#like that is a solid foot and 7 inches taller than me

[firsttimewriter92]

Neighborly shenanigans Pt. 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! reader (Neighbor AU)

Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Description: You´ve just moved in a couple of weeks ago, trying for a new start. A brief encounter with your neighbor gets your endorphins and imagination going. What is it about the mask?

Warnings: cursing, some dirty thoughts, fluff, a little pining

Word count: 1.917

A/N: Hi everyone <3 This is my very first Simon Riley x reader fic. I´ve written about several characters of CoD but Ghost was always kind of an enigma to me. I never knew how to make him the love interest. But and idea popped into my head after reading some characterization that made it much easier to write for him. So here you go :) Let me know if a part 2 is something you´d be interested in.

“Jesus fucking Christ” you swore as you tried your best to push your heavy apartment door open and balance your bag and groceries through the door. It was a struggle to say the least, but you were damned if you did second trips. Grumbling through your teeth you saw no other possibility than setting down your bag, holding the door open with your foot and grabbing your groceries a little more securely. Bending your knee, you gave your door a forceful push and slid through into your small hallway. Foregoing taking off your shoes you made your way into your open kitchen and set the heavy paper bags down on your kitchen island.

A sigh escaped you and you took a moment just to stand in your kitchen and take in the chaos around you. Half emptied moving boxes were strewn all around your living room, amidst not yet hanging shelves, plastic plants and several DIY projects. Another sigh left your lungs with a huff. Moving and starting anew had seemed like your only option a couple of weeks ago but now you dreaded the silence. You wanted this, ___, you thought. It was your decision.

Your new job was everything you ever hoped for, and training turned out to be smooth sailing. You loved it, you loved your apartment, even though it was far from being finished yet. But still, what you´d left behind still lingered in the back of your brain all too clearly at times. Especially when your heavy door closed behind you every evening and there was nothing but you, your DIY projects, an occasional phone call with your parents and then silence. Silence to wallow in, rake your brain and memories. Memories not even a good Podcast or music were able to drown out.

You weren´t as close with your colleagues yet as to be invited out to the pub after work but that was to be expected. The chances were good though. Maybe just a couple of days more and you´d have at least some kind of social interaction. One step after the other, you reminded yourself. Rome wasn’t built in a day. Your own impatience with yourself was yet again trying to make you feel like you´d made a mistake by moving. A humorless laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head. Calm down, you thought. This is your life, your pace. Relax.

A couple of minutes later your food was stored away, veggies and salmon steaming away and finally you sat down on your couch, glass of wine in hand and Netflix on your TV.

“Bloody hell” you cursed as a shot of adrenalin set your brain into overdrive. Your bag. You jumped off your couch and hurried over to the door. Swinging it open with a yank you initially thought someone had put out the lights in the corridor. All you saw was black and not a second later you collided with something solid.

Shaking your head, you realized three things. It was 7 o´clock on a warm day in July, so it couldn’t be dark out already. Your hallway had several windows and yes, the sun was still out. The black wall you just ran into turned out to be a massive chest.

Heat was ascending your neck as you took a small step back and lifted your head to look at the face this quite impressive physique belonged to. What the…?

Before you stood a man, several inches taller than you, frozen in place with his arm lifted as if he was just about to knock on your door. He looked down on you with impressive, hazel eyes. Honey blond, tousled hair adorned his head, falling slightly onto his forehead, wet tips clinging to his temples and a bead of sweat disappearing behind his ear. But that was about all you could make out.

Seeing people wearing a facemask had of course not been an unusual sight for the last three years but he wasn´t wearing one of those surgical ones. His nose, mouth and chin were covered in thick, black material, even spanning over his cheekbones and disappearing behind his ears. When your eyes caught his again you saw them narrowing just slightly and one blond eyebrow ticking upwards.

Something wriggly moved inside your belly.

The man slowly lowered his arm, simultaneously lifting the other slightly, holding out your bag.

“This yours?” a deep, calm voice broke through the silence and the wriggly something inside you spread out towards your chest, down your arms and into your fingertips. You swallowed, trying to gather your wits again.

“Uhm…yes. Yes, that´s mine. Forgot about it” you said with a nervous laugh as you took it from him. He hummed deep inside his chest in understanding. The sound only letting your eyes snap onto his again trying to decipher if the squinting was an annoyed one or an amused one.

Amused, as it turns out. He took a deep breath, the black material of his running shirt as you now realized it was, stretching across the expanse of his chest.

“You know, that´s how you get your identity stolen. Or at least your wallet.” Yeah, there was no question now, he was grinning behind his mask, his tone mildly rebuking but not at all belittling.

A small smirk of your own crawled onto your lips as you cocked out your hip and nodded your head.

“You´re absolutely right, Sir. I´ll cuff my bag to my wrist from now on so this inconvenience shall not occur to you a second time.” You want to be cocky, mister? Fine with me.

Your answer made him chuckle. It was short but genuine. One hand in his pocket he stepped back slightly and only now did you notice the heat that his body had emitted. With one last narrow of his eyes, making the edges crinkle ever so slightly he answered. “Not an inconvenience, Miss. Have a good evening.” He nodded once and walked away to your right.

“Y-you too” you cursed the way your words tumbled. To your surprise he halted in front of the door next to yours and your heart jumped into your throat as he took out his keys. Your eyes still fixed onto his side profile (you still couldn’t really make out any features), he gave you one last look before opening his door.

“And thank you” you rushed out.

He only lifted one hand to give you a small little wave that seemed way too juvenile for a man of his stature and closed his door.

Kind of shellshocked you turned around yourself and let your door fall shut behind you. Clutching onto your bag you didn’t even notice how long you were just standing in your hallway, trying to sort out the wriggling nerves. Who was that? Idiot. Your neighbor. Your neighbor that you´d never seen before. A man like him you´d remember seeing. There´d never been any noise from the apartment next to yours so you just thought it was either a very quiet tenant or one that only went there to sleep.

Sitting down on your couch again you stared at the wall behind your TV. He was behind that wall, doing…things. Existing. Why did that feel so exciting to you? Maybe it was just because that´d been your first real social interaction apart from talking to your colleagues?

Laughing incredulously at yourself you buried your burning face in your hands and giggled. No. No that wasn’t it and you knew it. It was stupid. So very stupid and weird and nerdy and…that damn mask!!

“Whhhyyyy…..?” you moaned grinning and rubbed your temples, finally letting all the pent up adrenalin and endorphins rush through your blood stream unstopped. What was it about men wearing those damn masks? Not being able to fully see their face. Having to find out what there was to them by just their actions.

The fist time you really thought you´d lost your mind was when you actually developed a burning crush on a literal tin can from the Star Wars universe. Oh yeah, sure. Give me a brooding, sarcastic, overworked loner with PTSD and give him a freaking child to protect. Watch him become a devoted, loving single parent. Of course! Yes, let me thirst after him. And did it stop there? Of course not. The pandemic hit and the lockdown had everyone in a chokehold.

The only chokehold you wanted to be in at the time however was one carried out by a video game character called Ghoul from “Call of Obligation”. Tatted up, burly, sharp, dutiful, loyal and fucking hot.

The only thing you were able to see of him? His eyes. Just his eyes and an occasional forearm here and there. Everything else covered in tactical gear and a scary facemask. God that character haunted your dreams almost every night. And now, you had his existing, breathing, heat emitting, real human equivalent living next to you. You felt your insides burn as another funny noise came from your mouth. There had to be something wrong with you. Why was half a visible face or even less, so damn attractive to you?

“Shit must be some kind of kink” you murmured to yourself as you reached for your wine glass.

Why was he wearing that mask anyway? People weren´t obligated to wear one anymore. Was it some kind of training technique while running?

Anyhow, you appreciated the encounter. Your mood instantly better even though the both of you hadn’t talked much at all. He seemed witty. Cocky almost and you liked that.

