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wkemeup · 2 years

Text

After

summary: The morning after confessions and years of self-imposed unrequited love, you and Bucky are finally together. Happy. Until a woman from Bucky’s past shows up and threatens everything.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 9k

warnings: stalking, psycho ex-girlfriend, kidnapping, canon level violence, bucky is a precious little angel in this one and I still made it angsty lol

a/n: I usually end my fics with the big confessions and the ‘I love yous’, so I thought it would be interesting to start a story at the happy ending and consider the potential threats to it after it would have typically ended! (Also - the woman in the header is the ex, not y/n)

A wet, sticky substance dripped down the base of your neck. Thick and oozing, it trailed in large droplets down your spine, drawing a tense shiver from between your bones. It took a moment as you came to, blinded by the sting of florescent lighting hanging overhead. Your vision was tunneled, swaying in doubles as you looked in the cobwebs hanging the corners of the empty room, then to the dust lining the floorboards. Metal cuffs seared into your wrists, securing you to the single chair at the center of the room. Skin raw and blistered underneath.

Vague flashes – memories – of a washcloth pressed against your nose and mouth, suffocating you until you inhaled – burning in your lungs with every breath until it stole your defenses and rendered you to the darkness. You could still feel the burn of it in your chest. Hot and aching. The taste of chemicals on your tongue.

Your voice was a razor to your throat as you managed to choke out, “What have you done?”

A woman emerged from the shadows – a cold, satisfied look in her eye. “What I had to.”

***

T W O W E E K S E A R L I E R

You slid out from Bucky’s bedroom just after sunrise in search of the last two donuts in the kitchen. It had taken most of your willpower to crawl out from under his arms and leave his sleeping form behind, but you’d escape for a valiant purpose. The last chocolate glazed donut wasn’t going to eat itself. Unless Clint got to it first.

You’d never known Bucky to sleep as soundly as he did last night. You were so used to hearing his quiet footsteps pacing back forth through the early hours of the morning, his tossing and turning, his screams when he could no longer fight off the demons in his wake. But he had closed his eyes the night before without hesitation – his arms folded warm around your body, his lips over your temple, and he didn’t stir again through the night.

Perhaps it had something to do with mess of desperate confessions you’d shared that evening. His recklessness in the field had driven you to the edge and he didn’t seem to care. He had nothing, he’d said. Nothing important enough to come back to, so why did it matter if he was the one taking all the risks, who would care if he took it a step too far?

You’d argued with him until your lungs burned, until tears swelled in your eyes and still—he wouldn’t relent. It wasn’t until you finally admitted the feelings you held for him that he took pause. Once the words spilled from your lips, they tumbled – like the break at the edge of a waterfall.

You told him how helplessly you loved him, how it chipped pieces off your heart when he came home bloodied and broken and didn’t seem to care, how it would shatter you endlessly if something were to take him from you completely.

You didn’t stop until you were breathless. Until tears were wet against your cheeks and your chest rose heavy and labored. But it was the silence that follow that scared you the most – the lingering fear of losing him in the wake of your confession. But his silence was made of disbelief. It was filled with years' worth of questions and contemplation as he ran back every interaction you’d shared.

Once the shock wore off and you’d resided to his rejection, Bucky shared his own agonizing admission that he’d spent years trying to suffocate those very same feelings. He’d spent his night under warm bodies of women he could hardly look in the eye. He wasted away on booze that barely touched his system. He drowned himself in the certain truth that he would never be good enough for you – too broken, too heavy with the weight of his crimes, resembling the sort of monster that often chased you in your own dreams.

Confessions that led to stunned silence between you. But then, a smile of relief. A laugh. Tears. Jumping into his arms and his lips over your neck. His kiss on your mouth. A desperate plea as he gazed in your eyes because his hands were shaking against your hips, fingertips slipping against the band of your shorts. Needy to make up for so much lost time together – to feel you, to know you, to apologize for his blindness, to love you the way he so often imagined.

Perhaps Bucky slept soundly in the wake of shared desire. His heart racing in his chest, a gleam of sweat over his skin, a blissful smile on his lips as his eyelids fluttered shut. It was relief you shared. To finally be with one another, to no longer have to parade under the mask he hid his feelings under. To be able to call you his own and to know he was yours.

He didn’t stir once. Not even as you lifted his arm and slid out from his embrace. Not as you bent down a pressed a warm kiss to his temple. Not even as you pulled his t-shirt over your head and slipped out into the hallway. One last look as his peaceful form laid over the bed, sheets curled up at his waist and exposing his bare chest. Comfortable. Eased.

You admired him only a moment longer before you escaped to the kitchen in search of those donuts.

The box was still waiting on the kitchen counter and a skip nearly hopped in your step as you scurried around the corner to grab them.

“Morning, Y/n.”

You jumped, hand clutching at your chest as you spotted Sam Wilson standing at the edge of the kitchen, sipping a steaming mug of coffee.

“Dammit, Wilson,” you hushed, willing your heart to slow down. “You scared me.”

Slowly, you inched towards the donut box, peering inside to make sure Clint hadn’t taken the last two in one of his typical midnight snack runs. Sure enough, both remained and you couldn't help the grin that curled over your lips. Breakfast in bed was the perfect way to draw Bucky from his sleep, to remind him that everything you shared the night before was real and perfect and wonderful.

“I see Barnes finally manned up, huh?” Sam smirked. It took until he gestured to your outfit that you realized you were only dressed in Bucky’s t-shirt, your legs exposed to the tops of your thighs. In the hall behind you, Bucky’s bedroom was cracked from where you had escaped. You winced, tugging the fabric of his shirt lower on your thighs.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Sam chuckled, setting the coffee on the counter. “I’ve been after him to tell you for months.”

You bit your lip, taking a quick, cautious glance towards Bucky’s room. A smile inched on your mouth, heart stammering a little louder. “Took until I said it first, but good to know he’s been dragging his feet for so long.”

“Sounds like maybe you have been, too,” Sam reminded you.

You nodded. Almost two years of it. This terrible back and forth of loving him from a distance, watching him bring home girl after girl from the bar, listening as he promised to call them in the morning and never did. The casual flirting, the mutual jealousy, the acknowledgement that there was something more than the friendship you portrayed and still too paralyzed to do anything to change it.

Until last night.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Sam finally admitted, and you were surprised to find his words entirely genuine. He picked up his coffee again, crossing the room on his way to the balcony to watch the sunrise. He paused, leaning over your shoulder. “Just don’t become that insufferable sort of couple, you hear me? All that PDA and lovey-dovey nonsense. I’d hate to have to tease you mercilessly about it.”

You laughed; a flush of welcomed warmth in your cheeks. “Pretty sure you would do that either way, Sam.”

Sam winked, shrugging his shoulders as he backed onto the porch. “Got me there.”

When you finally returned to Bucky’s room, donut box in hand, Bucky was sitting up on the bed. With his back to you, you could see every ripple and layer of muscle carved into his spine – the fusion of flesh into the vibranium that appeared less scarred since Shuri gifted him the new arm. His hands curled into the edge of the mattress, handfuls of sheets in his palm. Tension rippled down his spine.

Slowly, you clicked the door behind you and Bucky’s head snapped to you, a brief moment of shock before the relief settled in. It hit like a bullet to your chest, his obvious surprise to see you return. You fought to keep a smile pressed to your lips.

“Didn’t see you when I woke up,” Bucky said hesitantly as he crossed the room to you. “Thought you might have wandered off on me.”

It was a deflection, a teasing joke to cover his very real fear that you’d left him after your night together, that maybe he was only worth one good lay and his heart laid bare wasn’t enough for you. It was the very reason he held himself back for so long – terrified to admit how wholly you'd taken his heart.

You set the donut box on the edge of his bed, sliding your free hands up his chest to rest on the sides of his face. Thumbs brushing sweetly over his cheekbones and drawing away his tension with the touch of your hands.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” you said and you hoped he heard the sincerity in your voice.

Bucky grinned as he leaned down to kiss you. It was a new feeling, to be kissed by him so earnestly, to be kissed good morning and ‘just because.’ You savored each one, even knowing there were more to be had. An endless supply for as long as he would give you. An eternity, maybe.

“Is that the last chocolate glaze?” Bucky inquired as his stomach let out a rumbling growl. You laughed, nodding as you handed him the box. He picked it up, sighing at the smell. “You sure you don’t want it, sweetheart?”

“I’m good, Buck. I’ve got this one,” you said, picking up the final donut in the box. It wasn’t chocolate glaze, but you remembered Bucky’s stories of the chocolate donuts in Coney Island when he was a kid. It was more than just a sweet treat to him – it was a memory. And you liked seeing him smile, even with chocolate icing on his lips.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Bucky grinned, mouth full of donut. Lost in the comfort of sweets and the ease of you beside him, he muttered “I love you,” in a heavy, exhale. Then, he froze, eyes wide. He took a cautious step back. “Sorry, I, uh... I know a lot has changed in the last twelve hours and I don’t want to scare you off but... no more secrets, right? I won’t hide anything from you and especially not this. You mean too much to me and I won’t hide how I—”

“I love you, too.” It was the easiest thing you’d ever said.

Bucky tossed the rest of the donut in the box, lunging towards you and throwing the both of you onto the bed. His sticky sweet lips trailed over your cheeks, your jaw, the edge of your neck where your collar met his shirt, and back to your lips where he tasted of sugar and chocolate. You laughed against his mouth and wondered if it were possible to ever grow tired of his kiss.

***

Days later and you were still lifted in the high of being with Bucky.

Sam – true to his word – teased you both mercilessly, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind one bit. He’d roll his eyes at Sam and tug you a little closer to his side, swing your legs over his lap, and kiss you right on the lips. If you looked close enough, you swore you saw the corner of Sam’s mouth curve at the left edge when he turned away.

Despite spending the better part of the last four days together, Bucky wined incessantly when Steve ordered him and Sam away for debrief. Sam had muttered a short, ‘see this is the insufferable nonsense I was talking about,’ as he dragged Bucky away from you by the collar of his shirt. It was all in jest. Even Bucky gave you a short wink as he finally stopped dragging his feet and gave Sam a good shove as they jogged to the conference room.

You had a few hours to spare before Bucky would come looking for you again, so you figured you might as well get your run in now. Bucky would slow his pace for you even before the change in your relationship. Half of you wondered if now he might just pick you up and carry you instead.

