk at the sound of complete despair.

With the glorious choir of the uprising below them, the eldest Todoroki child could barely contain his joy and excitement to witness the corrupt hero society's slow decline into becoming nothing more than an absolute failure to the public...

"They did what?" Toshinori yelled, slamming his hands across the desk of Principal Nedzu. The fluffy school principal cocked his head to the side, button-like eyes blinking up at the tall male like he'd just beamed into the room from thin air.

"Tartarus was breached, All Might. Getting angry won't do any good-"

"That bastard is free!" The retired Pro spat angrily, not caring that his dominating voice was currently causing the small creature's ears to twitch and lower, almost as if it physically hurt Nedzu with each bellow.

Did the Principal not see how dangerous the situation was becoming?

Everybody got to see the devastating power that All for One wielded back at the Kamino Ward incident and now he was walking free with Nana Shimura's grandson after leaving a pile of dead bodies and thousands of criminals to run rampant through the facility.

The majority of heroes were sparse at this moment in time...Endeavor was heavily injured, Eraserhead had survived after severing his own leg and losing an eye in battle. Not to mention the many heroes that had died in battle which included Nemuri Kayama, whom was known by the public as the R-Rated Hero: Midnight.

Present Mic had barely left Eraserhead's side in his hospital ward, many young heroes-in-training had been injured or mentally scarred during the battle. Toshinori didn't even want to think about the damage that Gran Torino had sustained alongside Young Bakugou and Young Midoriya…

Toshinori's knuckles trembled with the tightness that he was clenching them and his own fury at the trauma and loss that had occurred during Tomura Shigaraki's discovery and subsequent-awakening which had led to the utter devastation of Jaku City.

Bakugou had attempted to burst into Midoriya's private ward while he was unconscious while furiously screaming nonsensical phrases. Whether they were aimed at his classmates, the staff or even Midoriya himself, Toshinori had no clue. Thankfully with the help of the aforementioned medical staff and Bakugou's classmates, they were able to wrangle the explosive teen back into his own bed. Non-too-quietly, of course and Toshinori soon found himself wincing at the stream of curses that had spewed out of Bakugou's mouth as he was dragged back to his own room.

Bakugou's temper was nothing compared to the tear-soaked face of Inko Midoriya who had cornered Toshinori during one of his many visits while Izuku was still in a coma. If he had to be completely honest with himself, the fact that the woman had said barely anything to him was more painful than being physically struck. It was something that she had looked tempted to do when he had walked into Izuku's ward, her self-restraint was something truly amazing to the retired hero.

"The doctor told me that the surgeons did the best they could for Izuku," the woman had told him, voice tight as if she was struggling to keep it steady. The elder Midoriya looked on the verge of breaking down the second her eyes had drifted towards Izuku's bed, her eyes landing on the slow motion of her son's broken breathing movements and his bandaged body.

Toshinori remembered the way the mother had seized hold of her cardigan before tearing her gaze away from both the mentor and student, "Can you imagine returning home from an errand to two police officers knocking at your door?"

Jade eyes bore into icy-blue, "Then having them sit you down and explain that my son; a child," she emphasised, digging her fingers harder into the material, "involved in the raid at Jaku City? Children, All Might."

"Mrs Midoriya-"

"I thought my baby had died, All Might," the ferocity in her eyes and tone instantly faded into nothing as her shoulders slumped, body deflating like the wind had been completely knocked out of her. For one split second, her fierce instinct to protect her son was akin to a lioness defending her cubs however, it quickly shifted into an exhausted woman who looked like she needed comforting from the entire world.

Frankly, Toshinori had no idea how to respond to that. At this moment in time, what could he even say to make the woman feel better?

"You don't have to say anything," she had whispered, before gathering her handbag and moving away from Izuku's bedside. "Right now, there isn't anything else that I can say either."

For Toshinori, even thinking back to that scene several days later made his stomach drop like a feeling of a heavy weight crushing his body. If Izuku's mother had screamed her head off and made a huge scene, he could have dealt with that easily.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, he had to watch her slowly lose her stoic composure over the sight of her son who had almost lost his life in a battle that he shouldn't have been a part of in the first place. That was the most painful part. Knowing how broken the woman was and not having a clue on how to try and reach out. Did he even have a right to try…?

Also, did she even know about Izuku's jaunt up to the rooftop the other night? Toshinori wagered strongly that the boy probably wanted to keep it a secret…

And who's fault is that?

Toshinori squeezed his eyes shut, his gaunt cheeks clenched tightly as he let out a small, shaky exhale from his nostrils. Sometimes, he really hated his own mind…

"A PHONE CALL IS HERE. A PHONE CALL IS HERE!"

"Uh, All Might…"

Oh, right. Nedzu. He'd forgotten about his fluffy little boss sitting across the room…

"Sorry," Toshinori winced, reaching into his trouser pocket, "is it alright to take this? It may be-"

YOU ARE GETTING A CALL FROM: YOUNG MIDORIYA

"-Young Midoriya?"

"Didn't you just finish speaking with the lad not long ago?" Nedzu piped up, only to be ignored by the golden-haired male. Had something else happened? Toshinori hoped not…

"Hello?"

"All Might, I've just seen the news!"

"The...news?" he repeated dumbly.

"Shigaraki broke into Tartarus," Midoriya stressed from the other side of the line.

The sound of sheets shuffling snapped Toshinori back into the world of living and he found himself frowning. "Young man, you best be staying in that bed."

Midoriya muttered something about trying to get comfortable before speaking up again, "They said thousands of villains were able to escape the island, All Might," his voice suddenly grew quiet. "What are we...What's going to happen now?"

Without Endeavor and the other injured heroes, went unsaid.

"My boy…"

"Shigaraki wanted One for All, All Might. What if he targets another city again?"

Izuku didn’t even try to mask the worry in his voice.

"He won't."

Not for a moment, at least. For now, Tomura Shigaraki would most likely stay hidden and lick his wounds like the previous encounters before. Even if this wasn't the case, Toshinori would die before letting any of those evil bastards anywhere near his successor again.

"But… What about Eri?"

Wait.

What?

"I don't understand what you're trying to say, Young Midoriya."

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it.

"Eri's Quirk. It's got the power to rewind anything, right?"

"I think I'm following you..."

"Couldn't that also possibly work on healing all of All for One's injuries?"

Toshinori's grip tightened on the phone, "Stay in your bed. I'm coming over now."

#bnha fanfiction #ao3 bnha #izuku midoriya #dad for one #my hero academia fanfiction #tomura shigaraki #dadmight #my writing

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Broken Wings

By all rights, the scars shouldn’t have existed in the first place. Ace x Marco

Ace first noticed the mark before he was Whitebeard’s son. Or, more accurately, before he knew he was one of his sons. Back when everyone who was not named Portgas D. Ace had already accepted that he was a part of the family, and was just being difficult at this point.

Ace had a lot of hiding places on the ship. He’d found at least a dozen in the week he’d been their captive, small slates that could be safely removed and revealed enough space for a young man to squeeze in, storage rooms that were barely used, and one particular closet that housed the spare sails. He could hide away all day, until his stomach demanded that he steal food or he had a new plan to try and take the old man’s head.

Frustratingly, no matter where he went, Marco could always find him. Was he a phoenix or a freaking bloodhound?

Ace had hoped that his latest hiding place would remedy that.

After all, who would look in their own window seat for a captive?

Ace muffled a snicker at his own cleverness and settled against the wood, safe behind the curtains that Marco kept drawn. Ace wasn’t sure why Marco had the box with the window in it, which gave the best view of the seas. The window’s even had a latch, unlike anything Ace had seen on a ship before. Most rooms only had a porthole, if that, and they definitely didn’t open.

The young man was very smug, settled in and waiting. Let Marco find him now!

Ace woke up from that thought sometimes around sunset, the narcoleptic attack ending as quick as it came. He looked out, watching the sun burn across the horizon as it sank into the waves. Orange melted down in the water, molten fire. Ace breathed in the dying warmth, drawing it into his veins.

The door opened with a soft clock, so minute Ace almost missed it. He stiffened, barely daring breath. Had Marco found him?

Even if he had, it wasn’t like Ace had gone snooping through his things. He’d just sat himself in the window and taken an unwilling nap. He hadn’t gone through the carefully stacked manila folders, or pulled open the drawers in the desk. He hadn’t gone riffling through the closet, or even touched his sheets.

Ace waited a few minutes before he carefully parted the curtains, just enough to peak out.

Marco was facing away from him, dropping his lilac shirt into a hamper. He reached for the blue one he had already laid out, stretching the scar on his back.

It was bad, ugly, stretching from beneath the sash at his hips up to his shoulder blades and back. The cut that had made it was too jagged for it to have been done cleanly, or with any skill, and it was clearly done with the intent to hurt, mock.

Ace pulled his face back, suddenly sick with the feeling of intruding. He waited until Marco had left the room to sneak out, running off to hide somewhere else. He didn’t go back to the window box. He had already seen more than he was meant to.

~ ~ ~

The second time Ace saw it was at an onsen on a winter island that was under their protection. They had gone to celebrate Ace finally becoming Whitebeard’s son. It was a lavish affair, and after the party wound down everyone parted ways. Some went back to the ship, some went to see what the local girls thought of pirate boys. Ace decided to try the water out.