Emptying your wine, you put the glass back in the dishwasher and walked over to your bathroom when you heard it. The shower in the next apartment was running. Immediately you halted all movement and tried to not even breath. The situation seemed so delicate, like thin glass ready to break. You stared at the wall when something else caught your ears.

No. Did you hear this right? Was he…?

You walked carefully over to your shower and stepped in. Trying not to care about how crazy you must look at this moment, you turned your head to the wall slightly, closed your eyes and listened as hard as you could. There it was.

Low, melodic and absolutely captivating. Over the sound of the water hitting the tile you heard your neighbor singing. Your forehead hit the tile and you breathed as quietly as possible, marveling in the baritone sweetness that could be heard through the wall. All too soon, about a minute later it was over. The water was shut off, the singing stopped.

As if in trance you got your nighttime routine going and a couple minutes later, slid into bed. Knowing where his bathroom was now, you were positive that his bedroom had to be next to yours as well. You tried to hear more, but nothing else penetrated the walls. It made you glad actually. If you would be able to hear him in his bedroom, sleep would turn out to be an impossibility to achieve.

This way, you closed your eyes, got comfortable and let your thoughts drift and wander. Not long after, you were dead asleep. Your dreams yet again haunted, but now, the usual scary mask of Ghoul was replaced with a solid black one and instead of clawing at a fully clothed head between your legs, your fingers tangled into soft honey blond curls.

_____________________________________________________

I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading. Please consider interacting with this post and give me some feedback. Comments and reblogs always help not only to push my work that I love, but also help to improve my writing and get my imagination going.

Thank you for considering it <3

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #cod men #cod fic #cod x reader #x you #cod mwii #x you fluff #eventual smut #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon riley fic #ghost fic #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader fic #neighbor au #strangers to lovers

[and-let-it-run]

Sedona Prince. That’s it. That’s the post. 

#Sedona Prince #She is so badass #and also 6'7" #like that is a solid foot and 7 inches taller than me??!! #I would like to shake her hand and be starstruck #NCAA Women's basketball #Oregon Women's basketball

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (9/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn't expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.

"Hello, Clarke."

"Hi, Gustus. How are you?"

"Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?"

Clarke blinked in surprise. "Not at all."

Gustus set the bag on the counter. "I don't have much of an education and I don't know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family's apiary since my childhood."

He pulled out several containers. "I've brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can."

"You're… applying to work here?"

Gustus nodded. "I'd like to help in the kitchen."

It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke's mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.  

"Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can't afford to negotiate on salary for now."

"Money doesn't matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food."

"What about your apiary?"

"A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.

"People?" Clarke guessed.

He stroked his beard. "But not so much that I would leave the kitchen."

Clarke chuckled. "I see why Lexa likes you."

"She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case."

"No, I don't suppose she would."

They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.

"I won't keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper."

"Wells will have the final word, but he's badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor."

Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.

"Have a good day, Clarke."

"You too. And thanks for the treats!"

* * *

Clarke walked over to Lexa's table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn't been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.

She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, you."

Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. "Hello."

Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh I get a hello today. Very formal."

"Is hello formal now?"

"With that tone and those glasses? Yes."

Lexa took off her reading glasses. "Am I being kicked out?"

"Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours."

Lexa's eyes fell to her lips- Clarke's knowing grin. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Mm probably not."

Lexa closed her laptop. "So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm."

Clarke sat up. "I'm excited. Though Wells has already warned me he'll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers."

Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln's play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.

"I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after," Lexa suggested. "Try some of the food trucks?"

"A woman after my heart."

Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke's on the table. "I figured I'd keep the upscale restaurant for our third date."

"Oh there'll be a third date?"

Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. "I would hope so."

"Well I don't know, I'll have to see if you have game."

"I thought you'd gotten a preview already." Lexa's fingers brushed against hers.

Clarke bit her lip. "Not that kind of game."

"What kind, Clarke?" Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke's hand.  

Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa's hand. "Nu-uh. I'm not falling for that again."

"What's that?"

"That- look. And your voice. You know what."

Lexa let out a small laugh. "I really don't."

"It's like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I'm not falling for it. I see you."

"Alright, I'll just be broody and quiet then." Lexa cleared her throat, amused. "Did Gus stop by today?"

Clarke brightened. "Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie."

"I'm glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I'd never heard him so nervous."

"I didn't even know he baked."

"Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food."

"How did you meet him anyway?"

Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. "When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…"

"And you charmed your way into his life," Clarke guessed in a fond tone.  She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular instance, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. "I'm glad you did. I think he'd fit right in."

Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.

* * *

When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She'd settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.

"Wow. Um. Hi," Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke's lips.  

"Now I get a hi," Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she'd brought on the way. "For you."

"Oh they're beautiful," Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. "Thank you," Lexa murmured.

"You're welcome," Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. "This is new."

"You don't like it?" Lexa asked.

Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.

"I didn't say that," Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later as she realized what game Clarke was playing. She'd asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Please, come in."

While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn't mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn't have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world. 

Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. "They're lovely," she reiterated.

"If I'd known you were so into plants I would've gotten a succulent or something."

Lexa looked around. "Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she's relieved this place isn't a fire hazard anymore."

"Gaia said you're her favorite tenant."

Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn't further comment. She glanced at Clarke's neckline before clearing her throat.

"Are you ready?"

Clarke nodded. "Very."

Lexa stepped closer. "You know… I sort of imagined this going differently."

"Oh?" Clarke asked, rooted in place.

"I figured after we'd kissed things would become easier," Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.

"You imagined us kissing?"

"Yes," Lexa answered honestly. "But I told you that before."

Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt desire pool in the pit of her stomach again. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa's shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.

"It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I," Clarke replied, swallowing. 

Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.

The kiss was slow at first; Lexa's full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke's senses. It felt like she was drunk.

It wasn't the small hello or goodbye kisses they'd exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.

"Are you sure this play is good?" She asked, slightly dazed.  

Lexa shook her head, kissing her once more. "It's horrible. Mediocre. Let's bail and stay in."

Clarke let out a small laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.

"If only."

-

[part ten]

#clexa #f: a bit of clarity #clarke x lexa #short chappie to get back into it #w

[whattodowithace]

It's Basically The Lion King [Chapter 4] (Seyoon)

Tile: It's Basically The Lion King

Pairing: Seyoon x Reader

Genre: Angst; Fluff; Spice

Word count: 15,072 [All Chapters]

Writer: Kpopmadness & Whattodowithkpop

Warnings: Mentions of death

The next three days progressed with much awkwardness and lack of ease between the two. The crying fit she had had left Seyoon feeling a bit guilty. Although, it wasn’t enough to make him loosen her restrains. He was still mad she lost the camel.

The days were only getting hotter the further into the desert they walked. And now they were strictly on foot, the going was much much slower. Especially since they only had one canister of water and some dried food that the camel had managed to kick off of its back.

The princess glared at the Savages back in anger. Her feet hurt, her back, sweat poured down her face and back in a steady stream, making her long for a hot bath

She kept silent for the most part, too angry with him to say anything. And too mad at herself for losing her ticket out of this mess she was in. But she had lost it. And nearly gotten them both killed by quick sand in the process.

Her thoughts slowly faded into breathlessness as the sand seemed to get thicker, their pace slowing as she realized they were going up hill. The sand piling up high.

The princess collapses onto her back as she drops the bags she had been carrying, the hot sand seeping through her shirt. Not helping her cool down at all.

“Hey,” She hears the solider call, “Get up, mouse.”

She doesn’t answer him. She lays there and wonders what shade feels like, trying to remember what it was like to be cool at one point.

A shadow hovers over her face, blocking the scourging sun from her eyes, she opens one eye and sees the soldiers eyes staring back at her.

“Mouse, get up. We don’t have time for you to be part snake and sunbathe.” He sneered, lightly kicking her ribs with his boot.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes, the chains clanging loudly as she made the movement. Her wrists were red and blistered from the hot metal biting at her skin 24/7. It didn’t help that the Savage had tightened them since she tried to escape.