The elevator door dinged on the ground floor and the doors opened. You tugged a light tighter at the elastic securing your hair and gave a short wave to the security at the desk. You were just about to turn up your music when you heard a woman’s voice arguing with the receptionist.

“I’m here to see James Barnes,” the woman said firmly, as if it wasn’t the first time. She tapped her manicured nails against the counter, one after the other in a perfect cascade.

The receptionist flushed red, her gaze flickering nervously towards the security officer in the corner of the lobby. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’re not on the guest list today. Perhaps if you schedule an appointment—”

“I don’t think you understand who I am,” the woman shot back impatiently.

“I could help you book a time to meet with the Avengers’ publicist if you—”

“Can I help you?” You approached the woman from the side, slowly pulling your headphones off and rested the band around your neck. You gave her a short smile as she turned to you.

Dressed in a form fitted cocktail dress and heels sharper than Natasha’s daggers, she studied you a moment longer before answering. Her silky black hair swung over her shoulders. “No, that’s quite all right. I’m looking to speak to James, so if you don’t mind—”

“I’m his girlfriend,” you offered quickly, though an awkward wince shortly followed. “Well, actually, we haven’t talked about that yet. It’s new, but—” you laughed, trying to cover your embarrassment as you ran chilled hands over the hear in your cheeks, “anyway... Maybe I could pass a message along to him for you?”

The woman narrowed her eyes. There was a rigidness to her posture that hadn’t been there before. Stone fractured into the sharp lines of her face. But then slowly, the hardened exterior melted away. She shrugged it off and the tension simply fell from her body. She smiled.

“That’s so kind of you,” she said, extending her hand. “I'm Tori.”

You returned her smile as you shook her hand. Her grip was firm, almost aching.

“Y/n.”

“Pleasure.” Her lips were pressed together as she smiled – tugging bright red lipstick higher into her cheeks. A startling, bold color that was almost unsettling. She sighed, pausing a moment before she continued. “It’s not that important anyway. Just looking for a quote for the paper. You know how it goes.” She held up a press ID badge.

You laughed with her, nodding along. “Of course. Well, I should head out before it starts to rain, but it was nice to meet you. Good luck on your story!”

Tori smiled as she waved goodbye. There was something strange about her expression, even amongst the illuminating glow in her dewy skin and the perfect sheen in her hair. You didn’t realize until you were half a mile from the tower that her smile did not touch her eyes.

Not once.

***

“I swear it on my life, sweetheart, it’s the best hot chocolate you're ever gonna have!” Bucky pitched his argument for the third time, his hand gripping yours as he tried to tug you down the street to the café he discovered on one of his midnight walks. It was such a lovely change to see him smiling so wide like this – unafraid and unbothered by the rush of pedestrians on the sidewalks or the tourists capturing not-so-subtle photos of the Winter Soldier holding hands with his girlfriend.

“Bucky, it’s just hot chocolate,” you laughed. “They all taste the same.”

“Blasphemy!” he shot back, which only made you laugh harder. You’d done it on purpose to get a rise of out him and he caught on instantly, drawing you into his arms and peppering you with kissing until you finally yielded.

“Fine! Fine!” You shoved him playfully in the chest as his hands swung up in the air defensively.

“You won’t regret this,” Bucky grinned, grabbing a tight hold of your hand and leading you down the short stretch of alley to the café. Tucked away in the heart of Brooklyn – only a single door under an even smaller awning gave way to the hole in the wall shop. It seemed Bucky wasn’t the only one who appreciated their drinks as it was packed shoulder to shoulder inside the café. His shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“Go,” you offered at his hesitation. “I’ll wait here for you.”

Bucky brightened, nodding quickly and he stole one final kiss from your cheek before he slipped inside.

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. “He’s like a damn golden retriever.”

“I’ll say.”

The voice came from your left where a woman stood on the street corner, watching you. Bright bold lipstick and onyx black hair – the woman from the lobby who had been trying to get in to see Bucky a few days earlier. She was sipping from a Styrofoam mug – its label from the café Bucky was currently standing in line for.

“Y/n, it’s good to see you again,” Tori greeted, stepping closer to you. "Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but watch the two of you. You’re very... sweet together.” She seemed to bite out the last two words.

“Oh, well, thank you.” You pressed out a thin smile, shifting awkwardly in your stance. Stealing a quick glance to the shop and finding Bucky still waiting at the back of the line, you asked, “did you ever get that quote you were looking for?”

Tori shrugged, shaking her head. “No, but I’m used to that with James. He’s always played hard to get.”

You stilled; your heart suddenly so loud in your ears it drowned out the traffic on the main street behind you. Heavy thumping pounding in your chest, deafening in your ears. You swallowed, hoping you had misheard her intentions. “Sorry, what do you mean?”

Her eyes widened, embarrassed. “Oh, I assumed you knew...”

Slowly, you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“James and I – we had a fling a few months ago,” she explained, a smile curling over her red lipstick almost dreamily. “Couple nights here and there. He was... exceptional in the bedroom, as I’m sure you know. So generous. Like’s he’s seeking penance between the sheets. But anyway, he promised me a quote for a story I was working on and I was coming back to collect. Little tit-for-tat, you know?”

Sandpaper in your throat. Burning. Blistering. But still—you smiled. “Of course.”

You’d never known Bucky to go back for more from any of the women he brought home to the tower; an endless parade that served to break your heart tens ways to Sunday you now knew was his attempt to suffocate the feelings he harbored for you. Not once did he ever make good on his promise to call them again. It was a meaningless distraction, after all. Except for Tori, it seemed.

You couldn’t blame him for that. You held no claim on him at the time. And yet – you couldn’t help but feel your heart splintering at the seams. To be reminded that he had touched this woman the way he touched you, maybe whispered the same things in her ear.

It wasn’t the same. You knew that. Bucky loved you.

Still. Jealousy was a terrible monster.

“I should probably head out,” Tori groaned, shooting you a pouted look as she checked the time on her phone. “No need to ask James about that quote anymore, by the way. Story came and went. Fast paced media and all. I’ll see you around, Y/n.”

You nodded, watching quietly as she disappeared into the busy sidewalk – swallowed by the swarm of tourists and commuters.

“Hey honey!” Bucky popped up on your right, startling you as you clutched your hand to your heart. He winced. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t meant to scare you. But hey, look – I got hot cocoa.”

You forced a smile, thanking him sweetly with a kiss to his cheek as you took the hot chocolate from his hands. He was waiting patiently for you to take the first sip, to prove him right after days of buildup, that this was the best hot chocolate known to man. You’d never seen him as light and as happy as he was in the last week and you hoped part of that had to do with you, with what had changed between you, and you were desperate to hold onto it at all cost.

“It’s wonderful, Buck. Best in the city. You were right,” you told him with a much as smile as you could muster. The smile that spread on Bucky’s face was well worth it, even if the hot chocolate was average at best. Still, you went in for another sip.

On the way back to the tower, Bucky kept his hand close to you at all times. Lingering over the small of your back, sliding over your shoulders, brushing hair away from your face. The touch seemed to comfort him as you weaved in and around the busy sidewalks.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Bucky started, swallowing the last sip of his coco. “Who were you talking to earlier? Thought I saw you with someone while I was picking up our orders.”

You nearly choked on your drink, but you shook your head rapidly, quickly recovering. “No one. An old friend.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at your contradiction, but he didn’t press any further. Instead, he tossed his empty cup in the bin and laced his fingers with yours. There was no jealousy in his question, no caution or concern – just curiosity. Because he was interested in the things you did. Because he liked hearing you talk.

You thought about telling him the truth, that you’d been rattled by one of the women he’d slept with before things changed between you, but you knew it would only serve to feed his misplaced guilt. There was nothing that could be done now to change his past – he couldn’t take back his nights with her just as you couldn’t tell him you loved him sooner to avoid all this heartache. You could only move forward. Together.

You squeezed his hand and did just that.

***

Billy Joel was playing on the radio – the soft hum of Piano Man carrying through the near empty dive bar as you tapped your toe on the edge of the bar stool. You swirled the bottom of your drink in the cup before you stole a final look to the door and finished it in one gulp.

Carol was supposed to meet you almost an hour ago now. She’d left a message with the receptionist that she would be in town and wanted to catch up, which wasn’t entirely strange for her given she didn’t have cell service in space. But still – Bucky had teased her mercilessly for not having a cellphone when even he managed to figure it out.

You could still feel the imprint of his hands against your hips as he teased you about how bored he’d be with you gone for the evening. Leaving him to his own devices – he was sure to get into trouble with Sam or ‘accidentally’ watch the next episode on your shared favorite show without you. He liked to tease you like that – small reminders of just how enamored he was with you; how helpless he was when it came to you. Still, he was the one to push you out the door so you weren’t late for your date with Carol.

He’d kissed you sweetly in the lobby of the tower, unbothered by the stray onlookers and security officers who kindly averted their eyes. He kissed you with his hands against your cheeks, peppering his lips over your nose and forehead before he finally let you go, whispering an ‘I love you,’ as a goodbye.

He said it so casually now – as often as he could. Perhaps, because he never imagined a world where he would ever get the chance. It felt like a dream each time – the ease with which he said those words, as if nothing had ever been truer.

“Can I get you a refill?” the bartender offered, gesturing to your empty glass. You blinked a few times to pull you from your thoughts.

You sighed, checking your watch and looking to the door one last time. “I think I might just head out actually. I’ll take the—”

“She’ll have another,” a woman took a seat at the bar stool on your left, waving off the bartender when he gave you an inquisitory look. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the bright red stain of lipstick as the woman turned to face you—onyx hair brushed in long waves over her shoulders as she crossed her legs. “We have got to stop running into each other like this.”

“Tori,” you greeted tensely, stealing another hopeful glance to the door in search of Carol. “Nice to see you again.”

“Strange, don’t you think? That we keep crossing paths?” She was smiling at you, but something felt forced in her tone, something cold in her eyes. “You meeting someone?”

The way she said it – it was almost like a taunt, like she knew Carol wasn’t going to show up, or perhaps, Carol was never the one who asked to meet you there in the first place. You swallowed, your heart pounding a little louder. The bartender set the replenished drink on the countertop, shooting you a concerned look as his gaze flickered to Tori. You gave him a short nod, letting him know you could manage.

“She’s probably caught up at work,” you shrugged casually, taking a sip from the fresh drink.

“Lucky for us,” Tori smirked, raising her glass to you. You held your breath, watching her as she waited for you to do the same. Only when you tapped your drink against hers, did she finally press out another drawn out smile. Still – it did nothing to touch the impatience growing in her eyes.