Now, he may not have always been the most strategic of thinkers, but Ace was, by no means, stupid. Impulsive, reckless, bullheaded even, but not stupid. So when he decided he wanted to soak in the hot water, he grabbed the nearest person to him, who happened to be Marco, and declared,

“Take a bath with me.”

To which he received a slightly more open eyed stare than usual. Marco went back to his sleepy expression a second later.

“No,” he said blandly. Ace frowned, about to argue, when he remembered the macabre decoration carved into his new brother’s back.

“Then watch me take one,” he countered instead. Marco stared at him again, until Ace realized his mistake. Face heating, he smacked the bird. “Not like that! If I fall asleep in the water, I’ll drown.”

“Then stay out of the water, yoi,” Marco reasoned. He hadn’t even flinched for Ace’s blow.

Ace made a face at the older pirate, face scrunched up like a bulldog trying to get a biscuit.

Marco snorted at him and the lines of his face eased into a softness that made Ace’s stomach curl delightfully around itself. He swallowed back a lump trying to form in his throat, eyes wider.

“Alright, alright,” Marco waved his hand. “I’ll make sure you don’t drown.”

Ace positively beamed at him. He threw an arm around his brother, dragging the taller man into him. To his credit Marco didn’t stumble, just leaned down at little to make up for the different in their height.

“You’re the best!” he told the phoenix, handing him the praise a few inches from his face. Marco, lackadaisy as ever, poked Ace’s hat a few inches higher.

“Just start walking, yoi.”

Ace did, his arm migrating from being looped around Marco’s neck to his arm. If Marco thought anything about how childish Ace was, he didn’t mention it.

Both of them had a room to themselves, but Ace went to his for the sake of actually knowing where that was. The rooms were already impressive enough, especially to someone who’d grown up the way Ace had, but more than the wide space or the fine paintings on the wall, more than the well stuffed cushions around the small table or the silk sheets over the mats, the baths were grand.

A hot spring, each expensive suite accompanied by one, bubble up from the ground with water that bordered on scalding. Rich minerals rolled through the stone with the water that filled the bath, big enough to hold five men, let alone two. A tree swung it’s low branches down near the water, causing ripples where it brushed. The whole thing was bordered with a powdery snow fall that hadn’t quite melted yet.

Ace stripped, shameless in front of another man, and tossed his clothes carelessly into the corner before he slipped into the water.

On anyone else it would have been too hot to simply jump into. For a man made out of fire, it was just warm enough to sink into his skin and feel pleasantly warm.

A soft, contented sigh escaped him. He hadn’t realized until then the kind of pressure he’d been under, constantly anxious, waiting for someone to get sick of him and attack. Constantly weary of where he was, who was around and what was in his food. Always truing to come up with a way to kill Whitebeard, even surrounded by a ship of people who kill and die for him.

Ace’s head lolled back. His chest caved in with the built up stress finally being released.

Long fingers slid into his hair, drawing dark eyes open to look up at Marco’s droopy eyed stare. A small tug and a soft ‘thump’ sounded behind his head.

“You still have your hat on,” he explained. Ace hummed and leaned into the fingers. It felt nice, being touched like that. Luffy had been all about physical contact, but there was something different between his little brother clinging to him at every opportunity and Marco taking the time to make sure he didn’t hurt his most valuable possession, some foreign in the gentle way his fingertips touched Ace’s scalp.

“Thanks,” he remembered his manners, at least. When Marco’s touched wandered from his head to his shoulders, to one of the arms Ace had stretched out on either side of him, he did nothing to stop it. Not even when his fingers found the familiar crossbones over the extra letter in his name.

Ace looked at Marco’s face, waiting for the inevitable question. A question that never came.

Marco pulled his hand back to himself, to Ace’s disappointment. On impulse, Ace grabbed it before it was out of reach.

Marco glanced at him.

“Yes? He prompted.

Ace paused. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Are you sure you don’t want in?” he asked again, fully expecting denial.

When Marco sighed and pulled his hand back to take off his shirt, Ace was stunned. He hadn’t actually expected for Marco to join him, but here he was, stripping down. Ace would be lying of he said he didn’t watch him, letting his eyes wander down the man's legs, up over his chest, and higher until he met a smug smile and dark eyes.

Ace’s face heated quickly and he looked away, sinking down in the water. Shit.

“Like what you see?” Marco teased, easing himself in across from Ace. The younger man didn’t miss the way he kept his back to him.

“Eat me,” Ace replied, eloquence personified.

Marco snorted and sunk in to his shoulders, tilting his head back and letting out a groan that had to be intentional. Ace decided then that Marco was a dick.

“I didn’t say it before, yoi,” Marco said some minute later, “But welcome home, brother. We’re glad you found us.”

Ace flushed warmly, a goofy smile spreading across his face. That same warmth curled in his stomach once more, Marco met his smile with a half one of his own.

“I’m glad I didn’t get a lucky shot in and kill the old- and kill Pops,” he tested the word, rolling it around in his mouth. His father. Ace hadn’t known how much he needed one until he had one, and now he didn’t think he could ever let go of the feeling of being someone’s son. Someone other that him.

Marco laughed, long and hard. Ace’s face only got hotter.

“You were never going to kill him, you know,” he said, without the mocking bite that Ace expected for trying to murder the strongest man in the world, on at least twenty seven different occasions. He sighed heavily.

“I do now!” Ace tilted his head back against the stone, slightly cooler than the water, and closed his eyes.

He woke up when he found himself being jostled, picked up out of the water and slung over Marco’s shoulder like he weighed nothing at all.

Dark eyes blinked a few times before they focussed on his butt, then quickly migrated to the scars mutilating his back. Ace swallowed a sudden wave of nausea and anger. They were even worse close up, horribly detailed in their depiction. It made his stomach roil with the desire to burn whoever had done it to ashes.

He pressed his face into Marco’s back, so he wouldn’t have to see, and wrapped his arms around his chest and an awkward hug. It drew a soft laugh from the man carrying him.

“Go back to sleep,” he advised for the first time, “I won’t let you drown.”

Ace had no doubt about that. He obeyed and closed his eyes.

~ ~ ~

Ace saw it again weeks later, though he didn’t ask about it.

When he ran his hands down Marco’s ribs and lay his lips across his chest, Marco let him push the shirt off. The fire in his veins roared to life and he tumbled into the bed, letting Marco roll them until he was hovering above Ace, kissing his hard. Ace thought he could drown like that, kissing Marco, grasping at his shoulders, sinking his nails into his arms.

They tumbled, pressed against each other, kicking up a ruckus that settled more than a few bets.

Ace found himself laid out of his back, grinning like mad at the ceiling. His head was hazy, his skin was steadily cooling even as Marco ran his palm across Ace’s stomach, reaching a small scar that slid between his ribs, barely an inch across.

Ace didn’t have to look to know the one his fingers had paused on.

“They took me by surprise, before I ate the fruit,” he said without prompting. “Probably the closest I’ve ever come to dying. And it’s tiny!”

“Right into your lung,” Marco agreed. His fingers moved on, to a slightly larger mark, much more faded, on his chest. He tapped it, drumming his fingers over the three slashes. “Feline?”

“Giant tiger,” Ace confirmed. “I was like, eleven? It looked smaller from in the tree…”

Marco laughed at him and leaned down to look him in the eyes. “How don’t you have more scars?”

“Luck? Stubbornness? I don’t have your healing factor,” he elbowed Marco playfully. Still, Marco had scars of his own. Worse than any of the ones Ace had ever seen before, and he’d seen some shit.

His thoughts must have showed on his face for some of the calm bliss Marco had been exuding dissipated. His smile faded, his sleepy eyes dimmed and he rolled, snatching his shirt off of the floor. Ace watched him, letting the horrible image on Marco’s back burn into his retina.

Ace could still picture it even after he’d dressed and walked out the door.

~ ~ ~

The fourth time, Ace couldn’t help it.

Marco had, for once, slept in. Ace had volunteered to go get him. He didn’t see anything wrong with it. He even knocked, softly, before he poked his head inside. There wasn’t much room for shame on a pirate ship. So Ace walked in, paused at the doorway, and stared.

Marco had fallen face first onto his bed and was out cold, his shoulders moving steadily with each breath. Up, down, up, down. His lilac shirt lay crumpled under his arms, his pants hung uselessly over the edge of the bed, leaving him in nothing save his boxers.

Green, Ace noted idly as he approached on soft feet.

He stood at Marco’s side, looking down his long body. As strong as he was, the man was light enough for most of them to lift with one hand. A side effect of being part bird, Ace figured.

The scars stretched across his back, before Ace’s eyes. It made him sick. His fingers itched, drawing to lay feather-light across the horrible fresco painted into Marco’s skin. He followed the curve that wrapped across his shoulder blades, down his ribs, to his lower back.

“Who hurt you?” he breath the question to the air.

“I haven’t always been Whitebeards son, you know.”

Ace snatched his hand back like he’d been burned, head snapping down to look at Marco’s face. Even though his smile was amused it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re awake,” he wanted to smack himself for such a stupid statement. Marco just smiled at him, indulgent.

“Hand me my pants,” he pointed, “And I’ll tell you a story.”