“If you want me to move you can drag me the rest of the way, Savage.” She spat. Burying her body further in the sand.

Seyoon ran a hand through his hair in frustration, growling as he did so. He tugged at her chains roughly, causing her body to move an inch while her arms went above her head, a screech escaping her.

“I am not carrying your lazy butt all the way to Exile Island.” He growled. “Get up.”

“No.” She retorted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You little...” Seyoon began, then he was quiet.

The princess cocked her head to look up at him, surprised he was quiet. Her surprise grew into worry though when she saw his dark eyes focused on a point on the horizon, the color drained from his face.

She sat up and looked in the direction he was, her breath catching when she saw it. Three horses stood about a mile away from them. The horses were black, with what looked like decorative gear covering them. Atop of them sat three figures all dressed in black, the dark fabric blowing softly in the wind.

The princess had just opened her mouth to say something when she felt Seyoon jerk her up, his face close to hers.

“Now is not the time to be stupid, mouse.” He threatened sternly as he went around and gathered their little bit of gear into a pile.

“What do you mean?” The princess asks weakly, looking back at the three forms, who were now speeding toward them.

“Listen to me carefully.” The solider says, taking her arms in his hands. His hot skin biting through the fabric of her outfit.

“You will do everything I tell you. Do you understand? You don’t move, you don’t speak, you do nothing. Absolutely nothing. Unless I tell you to.”

“But what are they-“

“Do you understand me?” He says more forcefully, griping her arms tighter, making her suck in a breath.

The princess nods weakly. Still not understanding. Seyoon takes her and pulls her to where she stands behind him, her eyes just able to see over his shoulder.

By now the bandits were much closer. Their dark horses could be seen wearing dark red fabric with several small bells hanging from the delicately woven material. The ringing of the bells mesmerizing against the beating of their hooves on sand.

The bandits wore all black, the only skin showing was their eyes and hair. The skin surrounding their eyes was painted red and black, making their dark eyes seem more intimidating.

Their hair was braided into long locks with stripes of gold and small bells woven through them. The princess felt her heart stop and sink like a stone. She had a feeling this would end badly.

“They probably won’t speak our language.” Seyoon whispers over his shoulder to her. “So just be still and do whatever I tell you to.”

She nods her head, even though Seyoon wasn’t paying attention. The bandits slow and stop in front of them, their horses letting out rough breaths, making the sand swirl around them

For what seems like forever there’s silence. The bandits examine them, their horses moving nervously in the sand.

The princess jumps slightly when one of the bandits starts speaking. His tongue clicking at a fast rate at what she presumed was their language.

She could see the soldiers muscles tense as the bandits continued their banter. The one in the middle never making a sound, only watching them. Eventually, he raises his hand, stopping the other two from talking.

He swings down off his horse, standing up to full height. He was much taller than the solider, his build large and strong. Making the princess cower behind Seyoon.

He slowly approaches the pair, stopping when his face is inches from Seyoon’s.

“Where are you going?” He says gruffly.

The princess is surprised he knew their language but kept silent as the solider told her. She expects him to say something but he only nods his head in answer to the bandit.

The bandits eyes roam over the princess for a moment, making her feel uncomfortable. Then he looks down at their bags and lightly taps it with his foot.

“Where are you going?” He asks again, his accent thick.

“Exile Island.” Seyoon answers softly. Keeping his eyes low.

“Girl too?” He asks, pointing to her.

“She’s a prisoner.” Seyoon replies, still keeping his voice low. His muscles tight.

The bandits keeps his eye on her for a moment, taking in her appearance before saying, “She's coming with us. You can go home.”

The princess felt her heart skip a beat. As weird as it sounded, anything would be better in her mind than staying with the Savage.

“I’ll go.” She pipes up. Making Seyoon whip his head around.

“Be quiet.” He snarls.

“No.” She shoots back, narrowing her eyes.

The bandits watch the pair silently. Amused at their bickering.

“Mouse, shut your mouth. Now.” The Savage growls, his teeth gritted.

“No.” She snaps back. “You were going to leave me in quick sand! I want to go with them. Just tell my uncle I died.”

Seyoon sucks in a breath and clenches his hands into fists at his sides. “If being dead is really what you want I would be happy to deliver.” He says, a twisted grin flashing across his anger filled face.

The princess feels herself resign slightly. Now unsure what to do. But the bandits solve that for her.

“You can go.” The leader of the bandits says as he gets back up on his horse. “She’s your problem.”

The princess opens her mouth to protest but the bandits are already making their way down the sandy hills toward home. They watch them go until they almost can’t see them anymore before the princess feels a surge of anger course through her.

“Why didn’t you let me go?” She yells, “I wouldn’t have been your problem anymore, Savage!”

Seyoon narrows his eyes at her, “Do you want to die? Is that really what you want? Life with them might not have been as sweet as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh, so now I’m stupid?” The princess snaps.

Seyoon runs his hands across his face, growling angrily. “You’re so aggravating.”

A new surge of anger runs through the princess as she charges him head on. Making them both fall into the sand. Seyoon coughs as sand fills his nose, only making him angry.

The princess straddles his waist and tries to hold him down enough to go for the keys to her restraints inside his chest pocket. Her chains only getting in the way though and complicated matters.

Seyoon grabs an end of her chain and pulls her hard, her nails gripping against his clothes, trying to keep him pinned down. He manages to pull her off him and hold her down against the hot sand, her limbs still desperately trying to overthrow him.

Seyoon holds her down until she stops fighting, which isn’t very long because soon sobs rack her body. Tears sliding down her face in big drops.

Once sure she won’t try anything else, Seyoon releases her. Standing up to full height while he catches his breath. He looks down at the small form in front of him. Her sobs bad enough she barely drew in a breath.

A rock sunk in Seyoon’s gut. A realization hitting him. But at the same time, he didn’t want to admit it. Because if he was right it meant they were making this trek for nothing.

She had caught him off guard with the first attack. But her attempt to hold him down was so easy to shrug off. And if she was that easy to shrug off for him, he realized it would have been near impossible for her to have killed the king.

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It's Basically The Lion King Masterlist

#ace #a.c.e #a.c.e x reader #ace seyoon x reader #ace seyoon #a.c.e seyoon x reader #a.c.e seyoon #a.c.e wow #ace wow #a.c.e imagine #ace fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfiction #kpop x reader #fanfiction #kpop imagines #kpopmadness writings #whattodowithkpopwritings #acewriters #it's basically the lion king

[worrynotso]

Stamp on the ground

AKA Logince Dance Dance Revolution (arcade) AU! 

Did a little bullet fic in impatentpending’s server (with input from @skyscrapersanddandelions) and now need to share it bc rhythm gaming.

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When it starts, Roman's already being extra about it. By the time Logan meets him at the arcade, which involves navigating a solid wall of noise to the very back where there's a thin crowd of regulars gathered, Roman's playing. 

Roman's a freestyle player and likes to choreograph routines to his favourite tracks. He has his shoes and socks off and he's weaving in between the two dance pads in Double mode, arms just as coordinated as his footwork and it's impressive as hell. 

Which makes Logan want to beat him, so badly.

The set ends, and Roman's got at least an AA on everything. He whoops and he's still grinning, breathing a little hard when he turns around and Logan's there, hands on both rails right off the platform

It's much less intimidating than he'd like given that Roman's a couple inches taller from this vantage point, but Logan doesn't falter 

Roman grins wider. This isn't the first time they've done this.

Logan leaves his shoes on. He makes a deadpan comment about proper hygiene but, as a technical player, he benefits from the longer reach his shoes give him to the foot pads

Logan's play style is the exact opposite of Roman's, of course. He plays for efficiency, holding the bar to conserve energy and making the most minimalistic movements possible to move as fast as possible, sometimes using his heels to hit arrows or to hold two arrows at once.