“So, tell me,” she said as her eyes narrowed on you, “how is our super soldier?”

You gritted your teeth at her punctuation of ‘our.’ Bucky wasn’t hers. He wasn’t something to be shared as if he meant little more than a thing to be used and discarded. You gripped the edge of your glass until your fingers ached. If you’d had Bucky’s strength, it would have shattered in your hand – glass embedded into your palms and still it wouldn’t divert from the hallow ache churning in your stomach.

“He’s good,” you replied shortly. “Happy.”

Tori sighed a long, exaggerated breath; the red press of her lips puckered against the edge of her martini glass. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

Your phone buzzed against the counter, drawing your reprieve. You were thankful for the distraction as you spotted Bucky’s name light up on your screen. It was a short message, just him checking in on how you’re doing, if you’re having fun, when you want him to come pick you up because – SHEILD analyst or not – he didn’t want his girl walking home alone this late. It was a romantic gesture, he explained, not him being dramatic and overprotective. He ended the message with a winky face.

You caught yourself smiling dreamily at the message and quickly clenched your jaw, realizing where you were as you felt Tori watching you – her gaze drifting over your shoulder to read the message. You cleared your throat, slipping your phone quickly into your pocket.

“Thanks for the drink,” you started, sliding out from the bar stool, “but I should probably head out.”

“So soon?” she whined, pouting playfully as if you were old friends. You inched backwards. “Please, stay. I’ll order us some appetizers and we can—”

“It’s getting pretty late, and I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you pressed, swinging on your jacket.

Tori followed you, matching you step for step. “It’s no worry at all. In fact, I insist! Let me—oops!”

You flinched as her drink spilled down the front of your shirt – staining your white blouse in cranberry juice. You exhaled a tense breath through your nose as you shook off the excess liquor from your fingertips, tugging the shirt away from your skin as it dampened the fabric.

“Oh god, I am so sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, no – it's fine. I’m just going to go wash up.”

You slipped past her and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was a relief to finally have some space without feeling like she was somehow scrutinizing every move you made under the strange guise of plastic friendship and forced smiles. You didn’t know what she wanted from you but every interaction left you feeling unsettled. Like she was peeling back your layers by the tips of her long, manicured nails – exposing you, digging deeper and deeper until you were withered away to nothing.

There was no avoiding this anymore. You needed to tell Bucky about her as soon as you got home. It would be an uncomfortable conversation and you knew he would take on unnecessary blame, but something was off with this woman and you needed his insight.

Leaning against the bathroom sink, you studied the pink stain over your shirt. It swarmed into the fibers, crawling like dye along your chest. You groaned, yanking a few paper towels from the dispenser and dowsing it in water. You scrubbed at the stain until it faded, but it somehow managed to spread – leaving your white shirt resembling more of a pale pink mess. Your eyes flickered back to the mirror. There, you caught the reflection of eyes peering back at you.

You yelped, hands dropping to the sink to steady yourself as you took another cautious glance at Tori’s image standing just over your shoulder in the corner of the room. A nervous laugh escaped to cover the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Shit. You scared me.” You gripped the counter until your knuckles ached.

Tori didn’t respond. No cracked jokes or bright red grins. Instead, she held your stare through the mirror – unmoving. Impossibly still as wisps of her hair floated in the draft from the air conditioner.

You swallowed. “Tori? Are you—”

“What makes you so special?” Her upper lip twitched.

You narrowed your eyes on her reflection, confused. Slowly, you turned around to face her. “Sorry, what did you—”

“What... makes you... so special?” she asked again, venom pressed into every word. Her heels clicked against the tile as she approached, backing you against the sink. You felt the edge of the metal towel dispenser dig into your spine.

Her gaze trailed over you, taking her time as she studied every inch of you, unashamed. “He’s been with dozens of women, all begging him to settle down, and he chooses... you?”

You held her stare, willing your expression as unemotive as you could. You wouldn’t allow her to break you, to make you feel like you were just another notch on Bucky’s bedpost. His way of coping with the trauma Hydra inflicted upon him and the burdening weight of his feelings for you was his own business. It hurt like hell and broke your heart but you weren’t going to blame him for how he dealt with his pain. You wouldn’t shame him for that either.

He chose you. No—he always knew it was you from the beginning. He’d told you as much. He loved you. This woman couldn’t take that away from you with a few cruel remarks.

“I should go,” you gritted out, trying to push past her, but Tori blocked your path. She grinned; red lipstick stained on the front of her teeth – the smallest hint of imperfection breaking through the cracks. Her eyes were a little too wide, her pupils dilated to large, black circles. She barely blinked.

“No, I don’t think you will.”

Then, she lunged.

Your head slammed back against the wall and you heard a deafening crack. Whether it was the tile or the base of your skull, you couldn’t tell, but you struggled to even keep your balance as you swung at one of Tori’s swaying images. You fist only met the air as she easily stepped out of your path and you stumbled forward, colliding against the door of a stall.

“Pathetic,” she spat, digging something out of her bag. The smell of it burned in your nose as she yanked a tight hold of your hair, pressing you against the wall. She shoved the damp cloth over your nose and mouth. You scrambled under the pressure, panicked, but you were trapped.

“Go to sleep,” she cooed under tense breath as you swiped your arms over the counter, trying to find something to grab, but your brain was too foggy, your vision too dark. Soap bottles clanged against the tile floor. Blood slid down your neck.

Your lungs were on fire. You had to breathe. But the cloth was pressed hard over your nose, over your mouth. There was no escape. You felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. Bucky. Tears welled in your eyes. And then – you gasped for air.

Chemicals to your lungs. Heat and fire in your chest.

Then, darkness.

***

You learned hours later that Tori managed to drag your unconscious body through the back exit of the bar, down the alley, and into the back seat of her car without anyone noticing. You could still feel the road-burn on your legs and pebbles embedded into your skin. You spat a glob of blood from where you'd bitten down on the inside of your cheek in the struggle.

“What do you want?” you groaned, avoiding her gaze as she circled around the room. Your head was pulsing so badly it hurt to so much as speak.

She laughed – dry, humorless. “To show you exactly how insignificant you really are.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s rather dramatic.”

Tori glared at you. She shook her head, rolling her shoulders back as if preparing a monologue. Then, she took in a deep breath. “No woman has ever tamed the Winter Soldier. He has never gone back for seconds before me. I was the first. I was going to fix him!” You flinched as she slammed her hand against the door. “But then you come along and suddenly, he’s... what? In love?” Her tone was mocking, disbelief and arrogance as she stared at you, agape. “It was going to be me. It should have been me! You’re not special at all! He just got tired of the games and you were convenient!”

“You don’t know a damn thing about my relationship,” you sneered, unfazed by her venomous stare.

“I’ll prove it to you,” she taunted, a wicked grin growing upon her face. She tapped the edge of the television propped on the wall and it illuminated to reveal what appeared to security footage from the tower. Twenty-second floor. Kitchen. Sam was making pancakes in the top right corner of the screen.

“What the hell is this?” you gaped, stunned.

“I’ll prove that you’re nothing more than just another fuck to him,” Tori continued as if she hadn’t even heard you. She rubbed a new layer of lipstick over her mouth before running a comb through pieces of her hair that had fallen out of place in the struggle. “You’ll see. The second I offer myself to your precious Bucky, he’ll come crawling back in an instant. He knows how good it was with me. He’ll remember and he’ll leave you in a second.”

You stared at her; eyes wide. Not because you believed a word she said, but because she did.

“You’re insane.”

She smirked and it filled your stomach with dread. “We’ll see about that.”

***

Left alone in the room, you tried to break free of your bindings, only for the wounds to dig deeper into your wrists, rendering any movement unbearable. Blood trickled down your wrists, slipping to the tips of your fingers and pooling on the floor underneath. Whatever blood remained at the base of your skull had long dried – crusted flakes caked into your hair and down your spine.

On the security footage, you watched as Bucky entered the room, holding his phone. He was staring down at the screen, tapping it every few moments. You realized with an agonizing break in your chest that he was checking for a message that would never come— a confirmation that you were alright.

How long had it been since Tori knocked you out? How long had you been held up in this room before you came to? You couldn’t tell the time of day from the black and white footage, but you could see Bucky was dressed in jeans and a faded SHIELD crewneck Steve had given him when he was first pardoned. Sam flipped a pancake on the stove but that didn’t mean it was morning, per say. The man consumed breakfast foods at all hours of the day.

You watched helplessly as Bucky ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze shooting back to his phone so often you knew his anxiety must have been through the roof. At one point, he disappeared from the footage and returned with a pair of Tony’s car keys in hand. He waved them about, arguing with Sam as he pointed towards the elevator. But after a while, he slid the keys across the counter to Sam defeatedly.

You were supposed to be out with Carol. It wouldn’t have been unusual for you to lose track of time together. It had been months since you saw her last and there was so much to catch up on – including your relationship with Bucky. You’d once stayed out until closing with her, not stumbling home until near three in the morning long after the bars closed with a slice of pizza in hand and your cheeks aching with laughter.

But Bucky was wrestling between his instincts and shoving down the urge to cling to you. You thought it was sweet how often he teased you about how he didn’t want to spend another second away from you, not after all of the wasted time he lost. The Winter Soldier himself was loving and wonderful and selfless and kind when he was with you. He was everything.

You wondered if you would ever see him again.

After a while Sam had disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Bucky alone as he sat at the counter. He swirled a spoon around a cup of tea he’d let grow cold, too busy tapping his phone screen to see if you called.

“Something’s wrong, Bucky,” you pleaded at the television, a lump burning in your throat as he clenched his hand to a fist. “You know something’s wrong. Come on.”

Then, his head snapped up, turning to something off screen. Hope rose in your chest. Maybe this was it. Steve was coming to tell him you were missing. Carol was calling to say she never saw you tonight. Something.

But instead, Tori walked into frame and you slumped against the chair, dead weight pulling on your body until you sunk into metal and wood and foundation. She glanced up at the security camera, peering directly at you with subtle wink, before suddenly, the audio turned on.

A high-pitched ringing echoed into the room and you struggled to shield your ears against your shoulders. It passed only a moment later, leaving your head aching again and a terrible buzzing in your ears. But then – you heard a voice that nearly cracked through your chest and left your heart open and exposed.