Ace grabbed them and handed them over, stomach clenching in a way that nothing to do with the way the ocean rolled under their feet. Marco sat up and pulled his pants on, threading his favorite sash through them when Ace gave it over without needing to be asked.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Ace warned him.

“I know,” Marco assured. He didn’t reach for his shirt quite yet. Ace watched his face, not his back or his shoulders. Focused on the lines of his face instead of the marring on his back.

Ace waited in silence for Marco to do on. When he did, it was a credit to his skills that he sounded exactly the same way he always did. Unbothered by anything.

“Not all pirate’s work the way we do. Not all crews are a family, or even a group of friends. Some of them are cobbled together by desperate people, or bound as one by force and fear,” Marco looked at the window, not at Ace. “We were formed before Gol D. Roger started this age of piracy. It was a dark time, for the world and for me. The captain found use for me, for my abilities and my adaptation. I made a good shield in a fight, and I was too young to understand what he was doing to be wrong. What boy wouldn’t do anything to protect their ‘father’?”

Ace swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn’t dare say anything.

“Someone shot through me once, though, and hit him in the leg. He found a fitting punishment. He made sure I couldn’t forget my failure. If I didn’t know what seastone did before, I certainly did after.”

“Marco…” Ace didn’t know what to say. So he kissed him, long a slow. Trying to explain what he didn’t have the words to say. That his father was a piece of shit. That that wasn’t his father, Whitebeard was. That Ace was glad he was here and would fight anyone who tried to hurt him again.

Marco kissed him back, smiling against his lips. Ace wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. He let his hands slide up, across the mangled skin. A heat burned in his chest, fury at the man who had done that, love for the man it was laid upon.

Ace let Marco push him back onto the bed, fingers ghosting across his back. A fire ignited around them, blue and red warring as the two pirates grasped at each other desperately, feelings burning into skin.

As blue flames wrapped around him, Ace chased away the memory of the wings on Marco’s back.

He let himself be consumed by the fire.

#marco the phoenix #portgas d. ace #whitebeard pirates #ace x marco #fluff #one piece #one piece fanfiction

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soranihimawari · 4 years

Text

Tagging : @oikawa-obvs @m0nstergeneration20xx @smolbludandelions @oikawaandkuroostan

Word count: 2.2k

Playlist for reference:

The lullaby:

The song that helped me write:

Conmigo, tu corazón está a salvo.

(With me, your heart is safe)

A small part of you is a tad bit more curious these days since your building had received a new occupant. You had been studying for months abroad in Argentina, the place where your paternal grandparents had met during the Second World War. They were encaptured by the thrall of escaping their fascist home territory of a province in Italy as children; the two would eventually meet as young adults and with a promise of an apple and fine charcuterie select meats, it wasn’t long before they were busy tending to their own children.

One lucky son met the love of his life on an excursion to the library and had successfully flirted with a young florist who did not fall for the young man’s sharp features, but instead, with his kind heart. The younger couple chose to move abroad to the states for a few years in order to leave behind the pillars of their supportive past to sketch a dream for their future.

You were the first child who infamously stayed mute, observing a world that was meant for those who were much older and wiser than a child. You had been exposed to mainly three languages and until the age of four, you remained silent. You had been dragged to many doctors and learning centers yet the cause for the quiet loomed over your tiny demeanor, but growing up in a multicultural household did have its charm. You were five years old when you finally decided staying quiet was no longer an option; you strung along sentences in your father’s Argentine tongue, your mother’s native British English, & finally much to your grandparents’ surprise, Italian. The world was much more brilliant since that day.

Now, nineteen years later, here you were standing at the mailing center floor of your student lodging. The mid-July season was a time when the air brought about snow and sleet and the graying sunset surrounded the city of Buenos Aries in a phosphorescent hue. The new neighbor had just arrived from Japan earlier last month; he was a sight to behold. You couldn’t help falling for his charming smile or his determineds stare as you two walk up the stairs together. Suddenly, you think of yourself when you were nonverbal for the first five years on this planet. His actions and reactions to the new side world was at first marvelous; you could see his passion and drive everyday you would leave the apartment for various errands like heading to the market or a cafe for a light snack of coffee and pan de bono.

However, the thinning veil of homesickness loomed behind the closed door had become much too great. You didn’t mean to pry, but you could tell the man was clearly upset at something (or in this case someone) as you over heard his voice crack on the phone, which for whatever reason had been set to speaker:

“Lo siento Toto. No podemos encontrar un traductor para usted ahora mismo.”

You close the book you were reading in your room as soon as you heard the call end. It was only three weeks into his tenure, but you and him liked to play a game. You come up with it one afternoon after your online lecture at the university finished and he was home from a jog around the apartment block. You smile at him, waving shyly at first. He returns the gesture before you make a sign with your hands; this is when you point him and he glanced down at your kind eyes. You smile again and with your opposite hand, you tap his door once. You frown, and it’s two knocks. And so on. If there is an emergency, it’s a triangular placed knock; if it’s a health thing like a cold or your cycle showing up, a square. So now you wait patiently waiting by the wall of next to your bed and when you hear no knock from him, you raise your hand and knock twice. Your neighbor agrees with two knocks followed by a triangle.

Of all days to make a house call, you chose no time like the present. You grab your D-link key ring, bag, and a hoodie before you slip on your light blue high top sneakers. You lock your front door and slide to the left. Your heart suddenly beats a bit faster because you give a curtesy knock on the door. The deadbolt squeaks as your neighbor pulls the door open.

The apartment is dark save for the night light in the kitchen and the light in the bedroom. Looming above you, you noticed his pink tinged nose and tear stricken cheeks hidden by a broken smile. You think about your family stories about being lost and found. You apply it to him once the door behind you closes. His dark brown hair bounces on a whim as he instinctually reaches out for your hoodie sleeve; he tugs on the fabric causing you to turn to look down at his hands. He mutters something so quietly you thought it was the heating element being turned on by the timer.

You nod your head, kicking off your shoes; you see the small area next to the coat closet where his shoes were kept. This momentary delay caused enough of a buffer time before he moves his hand into your own to hold. You don’t mind the roughness of his fingers at all. Against yours, it feels like the sport he so heavily trains for everyday gave him these aesthetically pleasing grip. You squeeze his hand gently for reassurance, your eyes hide a certain storm of serenity & you decide that perhaps this is what he needs. You have to quell the uneasiness and betrayal he was emoting because you of all people understand.

Call it a sign of humanness since you both slowly start to see each other not as neighbors, but as equals in the solidarity of finding comfort in the other.Neither of you say anything as he leads you to his kitchen dining island where he sits on a singular barstool, his body facing you with his hand in yours still.

You raise an open palm to his face, his cheek is warmer than you expected when he closes his eyes and the tears fall again. He looks like a pouting child, much to your amusement. You say nothing as your other hand massages the ringlets (which felt like chocolatier mousse)that make up his hair before you feel his other arm snake around your waist and he pulls you closer; your hoodie becomes damp the more he lets out every thing that he kept locked away. The loneliness is not kind to those who fear it, yet the two of you persevered. After all, the dark is less scary when you have a friend and so you grasp a hold of him. It hurts; this hurts seeing him this way because somewhere along the way you and him forged a bond. And you hold the boy who is so far from home as much as you can; believe in me and I will come running to you. Your inner conscience conveys this until his crying subsides you stay there still cradling his hallowed frame. His sniffles are reduced to a breadth of a whisper as you hum the opening bars of a song you heard earlier on the classic radio XM station.

Your eyes notice the shirt he wears has been through better days with the faded title on its sleeve, you realize the word is the same no matter which language you spoke; you brush back his hair with your fingers before you pry his almond eyes upward to get a good look at your stoic face. You wipe his cheeks with both of your hands and when you are sure his eyes are truly focused on your promoninent features, your breath hitches in your throat for a moment. You intake a sharp breath and when you exhale rather slowly, your breath fans across his brow. His eyes are closed for a half a second and you decide to open your mouth when your mid-Atlantic voice finds its place.

“Captain,” is the first word you say with confidence you say with utmost clarity. You trace your fingers on the faded design, your neighbor’s emblem is a crown as well. Your voice cuts through his pride like a comet; it is surreal and bright. The shadows of sadness ceases to exist when you see how much the old title inspires the almost snuffed out embers to reignite. He doesn’t look anywhere but up at you stunned in a wild glimpse of surprise. You repeat the word, a brief smile dances across your features.

“Captain. Capitán. Capitano,” all three languages you know in succession drives his mind to rule the court again. You tell him this out loud until he kisses your lips closed; it is as honest as he feels and when the kiss breaks you tap his steadfast pursed lips with your left handed fingers. His arm is still on your waist with the other brushing back your your front layers of hair over your shoulders. You place your right hand in the middle of his chest which now regained its resting breathing rhythm. He asks you something and you nod. You stifle a yawn before you remove your hand from his lips and lean down again.

This time, this kiss is calculated and efficient; you guide the hand on your waist higher to your neck and when you tilt your head to the opposite side, he whines. Yet you smirk beneath the soft sound he makes you reply with. You remove your lips from his and kiss his jawline, the side of his neck driving his impulse points insane. His hair is a mess and so is yours, but neither of you are paying it any mind when his arms envelope your body; he lifts you with such ease you feel your head swimming and the kiss is becoming more deep. Your hands entwine around his shoulders for stability, and your legs wrap around his hips; and he breaks this moment to hold your body for the few minutes he needs to move you swiftly out of his kitchen and into his dimly lit room. He smiles into this kiss and finally the least bit of sorrow leaves for the time being.