Roman thinks it looks ugly as sin to play this way

Startup and song selection is just their excuse to snipe at each other, predicting scores and gravely promising the other's downfall

Concerned onlookers can't quite hear their words over the music but they look like they're gonna throw hands

The first song is only on difficult, Logan insists on proper warm-up after all and Roman can't gloat if they aren't playing on the same difficulty

Roman dances like the foot pads aren't even there, one movement melting into the next like he's singing the notes instead of reading a board full of rapidly scrolling arrows.

Logan's moving more than he is dancing but it's no less beautiful, like someone programmed the steps into his legs and he's just executing the code with artful precision. Weight shifting exactly as it needs to, hands firmly behind him on the rail. 

Other regulars have seen this before. These two are so intense they only really co-op with each other, never taking part in tournaments even though they rank consistently within the top 7 at this location.

The song ends and both of them are breathing hard now, Logan's won by a narrow margin. Warm-up my royal heinie, Roman thinks when Logan cocks an eyebrow his way. You just wanted to have first win.

As they're sipping water, Roman's needling at Logan's play style, telling he's not doing the robot right if he's not even using his arms and other dumb jabs

Logan snaps and goes fine, but I hope you're prepared to lose gracefully and loosens his tie, setting it atop the dashboard.

Roman shoots back bitch, I do everything gracefully as the song starts and it takes him a second to realise that wasn't the sick comeback he thought it was

They're playing on expert now, a harsh electronic song with no lyrics for Roman to focus his attention. Still, he doesn't forsake his style (he's not new) and powers through each movement with a flourish. Passersby have started to stop and watch

Logan's hands are out to his sides for balance and he's not really sure what to do with them, but he can see Roman killing it from the corner of his eye and endeavours to do the same

They're both panting and breaking a sweat by the time the song ends, Logan's teeth grit because he knows he broke his combo at some point. 

Roman wins by a whole grade. Logan's eye twitches. He can't think about hubris right now cause he's just mad

Roman, because Roman, is shouting HA before the scores even finish loading, crowing about evened playing fields and how he's going to wipe Logan's name from the scoreboard

It's his pick now so he selects something with a deceptively slow bpm on expert, one of the tracks he's halfway through choreographing while Logan spitefully chugs water.

Song starts with a rush of arrows and Logan's hands are stubbornly out in front of him. 

Roman's singing under his breath, like he doesn't have enough to do. Logan misses an arrow in that first barrage and snarls.

The song doesn't get less intense from there. Logan's struggling to find footing, his usual center of gravity's off and Roman's groove meter is steadily creeping up, which just throws him off more. He knows this, why is he losing it now?

It's actually during a slow section full of holds that Logan trips and goes down.

He could have sworn that Roman was holding two arrows with the same foot, and by the time he tried to correct his own moves his ankle buckled on a wrong step and he was sprawled on the dance pad

Roman's at his side the next moment, kneeling next to him asking are you okay? You didn't hit your head right? Can you move your foot? Talk to me, Microsoft Nerd

Logan's mostly dazed, he didn't have much weight on the foot that buckled so it's just the palms of his hands that were stinging along with his pride.

Eventually he answers something reassuring, lets Roman haul him off the dance pad. They stay grasping each other's hand as they catch their breath, rest of the song scrolling on, forgotten

Did I see you finally doing something technical? Logan has the wits to ask. Roman flusters, stiltedly saying something about learning from the best. Co-best, of course. He adds.

They still unlock the extra stage, by some miracle. The crowd's dissipated, and they take their time selecting a track they both have memorised. Both know when the slow segments are.

They're still holding hands, through the intro of the track. It's slow enough not to be a distraction, and Logan finds it an adequate source of balance in place of his rail, as long as things aren't too intense.

Roman thinks of it like a complete circuit between them, allows his flourishes to ebb just in the moment, movement more conservative so he's not jerking Logan's hand about

They know when to let go as it picks up, but they're no longer at a disconnect

Logan returns to the rail when he needs it to pull off a flurry of arrows coming at them, but when he has the pulse of the song running through him, his arms start to follow suit. 

It's small at first, but they swing with the beat, with his shifts in weight and it feels right. He even crouches down to slap arrows with his hands, at one point.

By the time the song wraps up, they're both grinning like they're the only ones in the place, sweat beading on their foreheads and giggles bubbling from their lips.

As Roman's stepping off the dance pad, Logan sweeps his hand up and places a chaste kiss on the back of it. Thank you, he murmurs just loud enough for him to hear.

Roman positively beams, and it's hard to kiss Logan when he's smiling so damn hard but he makes a valiant effort.

Bonus:

Someone coughs loudly and pointedly when the pair lingers in front of the screen

It’s Virgil, another regular here

These weirdos take it too seriously, they pull drama every other week and he’s left standing here wishing they’d find another way to flirt every time

He just wants to play the stupid game dude

#ts #writenotso #logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #logince ddr au

[screamoffkey]

An Introduction to the New Romantics (Chapter 1)

TYRUS X HEATHERS  (there’s some other ships too, check tags lol)

Chapter 1: The Rumors are Terrible and Cruel (but, most of them are true)

You move out of town for a couple of years and all of a sudden it’s like you step into a parallel universe. That was the thought running through TJ Kippen’s mind as he stared at the spectacle before him. He had left Shadyside after the eighth grade to be with his mom in California, but had moved back to Utah after some ‘parental difficulties.’ He had moved back home with his dad a quarter-way through his Junior year of high school because he wanted a taste of normal again, but… the sight he was staring at was far from normal.

It was his first day at his new school, Jefferson High, and he had barely walked into the classroom before his homeroom teacher had ushered him out into the halls with a boy who seemed eager to teach him the ways of Jefferson High School. His plucky tour guide, flashing a sticker that had the name ‘Marty’ hastily scribbled across it, looked familiar in a way that suggested TJ had definitely met him before. Marty hadn’t even managed to open his mouth yet before TJ interrupted.

“We’ve met before… haven’t we?”

Marty gave an uncomfortable laugh, as he tried to fight the awkwardness that was quickly building between the two. “Yeah, TJ… I, uh, tried out for the basketball team back in middle school before you moved. But, we didn’t really talk much after I got cut.”

TJ winced. The one thing he feared about coming back was his reputation as a jerk. A mixture of age, the paradisiacal California weather, and the major Surfer Vibes of his high school out West had softened him out of the douchebag mentality. It had felt like forever since he had been considered even slightly mean by anyone, but now he had to own up to the mistakes he made years ago.

“I’m sorry about… how I acted back in middle school. I’m totally nicer, I swear.” He offered a friendly, but apologetic smile at the brunette, who seemed more than willing to accept the apology.

“Dude, no worries, I get it. Everyone is so different from who they were in middle school.” He gave TJ a once-over, before meeting his stare with a mischievous look in his yes. You definitely look different.”

Marty had a point. Over the course of three years in California, he had grown a couple inched taller, a few shades tanner, and at least a little more stylistically inclined than he had been back in middle school. He’d since relaxed on the hair gel and the AXE body spray; and, while he hadn’t kicked his hoodie habit, they had all been approved by his sister as fashionable before purchasing. The fluffy white one he was wearing right now was a moving away gift from her, actually.

TJ laughed at the slight teasing while the boys walked down the hall, trying to keep pace with Marty’s power walking. Marty spoke fast as he gave the tour of the large high school, and freckled in some light conversations while walking past obvious structures like ‘library’ and ‘cafeteria.’ Jefferson high school was much bigger than its Jefferson Middle, with about 6 different intermediate schools feeding into it, and the school was certainly big enough to accommodate the massive class size. It gave TJ mild comfort to know that he could blend into a crowd for his last years of high school, without having to deal with too many people who knew that he was a total dick when he was 14.

Marty had somehow managed to spend the full class period leading TJ throughout the massive school, (and giving TJ a highlight reel of the best gossip that he’s missed out on) because soon enough, the class bell rang, and hordes of chattering students flooded the wide hallways that were previously desolate.