“Tori?” Bucky took a cautious step backward, tension coating his muscle. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you, of course,” she replied sweetly, following his steps. The strap of her cocktail dress slid down her shoulder casually and she made no move to fix it. She smirked as his eyeline followed the flimsy fabric, just as she’d hoped he would. She didn’t seem to notice the way his right hand curled into a fist, his nails digging into his palms – something he often did to control his anxiety.

Bucky swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t play coy with me, James. That’s not how we work.” Tori swung her hips as she crossed the room, kicking off her shoes with each step. Bucky backed himself against the wall, trying to slip out of her reach, but her hands were already on his chest, sliding down to his belt. You tried to look away but found it impossible, even as tears blurred your eyes.

“Whoa! Whoa, hold on now,” Bucky nervously brushed her hands away before she could unlatch his buckle. You knew with his full strength he could have tossed her across the room, but he restrained himself, even as his chest started to rise in rapid breaths.

“There’s no need to be shy, James.” She giggled as if he were playing a game and her mouth pressed to his neck— red lipstick brushing over his collarbone as her tongue swept his pulse point. You felt sick, tears openly sliding down your cheeks, until Bucky grabbed a firm hold of her shoulders and pulled her away from him.

“Tori, enough!”

She froze, staring wide eyed back at him. His reaction stunned her. She was expecting him to cave to her desire without hesitancy, to drop everything at the offer of her body and her lips upon his neck. He fractured her delusion that he would come to her willingly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, a flush of red in his cheeks. “I’m-- I’m with someone now and I... I love her. I won’t betray her. Not ever.”

You waited as Tori’s posture went rigid, the sharp clench in her jawline visible even from the grainy security footage. Bucky didn’t seem to notice how still she’d become or what backlash he might face if he continued. He started pacing, a tremoring hand carding through his hair.

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you,” Bucky began sincerely. “I... I used you to avoid dealing with my own feelings and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If I ever made you think that it meant more than that to me—”

“You love her?!” Tori snapped, the high-pitched crack in her voice freezing Bucky in place. She was seething, steam blowing from her ears as she stalked closer to him. “You-- the guy who slept with half of New York because you’re afraid of commitment!”

He blinked; a head of shame and guilt hot as stone against his cheeks. “I’m not... I’m not afraid of commitment. I was trying to keep my mind off her because I didn’t think I had a chance in hell. It was stupid and selfish, and a shitty way to cope but—”

“Dammit Bucky, stop talking,” you urged to the screen, tugging on your restraints. You’d seen the shift in Tori before – how quickly her angry molded into a deadly calm. She’d managed to knock you out because you underestimated her. Bucky was walking into the same trap.

“Y/n, right?” Tori scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you could possibly see in that woman. I’m the one you want, James. I’m the only one you came back for!”

“Because it was easier and I was lazy and a fucking asshole,” Bucky admitted, his gaze falling to the floor, unable to look at her under the weight of his mistakes. You held your breath as you watched the rage fume into Tori’s eyes. She held her shock for only a moment and then, a paralyzing calm swept over her. Dread solidified like stone against your chest.

“It didn’t mean anything deeper to me,” Bucky tried to explain as gently as he could. “I shouldn’t have strung you along, Tori. I thought you knew it what it was. I have loved Y/n as long as I’ve known her and I didn’t know how else to deal with it. I am so—”

You saw the flash of silver for only a moment. Reflecting under the shine of the florescent lights, Tori swiped the blade from her purse and dove it directly into Bucky’s ribs. You screamed.

Bucky gasped, stunned eyes trailing down to the knife embedded in his stomach, then to Tori as she spat on his cheek. He winced, clutching onto her shoulders for support, until she twisted the blade further, drawing a pained whine from Bucky’s lips. Then, she yanked the blade back in one smooth motion – spewing droplets of blood onto the couch beside him.

“Bucky!” you cried, desperately yanking against the ropes, but they would not give. Tears blurred in your vision, sweeping down your cheeks. You could hardly breathe as he collapsed to his knees, hands touching the wash of blood seeping through his sweatshirt. Navy blue dampened in a deep maroon.

He watched as she stalked off without another a word- his body swaying as his eyes rolled back and – he met the floor. A pool of blood circled around him, stretching out along the tiles.

“No...” You shook your head. A scream ripped through your lungs as you tore at the ropes, cutting into your skin and soaking blood into the twine. “No! Bucky! Someone – someone help him!”

But no one came.

The footage froze – leaving you alone with the image of Bucky bleeding out. Alone.

***

You watched the security tape until your eyes burned – afraid to blink for even a second. He hadn’t moved in almost an hour. Logically, you knew it was because the feed had been cut; the picture frozen only a few seconds after he’d collapsed and still—you watched it as if he’d disappear completely if you turned away for even a second.

Someone would notice him. Sam would come back. Clint would find his way to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Someone would find him before it was too late.

Bucky wasn’t dead. You wouldn’t allow it to be true. You’d only just learned what it was like to have him in your arms, to be able to call him yours, to be his. He couldn’t be dead.

When the door to your caged room crept open with the screeching cry of rusted hinges, you could barely muster the strength to look at Tori in the eye. Her hands were stained red with blood – Bucky's blood. It was all you could focus on – how it dried into her manicured nails, slipped into the cracks of dry skin. You wondered how long it took for him to bleed out after she left him. You wondered if he died alone.

“He was a fool,” Tori spat, disgust laced into her voice. You kept your stare on her hands, your vision blurred into faded swarms of crimson. She must have finally noticed the emptiness she’d left in you because she added, “now neither of us can have him.”

Your eyes snapped to hers, rage boiling in your bloodstream. “He was never yours!”

A slap burned against your cheek as she struck you. You remained still, staring at the left wall of the room for a moment until you gathered yourself again. When you looked at her, she was just as crazed as she was when she attacked you in the bathroom of the dive bar – unhinged.

“Now what?” you taunted. “You going to kill me, too?”

She shrugged, sliding a paper bag from her purse. Inside, was a handgun. She weighed it carefully in her grip before she dropped the bag. She’d clearly never used the weapon before.

“Can’t have witnesses, can I?” she smirked, releasing the safety.

You clenched your jaw, determined to hold her gaze even if it was the last thing you saw. “No, I suppose not.”

She raised the gun, barrel aimed at your chest. “I would say it’s been a pleasure, but—”

The door to the room swung open and chaos ensued. A gun was discharged – the echo of it deafening within the small room and you squeezed your eyes shut. You held your breath; certain a bullet had pierced straight through your chest. Blood was pooling down your shirt, crimson mixing into the faded pink stain of vodka and cranberry on your blouse – you were sure of it.

But no pain followed.

Instead, you felt hands press to the sides of your face – desperate, pleading. One warm. One solid as steel.

“Y/n,” Bucky’s voice shook as he held you, “please, sweetheart, look at me. I’m right here.”

You clenched your jaw, terrified that if you opened your eyes you might be met with an empty room – that all that remained of the man you loved laid on the floor in the tower. Tears spilled down your cheeks, slipping over the tips of his fingers as he brushed them away.

“You’re safe, honey, I promise,” Bucky tried again, his lips peppering kisses over your cheekbones, kissing away your tears. “Sam and Steve have her restrained. She can’t hurt you.”

Slowly, you dared to open your eyes.

Bucky was on his knees, red stained into the skin on his neck and coating his left hand. It seeped into the cracks of his left, but he was wearing his combat suit— the blood-soaked sweatshirt left behind. He was breathing heavily, his eyes trailing over you in search of further injury, but still—relieved.

“She-- She stabbed you,” you stuttered, looking to the monitor on the wall where Bucky’s image was still displayed. He clenched his jaw as he turned to look, a cold realization settling in that you’d been made to watch Tori’s advances on him and her subsequent retaliation to his rejection.

Bucky pushed out a smile. “I’m strung together with some shitty stapples, but I’m okay. It takes more than that to take me down, especially when my girl needs me.”

He still managed to tease you, even as he worked on removing the ropes on your wrists – a playful laugh on his breath as he made every attempt to draw a smile back to your lips. As he released your hands, you winced at the cold wash of air against the open wounds.

“She’s not here,” Bucky offered when he noticed your gaze searching the room. “I had Steve and Sam get her out of here the second they wrestled the gun away. You won’t ever have to deal with her again, honey.”

Bucky sighed, his chin sinking to his chest. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I brought this on you. I never thought that she—that anyone would—”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nodded as his nose pressed to your hair, breathing you in. You were almost certain you smelled of the thrown martini and chloroform, but he didn’t seem to mind. With his senses, he might still have been able to isolate the wash of your shampoo.

“I wish I could do it all over,” Bucky admitted. “I wish had the courage to tell you at the beginning."

You knew what he was trying to say – that he would have traded every one of his meaningless one night stands if it meant he had more time with you. He would have avoided ever knowing Tori or any of the nameless women you’d seen escape from his room before dawn. He would have given anything to have known you loved him as he did everything in his power to forget his feelings for you. He would have made a thousand different choices.

But he could not have known what you did not tell him.

“I wish I did, too,” you murmured against his neck. You couldn’t allow yourself to wonder how different things would have been if you’d confessed your feelings for him sooner— if you could have spared either of you months or years of heartbreak. You pulled back from his embrace, only enough to meet his eye. You brushed your thumb over his lips. “But we’re here now, Bucky. You and me. Nothing can ever get in the way of that. You have me, okay?”

Bucky nodded weakly. He kissed you chaste on the lips, gentle, as if he were afraid to push it further. Not within this room – with blood on your wrists and a half-stitched wound under his jacket. He would have plenty of time to love you properly later.

You took solace in that. Misfortune and the universe herself had spent years keeping you and Bucky at arm's length from one another. They would not dare to come between you now.

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

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader

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Text

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 5 (Something's Gotta Give)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N, brief mention of past injury, spanish translation at end (courtesy of @queerponcho, thank you beloved)

wc: 3.4k

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: immovable object? the unstoppable force would like a word.

__________

As far as peace offerings go, it’s not the worst.

At least, that’s what you’ve told yourself as you stand outside your neighbor’s apartment, your fist failing to close the distance and knock. In one hand you hold a plate of pastries you’d bought earlier. Hopefully it’s enough.

Before you can raise your hand again, the door whips open.

Leah Mendoza, ever the force to be reckoned with, stands with arms akimbo and eyebrow raised. “Quit shuffling your feet and come inside, nena.”