There is an innate need of questions seeking answers. Desires of wanting to feel safe in the company you keep is a mad thought when your nightly clothed bodies are pressed in an innocent hold and the kisses exchanged are like tantalizing secrets you expose.

He knows he’s not in the right mind set to give you all of him, but this physical love language you both trade off are fine for now (on so many levels). He navigates the small apartment with ease calling you nicknames from his hometown like Watashinojinsei no joō & Hikari no ōjo.

You breathe in through your nose and out of your mouth as he lays you down, a tender sigh escapes your mouth in vague innocence remains. (It would be a name he affectionately still calls you years later, but neither of you are perturbed by the future you will create for each other.) You are on equal footing or lack there of as you both reach an sensual epiphany.

You let him hold you for as long as needs; your bold vitality is what motivates your contemporary lover in your arms, away from the fickleness of the world outside. Here in the bed draped in a sky blue tone, does the light he keeps on shine around you. Even Helios learns to drive the chariot, like your mythos books say, so you balance yourself, on your knees close to where he his hands rest on your thighs. He waits learning newer customs he was still adjusting to since he left his palace home behind.

You straighten your lower back as he observes the way you pull off your hoodie revealing a thermal turtleneck that has a designer’s mark stitched on the corner. The familiar western numbers stare at him through the well loved turtle neck. Your paternal grandmother and father’s favorite fútbol player and mother’s lucky number is exposed to him. The faded gold and white thread outlines the club from the late modernization of the sport (a club that has since been retired). Argentina’s famous #13 ranking legend is Oreste Omar Corbatta, commonly known in 1957 as “Angels with Dirty Faces,” but from where the soon to be Olympian watches you, he knows where this chance meeting would end once you trace your fingers along his face...

You crawl back toward him to rest your head against his neck as he presses his lips against your brow. You look up at him with a a stern gaze. He chuckles at the way your nose scrunches before he kisses you one final time, hope ever present when your bodies succumb to sleep. Somewhere along the twilight hours activities, the idea is seared into both your minds that no matter what happens afterwards, because falling in love with him would be the driving force for him to call you his everything.

#Spotify #haikyu!! fiction #haikyuu!!#art #short story inspired by art #listen to this theme for more in depth.#oikawa angst with fluff #this gonna hurt but it’s so worth it #read all the way thru #timeskip oikawa just arrived to Argentina #neighbor to lovers #final edit edition

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winterromanov · 5 years

Note

Maybe a college Bucky one where he’s being playing games out of town, and trying to study for exams and he’s just so tired but trying to keep going and reader makes him nap and relax and it’s just very Soft ☺️

pairing: bucky x reader (set in the same universe as this fic)

Trying to play football and also be a competent college student is an Incredibly Difficult Feat. You know this, because watching Bucky vault himself from away games to home games to mid terms to finals is about the most exhausting thing you’ve ever seen. If he’s not studying he’s at practice, and if he’s not playing he’s in an exam. It’s like watching a manic, sleep-deprived whirlwind, living almost entirely off coffee and takeout noodles.

He’s not taking care of himself. He’s pushing and pushing and pushing, trying not to let anybody down--as if he could ever do that.

“You don’t have anything to prove,” you say, as he crashes face-down on the bed in your dorm, the night before he leaves to play a game at Harvard and minutes after his Cold War history deadline. You’ve not seen him eat anything the last twenty-four hours. “Look--you won the last game. Steve said you could sit this one out.”

A vague mumbling comes from your bed. His face is smothered by the pillow and he’s too exhausted to even turn over, so you poke his ass with your foot. His hand reaches out, reflexes still ridiculously quick, pulling you onto the bed with him.

“Sorry, love,” you smirk, curling as close to him as your tiny mattress will allow. His arm pulls you close to his waist, palm splayed across your back. His heartbeat is unrelenting beneath his shirt, thudding between you. “Didn’t quite hear that one.”

His head shifts so you’re basically nose-to-nose, his grin sleepy and delirious. He’s gonna pass out any second. You’ve seen it many, many times before in the last hectic few weeks--you’re probably gonna see it a few more. “I’ll be fine after nap. Promise.”

“Don’t you dare fall asleep before I can force a pizza down you,” you warn, and he laughs, deliberately snuggling into the pillow and letting his eyes flicker closed. You can’t resist--running your hand through his hair, along his face. Kiss his forehead. “Goddamn it, Buck. You’re making it very difficult for me to look after you.”

“You being here is enough,” he says softly and before you have chance to reply he’s gone, lost in some dream. You slowly creep out of his embrace, making the pizza for him anyway. By the time you wake up the next day his body is a phantom shape in your bed but the pizza is gone--he’s left you a bright pink post-it note on the plate. Scribbled in his usual scrawl are the words thank you always favourite girl.

we won!!! harvard ain’t better than us at FOOTBALL

wish u could have been there

renaissance lit is being a bitch :(( well done you STAR. miss you more every moment so get back quick

should i hijack the bus and speed down the freeway

if you must

consider it done

love you

love you more than anything

The next game is thankfully a home one against Yale so you can at least keep an eye on him--you’re just protective, that’s all, not wanting him to burn out in front of you. There’s a lot of gym sessions and library cramming and a grand total of one dinner date at his apartment, where you made a pasta dish with as many vegetables as you could think of in as possible (his mom had sent you a message afterwards with immense gratitude because her son needed his greens, damn it). The following evening you’d wrapped yourself in one of his jerseys and sat in the bleachers alongside an injured Sam--injured and bitter about it--and waited in the lights and the noise for the game to begin.

“Bucky tells me you’re worried about him,” Sam interjects rather suddenly and when you blink back, he shrugs his non-injured shoulder nonchalantly. “Not that I blame you. That dude just doesn’t let up, does he?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shivering a little. The November air is cold, even wearing Bucky’s sweater. “He keeps telling me the season will be over before long, but I...I don’t want that to be a couple of weeks too much for him, you know?”

Sam hums thoughtfully. Around you, the crowd practically fizzes with excitement, covered with facepaint and aggressively chanting team songs at the opposing side. You’d never been to a college football game before you started dating one of the team’s star players, but you have to admit, the atmosphere is kinda addictive. Watching Bucky play is kinda addictive.

“If I know Bucky, and boy do I know him,” Sam eventually replies, squeezing up closer to you as more people gather into your stand. A girl is openly staring at you both--it doesn’t happen that often, but more so at games. People know Bucky, and Sam, so people know you. “He’ll get through this all okay. He always does, (Y/N). I’d been pretty damn surprised if he doesn’t make captain next year.”

You stare at the bright, clean grass of the field, and think of a boy so fucking exhausted from trying to balance his life that he can barely function half the time. Bucky would be an awesome captain. You just don’t want him to become a dead firework because of it.

The game ends up being pretty close but Yale just snatch the victory. It doesn’t mean that they can’t win the season, but. Bucky makes his way over to your stand at the end of the game like he always does, taking off his helmet and mouthguard. He also looks extremely deflated, like he always does when they lose.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking his face in your hands. He looks angry at himself. And you know what he’s thinking. I should have pushed harder. “Shit happens. You were still amazing.”

He kisses you over the barrier in a display of affection you were once too shy to give away in public, but you need him as much as he needs you. When you break apart you plant a chaste, gentle peck on his jawline, running your thumb over the shadow.

“You two make me sick,” Sam interrupts the moment, arms folded. Bucky flips him off while smiling sweetly and you can’t help but laugh. “Honestly. Didn’t ask to be violated, but here we are.”

“Payback for every single time I’ve walked in on you doing unspeakable things with the girl from the top floor on our kitchen counter.” Bucky snaps back teasingly. You like watching the banter unfold between the two of them. You’d be worried if Bucky and Sam weren’t taking the piss at every given opportunity.

Sam gestures pointedly at his injured right shoulder. “I cannot believe you’d treat a fallen comrade like that. I’m disgusted.”

“And so was I when I saw the state of the kitchen counter.” Bucky gives you one last kiss, clutching your hand. “See you after I hit the showers, yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting.” Your promise him, and his eyes glow just a little brighter.

When Bucky facetimes you from Brown the very next week, he looks like he hasn’t slept for at least three days. His Ancient Chinese history exam is literally a day after he arrives back from the trip and he’s frantically cramming in his hotel room in Rhode Island, while also trying not to fuck up the team’s chances of winning the season.

“Just one more game after this,” his grainy voice says on the other end of the video feed, head lolling against the headboard of his Holiday Inn bed. You wish he was in your bed. God, you wish he was in your bed. “And the season is over and I don’t have to be away from you ever again.”

“I don’t think your mom would like it if I stole you away for Thanksgiving.” You joke, tongue poking between your teeth. His lips curve, half a laugh escaping from his chest.

“That’s why she personally invited you to stay with us for the holidays. She’s worried you might sneak in there first and drag me to Virginia. She already knows I’d go wherever you go.”

Your smile is kinda wistful. “Except when you go to Rhode Island.”