Which brings us to the display that TJ Kippen was currently watching. Everything that seemed like a normal passing period, until three figures appeared at the end of the hall. The silhouettes were nonchalant, but almost instantly the crowd cleared a path for them. It was like the world stood still as the three students started walking down the hallway, no one dared speak a decibel above the footsteps of three pairs of shoes on hard tile. It was like something out of an eighty’s movie.

 “Guess you were going to meet them sooner or later.” Marty whispered into his ear, with a suspenseful tone that TJ really hoped was just him being dramatic. He began narrating the trio, who hadn’t looked even slightly bothered at the stares they were getting. First, a girl with a pixie cut in a blue romper, whose white heels that were clicking just a few steps ahead of her other friends.

“That’s Andi Mack, editor-in-chief of the yearbook. If you get on her bad side, she’ll immortalize your most embarrassing moment in the pages. Girls want to be her; guys and girls want to date her.”

TJ felt his chest tighten as a tall girl in a crimson red letterman jacket and curly hair came into his line of sight. He wasn’t sure if it was her or the boy she was walking beside that was causing the knots in his stomach. Marty continued his whisper commentary, clearly not noticing the building tension in his new friend.

“Buffy Driscoll. Captain of the track team, the girls’ basketball team, and the soccer team. 4.0 GPA. Recruiters are basically begging at her feet to play for their college.”

TJ detected the slightest bit of adoration in the boy’s voice when he spoke of her; or, maybe it was jealousy? He didn’t know Marty well enough to parse out that it was some odd mix of both. He decided not to ask.

“And, of course, Cyrus Goodman.” Marty paused as he looked up at him.

The pair found themselves engaged in some sort of odd staring contest with the dark-haired boy, who had stopped his conversation with Buffy and was clearly looking directly at them. He was a taller than TJ remembered him, and those vibrant brown eyes had gone cold and stoic. He wore a pale-yellow crewneck from a brand that TJ didn’t recognize, and black skinny jeans that tucked into Comme des Garcons converses. His hair was meticulously parted and combed - everything about him was flawless. He only stared for a about a second before deciding to resume his conversation with Buffy, not paying them another glance.

“The kid of Leslie Goodman, as in the TV Show Dr. Goodman. In other words, one of the richest families in Shadyside. Also known as the boyfriend of the senior class president Jonah Beck, and for being Co-Homecoming King with him last fall… Together the three of them make up the Good Hair Crew: they practically run the school. Solid Teflon, never touched, never bothered.” And with that, the trio had passed them, continuing on to wherever they were going.

 TJ stood frozen in the hallway, even as the rest of the populous seemed to return to normal. His brain was reeling, desperately trying to keep up with the information he was processing. That was Buffy. That was Cyrus, and Cyrus has a boyfriend???? were seemingly the only thoughts his brain could manage to sputter, as though it had found a glitch. Error 404: my middle school friends all became bad asses without me. 

After a few more moments, and an encouraging nudge from Marty, he snapped out of his daze.

“Marty, I know them. They aren’t like that. I remember in middle school those three-”

Marty hushed him hurriedly, looking around frantically to make sure no one had heard. “If I were you, I wouldn’t mention anything about the GHC in middle school if you want survive a day at Jefferson High. They’ve erased any trace of who they were back then.” He paused, letting the taller boy know that he was serious. “I mean it TJ. When I said everyone has changed since 7th grade, I meant everyone. They’ll have your head if you try to resurface some old memories.”

Marty hooked a friendly arm around TJ’s shoulder, ignoring that TJ was practically a half-foot taller than him, and shepherded him away from the spot to which his feet were planted. With a lighter tone, he continued rambling.

“C’mon Kippen. We have AP US History next period together. You can freak out all you want about everything you missed while you were busy being a Surfer Boy when Mrs. Peters is lecturing us about the importance of Grover Cleveland.” The quip managed to earn a soft chuckle from TJ, despite his head hurting from the mental confusion of the events that had all taken place within the last five minutes.

He conceded for now, and let the three mysterious figures he used to know exit the hallway and his mind, as he followed Marty down the hallway in the opposite direction.

#tyrus #tyrus andi mack #tyrus fanfic #Muffy #muffy fanfic #maybe some tarty idk yet #tarty #there's jyrus here too don't flip #jyrus

[moshimichi]

Day 7 – Winter

ZarcRay Week: Day 7

Fandom: Arc V Ship: Zarc/Ray Rating: M (kinda not really) Genre: Humor

Icy patches can only lead to disaster.

-

Ray shivered violently as the cold winds passed over her, huddling deeper into her jacket. Why was it so cold?! Yeah, it was winter and all, and the weather was abysmal to be out in the shopping district, but this was just plain ridiculous. “I did warn you,” Reiji mumbled, face hidden behind his scarf. She would have scoffed, considering how ridiculous he looked bundled up in what looked like fifty layers of clothes. But he looked so goddamn toasty that all she could do was glower at him balefully. “Since you’re so concerned, lend me one of your twelve jackets, then,” she growled. The look she got in return, the bland, are-you-seriously-this-stupid-how-are-we-related look, made her want to smack him upside the head. So she did. “Child abuse,” her brother grumbled, straightening his glasses which had been knocked crooked. “Discipline,” Ray corrected. “Discipline of my insolent baby brother who will lend me his jacket.” Despite the fact that Reiji was three years younger than her, he was about two inches taller. Meaning that his clothes were big enough for her. She was completely serious, too, so she started wrestling Reiji out of his outermost jacket. It was the biggest one, and she really hadn’t been kidding about the number of layers he was wearing. Much. Okay, so he was only wearing three, but her point still stands. “Don’t strip me,” he protested, jerking out of her grasp. Unfortunately, this pulled Ray just so, her foot landing on a patch of ice she could have sworn wasn’t there a second ago. Ray yelped in surprise as the limb practically flew out from underneath her, letting go of Reiji. She did, however, manage to snag someone on her way down, dragging that person down with her. A swift moment later, Ray groaned painfully where she laid. Luckily for her, she had landed on something that cushioned her from the hard ground. That something being, of course, the other person. “Ugh…” Ray blinked, gathering her bearings before lifting her head to look for the source of the sound. What she found made her freeze even more than the cold weather did. Of all the people she had managed to grab, Zarc, the champion duelist, was groaning underneath her! And what was even worse, she realized with increasingly mortified horror, was how she was actually straddling him, thighs on either side of his hips with their groins perfectly aligned as she was completely plastered against his chest. I want to die! she screamed internally. Of all the scandalous positions and of all the people she could have ended up in said position with— This was not happening! “…Miss Akaba…?” Zarc blinked, realizing who was on top of him. Her heart skipped a beat at hearing her name from his lips. But of course he knew her. Not only was she the daughter of the man who perfected solid vision with mass, she was also a top-tier duelist in her own right. “Hey, are you okay?” Ray stuttered incoherently, unable to string her thoughts together. This close, she could actually count each individual eyelash. Said lashes fluttered with every blink, leading to the thought that woah, that’s a really pretty yellow right there. Zarc frowned, lifting a hand up to gently cradle her cheek. While it was totally possible that she might have gotten a concussion, she also looked like she might have a fever with how red she was. “Are you hurt? Do you feel okay?” The squeak that escaped her lips only had him looking more concerned. And while it was nice that he was worried for her, it only made him look more attractive and therefore made the situation more awkward for her because she was straddling an attractive man in a pose that wouldn’t have been out of place in the bedroom. Click They both paused before turning as one to look at the source. Reiji took another picture with his phone, looking for all the world like this was an everyday occurrence. “Don’t mind me,” he said, tapping away on his phone. “I just thought I’d post this online to commemorate your meeting your possible paramour.” Ray quickly sat up, causing Zarc to grunt in surprise at the sudden shift in weight, burning determination on her face. “I’m going to make you eat that phone,” she hissed, “and then I’m going to kill you.” “Child abuse.” “Discipline!”