You oblige wordlessly. Crossing the threshold, you immediately feel the warmth of her apartment embrace you. Not that she’s escaped the chill that plagues your building; Leah is an artist, and every flat surface serves as either canvas or easel. Most spaces are covered in surreal portraits and near-magical icons, her handiwork displayed as a gorgeously chaotic gallery. Sunlight streams through gauzy curtains to feed sprawling plants and attempts to warm the richly colored rug beneath your feet.

You leave your shoes at the door and hold out the platter, smiling sheepishly. “Hope you still have a sweet tooth.”

“It's been so long, I'm surprised you remember.” Despite her playfully icy tone, Leah’s expression warms as she peeks at the pan de mallorca you hand over.

“...But I suppose going five blocks out of your way for breakfast makes up for it.” She nudges you with her hip before escorting you to the kitchen.

“Look what the cat dragged in, Caro,” Leah calls out to the seating area as she pours two mugs of coffee. You see your other friend’s smiling eyes light up at the sight of you.

“Ohhh, it’s been ages!” she squeals as she rushes to your side, tackling you with an enthusiastic hug.

Caroline Ngo, the youngest of your trio, has always brought a much-needed energy to your time together. When she and her parents moved in, you and Leah decided to adopt her into your early morning ritual of coffee and gossip. As her rosy cheeks beam up at you, you’re (a bit selfishly) grateful that she’s delayed her college applications by a year. You’re not ready to part with your other baby bird just yet.

Still, you pry yourself from her grasp. “Something tells me you had an early start on the coffee.”

“Maybe,” she drawls as she saunters away. Leah passes you a steaming mug, prepared just the way you like it.

The three of you sit, sipping and smiling as the room grows brighter with the sunrise. Leah regales you with the results of her latest art show; Caroline badgers you for updates about Mauricio, dimpled cheeks flushed as she speaks. For a few moments, everything feels like it used to.

Leah finishes her pastry and turns to you. “So, ‘Ms. Songbird’. How are you?”

You shrug, dismissive. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

“No, I don’t know. You haven't been around for us to see your ‘usual’.” Leah's voice is measured, but she’s clearly frustrated. “Can you tell me the last time we've heard more than a ‘good morning’ from you? Or were together for longer than an elevator ride to our floor?”

You chuckle nervously. “Goodness, maybe… August? September?”

“June.” She sips her coffee before setting it down. “Are things really so busy at work that you can't spare a moment for us anymore?”

If only you knew.

“I'm sorry, ladies. Truly. But things have been picking up at the lounge, I've even had to get outside help–”

“Ah yes, the altar boy lawyer.” Leah shakes her head. “I thought you were done with him.”

“‘Done with him?’ Leah, he's my friend.”

“Oh, I recall. So good a friend that he lets you ice his bruises and clean his cuts.” She crosses her arms. “So good, he's even bringing new friends with the same scrapes to your door.”

“The other night was an emergency–”

“How long are you going to run around with that kind of crowd?” Her voice bites. “Believe me, I know my share of the nightlife. But every time you bring home some broken man, a load of trouble seems to follow.”

This is not where you saw the morning going. “I thought we were spending time together, not berating the company I keep.”

“Please don't be upset,” Caroline pleads, taking your hand from her seat on the floor. “We miss you. You haven’t been home in weeks,” she laments. “At least, not for more than a couple of hours.”

You shift in your seat but give her hand a light squeeze. “I've missed you, too.”

“Then do something about it.” Leah gets up, crossing the room to distract herself with more coffee but then doubles back to look you in the eyes.

“You know my gut is never wrong, nena. And I wouldn't be a good friend if I didn't speak my mind.”

You brace yourself as she continues. “You can spend your nights hiding behind your Songbird persona and running the lounge, but don't be surprised if the cage you're building around yourself is locked from the inside.”

With that, she turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen, leaving you and Caroline in silence.

Slowly, Caroline slides into Leah’s empty seat, her hand still on yours.

“... I always liked your stage name.”

You don’t say anything, instead letting your eyes trail through the patterns on the rug.

She scoots closer. “Leah’s just looking out for you. Like always.”

“I know, Caro.”

You feel her head rest on your shoulder. Tough love has always been Leah’s strong suit; as hard as you are on your boys, it’s bush league compared to your friend.

Caroline’s next words are low, whispered just loud enough for you to hear. “I know that man you were helping.”

You look down at her, dumbfounded. “Really? You know Jake?”

She sits up, eyes wide again. “Well, not technically. I never learned his name. But when he was leaving your apartment, I recognized his face.” Her small smile grows as she speaks. “There were days I’d stay out late after school, and I’d catch a ride from him sometimes. He’s really kind, not like some of the other cab drivers.”

Concern suddenly sweeps across her face. “Is he going to be alright?”

You think back to the morning he left your apartment: his bruises, your stitches, the blood that still stained his coat…

His hand on your hand, your face…

You don’t feel your fingers grazing the apple of your cheek until you hear Caroline giggle. Your hand drops to your lap as your face warms. “He’ll be fine. If he wised up and saw a real doctor, that is.” You shrug, reaching for your coffee.

“You care about him,” she teases.

“Oh, come off it,” you huff, nudging her leg with yours.

“And he obviously cares about you!” She squeals, lowering her voice when Leah turns her head toward the noise. “I saw him leave your apartment, but he stood there for ages, staring at your door.” Her grip on your hand grows unbearably tight. “What happened that night?”

You’ve been asking yourself the same question from the moment he left you standing in a bloodstained gown, your apartment colder without him. Since then, there hasn’t been a moment where you’ve been free from the memory of his face.

“I did him a favor. And… he may have done one for me, too.”

__________

Jake Lockley is man enough to admit when he’s been beaten.

In this case, he's absolutely won over. Head-over-heels, and at your mercy.

Maybe years from now, society adopts stricter rules for how soon you should call on a lady. Even today, some would advise against showing your hand too early. Some men wouldn’t want to seem too eager, too desperate.

But Jake Lockley is not a liar.

If “desperate” is the word for the incessant drumming in his chest each time you come to mind; if it’s what has him cutting corners and driving recklessly, ushering customers along at double the pace so his thoughts can return to you; if it’s why his palms sweat and nerves ache at the memory of your face that night, that morning… then Jake Lockley is desperate.

It’s hardly been a day and a half since he left your apartment, cold and injured. The suit stitched him back together in seconds; the only ache that remained was at the thought of you. You, who scooped him off the pavement and took pity on him. Who stained your hands with his blood to make it stop. You, who set his skin on fire with the smallest touch and had him convinced he would burn with or without it.

Screw the three day rule. He has to see you.

Hot under the collar, Jake now sits at the bar– your bar, long before normal business hours. Next to him is Matt, whose face hasn’t untwisted from the wry grin he’s had from the moment they met up.

“It’s like a jackhammer,” he chuckles into his glass, dodging Jake’s backhand swing.

“Can it, Murdock.” Jake’s hand returns to his own drink. Downing the rest, he raises his glass to the bartender. “Top me off, Mr. Manalo.”

Teddy obliges with shaking hands. He scoops up the bills Jake slides his way before dashing off. The two men had asked for privacy, and he’s determined to stay in their good graces.

Jake knocks back the new drink, swiping the excess from his lip as Matt’s laughter grows louder.

“You really need to calm down.”

“That’s what this was for,” Jake retorts, shaking his glass so the ice clinks against the edge. It’s doing him little good, though; from the moment he snuck in here that stormy night, he knew The Paper Moon as an extension of you. Even with the house lights up and nobody onstage, the lounge makes his heart race as quickly as if you were right beside him.

Matt claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be alright, you’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah,” Jake snorts. Matt’s quiet for a suspicious amount of time. “What’s on your mind, Murdock?”

“What’s on yours?” Telltale concern creeps into his voice. “How are things up there lately?”

Jake smirks, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Oh, you know. Loud… and quiet, in all the wrong ways.”

“Seems quieter than before.”

“Yeah?” Jake cocks an eyebrow. His mind doesn’t feel quieter, not the way it should. Khonshu’s been on his ass more often, doubling down when his thoughts dare to drift to anything besides the mission at hand. The god throwing a tantrum has become one of the few guarantees that remain.

“I mean it,” Matt reassures him. “It’s like night and day from when you returned stateside.”

Jake stirs the ice in his glass, tempted to hop the counter and refill it himself. It takes everything in him to repress the memory of “before,” to not think of the bloody business in El-Alamein. To forget when the occupancy of his mind dropped from three to two.

“Must be the good old American soil.” His sneer drops as he considers his next words. “... or the fool of a pro bono lawyer I managed to snag.”

“Maybe,” Matt says. “Or it could be the little bird that's caught your ear.”

Before Jake can respond, a pair of footsteps cross onto the stage behind them.

He turns to see you and Mauricio, backs to the house, talking in rushed succession as you survey the stage. You’re in a blouse and trousers, your movements easy and unrehearsed despite the growing exasperation in your voice.

“Maurie, I don't care how Leo feels the lights bounces off his new mustache wax, unless he can't follow my cues he's staying stage left. And–”

“No days off for you, are there?”

When you turn you see Jake, hat in hand and standing a few steps from the bar, as if he’d walked toward you but stopped halfway up the aisle. You can’t place the look on his face, but you're nevertheless pinned under the gaze of his now-healed eyes shining up at you.

“JAKE!” Mauricio startles you when he shouts, leaping off the stage to clasp hands with the older man.

“Hermano,” Jake chuckles, pulling him into a quick hug before letting go. “¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?”

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" Mauricio leans in, examining the pale line running through Jake’s eyebrow with awe.

“Ah, just a scratch.” Jake shrugs as he brushes past him to approach the stage and offers his hand as you step down. You accept, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremor in your grasp.

“Leave the man alone, Maurie,” you chide, nodding your thanks and holding back a laugh. As much as Caroline fawns over you, Mauricio seems to do the same to Jake whenever their paths cross. It helps that he plays along.

As the three of you walk back to the bar, you notice Matt dial in to something and smile– far from his normal reaction.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you more than another drink, I have an appointment with Matthew this afternoon.” You cross over to your friend, whose smile only grows as you draw closer. But you brush it off, still focused on Jake.

“Actually,” he starts, his hand sliding into his pocket, “I was hoping to cut in on your consult time for a moment. That alright with you, doll?”

Matt clears his throat. “Mauricio, can you take me backstage? I should start unpacking this file.”

The drummer perks up. “Sure! But the band’s getting ready to play some poker… you feel like teaming up again? We can split the pot like usual.”

“Even better,” Matt grins. “Lead on.”

He gathers his portfolio and walking stick to follow. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you could see a moment of panic flicker across Jake’s face.