“Except when I go to Rhode Island.” He repeats, sighing dramatically. He rubs one of his tired eyes. “Ugh. Who thought coinciding pre-Thanksgiving exams and football season was a good idea, huh?”

“I have no idea, but I’m prepared to have words with them.” You tilt your head. “Don’t work too hard, yeah? It’s one exam. It’ll all be okay in the end.”

“I know, I know.”

You want to keep talking, on and on until the early hours like you do sometimes, because time is apparently not real when you and Bucky are on the phone together. But he needs sleep, and you need sleep, and occasionally you’ll do things for the greater good. “Good luck for tomorrow. Brown won’t know what’s hit ‘em.”

“They better not,” he jokes, “Will you be live-streaming the game?”

As if you wouldn’t. You can’t pretend that you always know what’s going on or any of the rules, but you always try to watch him if you can. He’d do the same for you, over and over and over. “Already got the tab open on my laptop and everything.”

Bucky’s grin is near effervescent, even through your patchy wifi connection. “I love you more than anything, you know that?”

“I may have had an inkling.”

hello y/n

HELLLOOOOO

u know brown are the best losers because they lose and give you TEQUILA

omg are you drunk

never been DRUNK IN MY LIFE!!!! but im at this cool party and stEv e has found a girl and i miss u

i miss u so much . and like i just do generally

whenever ur not ar oUnd

oh sweet boy. you are very drunk.

im serious though

sometimes i think about how much i love you and it scares me

because then i th ink what it would be like if you wreent there

and that makes me so fucking sad i cant breathe

y/n

y/n ???????????????

hellooo

have u gone to bed

no, just messaging steve to make sure he gets you back safe. im not going anywhere. just please please look after yourself. love you always

“I’m sorry about those messages I sent you last night.”

You grab him in the tightest hug possible, his hold all still hanging off his arm, rain spattering down from dark clouds outside his apartment block. You hold him for at least ten years, you reckon, because the thought of him being so fucking sad he can’t breathe makes you so fucking sad you can’t breathe.

“You’re a terrible drunk who says things that make me emotional.” You laugh tearfully into his sweater and he grips you even harder, if possible. The shards of glass jabbed between your ribs start to dissolve as you inhale every single part of him.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I know.”

His last game is the day of your renaissance literature exam and for once you’ve been the one not eating and relying on caffeine, anxiety lingering round your jittery bones like an irritating ghost. Your interactions with Bucky are a battle between you wishing him aggressive luck for what could be the winning game while he equally aggressively says your exam will go fine, they always go fine, it’s an easy A for sure.

Your exam isn’t until the afternoon so you spend the morning pacing about your bedroom looking at a sporadic mess of post-it notes on your wall declaring quotes and context that you hope will just stick in your brain. When Lizzie from down the hall says there’s a package for you you don’t actually think much of it, too busy to deal with something you’ve probably forgotten you ordered from Amazon--but she makes some comment about how fancy it is, wrapped up in striped paper.

Your name is in print across the front so it doesn’t leave a clue on the sender, but as soon as you rip into it and find a bundle of things nestled between tissue paper, you know instantly. It’s kind of embarrassing you didn’t click sooner.

Dear Y/N - you’ll ace it, favourite gal.

You try not to break down in sleep-deprived and emotional tears as you pull out a brand new sweater in your favourite shade of burgundy, a vintage copy of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, three different kind of Hershey’s bars and a dumb little teddy bear wearing your college jersey. He’s sent you a fucking care package. He’s away at Princeton, and he’s sent you a care package, because exams drive you crazy and he’s just... Well, he’s Bucky.

i got your present

have i ever mentioned that i love you

i may have had an inkling

He doesn’t really leave you a choice, does he? Besides, the game is only at Princeton, and if you catch the train the moment you escape the uneasy warmth of a crowded exam hall you should be able to get there in time.

You’ve never been to Princeton stadium before, but you grab one of the last tickets available and rush onto their crowded bleachers just before the game is about to begin. The lights are heady, the atmosphere is electric, and you’re about to watch the man you lovingly, completely, unrelentingly call your own play the game he loves almost as much as you at a stadium forty miles from home.

hey steve, you text his closest friend, hoping he’ll see it, get buck to look at the front of the stairs near block d when you come out

y/n if this is what i think it means he’s going to lose his goddamn mind

When the team runs out you notice the number five on his jersey straight away, a constant fleeting image in your head from the countless games you’ve seen him play. Even from a distance, Steve’s eyes catch your own and his arm starts gesturing violently in your direction, Bucky taking a couple of moments to catch on.

It’s a good job the game isn’t due to start for a few more minutes, because absolutely nothing can stop him from automatically sprinting to your side of the field and kissing you senseless, cameras and crowds be damned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he says on a dizzy outtake of breath.

“Couldn’t miss the last game of the season, could I?” You gently push his chest, urging him to go back to his team. “And neither can you. Go back to them. I’ll be waiting.”

He steals your lips for one more second, giddy and pumped full of adrenaline. “I really lucked out the day I met you, didn’t I?”

His mouth is hot. Hot. Unmistakable. Real. Always, always real. “Not as lucky as me.”

my masterlist

send me a request

#big oof #ridiculously fluffy #soft bucky #college!bucky #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x you #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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theclownandtheflame · 4 years

Text

hi bet you thought you'd seen the last of me! Part 2 of my first Gaius x MC fic is heeeereeee

You guys know the drill: don't like Gaius?? Don't read. You think this ship is cursed? Jokes on you, we don't care what you think! And also, don't read.

Here we gooooooo

Victim, Victim, Monster.

A Gaius Augustine x MC fanfic

written by : @theclownandtheflame

DISCLAIMER: slight mentions of PTSD

Characters used &/or mentioned belong to Pixelberry!!! All rights to them even if they take ours on a daily basis

My mother language is Portuguese so please excuse my grammar should it be necessary!

MC's name here is Athena :P

You can read part 1 by clicking riiight here!

------------------------------------------------

The first rays of sunshine peered into her chamber through a thin gap under the door.

It was unlikely to hope vampires were ever so prone to all-nighters, specially after crowded events. Yet, there she was, hoping to stay up no matter how weary the island made her feel. The ferals, the tree, the truth spilled by grandpa himself.

The late visit of Gaius Augustine and how it still made her body shiver.

Kicking the blankets aside, Athena sat upright and spared herself one minute to recollect her thoughts. Being related to the enemy and sharing a blood connection was enough to make her heart ache. Then, on the other side, Gaius brought something new to the table of unwelcome contents. She felt broken, dirty, undone. Incapable of facing her friends after last night's events.

Because the enemy is uncharted territory. It should remain that way at all costs.

"Yo!" The door flew open, Lily's cursed timing dragging her out of eerie reveries. "Breakfast's ready. If you can call that a breakfast. There's alcohol, though!"

Forcing herself to deliver a smile, Athena stood to her feet and stretched her arms towards the ceiling.

"Yeah, weirdly enough we never seem to run out of booze."

"Damn right!" The cheerful vampire didn't seem to pick up anything suspicious. Good. Gesturing towards the common room, Lily hurried off and clapped her hands as Athena followed close behind.

"She's alive, champs! A little oozy, though. Must be seasick."

Greeted by the three other vampires, the Bloodkeeper ran a hand through her hair and leaned into the table.

"So," Jax sighed, divided between talking to the squad and polishing the sword on his lap. "We got one sack of blood to make through this trip. Meaning we'll starve a little, but nothing compared to the shit we went through."

Rolling her eyes to his lack of enthusiasm, Kamilah laid back on her seat. Her fingertips drummed on the table's surfice, whereas Adrian's forearms rested upon it.

"Jeez. Tension's thicc." Lily whistled, plopping down between the two older vampires. "We'll each take a sip and pretend we're on a diet. Gotta be on shape to face Rheya, amirite?"

Suddenly inspired, Jax grabbed the sword by the hilt and aimed the blade towards the center of the table.

"And if we give none to the freak, we're saving even more!"

"Stonks!" Lily grinned, and although their sarcasm didn't please her one bit, Kamilah's lips twitched into a smile. Adrian remained impassible, but his eyes searched for Athena's, reading through her distant expression.

"Anything in mind?" He lisped, reaching out to grasp her hand and gently tug her to the empty seat by his side.

"Where's Gaius?" She blurted out, unmoving, much to Adrian's surprise.

"He's brooding."

Kamilah clenched her jaw. The mere mention of that cursed name never ceased to displease her. Jax was the one to point towards a far corner in the room, the tip of his blade glistening under the sunlight.

The man in question had his back turned towards the bunch. He sat down on the floor, his head slightly crooked to one side, hands on his knees. One could tell he was probably meditating to deflect hunger strikes.

They all kind of were. In their own way.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Athena picked the bag of blood and considered its content for awhile. They had a little more than a half. Enough for the rest of the day, but not for the days to come.

Squaring up her shoulders, she took the first step towards Gaius only to be stopped by a murmur.

"You're not doing what we think you're doing, are you?" Kamilah squinted, her voice meticulously projected with a warning tone.

Lily was the second to protest, picking at her purple dreadlocks to – poorly – hide her nervousness. "Athena, please tell me you're just going to take your sip near him so he can thirst over temptation..."

Sucking in a breath, she closed her eyes and clutched the bag a little tighter.