#arc v #zarcray #zarcray week #michi's stuff #michi's fics

[tasharii]

Your Colors: Chapter 16

A/N: I have plenty of excuses for why this took so long BUT I'm sorry! 

I couldn't pick where to end it so it kept getting longer and longer until we got to where we are now. Tell me what you think! Thank you to everyone who comments and kudos and bookmarks! It all means a lot to me <3

Summary:  Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 8K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of past rape and abuse

Masterlist

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10 Chapter 11  Chapter 12 Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15

****

Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be. Traveling during the holidays was never ideal, but Y/N had thought things might have calmed down by Thursday. People of all shapes and sizes swept past her in blurs of color. Every brush of someone’s arm or bark of laughter set her teeth on edge. It was exhausting. Today was draining on the last of her reserves. Nothing left inside her but wispy fumes and a chocolate bar she swiped from a vending machine on her way to get her luggage.

Suitcases draped over every spare inch of her, Y/N made her way towards the escalator. Her palm felt sweaty on the handle of her bulkiest suitcase as she rolled it behind her. After all the gifts, she’d ended up with one extra bag to fit everything into. At this point, she was starting to regret telling Bucky to wait for her near the front entrance, rather than coming to help her get all her stuff.

Holiday music rolled over top the chatter of the crowd. Sparkling red, and green decorations hung along every extra bit of space in the airport. Garland decorated entryways, and frosty window decals peppered along the shops. If she was being honest, she was sick of hearing about Santa Claus. It was a relief that the holidays were about to be over. There wasn’t much left inside her to feel warm cheer over anything.

Everything felt far away. Fuzzy. Like she was about to have sensory overload. Even the scent of something greasy from the airport food court made her stomach churn unpleasantly. The edges of her vision greyed, and Y/N could only focus on one foot in front of the other. Autopilot took over as her mind receded inside a whirring ocean of thoughts.

Settling on the escalator, she plopped her suitcase next to her on the wide step and let out a breath. A broad-shouldered man wearing a long trench coat blocked her view of the bottom floor. Taller than her, even a step below. Up on her tiptoes, Y/N tried to peer over his shoulder. Then she leaned haphazardly to the side, supporting her awkward position with her hand on the shifting rail.

From past the man’s thick arm, she finally found him. A tall, familiar figure clad in full black and a leather jacket to top it off stood just to the left of the escalator. Cradled in his hands, he held up a white canvas with her full name painted on it. Dorky paint splatters covered the white space, and she smiled as warmth started to spark in her limbs. Bucky glanced around the airport, searching for her, and took out his phone to check the time.

It was ridiculous how he could make her heart break out from its cage of ribs without even trying.

When he peered up again, she was already off the escalator and a couple steps away. The second his winter blue eyes landed on her, she stilled, suddenly shy. There was a cut near his temple and what looked like a bruise on his jaw. Her lips parted to ask about it, but her tongue abruptly couldn’t form words. All the time they’d spent apart hit her like a train and she felt the full weight of how much she’d missed him. It took her breath away. Made her ribs pinch tight around her lungs.

A grin made his face light up like the north star, and he waved the sign at her, “I’m here to pick up Miss. Y/L/N. Got any idea where I could find her?” There was a cheeky drawl to his words, and he tilted his head just so. Sweetness glinted in his smile and eyes, making her entire body thrum with heat and want.

Inside her chest, her self-control snapped like a wire. Dropping her suitcase, she abandoned the two bags in her hands. Only her backpack stayed in place off the floor. People flinched in surprise around her, obviously annoyed at her sudden action. They muttered and glowered at the stuff she left in the way. Not a single ounce of her could be bothered to care.

Then Y/N was all but running towards him. Bucky let the canvas clatter to the floor and took a step towards her, arms open. When she barreled into him, he chuckled fondly and hugged her tight. The sound was deep and reverberated through her, straight to her weary heart. Tears pricked her eyes and she pressed her face into his chest, nuzzling him to hide the evidence. With a deep breath in, and out, she relaxed as his scent enveloped her and his heat bled into her clothes.

“You’d think we haven’t seen each other in months.” Bucky teased, kissing the top of her head. His left hand held the small of her back while his right rubbed soothingly up and down her spine over her coat.

A thick laugh left her, and she tilted her chin up just as he leaned down. Y/N had never wanted to kiss someone more in her life, “Shut up.” The demand left her quietly and not with as much strength as she wanted it to. Their lips met and suddenly she could breathe easier. Her fingers felt up his chest, under his jacket and then his neck. Desperate to touch him. Feel him solid beneath her. When she cupped his face, he flinched, and she jerked back, eyebrows together. Their lips parted, and she felt him release a short, pained breath.

That’s when she really took note of it. A deep blue bruise covered his jaw and up the length of his face where a cut resided on the side of his brow near his temple. Frowning, she gently ran a thumb over his eyebrow, “What happened?”

Bucky winced again and caught her hand, bringing it down to kiss her fingers, “Just some family drama.” His gloves were rough on her bare hands, but she barely noticed. The black material stark against her skin.

Around them, throngs of people continued business as usual. Passed by them like they were just inconvenient rocks in the middle of a vast river. His words were nearly stolen by the buzzing background chatter. Cold air brushed across her legs from the sliding door opening and closing to the world outside a few yards behind him.

“Your dad…?” Y/N trailed off and he nodded. Bucky released her and stepped over to pick up her forgotten bags off the floor, “Why didn’t you—”

“I’ll tell you about it in the cab. Ok?” He offered, coming back over to her. Her suitcase rolled behind him in his left hand, another bag slung over his shoulder. Impatient, she scooped up the forgotten canvas on the floor and she took her purse from him, so he could wrap his right arm over her shoulders. He kissed her temple as they started wading through the crowd towards the exit.

  After they settled into the back of a cab, Bucky gave the driver her address. It was snowing outside. Just small flakes fluttering down and twisting with the wind. The air was bitterly cold, and she curled close to him to steal some of his warmth. Even though the cab’s heater was on full blast, it didn’t feel warm enough. There was a lingering scent of cigarette smoke in the fabric of the seats and an overflowing ashtray up front next to the middle age driver.

Glancing up at her boyfriend, Y/N pursed her lips and reached for his right hand, “So when he didn’t want to go to bed, he hit you?” Her eyes flickered from his, then down to his hand where she made it her mission to pluck his glove off. Something fragile inside her needed to feel the calluses of his fingers and she figured he wouldn’t mind.

Bucky snorted a bitter laugh at her question, but then an amused smile curled up on the corner of his mouth as he watched her. He didn’t speak up until she let his glove fall on his thigh and laced their fingers together. Smug, he raised his eyebrows at her in silent question, and she just arched her own back in turn. The radio played loud up front, giving them some semblance of privacy in the back. Every pothole the cab hit had her jostled closer to him, their shoulders bumping together, but she hardly noticed.

They stared at each other in the quiet, challenging for explanations. Finally, Bucky acquiesced, and ran his gloved hand through his hair, making it stick up from the melted snow dampening it, “Not exactly.” He swallowed. His eyes were full of conflicting emotions when he looked at her, and the bruise highlighted the vibrant blue of them. Staring down at his lap, he continued, “He just hit me with his beer bottle when I tried to take it away.” He stated it so dismissively, that it took her a minute for the weight of his words to really sink in.

Eyes wide, Y/N shook her head, “That’s not—” She tried to swallow around the wasteland in her throat, “Buck, that’s not ok. You know that right?” Her snow damp hair was cold against the back of her neck and her exposed skin still felt chilled from their few minutes outside.

Not meeting her eyes, Bucky’s shrugged, lips in a fine line, “I should have been more careful. I knew he was drunk, and I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” She interrupted, squeezing his hand and making him look at her. Her voice dropped, careful so that he was the only one who could hear her, “It’s not ok. No buts. Would you excuse it if he hit Becca?” The horror and rage that flooded his expression paralyzed her insides with nerves.