It’s replaced in a flash with his usual smirk. “Sure you want to risk your pocket change, Matty?”

“If all my clients paid like you do, I'd be out of a job.” He collects himself and follows Mauricio’s footsteps, turning to Jake and mouthing “jackhammer” with a hand to his chest when he’s behind you.

Their footfalls fade and it’s just the two of you at the bar. You take a seat, drumming your fingers on the surface to soothe your nerves. Jake sits beside you.

“You look better.” You notice the scar Maurie was talking about: his former head wound is free of your haphazard stitches, instead healed into a light dash through his dark brow. “But I told you that would scar.”

He shakes his head, brushing his fingers past the spot. “I kinda like it. Gives me an edge,” he chuckles. Maybe Khonshu hadn’t healed his face the way he normally would as some sort of lesson. Joke’s on him.

“How did… I mean, you look really good, how did you recover so quickly?” Now that you’re closer, you realize there’s no sign he was hurt just two days ago. If not for his scar, you could pass that night off as some sort of dream.

“You told me to see a doctor, didn’t you? Looks like I’ve got the best one around.”

You eye him, not sure what to think. “... yeah, alright.”

Your fingers drum the bar again. Maybe that night knocked all of Jake’s suave confidence from his head: when he’s not speaking (something you’re still not used to), he looks like a child about to lose his lunch. For all his urgency a few minutes ago, he’s taking his sweet time getting to the point.

Finally he sits up straight and takes something out of his pocket. “Here. For you, morena.”

A small black box slides toward you, stopping at your restless fingers. You raise an eyebrow quizzically, a familiar warmth spreading across your cheeks.

“A present? Didn’t take you for the ‘holly-jolly’ type.” You pick up the box, feeling its velvet casing and fighting back a smile.

“Nah, not really a Christmas guy myself. But I figured you could use a pick-me-up.” Jake crosses one arm along the bar, propping his chin in his other hand as he watches you open the box.

Inside, you see a delicate gold chain with a charm fastened to its middle: a small bird with its wings spread, intricate designs etched into its surface.

“Oh my…” You look back at Jake, who seems to have been holding his breath as you examine your gift.

Your slowly unfolding smile is all the reward he could ask for, breathless laughter pushed from his chest with relief. “For the songbird,” he casually declares, relief mixing with pride at your reaction.

You take the necklace out and hold it to the light. “It’s beautiful,” you sigh. You undo the clasp and try to put it on yourself, but your fingers can’t seem to make it fasten.

“Allow me,” he says quickly, standing to move behind you and assist.

You feel his hands take over and drop your own in your lap. His knuckles brush the back of your neck and it takes everything in you not to shiver. The smell of smoke and spice dances on your senses, pulled away all too soon when he moves to stand in front of you.

“There,” he breathes, eyes going from the pendant draped below your collar to your eyes. “Looks perfect.”

Your fingers grasp the cool metal as you nod. “Looks perfect.”

Silence falls again. You’ve come to hate the sound of nothing when you’re with him.

Jake’s the first to break it. He sits back down, his next words like a punch to the gut. “You know, now that I’m not driving Wesley around… I won’t have to take up space at your back table anymore.”

“Oh. No, I suppose not.” You toy with the charm around your neck. “So is this… goodbye?”

“That depends,” he says cautiously. He turns to you, eyes swimming with the same unfamiliar mix of emotions from before. “Do you want it to be?”

Your fingers leave your neck as you meet his gaze. “Don't say you're going all soft on me, cabbie.”

“What if I was?” He leans forward, and for the first time you don't back away.

“Cards on the table: I haven't stopped thinking about you.”

That makes two of us. You bite your tongue to let him continue.

“Morena… would you ever want to get out of here? Just you and me, call it a truce or a… a date.” A smile plays on his lips before his brow creases. “I won't badger you after today, just… one way or another, put me out of my misery.”

The wings of the charm feel heavier with the weight of his confession. Hand to your heart, you feel the bird again, this time with Leah's warning running through your mind.

“I suppose a truce wouldn't hurt.”

When he smiles, wider than ever, you see the charming gap in his teeth. And you smile, too. You both laugh, the heated stress in your nerves turning to effervescent relief.

You could spend an hour like this. But when you hear shouts of frustration and a bilingual litany of choice words echo from backstage, you know you have to go put out a different fire.

“I should make sure Matthew isn't in trouble,” you sigh, standing to straighten yourself.

“If I know Matt, he's the one causing the trouble.” Jake stands with you, desperate for this moment not to end but anxious for your next answer. “So when can we–”

“Sunday night,” you cut him off, starting to back away toward the stage. “I'll figure out how to slip away, but meet me under the sign at 9.”

You move to rush toward the stage at another outburst, but Jake's hand catches yours yet again.

“You can't keep doing that,” you groan, yet with a smile still on your lips as he tugs you back toward him.

“You're the boss,” he hums, pressing his lips to the back of your hand– the gesture all too routine, but you're ready to admit you've missed it.

He releases your hand and dons his cap, tipping it to you. You laugh again, a rich and easy sound he'd never tire of hearing. You bow slightly and dash backstage, with Jake's voice calling to you as you leave.

“See you Sunday, Songbird."

__________

“¿No te andas metiendo en problemas, eh?” - Not getting yourself into any problems, eh?

“¿Parece que tu eres el que anda causando problemas, ey botero? ¿De dónde salió esa cicatriz?" - Seems like you’re the one causing troubles, hey cabbie? Where did that scar come from?

note: in-universe Jake is Guatemalan and Mauricio is Cuban; as a non-spanish speaker, please let me know how i can improve in the future!

A/N: i've missed these two!! this chapter was a doozy but i'm so happy to have gotten back on track. i won't say PPP is on hiatus (we never had a promised release schedule) but after i take a wee break from writing, i'm set on finishing my Moon Knight Bingo prompts before 4/30 + starting on my OI fanzine entries (!!! exciting times). but if inspiration strikes before i finish, i certainly won't complain.

ty for reading!!

tag list: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mercurysjoy, @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader #matt murdock

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gatopidao · 4 months

Note

oii você poderia fazer headers de before sunrise ou sociedade dos poetas mortos? desde já obrigada! admiro muito seu trabalho, é tudo muito lindo!!

muito obrigado, chuchu! feitos <3!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓆟｡ #before sunshine & dead poets society

#headers #spirit headers #movie #random #before sunshine #dead poets society #movies #movie poster #films #films headers #movies headers #white headers #minimalistic headers #minimalistic

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phantomcodes · 1 year

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sunrise | theme by sage

get the code: $2 - static preview / version 2 a colorful sidebar theme with dotted border accents

features (more info below the cut):

optional: music player, uploadable sidebar image, info stats, updates, tags on click, glow effect

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uploading your song:

i recommend using google drive to host your mp3 files - below is a brief explanation for how to do this but you can also see the resources provided here by glenthemes and more links on my credits page

to start you need an mp3 audio file, once you have the one you want go to google drive and click: ＋ New ➞ File upload

select your mp3 audio file and click open

open your newly uploaded audio file in google drive and click the three dots on the top right, then click Share and under General Access change it to Anyone with the link can view

copy the sharing link provided, it will look something like this: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1pBA6KdlLEzoEZPQ6hmaSr9LGLeCQGPxz/view?usp=sharing

go to the following site and paste your sharing url in the first box provided: https://www.joelgrayson.com/drive-download-link-generator

your final product should look something like this: https://docs.google.com/uc?export=download&id=1pBA6KdlLEzoEZPQ6hmaSr9LGLeCQGPxz

make sure the music player is toggled on in the theme, paste your audio link in the Song URL field

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asimplearchivist · 4 months

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𝓢𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓹𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓽

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ] [ AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST ] summary ✨ ⤏ After the events that took place on Vast Ice Mountain, Dialga has released Dusknoir of his duties as his henchman. Dusknoir, in the midst of a self-crisis, is taken under wing by Celebi and Grovyle. Dusknoir finally breaks, and Grovyle reassures him. Dusknoir finds out a couple things about himself that he didn't know before. ⤏ Alternative summary: my take on what happened directly after the fifth special episode, mostly influenced by my own pent up Dusknoir feels! :D Yay for angst! (Also, please guys, don't hate Dusknoir, he doesn't deserve it. He's a tender marshmallow.) pairing(s) ✨ (mentions of) hero/grovyle [nostalgiashipping] word count ✨ 2.5k a/n ✨ [header credit] [divider credit] ⤏ This is an old piece from 2016, when I last replayed Explorers, so with my recent resurgence I figured I might post it here for my new PMD moots. Considering this is six years old, please forgive my older, less polished writing; but I'm still fairly pleased with it. :) (That's also why it's not getting a dedicated Sunday post, but since it's Christmas I thought I might share something that most of my followers here probably haven't seen before.) ⤏ My hero's old name was Celina, so I changed it to the newly updated Eliana instead. Other than that, it's pretty much a time capsule haha.

This new, brighter future was, in all honesty, taking quite a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously.

It had been a mighty triumph, incapacitating Primal Dialga to prevent him from tampering with the Passage of Time, the possibility of him ruining time just before it managed to begin to function again diminished to none when his massive legs had buckled beneath him after Grovyle had dealt the final blow. That triumph had been short lived, however - it hadn't been but a few moments before they all had turned to light and had disappeared; but, upon their almost immediate return, the immense relief of being able to breathe in the newly shifting air, to see the sunrise glowing in more colors than Dusknoir had ever seen in his life - it had robbed him of breath and had humbled him in such a way he doubted he would ever look at the sky the same way again. Whomever it may have been to preserve his and the rest of the future Pokémon’s lives, they would have his immense gratitude for the rest of his days.

Everything in that moment had been exhilarating - he had felt the wind, cold and biting, race past him, the sun shining in his eye so brightly that he quickly learned that he mustn't look at it directly, lest he be temporarily blinded - but then, after Dialga had been generous enough to provide them with a portal to return to the Hidden Land (now in the budding stages of returning to its past lushness and fertility), he had found himself in an unexpected state of absolute dumbfound ever since.

Given that Dialga was no longer under the influences of darkness and had no reason to bind them to his will, he had released Dusknoir and the Sableye of their past duties, and thus had turned Dusknoir away from the one thing that he had ever truly known - servitude. He had always served for someone else, and he had always had a strong sense of loyalty to those he did. But for lack of better terms, Dusknoir was now out of his realm of confidence, and honestly had no idea of how to go about his life from here forth.