"I'll give him a sip."

Jax' fist slammed into the table. A little more force and it'd bend.

"Absolutely not!"

"We need him swell to fight Rheya. He's the strongest of us all. It's only wise!"

"Nothing about this is wise! We have the weapon, we know how to kill her, we don't need him anymore!" Jax sought out to Adrian's support, but the latter didn't even flinch. He studied her with caution, his shoulders slumping helplessly.

Averting her gaze not to meet their eyes, Athena swallowed hard. Hiding the truth was getting more and more difficult, but she was keen on keeping it sealed until the final fight.

"The more help we get, the better. Trust me, I know. I... know too much, to be honest."

With her head lowered, she resumed her pacing and came to a halt once reaching him from behind. She needn't explain her reasons, or allert him of her arrival, just as much as he needn't open his eyes to welcome her into his personal space.

"You came."

She sucked in a sigh.

"That's what she said."

Twitching his face into a grimace, Gaius tensed up when she crouched by his side. The hands on his knees clenched into fists as he struggled to refrain from showing hints of affection.

He knew if they made it clear something else was going on, things would be a lot more complicated than just warming up for war. And she thanked him for his discretion. Even if she herself couldn't share of it.

"I brought you breakfast. It's not much, but it's honest work." She smiled, genuinely this time, no matter how much it hurt to push back the thoughts that swarmed her head.

His lips seemed to curl into a smile for an instant, until crumpling back into a frown.

"Save it. You will need it more than me."

Rolling her eyes, she shoved the bag on his chest.

"We all thirst the same. I'm not asking you to chug, just take a sip."

The hand which held the sack pressed a tad further, and her fingertips gently brushed the exposed skin of his neck. Shuddering under her touch, Gaius recoiled. He snatched the bag from her hand and hissed, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Last night. Forget it." He opened his eyes at last, only to meet her weary ones. "It was a blunt mistake that I don't wish to dwell on."

Taken aback by the sharpness of his words, Athena glared at him even as he returned the bag and resumed his posture.

"Is that so?" She mumbled, leaning in to let her voice resonate into his ear. "Then I think I can keep the door locked this time."

He growled, building up a retort she didn't stay to hear. Taking a sip of the bag herself, Athena stood to full height and once again rejoined the restless group.

"You guys are right." She hummed, her voice loud and clear. "He's not worth the time."

Getting a nod from each in response, she carefully shot one last glance towards the second son... and witnessed a flinch he masked with a sigh.

[...]

Time went by like the weavering concept it is, lacking roots and the patience they needed to better prepare. Jax spent the afternoon training alongside Lily, having Athena join them once in a while. Adrian and Kamilah immersed themselves into war strategies, their foreheads crinkling at the pace they fumbled with plans.

By the time the sun set, she had already mingled with the team and found enough distractions to flee from the day prior. The Bloodkeeper slipped away from the common room to hide in her chambers, yearning for some time alone. It was hard to face everyone knowing what she knew. Being who she was.

Everyone... but him.

He was the only one who could possibly understand.

Scrunching up her nose at the thought of him, Athena locked the door and tossed the key aside. She stared at it for a second longer, until the faintest noise made her twirl on her heels and adopt a fighting stance.

"There you are." He cooed. His body laid peaceful on her bed, legs crossed and arms wide open, practically an invitation she felt compelled to oblige. But she didn't. Not one bit.

"You told me to forget about last night." The woman hissed, clenching her hands into fists this time around.

Catching sight of it, he smirked.

"Living off past memories can't be healthy, my dear. We both know that." His hand gently patted the spot by his side, his gaze never moving away from hers. "We're bound to make some new ones."

Swallowing hard, she eventually made a beeline towards the bed and yelped when he reached out to pull her by the wrist.

"What the f—"

He didn't give her the time to properly fall on the mattress. He pulled her in, their bodies pressing together, and slithered a hand up her arm to delicately reach her chin.

Athena gasped at his subtlety, moreover at the thumb that brushed over her bottom lip before settling on her jaw.

"Something bothers you as much as it does me." Gaius lisped at first, his expression surprisingly soft despite the intensity of his actions prior. "Something that happened at the island." He looked her in the eye, struggling not to stare at her lips instead.

"What did Demetrius do to you?"

His concern was more than welcome; however, his curiosity was not. Unwilling to share the truth so soon, she closed her eyes to escape his glare and shuddered at the reminder of the things that were at stake.

Taken aback by her display of fragility, he eased the embrace and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. This made her curl up against him, her hands clutching the fabric of his vests. Sighing, he stroked her hair.

"Sacrifices, Athena." Distraught, Gaius laid his chin upon her head. "Whether it be your mind, your ideals or those you love... they're never viable."

She tilted her head to face him, her eyes red but no tears left for him to wipe. They stood silent for a long while, just gazing into each other's hues, until he brushed their noses together and finished his thought.

"They're simply... inevitable."

Her eyes fluttered closed. As did his. And without further ado, they latched at each others lips.

------------------------------------------------

Tags; @galaxy-of-rosess @thirteenis-myluckynumber @edgiestwinter @zeetao-hime

Thank you guys so much, I never thought this would drag any attention at all so I'm (happily) surprised!! ❤️

#bloodbound drabble #bloodbound fic #bloodbound choices #bloodbound book 3 #bloodbound #bb gaius #gaius x mc #gaius augustine #choices gaius #choices #playchoices #pixelberry #theclownandtheflame : victim victim monster

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weltonreject · 4 years

Note

Okay i know you wrote a lot about trans boris, but please please please, when you have time, could you write something about boris coming out to theo, and worrying as hell about his reaction??

“Sun/Son”

Boris couldn’t stop running his hands through his hair. He really needed to stop; it was not brushed and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to start tearing it out. Not that he wouldn’t have done that anyway. He felt so anxious his chest started swelling up every time he breathed– like he was getting ready to scream. He was like a boiling kettle, ready to blow.

Boris didn’t really need to tell Theo anything. Theo was… distracted most of the day by pretty much everything crumbling in his own life. Boris didn’t need to tell Theo. He didn’t notice. Although, there was the chance, with everything else unsteady in his life, that he would care. That he would want just one fucking thing in his life to be normal.

And Boris was not that thing. And he knew that. From coast to coast, in every country and city, in every hotel and motor home, Boris knew who he was. He was the constant he had to carry with his suitcase. Boris also had the consistent knowledge that he’d be the strangest thing in any city he ever moved to. He hadn’t found anyone like him– but he’d also not disclosed as such in order to look. He wanted to live more than he wanted company.

But now, there was Theo, who would maybe fix his problem. Just maybe.

“What are you doing awake already?” Theo groaned and rolled into his pillow. The sun was high in the morning sky and they’d forgotten to pull the curtains shut. Boris had been up when only the moonlight had been tickling his bare feet.

Moon light. Badr al-Dine. The moon is the one thing that always changes, but has the same core, same essence. Boris was never the same on the outside, but he was still himself. No one would ever call him the sun.

“Let’s go to the swings. Sit and look at the sunrise.” Theo was too hungover to notice that the sun was so beyond rising at that point. Bright was bright to him. “Get up, Potter.”

“No.” Theo rolled his head off and under his pillow. He curled up and gripped the edges of the pillowcase like he was going to be dragged out of bed. Boris would have if he didn’t need to bargain how shitty he was before Theo found out. “I’m tired, fuck-head.”

“Potter, come on! Want to sit and swing– talk!”

“You’re talking now– often are.” Theo peaked his one eye out from under his pillow to look at Boris. He was trying to tease him, but Boris wasn’t in the mood to laugh– Theo also couldn’t find his face in the blur of dehydration, dizziness, and near-sightedness. “What’s the fucking problem with talking here, in bed?”

Well, the implication was perfectly set. Talking in bed was so strangely… intimate, Boris hated it. Not because Theo was another boy– which Boris seemed to find was a concept Theo squirmed under: the implication that any two men could be together and be happy and content. There was a refusal Boris couldn’t place– but because, with Boris, Theo’s intimacy was misplaced. How could he share vulnerable places with Theo when he was under false understandings of who he really was. He didn’t understand Boris was the moon– something changing, something phased, something destined to always be dependent on the Sun.

“Potter, get up.” Boris tried not to sound angry. Theo didn’t know he was trying to summon up courage– and Theo was giving him every reason to give up. “Potter, am trying to talk.”

“Can it be later? When I don’t feel like the sun is trying to give me a fucking lobotomy?”

Boris remembered reading about those. He remembered sitting, thinking about what it’d feel like. Boris remembered knowing that he could really found out if he wanted. If he just opened his mouth.

“Potter, get up. Please.”

Theo pushed his pillow up again to look at Boris. He fumbled for his glasses, knocking over some empties. He blinked and found Boris, unsure but still slightly annoyed.

“What.” He spat the ending consonant, nearly clenching his jaw.

“Potter, there is problem with me.”

“Yeah, you’re talking at six in the morning.” It was easily ten, really. “That’s not what normal people do. It’s a fucking Saturday.”

“I know, but. I cannot keep down. Must tell you– need to tell you.” Boris knew the word he was searching for was coward. If he didn’t do it now, he never would.

“What did you do, Boris.”

“Do? Nothing! Did nothing! Am just–” So many words came to mind. “Moon.”