“Never.” Bucky’s response was a quiet snarl, lip curled in disgust, “If he ever…” He trailed off and realization made him blink a couple times as he lost his words. Then he nodded, shoulders slumping as he sunk down in his seat. In doing so, their faces were level and he turned his head to rest it back, “You’re right.” He held her eyes and there was vulnerability swirling across the surface of them, “But it’s hard to see it that way sometimes because it’s always been like this. For almost as long as I can remember.” He played with her fingers, tracing her knuckles, “I guess I should explain some history first.”

Quiet, Y/N gave him the peace to collect his thoughts. Staring out the window, Bucky started, “My dad was in the army back during Vietnam, but he didn’t even make it past basic training. Just before he was going to ship out, he had a training accident. Didn’t open his parachute quick enough, and he came home paralyzed from the waist down. I was only 6 at the time and Becca wasn’t even born.”

“That’s awful.” Y/N whispered, horrified by the thought of suddenly not being able to walk. Suddenly losing something everyone else took for granted every day. He looked back over at her, expression solemn and mouth pressed into a fine line.

Nodding, he continued, tracing idle designs on the back of her hand with a gloved finger, “Money was tight, but we made it work. Until mom died in the car accident. Drunk driver hit us on our way home from the grocery store.” He grimaced and clenched his jaw, “I was only 12, and I can remember the car filling with smoke. Metal and glass everywhere. I still have a scar on my side from glass cutting me. Becca got stuck in her booster seat and mom was unconscious up front. I had the brains to get my sister out, just as it started sparking.” Y/N squeezed his hand tighter as she felt him lock up beside her. This story was obviously hard for him to tell, and she could see his eyes drifting far away.

The car shook as they hit another pothole and he winced, letting out a shaky breath, “When I tried to open the driver door, I couldn’t. It was crushed, and then some adults started dragging me away. Just in time for the engine to explode with her still in there.” It looked like he was one word away from crying, but then he blinked. Sniffing, he scrubbed a hand over his too-pale face and met her eyes, “Dad was never the same after that. None of us were.”

“Of course not.” Y/N managed, her heart breaking for him. Their eyes met, and he offered her a weak smile, but it didn’t look quite right. Didn’t make it to his haunted eyes. Still, she smiled back for him, bringing his hand up to kiss his fingers. They were cold against her mouth, and he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. The barely-there tilt of his lips was real then.

“He drank before, but he started staying drunk after that. We fought. A lot. So, the moment I could, I moved out. Not far, cause I still needed to be there for Becca, but I knew if I stayed we’d come to blows eventually.” Bucky rolled his eyes, irritation overpowering the hurt, “He never hit us. Just yelled.”

“That can be just as bad.” She pointed out and he hummed in agreement with noncommittal shrug. Carefully, she asked, “If he never hit you, then what happened?” She gestured to his bruise. Upfront, the driver cursed over something on the radio and took a sharp corner, nearly making her topple across the seat to the opposite side. Bucky caught her hip with his left hand, arm stretched across her body, and glared at the back of the driver’s head.

Uncoiling from around her, he cleared his throat and answered, “When he gets too drunk, he can’t move himself from his wheelchair to bed. But he doesn’t like it when I help him. I tried to take away his beer bottle, and he liked that even less.” His nose wrinkled as he sneered, “Bastard hit me across the face with it. Then fell out of his chair and started throwing an even bigger fit. Made Becca cry. It was a mess.” His eyes squeezed shut, and he rubbed them with his free hand.

“I’m so sorry.” It was all she could think to say, and it didn’t feel anywhere near enough for the situation. Still, she said them and cupped her hands around his, and tried to express her emotions through that touch. Tried to think of any way to comfort him.

Bucky shrugged again, wearily finishing, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. There wasn’t much you could do anyway.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes when the confession settled between them, glancing out the window. Then down at his lap, and around the cab. Really anywhere but her.

Frowning, Y/N tilted her head, and leaned closer to him. In his line of sight so he’d meet her eyes. When he looked at her, she stretched up and gave him a soft kiss, “Well you’re telling me now.” She brushed his hair back from his forehead, then gave a ghost like kiss to the bruise, “And don’t worry about worrying me. Ok? I wanna help if I can. Even if it’s not much.”

He raised his eyebrows and snorted, “Same to you.” He kissed her forehead, and let out a breath, sounding relieved, “You do help. Just being yourself helps.”

Y/N let her head rest on his shoulder, the leather cold on her cheek, “You help too.”

“Really? Cause I felt pretty useless the other night.” His breath brushed her forehead, and she felt his words more than she heard them.

Surprised, she scoffed, “This helps.” She shook his hand, their fingers still locked together, “And with the risk of sounding cheesy, your voice makes me feel better too. The way you say things.”

It was truer than she cared to admit even to herself. The exhaustion from before was still there. Jason’s letter still clawed like a beast in the back of her mind, but it was easier to ignore. Bucky made her feel lighter and made the raw edges of her nerves smooth out. Ease up. In that moment, could tentatively say that she really was ok.

The sound of his chuckle carried through her bones and made her relax further against him. His lips brushed her forehead when he teased, “That was so cheesy. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

Silence stretched comfortably between them. Filled with the radio playing some mainstream music that she realized she knew the lyrics to but couldn’t place the singer. She started mouthing the words to herself, enjoying the easy rhythm and lyrics. After the second chorus, she found herself saying, “Thank you. For telling me about what happened. Seriously.” Even if he was late about it, he’d opened up about something else. It was a big deal.

“Don’t thank me for that.” Bucky snorted a laugh, pulling out his phone, “It felt kind of good to talk about it though. To someone else.” He mused, and then offered, sounding brighter, “I was thinking Chinese takeout for dinner?”

“Perfect.” Y/N tilted her chin up to meet his eyes, smiling. Now that he mentioned it, she was starving. Her appetite swung back at her in full force. Sheepishly, she asked, “And a Disney movie?”

A playful scowl met her smile, and he groaned, as if completely put out, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

  Full to the point of it being unpleasant, Y/N finished throwing away the last of the takeout boxes. Kitchen cleaned up, she glanced over to where Bucky was rinsing off the dishes. Deviously, she tiptoed behind up him and wrapped her arms around his waist. Only reaching between his shoulder blades, she let her cheek rest there and hummed happily when he put down the plate in the strainer and covered her hands with his wet right one.

Bucky relaxed back into her and groaned, “Don’t squeeze too hard! I’ll puke.” Rebelliously, she squeezed him tight just once, then released him when he squawked in protest. Laughing, she stepped back and hopped up onto her island counter. The end credits of Tangled played in the background, and her suitcases were piled, forgotten just within her living room. There wasn’t much of a point unpacking, since they’d be leaving together in a couple days, but she did have to take care of some laundry tomorrow.

Whirling on her, Bucky flicked water in her face from his hands. She laughed harder and just grinned at his scowl, “Oh come on! Poor little soldier got a tummy ache from all that big bad Chinese?”

For a second, he just watched her, a small amused glint in his baby blues. Then he tilted his head and got a wicked grin, “Little soldier?” He snorted and took only one step to situate himself between her legs in front of the counter. Up close, she could see the places where his bruised jaw already started to yellow at the edges.

There was something mischievous in Bucky’s tone that had her toes curling in delight. Not wanting the banter to end, Y/N tried to keep a straight face, and narrowed her eyes at him, “Mmhmm, you’re whining like one.” Her hands were splayed behind her as she propped herself up, leaning away from him so she could study his movements.

The pressure of his hands on the tops of her knees had her breath hitching. His metal one was cold through her faded jeans. Concern flitted across his features at the small noise she made, but when she smiled in answer, he relaxed. Then he spread her legs just subtly wider and her lips parted for an entirely different reason. Between her thighs, he leaned over her and his voice dropped to bedroom silk, “I can promise you darlin’, there’s nothing little about me.”