Celebi and Grovyle had been surprisingly kind and generous to him thus far - while Celebi had offered to house Grovyle in one of her many homes, she had also extended it to him as well. It was a shallow cave, high up on a cliff face where no one would usually be able to spot it. Both Grass types fit easily enough inside - but if Dusknoir were to be completely honest with himself...he was not a very small Pokémon. At all. At least, compared to the other two.

Luckily, he was not quite corporeal at times, so he managed to squeeze inside and settle on the cave floor - hunched over, but he had something over his head, at least.

Grovyle set to work at pulling a few things from his worn Treasure Bag, a couple of differently textured rocks and a bit of dried leaves and tiny sticks, before he struck one rock upon the other. A few sparks flared from it and onto the small collection of dead vegetation, but it took a couple of tries to actually get it to start smoldering. Thin wisps of smoke danced up from it and Grovyle set to work at blowing on it gently, coaxing it into a small, dancing flame that cast a warm orange glow across the cold cave floor.

He glanced up at Celebi and murmured that she go gather a few smaller sticks to help build up the flames. She bobbed her head and soared out of the cave, her little wings flapping with determination.

Grovyle sat back on his haunches and released a long sigh, scrubbing at his face with his clawed paws. Dusknoir tried not to shift around uncomfortably, afraid his antenna would scrape against the ceiling.

"I thought Grass types were supposed to be wary of fire," Dusknoir, for lack of other words, tried to prompt.

Grovyle glanced up at him, his bright yellow eyes seeming to gleam in the fading sunlight. The smaller Pokémon’s strong reserve was back, the emotion he'd shown in the past day probably having drawn too much from him to offer much more.

It had been quite an exhausting day, even for Dusknoir himself. He understood that Grovyle was most likely exponentially wearier than he, especially considering the energy the ice pillars had drained from the Grass type. Dusknoir was amazed that Grovyle was even still conscious. (He had been lucky to have knocked him from the energy beams’ grip in time.)

“I learned many things when I met Eliana,” Grovyle told him, settling against the stone wall and folding his arms over his thin chest. His eyes shifted to gaze out of the cave mouth, the circles beneath darkening with shadows that the meager flames were pushing away. “Choosing to qualm simple fears was one of the first.”

Dusknoir hummed for lack of a response, following the Grass type’s gaze.

The sun was setting. A grandiose amalgamation of color painted the sky, oranges and pinks and lilacs mingling in a joyful reunion as the great burning ball of gold retreated beneath the distant horizon. Stars were beginning to appear, tentatively sparkling against the darker parts of the great canvas stretched out before them.

Dusknoir found that he was holding his breath.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Grovyle mused absently.

The Ghost type hummed once more in agreement, trying to take in as much of the view as possible.

“I…haven’t seen so many colors in my life,” he admitted softly. He felt Grovyle’s eyes rest upon him.

“You were in the past before,” Grovyle reminded him, his voice somewhat dubious. “Didn’t you ever stop long enough to look around you?”

Dusknoir fell silent, shifting uncomfortably and flinching a bit when his antenna brushed the stone above him. Grovyle huffed quietly, shuffling around in his Treasure Bag before holding out something in his paw. The Ghost type stared in puzzlement at the two Purple Gummis before looking back up to the Wood Gecko Pokémon.

“I picked these up before we went to Temporal Tower,” Grovyle explained, eyes still searching the growing darkness outside. “I didn’t want to let them go to waste, and I figured you were hungry after the day we’ve had.”

Dusknoir hesitantly took the small food items, eyeing them a bit before looking up at the smaller Pokémon. Honestly, how had this Pokémon’s attitude towards him changed so drastically? And why? What had Dusknoir ever done to deserve any sort of good will - and from Grovyle, who had been his target for months and who he had attempted to murder multiple times, no less? Why did he deserve any mercy? Why had he come back after disappearing? What good had he ever done, truly, to deserve to even be breathing? He’d been a twisted soul for most of his life, doing nothing but the morally bleak bidding for any master that offered him power…

…Had he really redeemed himself, in helping Grovyle and Celebi save the future? Or had he merely been a side note?

“…Dusknoir?”

The Ghost type startled back into reality, confusedly taking in Grovyle’s troubled expression. “Pardon me, I was…thinking.”

“Dusknoir…you…you’re crying.”

Dusknoir blinked, gingerly running a fingertip beneath his eye and drawing it away. When had his vision gotten so blurry?

Grovyle straightened, creases forming between his eyes in what Dusknoir vaguely recognized as his concern. “Dusknoir, what’s wrong?”

The Ghost type flushed in shame, attempting to swipe away the outward evidence of his inner conflict. “Nothing, nothing. I believe I may have gotten dirt in my eye.”

The Grass type was silent for a long moment, so long of a moment that Dusknoir glanced up to make sure that he was even still there. There was an odd expression on the smaller Pokémon’s face, one that looked to be a conglomeration of several at once.

“You’re beginning to doubt yourself,” Grovyle observed gently.

Dusknoir wondered when he had become so transparent. Metaphorically. He was a Ghost type. Conditional transparency came with existing.

“I’m not aware of what you’re implicating,” he rebutted dismissively, looking towards the end of the cave. It was much darker than before. Did the sun always set so quickly?

“You can stop lying, you know. I’m not going to judge you for whatever you’re feeling.” Grovyle’s voice had taken on a foreign gentleness, one that Dusknoir had only ever heard once before. It had been at the temple in the Hidden Land of the past, when the Grass type had retold Eliana of their doomed fate to disappear upon rescuing Temporal Tower. He’d gazed upon the human-turned-Eevee with such a tenderness that Dusknoir had, at the time, found it to be a sign of extreme weakness and idiocy. But, seeing how Grovyle had spoken of her throughout their adventure the past day, Dusknoir had clearly seen the true strength of their relationship shining through his words. They were extremely close, there was no denying that. They had endured much together, and it showed. Dusknoir just wondered how much it had hurt him to discover that she had lost all her memories of him.

“It is nothing that concerns you,” Dusknoir persisted, trying to ignore how his voice shook, quite involuntarily.

“Something is telling me otherwise.” Grovyle leaned towards him, scrutinizing him carefully. “You’re feeling something, that’s for sure. Feeling something is better than feeling nothing at all.”

Dusknoir growled beneath his breath, but it was weak. “You certainly are persistent.”

Grovyle chuckled lightly. “How do you think I’ve managed to live this long?”

The Ghost type stared at him, clenching his fist around the Gummis and heaving a shaky sigh. “I am…confounded.”

The Wood Gecko Pokémon raised a brow.

Dusknoir looked back towards the mouth of the cave. The sun was completely concealed by the distant horizon, and the colors were beginning to drain into a deep indigo. “As you are well aware, I…have not had many good accomplishments in my life. I sought nothing but power, strove to gain it by any means, and…I have done nothing but serve for the betterment of darkness. I did hunt you and Eliana down, I attempted to attack you, then I pursued you into the past…” Dusknoir drew his shoulders in, folding his arms tightly over his chest and shrinking into himself. “I very nearly killed you multiple times, with clear malice exhibited constantly, but you still found it in yourself to grant me pity. Why?”

Grovyle fell silent for a very long moment.

“Dusknoir,” he began slowly, “have you ever felt true hate for someone, ever, in your life?”

The Ghost type was taken aback. “Pardon?”

The smaller Grass type raised a brow and Dusknoir averted his eye.

“No,” he said hesitantly, “I don’t believe I have.”

“Have you ever strongly disliked someone?”

“A few. Where are you going with this?”

“Do you dislike them because you think they wronged you?”

“I do, but I don’t know what you’re-”

“How difficult would it be to forgive them?”

Dusknoir squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“How difficult would it be for you to forgive them?” Grovyle repeated.

Dusknoir studied him, recollecting his past resentments and grudges. It would, admittedly, be very difficult to forgive some of the things that other Pokémon had done to him before. He sighed deeply. “Very.”

“But could you find it in yourself to forgive them?” he asked.

Dusknoir thought a moment. “I…suppose so. Why are you asking me this?”

“Eliana once told me,” Grovyle said, “that part of the reason so many Pokémon have become twisted as they are is because they were cold-hearted to begin with. Refusing to forgive others can result in constructing a wall of bitterness that will block you off from anything good, and hatred can make that wall much harder to tear down. But if you’re willing to forgive, and to keep bitterness from building up, then you can in turn better yourself.” The Wood Gecko Pokémon eyed him neutrally. “Dusknoir, despite what you said during our journey about despising me, I didn’t believe you. You couldn’t truly hate anyone - it’s not in your nature, and I sensed that. The only reason you ever felt any kind of malice to begin with was due to where your loyalties lay, but when you began to realize that there was truly no reason to possess such mal intent…”

He smiled softly, glancing out towards the quiet dusk outside. “That’s when you began to question what you’d known. That’s when you began to feel guilt. But that’s also what’s proving to me that you are a good Pokémon, Dusknoir.” Grovyle continued, leaning forward, “The fact that you are feeling guilt and that you are questioning yourself tells me that you aren’t twisted, you aren’t a bad Pokémon - you were just a little misguided. You are a good Pokémon at heart, and I want you to realize it.”

Dusknoir looked away, pulling his shoulders inward and trying to fight the hot sting beginning to blur his vision.

“Your shining spirit,” Grovyle said softly. “It’s always been there. It was just hidden for a long time.”

“Grovyle…” Dusknoir swallowed thickly, folding his arms tightly over his chest. His dignity was in shambles, but picking up the pieces didn’t seem as mortifying as he might’ve thought. “…you’re deluding yourself.”

The Grass type chuckled. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Celebi about this.”

The Gripper Pokémon grunted, swiping at his eye just as the beat of tiny wings made itself faintly known. He could hear Celebi’s grunts of effort, and Grovyle shifted to his feet, moving towards the cave mouth.

“Dusknoir…”

The Ghost type looked towards him, taken aback by the almost amused smile plastered across the Grass type’s face.

Grovyle tilted his head towards the outside world. The sun had completely receded below the horizon, the sky a deep navy, and stars were twinkling brightly against the dark expanse. “Welcome to the future.”

Dusknoir watched him exit the cave and disappear around the mouth’s edge, and after a moment he heard his and Celebi’s voices mingling, her tone obviously grateful as Grovyle must’ve been taking a part of her burden.