“What?” Theo pushed the pillow completely off his head. He turned away from the window and faced Boris. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Ack, no. Not right. It is very hard to explain, Potter. I do not know.” Boris could feel his own certainty fade the moment he had to find the English words. It was so much of feeling and knowing.

That was what made Boris so eager to tell Theo: it was not a lecture, but a sharing experience. Boris felt so many things, and with Theo they all felt normal. He was just… like him. He had a place. There were no words. No explanations and evidence. Boris just was.

“Are you still drunk?”

“No.” Boris wished he was. He looked around for another can, but they were all open and empty. “Am not drunk. Am sure of this. Am… not like you, Potter.”

“Extremely hungover?”

“No.” Boris pressed his fingers into the back pad of Theo’s shoulder. “Like, this. Like, body.” He motioned out to all of him, lying under the covers.

Theo squinted behind his glasses. “Are you talking about… my height again?”

“What? No! You are short and that is–”

“Alright, fuck off.”

“Not how it should be. I should be small. My mother was small. Short little lady, big heart though. Think it was uh, all complicated in her.”

“You mean, concentrated?” Theo was starting to fume, but he wouldn’t leave Boris out to dry– let him sound like an idiot. This was their bed. This was sacred space.

“Yeah! She is small, I should’ve been too. Mom a-and… and daughter.” In America, Boris learned that word first. He learned the words he was not, every which way, so he could be sure not to accidentally label himself incorrectly. Or to catch those who told his father he had a strange-looking daughter. No. Was Son.

“No, Boris. That’s not how it works. It doesn’t matter what parent you’re paired with, you’re still their son.” Theo was patient, clearing his throat in his morning daze. “That’s not how that word works.”

“I know. Am using it correctly.” Boris played with the pilling on his blanket, ripping pieces off to roll between his fingers. “Potter, am not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were! Jesus, I’m just saying that you called yourself your mother’s da–” Theo stopped and slowly pushed himself up. He grunted and situated himself upright beside Boris. “You aren’t your mother’s daughter… right?”

“You want answer to be no.” Boris suddenly felt unsafe in their bed. It seemed like an island he couldn’t escape from. Like the sheets were already being wrapped around him and hiding the splattered and staining–

“No, I just… I assume you didn’t mean that. You’re trying to say you look like your mom. Which I believe, you really don’t look like your dad.” The side comment was an attempt at an apology, Boris had figured out. Whenever Theo tossed a side conversation out, it was bait to avoid the situation he’d royally fucked up. Boris really wanted to take it.

“Am good at English. Know what I wanted to say. Potter, listen to me.”

“I am! It’s just that, Boris, it’s 6AM, I’m so fucking hungover, and you keep telling me you’re a girl and that’s–” he waved his hands around. “That’s crazy.”

“Am not a girl.” Boris’s second word. “But, do not look like you, Potter. Moon, has different phases, different shapes. I have this one. You have that one. Common one.” Boris patted his chest, feeling his three shirts stacked uncomfortably on his aching, dry skin. His ribs were suffocating– and Boris wished he was too at that moment.

Theo adjusted his glasses, blinking quickly. “Wait, wait. Are you telling me…” His eyes fell from Boris’s face. “What?”

“Have, uh,” Boris’s words were beginning to fail him the longer Theo stared at him. “Fuck– do not know… Uh, science class! Two things, yes? The uh, the bodies!”

“Wait, now we’re on bio class?”

“Potter, please.” Boris sighed and raked his hand through his hair again. He caught on the front, shaggy bang. A knot snapped off in his fingers. “Bodies. Two different, yes? One like you– and other… is like me.”

Theo blinked, looking past Boris’s head at the wall. “Girl? But you–” He pointed at Boris, looking him in the eye. “You’re a boy. Like. You are. Those are the words you use– and you know what they mean.”

“Is hard to explain, I know. I’m sorry if–” Boris knew it would never reach anyone, even without the language barrier. It was a series of denials to even understand what Boris was. “Is so hard to… Do not exist in language here. Am so sorry.”

“Wait, hold on.” Theo pointed more firmly at Boris. “Are you telling me you were born with…” He swallowed his words, his throat bobbing with anticipation. “Like, you… have one.”

Boris blinked and looked down at himself. Just the thought of admitting made Boris feel sick. “Potter, please do not make me science experiment– jot down notes and record data!”

“No! I– I didn’t mean it like that! Boris, I just don’t understand what you’re saying.” There was a slight chance– but only slight– that Theo was pleading. And Boris was taken completely aback, scared he was actually the one meant to be begging for mercy. “I mean, I had no idea. I’m with you every second of nearly every day. I… We… share a bed and stuff. I should’ve known you were–”

“Is not disease. Cannot catch, Potter. And you were not fooled or anything. I keep secret because need to be safe. I did not want you to say anything to kids at school. Do not know. Teachers barely attention and not know! My passport is my-way correct! At border, able to fuck with birth certificate. Am legal in US as boy. Certificate not in English– Americans not know difference! I know people back in Russia, they work on it– it says I am boy. Have right name, everything. I am… I do not know. But I am.”

The rest of the morning stood and waited with Boris as he watched Theo’s face shift through his ramblings.

“Are you… You’re looking for the word trans, right?” Theo said with a half-crooked, mostly-relieved smile. “Is that what you’re trying to say? You’re a– or no, wait, I think it’s just ‘you are’– trans? Because there is a word for that in English, Boris. There’s a word.”

“No, you do not listen! Am not like… bus.”

“No, Boris, not transit.” Theo placed his hand on Boris’s leg, laughing. The crinkles by his eyes were deep and his smile was genuine. “Trans. The word means– we’re guys, right? We’re both guys. It doesn’t matter that you look different. You just are… I think that’s what it means. I don’t know. I just saw the word the other week. But, I mean, it exists! It’s probably what you’re talking about. Sounds right.”

“There’s a word?” In the intimate border of their bed, Boris never felt more rooted and found. “And you know it?”

“Well, I know of it, but we can look it up or something.” Theo rubbed his eyes under his glasses, nodding. “Is that all you were trying to tell me–”

“Wait, explain it again.” Boris grabbed Theo’s arm, nearly knocking his hand into his eye.

“I think you’re better equipped, Boris. Anything you say is the word, right? Isn’t that how labels work?” Theo yawned and held Boris’s wrist, keeping it from his face. Boris hummed in confusion, letting his hand hang limply. “Like, Americans are: Russian and Ukrainian. Because you are! And now, people who are– or tr– I don’t know how to use the word but. Anyone who is that, is: tall and really fucking loud and shaggy-looking and really smart and kind of a dick. Because you are! You define the word.”

Boris coughed up a laugh. “That is not how language works, Potter.”

“Oh fuck off. I was being fucking nice.” Theo shoved Boris quickly, sending them both toppling over. Boris laid on his back as Theo maneuvered to not lay on top of him. “What the hell else am I supposed to do when my best friend rubs in my face he’s taller than me for literally no good biologically reason. Be short like me, Boris. Come ON.”

“Cannot help it! Am just how God made me! Very tall– and other things.” Boris tucked his arms to his body, letting Theo’s drape over him. He turned to look at Theo’s face, resting against his shoulder.

“And those other things are cool too.” Theo’s eyes began to droop closed. His hand gripped Boris’s wrist like the edge of his pillow. “It’s all… totally fine.” Theo’s words slipped through his teeth, his voice thick with drowsiness again. “Fuck, I’m falling asleep–”

“No, is okay.” Boris said. “Is early, Potter. Six o’clock. Way too early. Go to sleep.” He patted Theo’s arm gingerly. “Go to sleep.”

“No, I’m listening…. I’m listening.” Theo wasn’t, but that was okay.

Boris wanted the moment of security, carefully trapped under his friend’s arm, and flopped backwards on their bed. The conversation felt like it wouldn’t last into the afternoon, and would never leave the bed. They’d keep it tucked under the sheets and waiting the next time they were rolled up together to break into it. This was the safe place to put Boris’s fears. He didn’t have to carry them whenever he was out with Theo; it would just be a waste of energy and arm space. Boris could focus on carrying the grating itch he had when thinking about his body– or how his voice sounded when he spoke in class. He could work on making those softer, lighter. Maybe Theo could hold his palms out, take a few.

Boris closed his eyes and let himself lean into Theo. He wasn’t alone, and he was still alive. He was.

#trans boris #boris pavlikovsky #theo and boris #tgf fic #boreo #to post

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fulltimeviking · 4 years

Text

Almost (Sweet Music)

Summary ~ Hiccup and Astrid have their first proper date at Berk’s Ostara celebrations and have their first dance together. Takes place at Spring time a year after the first movie, and they’re both recently turned 16. This is inspired by a Hozier song, i.e. THE young pining hiccstrid anthem. i said what i said

Ao3 Link

I’m not joking when I say I’ve had this fic idea since last year. I just KNEW the second I listened to this song I was like ‘oh yes... young hiccstrid, the pining, the yearning, aw yiss’ and started writing it.... and never finished it. THEN I decided I’d pick it up again this year and post it as a cute little fluffy Easter themed fic, but only just remembered yesterday afternoon and now,,,, here we are lmao.