This new, brighter future would take a lot more to get used to than Dusknoir had anticipated previously, but he felt that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If this, finding himself, was just the beginning, then he looked forward to everything else that awaited him. There were many things that would need to be done as time transitioned into functioning properly again, many responsibilities to take up, but Dusknoir was ready for the challenge. He was much stronger than before. He was sure of that.

He and his shining spirit.

#fisara’s codices #fanfiction #pokemon #pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon mystery dungeon explorers of sky #explorers of sky #pmd eos #pokemon mystery dungeon explorers #pmd2 #pmd 2 #grovyle #dusknoir #celebi #ao3: in the morning light

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tailsbeth-writes · 2 months

Text

New month, new header! Fun fact: that's the view from my house, I caught the sunrise the other day ☀️

Thank you for the tag @heybuddy-drabbles! I'm honestly surprised I'm managing to type cause your fic melted my brain (go check out Watermelon Sugar asap folks) but here we go. A lil snippet from the latest chapter of Her Royal Highness that was finally posted today:

There was glitter on his skin, it hung in the air and it felt like some sort of queer magic. He was inebriated to the point of enjoying himself, he felt loose and realised how little he felt this way in queer spaces.

Alex enjoyed the odd night at a gay bar before his bisexual awakening. Nora would take him to drag bingo with the promise of tequila. But then, he was a guest, a plus one. And despite how much he had learned about himself since diving in with Henry, he couldn’t always shake that feeling off. Like he was trespassing.

Tag you're it: @candyspandemonium @firenati0n @priincebutt @cricketnationrise @vel-vetcurls @myheartalivewrites (apologies if you've shared already!) & open tag as usual 💛

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #red white & royal blue #several sentence sunday #seven sentence sunday #wip #rwrb fanfic #red white and royal blue fanfic #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #tailsbeth writes

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indulgentandidiotic · 1 year

Text

This Must Be A Dream

Warnings: light angst in some sections, "x Amori" is featured in the last two bc I wrote those sections with my dear friend in mind. I do not wish to change the headers of those sections.

GN! Reader

Synopsis: When you wake up before your lover

MULTIFANDOM

Riddle Rosehearts:

Pretty eyes open onto a dreamlike scene. The plush pillows supporting your head make you feel like you’re lying on clouds. The warmth of the sun rays dancing across the bedsheets warm your face, and the comforter covering your body shelters you from the cold of the AC. Beside you is Riddle. Your love, your one and only. Arms around your waist, he’s nestled into the crook of your arm and against your chest. He’s a lovely sight. Strands of hair fell across his angelic face, brows relaxed, and lips in the shape of the most contented smile. Not a trace of worry or stress in sight. You can’t help but smile as well. How could you not? With the sun making the room shine in golds and yellows, and the warmth and safety of the bed lulling you to sleep once more, you can’t help your soul swelling with the most indescribable content. In this moment of morning when the birds are singing- and your beloved is at your side- and time seems to both stretch on and stop short- you yearn to preserve this happiness forever.

Venti:

You don’t remember how or when, but it seems you’ve awoken unto a fairytale. Clouds hover on each side, looking as fluffy as cotton candy. Drenched in shades of gold, purples, pinks, and blues, you even feel like taking a bite. And before you resolve to wake yourself from this gorgeous expanse of white and sun and cool breeze, you hear a twinkling voice behind you.

~~ “You seem in awe of the sunrise, my dove. But even with the sky at my mercy and the freedom to dance on clouds, you’re the only one who renders me speechless.” ~~

With that one line, you feel your heart flutter and a cheesy grin appears on your face. Laying back down on what you had–in your sleepy state–mistaken for a cloud, now realizing it was Dvalin, you look at Venti upside-down. He’s softly strumming his lyre, though most of the sound gets lost in the wind. And on his face is the prettiest sun ray of a smile you’ve ever seen. Pretty enough to rival the sunrise itself.

Gazing at you for one last second, Venti focuses on his lyre again. This time, you can hear a faint rhythm that you recognize as an old love song he sang to you long ago. You can’t remember the exact words, but you do remember how it made you feel–as if you were walking on sunshine. As if the stars decided to sing you praise. As if the one you love just promised to be yours forever. Turning your attention to the bluest of skies, you decide that if this was a dream, you don’t ever want to wake up.

Xiao:

“Yakshas don’t sleep,” you’ve heard your beloved say many a time. And many a time, you find yourself chuckling at that memory as Xiao slumbers in your arms. He’s so beautiful, so perfect in every single way…. You almost cry thinking about how much he must trust you. And when he sleeps, you see the lines of worry and pain ease, and his face relaxes into an expression one might even call contentment. Now, as the sun is slowly waking up from its bed beyond the mountains, you wonder if Xiao is dreaming. You hope he is. You hope he’s dreaming of clear skies, a cool breeze, a field of flowers, and the song of a flute. As the sun rises and casts its magic rays of light onto the fields and rivers and seas below and makes them glimmer, you pray to Celestia that Xiao sleeps for a while longer. Anything to keep the agony that lies in wait for him at bay. Anything to delay his fight against demons for a minute longer. In these quiet moments when Wangshu Inn, along with the whole rest of Liyue, is sleeping, you find yourself willing to forfeit even these peaceful mornings if only to see your dearest Xiao smile.

Nazuna Nito:

Though you slept a full four hours this night, you still wake up with sleep in your eyes and a blinding headache. Before you can move to get up and make yourself a cup of blazing hot coffee with way too much cream in it, you realize you’re trapped within an embrace. Your darling Nazuna’s embrace, specifically. With your head squished against his chest and his arms around your upper back and cradling your head, you almost find yourself blushing if not for the fact that you’re so desperate for comfort that you don’t even care anymore.

And with this realization of your situation, you’re hit with a dose of clarity. The sun is fully shining through the windows, hurting your eyes. And the AC has just turned on, making you shiver with only the thin blanket covering you. But despite this, you find yourself actually liking this morning. Yes, you’re probably very late to work, you have a headache, and four of your papers are overdue + a presentation you need to set up and finish before you arrive at ES, but something is going right this morning. Maybe it’s the way Nazuna is hugging you to his chest as if protecting you from the dangers and heartache of the world… Maybe it’s the way he looks ethereal laying in the sunrise–blonde hair shimmering and expression warm… Or maybe it’s the way you’re both still in bed at the same time. No one has left before the other. It’s just you two, basking in each other’s presence. But no matter the details, you just can’t shake the feeling that maybe today is going to be a good day.

Rook Hunt x Amori:

You wake unto an unusual scene. Some of the decor pillows lay at the side of the bed, where you left them the night prior. The thin, white blanket lay tangled around your and your lover’s legs. -Ah, now you know what was so unusual. Rook was still beside you, sleeping peacefully. His arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, head against your chest. Usually, Rook would have been awake before you, having left the house at dawn to hunt or assist Vil in his duties. It was… a pleasant surprise to see him still and quiet beside you. Warm rays of light shone through the pastel-ish chiffon curtains, making your sheets glitter with light pinks and become a stage for the gold light dancing across it. The doves that frequented the trees beside your manor were chittering, and behind the sounds of the breeze and your love’s steady breathing, you could even hear the faintest bubble of water from the brook in the gardens outside. It was a silent morning, quieter than you had ever heard before.

‘Perhaps,’ you thought, ‘Rook would be stalking the woods for sleepy-sounding prey right about now.’ Perhaps right now you’d be getting up from a cold and lonely bed, getting ready for a day that would keep you away from your dear Rook until evening. Perhaps right now you’d be opening up your window to a world of sound. Of animal cries and fawns, and the rustle of tree branches, and the babble of the brook, and the wind whispering in your ear.

But right now–at this moment–you were in bed, beloved by your side. Rook was quiet for once, for a reason other than being the epitome of stealth. He was not spouting praise of your divine figure or creating poems glorifying the world’s wonders. He was not restless and in flight, nay! Lying on your chest, hair a mess, cheeks colored in a slight rosy hue, and ear pressed against your heartbeat, he was. And all around you two was silence. The beautiful kind. The one that makes you stay still for a while longer to relish in the bliss of that moment. The type that offers a reprieve from daily life. The type that fills you with a profound understanding of the present. The type of silence that makes you feel as if the world has stopped turning, taking a minute to catch its breath. And you hoped, that perhaps on another glorious morning just like this, you and Rook could wake up together to appreciate this special beauty before the world starts spinning once again.

Azul Ashengrotto x Amori:

The alarm rang, loud and harsh against the silence of the night. It was 3am, and Azul snapped out of his tired daze once again. He’d been working all throughout the day into the night, and despite your calls, he would not go to bed with you. Now, he regretted not going to bed when you beckoned. All week he’d been so busy that it became a luxury to spend time with you. And right when you’d so kindly offered to spend the night with him, he’d turned you down. Now, he had a terrible headache, was in the foulest of moods, and was ever-so sad about his foolishness.

Azul left his messy, paper-strewn desk and shuffled over to his room, where you lay in bed slumbering peacefully. He smiled softly, though that smile vanished when he flopped beside you and under the covers. He wished you were awake to give him a hug–he so desperately needed one–but he wouldn’t dare wake you. You had been drowning in work this week, too, and Azul didn’t want to disrupt your well-deserved rest. So, Azul decided to make due by shuffling closer to you until his shoulder brushed your back, and nuzzling farther into the multitude of fluffy pillows.

It was still early when you awoke. It was dead silent, and the clock showed 4:37 am. You had slept for four hours and thirty-seven minutes, longer than you had slept any night all week. While you were nowhere near refreshed, you had business to attend to. But as you reached to pull off the covers, you finally noticed. Azul was beside you. He was a mess, hair sticking out like a bird’s nest and drool leaking from the corner of his lips. Nevertheless, it was a nice sight to see. He had finally taken a break, the first one you’d seen him take in a while, and you were glad for him. He was always working, trying so hard to be the best at everything he did. He deserved this bit of respite.

You sat there on the bed for a while. Your brain was still a bit fuzzy, and melancholy thoughts had started to seep into your tired brain. Though it was only this week that had been so insanely busy, the time you and Azul would spend together had been dwindling for a long time preceding it. It wasn’t by any conscious decision of either of you, but your schedules would always conflict, and free time was hard to come by. These hours of the night were often the only times your schedules would collide, but sleeping in each other’s arms wasn’t enough. You longed for the day when you two would have a nice, long vacation. A day where you two could talk about anything, indulge in each other, and just relax. You just… really missed him, despite him being only a hair’s length away.

Unfortunately, these late hours would have to do. If only you could stay in bed a while longer. You hated to leave Azul to wake alone.

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