I’ve not really got anything else to say it was tooth rotting fluff that I was going for, so you’ve been warned aha - but also if things read a little ~off~ then it’s because I’ve not written fic in a year and I’m rusty af 🤷🏻‍♀️I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Hiccup & Toothless sat off to the side of the Ostara celebrations. Toothless laid with his head on a log, feasting happily on a basket of cod, and Hiccup sat next to him with a small seasonal dish of rabbit on his lap, so far untouched, and a half tankard of mead, much more touched. The pair watched the Vikings drink, sing, and dance; the bonfire in the middle of the celebrations burning bright and dramatically so much so that Hiccup could almost feel the heat on his face from where he sat. Though he wasn’t so much as watching as thinking, maybe too much.

Since the cold season had started to slowly disappear (as much as it could on Berk anyway) Astrid and him had made a habit of flying together on the odd day. Nothing crazy, just dumb races and training together. He’d been impressed with how much she’d already learnt when he’d been out for the two weeks following his fight with the red death last year; in no time she and Stormfly were zipping across the village and keeping pace with the only Night Fury on the island that most would agree was a boast worthy feat.

“We’ll have you beat getting around this island in no time” she’d teased at the time as they sat in the great hall, smiling up at her dragon, her braid fell over her shoulder when she reached up to scratch the nadder’s neck. Hiccup blinked and reminded himself to speak.

“Well I think we’ve got more where that came from” he teased back and Toothless nuzzled into his side, gaining him a pat on his head

At that she smirked at the dragon and cocked an eyebrow “oh really?”

“Yeah… I could show you, actually” he’d said, eagerness barely hiding itself “you and stormfly fly up to the sea stacks in the morning, and we’ll meet you there?”

Astrid looked from him to her dragon in consideration “sure” she spoke nonchalantly and stroked her dragons nose “don’t be surprised if you’ve got a thing or too to learn from us either” Hiccup just smiled “I’m looking forward to it”

From that point on it turned to routine. Hiccup would always start with circuits around the sea stacks when he and Toothless flew and Astrid knew where to find him. On the morning of Ostara they’d showed up before him, and they zipped between the stacks just short off the coast of Berk for what felt like forever. Hiccup wouldn’t have minded if it had been, and wondered if Astrid wouldn’t have either. He watched as they settled on top of the stacks eventually, and Astrid dismounted off Stormfly, scratching her lovingly on her crown.

“Nice one girl” she cooed “getting faster huh?” and got a squawk in response. Hiccup got off of Toothless and wiped his hands discreetly on the side of his tunic. His palms were sweating and it wasn’t from holding onto the saddle as they flew.

“When do you want to go back?” Astrid asked “your dad will want you today for the party won’t he?”

“He’ll want me out of the way” he said and Astrid pulled a face “training dragons doesn’t make you good at setting up parties” he held his hands up. Stoick had asked him for help, originally, but when he told his dad he had other plans he (rather embarrassingly) encouraged him to go off and do those.

“But… I wouldn’t mind going back, now or later” he said “...with you maybe?”

They had gotten closer since that time last year, with that Snoggletog past even more so, to a point where he felt secure that his affections were being returned - in the form of sudden kisses, shoulder punches and friendly teasing. That being said, they’d yet to go on a real date. The year before, his first invite to the sea stacks was supposed to be a date, but he chickened out of calling it that. She’d left the hall and he immediately cursed at himself “Dumbass” he’d muttered, and earned a humoured warble from the night fury. Whenever they met up for any other reason it wasn’t a date either, more just... keeping company - it was always nice to be in her company. After so many years of pining from afar, he could stand and be present with her, he could speak to her, and she would speak back, not as the grand Hofferson warrior he had thought her to be either. Just as Astrid. Not so long ago that would have been all he could’ve asked for, but with every shoulder graze, brushing of hands and dumb dragon race, he found he wanted more. Nothing much, just to dance with her and have it feel normal, on a holiday like Ostara it made sense too. He hadn’t any reason not to ask her.

Hiccup eyed her a little warily when she didn’t answer him straight away, unusually quiet. She kept her eyes on her dragon, as a smile rose on her lips “you’re asking me out?”

“...yes”

“Hm” she sounded amused “I figured we were already going”

“Yeah- me too, kind of” he reasoned poorly “I knew we’d probably... go together, but I don’t know… I figured I’d ask you this time”

Astrid turned from Stormfly to Hiccup and regarded him, her expression was teasing but somewhat touched.

“I’ll see you there”

***

Astrid was dressed as normal minus her pauldrons. Her hair was still worn in a braid, but not as usual. It was looser, with more blonde strands hanging loose and wavy around her face. What was most eye catching though was the dozens of tiny white flowers threaded through her flaxen hair from around her fringe to its ends. It wasn’t unusual for the girls and women to wear flowers for Ostara. It hadn’t been the first time Astrid had either, Hiccup knew that for a fact - she’d caught his eye on Ostara more so than any other day for as many years as he could remember. Looking at her now made him hold his breath.

He stood up from his seat with the intention of walking over but found himself stuck and admiring from afar. He’d ditched the fur waistcoat earlier, the bonfire had been enough to keep warm, but looking over at her he suddenly felt vulnerable and he wrapped an arm over himself. It was hard to remember that he wasn’t invisible in these crowds anymore, Astrid peered over and around the countless vikings till her eyes locked on the scrawny boy off to the side of the commotion, looking pink in the face and bewildered like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Toothless warbled and smacked his rider on the back with his tail. Hiccup looked back at him and said something Astrid couldn’t hear, but the look on the two of their faces made her snort a little anyway.

Considering the holiday, Astrid had had mead too. The taste still lingered in her mouth, and made her body feel warm. She felt her stomach do a tiny flip when the chief's son waved low as she walked over. Normally a feeling she’d ignore out of embarrassment was embraced instead, and she walked up to him confidently with a flush of pink spreading across her own cheeks.

“Hi”

“You look beautiful” he said first, and blinked as he shook his head slightly “and hi”

Astrid she squinted and leant up close in his face, so close he subconsciously thanked Odin he hadn’t actually eaten that rabbit from earlier. She smirked at the growing flush on his own face that she knew had to be more than just nerves.

“You’re squiffy” she laughed. He absolutely was, “barely” he hiccuped. “Sure” her words were somewhat slurred, not so she sounded drunk, but enough that it was noticeable to him. Tipsy. Hiccup looked from where they stood to the centre of the plaza. The fire in the middle had significantly dimmed compared to when the celebrations began, but the music had grown louder.

“Dance with me” he spoke without thinking, maybe the mead making him a little more bold. He looked at her face and locked eyes with her for a moment, her blue eyes were glassy from the mead, but regarded him in a way he couldn’t explain with words. He held out a hand. “Will you dance with me?” he asked again, properly. The small sigh of relief that escaped him when she accepted his hand felt like a dead weight lifted “We need to have a talk” she started “about asking me such stupid questions” a smirk spread across her lips as dragged him into the centre to join the others, a big stupid grin grew on his own face.

“Yes m’lady”

***

He hadn’t had much experience with dancing, not to mention the music playing was extra loud to his drunken ears and he didn’t know where to start. Astrid took a hold of both his hands and dragged him along, pulling him this way and that, him following her and trying to keep up. This was a worry of his before, but her laugh and joyful looking face made him care less. He admired the girl in front of him, head empty of previous anxieties and most thoughts, and caught up with her in the fast strides of their dance. Hiccup and Astrid spun and stumbled around the floor together, laughing and clinging onto each other's arms so as not to slip from their awkward embrace. They were supposed to be swapping partners, but neither would allow the other to move too far away so anyone else could get the chance.

They continued to do their own thing, close to the crowd but half the world away at the same time, moving with each other to the ruckus. They spun around for the hundredth time, and Hiccup kept a tight hold of her hand as he took a berth backwards and turned her under a few times too many. She stumbled on a turn and doubled over to laugh into her hand, barely having enough time to compose herself before he pulled her back to him, where they bumped together and carried on moving. The time that passed felt like forever in a few minutes, and before they knew it the purple and blue hues of twilight above them had turned pitch black. Hiccup didn’t mind, and Astrid didn’t either.

They carried on their capering till the bonfire in the centre started to die down, vikings started to dissipate from the centre and move to swig mead at the sides. The songs calmed, and the young vikings slowed to sway to sweet music playing in the dark of the celebrations. It didn’t feel like the most natural or normal thing at all, he realised as she stepped closer and stood nose to nose, their faces barely inches apart. He realised: it felt like a bit of a dream.

The two of them turned gently, still drunkenly giggling and laughing like children at nothing in particular, their faces away from the light of the dwindling fire. Astrid turned her head and kissed him, so gently it was almost more surprising than when she grabbed his tunic and dragged him for one. He didn’t let that throw him off, and kissed her back as they moved quietly. Astrid pulled away, and sighed as she laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed a bit, hoping her closeness wouldn’t give away just how fast his heart was beating, and wondered if it was just him, or the drum of hers he felt too. “Alright?” she asked as he straightened himself up, barely a whisper.

He didn’t know where to start, he was more than alright. He was sure he was in love. “yeah” He said instead, breathlessly, and they swayed till the last note was played.

#httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #httyd fic #I'm not writing fic at night ever again either lmao no way #i thought it was so good when i read it back before going to sleep and then i woke up and read it and eye....#wanted death

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