Heat coiled in the bottom of her belly, and she arched up towards him, feeling his breath on her mouth, “I’d love to see you prove it.” Y/N tilted her head and felt her lips brush his in a feather light kiss. It made her nerves spark to life.

“You have such a wicked mouth.” Bucky murmured, and before she could think of something to say with said wicked mouth, he kissed her harder. Instantly, her fingers tangled in his thick hair, feeling the soft strands and tugging herself closer. The hands on her knees slid up to her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the counter until their hips were flush together and she groaned.

His mouth tasted like sugary soda when he parted her lips with his tongue. Blissfully, she forgot to breathe when he felt across her teeth. Then her hips bucked against him and Bucky pulled back just far enough to kiss her jaw, and ear, biting her earlobe. The material of his thin black sweater was soft under her fingertips when she explored across his broad shoulders.

It felt like she was burning up. Every inch of her coiling tighter and tighter with insatiable want for him. The hands against her hips slid further down and cupped her lower back and rear. As Bucky’s teeth grazed the pulse point of her neck, he held her in place and rocked his hips back against her own.

“Oh god.” She gasped, the pressure of him against her made her stars burst behind her eyelids.

“Not quite.” Bucky’s voice was just as wrecked as hers when he laughed, and she decided that was her new favorite sound. Turning her head, she kissed a trail from his jaw to his chin in her search for his mouth. Mindful of his bruise as she went. When they met again, he started a slow, aching rhythm with his hips. It followed the sweet, teasing push and pull of his mouth.

Slowly, Y/N felt down his chest and caught the hem of his black jeans, her fingers stilling on the button of his pants. Bucky’s fingers brushed across her own and she froze. Her eyes opened and she met his, thumbing the button, “D-Do you want me to stop?” She asked quietly. His cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy with want and hair in complete disarray.

“I—” Bucky stopped when her phone started vibrating obnoxiously on the table top. He frowned and she removed her hands so she could lean back and pick it up. Annoyed, she glanced at the screen and sighed, “Sorry, it’s Peter.” Y/N explained, and he nodded for her to go ahead.

Before he could step away from her, she caught the edge of his worn shirt and tugged him to a stop. Confused, Bucky met her eyes over the brim of her phone and snorted at the little smirk she gave him. He reached for her and brushed his fingers through her hair while Y/N thumbed through the rapid-fire messages Peter sent her way. The warm touch of his fingers along her forehead and down her cheek made it difficult to sort through all the words her friend was sending her way. Leaning into Bucky’s touch, she blinked and forced herself to sort the letters into a form of English.

The counter was cool underneath her, and the vent above their heads kicked on. Warm air caressed her skin and she squirmed when Bucky nuzzled his cold nose against her cheek. Lips hot as he kissed just beneath her jaw. His fingers tangled in her hair, stroking through the strands and she giggled at the affection he was pouring over her.

Then she finished sorting through Peter’s messages and huffed. Bucky pulled back far enough to meet her eyes with a raised brow. Frustrated, Y/N sighed and squeezed her eyes shut, “He wanted to see me tonight.” She bit her lip and slipped her finger through one of his belt loops, phone dropping to her lap, “I told him you were coming over, but…” Unable to figure out how to end that sentence, she looked up at him with a frown.

Gently, Bucky hand cupped her cheek and he smiled at her, making the dimple on his chin deepen, “You should go see him.” His thumb stroked her cheekbone and she took hold of the front of his shirt with her free hand, making him stoop down towards her. Even perched on the counter, he toward over her.

Of course, she should see Peter, but she didn’t want to. Seeing him meant she had to talk about all the things that she was carefully ignoring. But he was worried, and she would be leaving for another week. Today or tomorrow would be the last chance they’d have to hangout for a while. It would be mean to leave him hanging. Problem was, she was feeling selfish.

“But I miss you.” Y/N admitted, hating how childish it sounded. When she tilted her chin up, Bucky dropped down and met her in a kiss. His hand fell to her shoulder and he held her in place while he broke the kiss all too soon.

“C’mon sweetheart. I’m trying to be good here.” Bucky chuckled, glaring playfully at her, “We’ll be spending a bunch of time together really soon. Hell! I’ll be seeing you after work tomorrow.” He shook his head, snorting incredulously, and let his metal hand rest on her knee again.

Huffing, she rolled her eyes up towards the ceiling and glanced over at her phone where it buzzed next to her thigh. Peter was starting to call in every favor she owed him. Listing every reason why she should see him. Pretty soon, he’d show up at her apartment. Wasn’t like he lived far away. The split-second scowl on Bucky’s face made her raise her eyebrows in surprise, “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” Bucky ducked his head and waved her off. The expression vanished just as quickly as it appeared. She reached up and brushed his bangs off his forehead, his lip quirked up in a little lopsided smile

“Maybe I could come over after.” Y/N found herself suggesting, the idea making her stomach bubble in nervous excitement. Lightly, she bumped her socked foot against his knee, tilting her head in question.

Confused, he frowned, ocean blues searching her own, “That would be pretty late.” He pinched the chain of her hourglass necklace between his fingers and followed it down to where the pendant rested against her collarbone, fiddling with it. Everywhere he touched made her burn inside and out and she lifted her chin just a hair to give him better access.

“Ya, so?” Y/N awkwardly shrugged a shoulder and bit her lip, looking away when she realized he wasn’t getting it. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she clarified uncomfortably, “I could just stay. Ya know? The night.”

Realization dawned across Bucky’s features and he dropped his hand from her necklace, leaving it to bounce against her chest. Nervous, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away to the tiled floor, “I don’t know.” He mumbled. Behind him, the fridge kicked on with a click and shuddering hum.

Disappointment and embarrassment bloomed like prickling needles across her skin and she released her hold on him too. Then he shuffled just a half step back and she felt very cold, “Oh I—” Y/N cleared her throat and twisted her hands in her lap, “Why not?” At his slight shrug and unreadable expression, she pursed her lips, “W-We’re going to be sharing a room at Tony’s, right?”

“Ya we could,” Bucky winced at the disappointment across her features and reassured her, “We are. I just, I’m not really ready.” He held his palms up imploringly, metal one glinting in the golden light of her kitchen.

Eyebrows raised, she gestured between them and dubiously shot back, “Well you don’t really have much time left to figure it out.” They were supposed to leave for Tony’s the 29th. The day after tomorrow.

Groaning in frustration, Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and barked a humorless laugh, “I know that.” He took another two steps away until he hit the sink and slumped against it, “I know.” He repeated softer than before. His legs stretched out in front of him, black socks sliding against the linoleum floor as he propped himself up.

Just a bit gentler, Y/N offered, “We don’t have to share a room if you don’t want.” And she meant it, even if it wasn’t what she wanted. Obviously, she wanted to share a room. To have him hold her like they talked about on Christmas. She wanted all of it. All of him. But she wouldn’t force him. Never.

“But I do want to. Really want to.” Bucky stressed, crossing his arms around himself. He slouched lower, watching her with a tight, nervous expression. Something close to shame flickered through his blue eyes and he averted his gaze after a long couple of seconds. Jaw tight like he was fighting with himself over what to say.

The knot growing inside her stomach eased just a fraction, and she took a calming breath, letting it out in a rush, “Then… what’s the problem?” Her thumb brushed over the edge of her phone, flipping it in her hands, trying to burn anxious energy. Unsurprisingly, it was easier to focus on his issues than her own. To narrow her concentration on solving these puzzles and forget about the letter.

But she was so tired. Today was dragging on too long and she didn’t know how she was even managing to navigate this conversation.

Bucky clenched his fists under his arms and glared at the floor, clearing his throat. It seemed like an effort for him to keep his voice even and strong, “The nightmares have gotten worse. Since Christmas Eve.” He gave a dismissive half-shrug, “Should pass soon. Nothing serious. I just… really don’t want you to have to deal with it.” He met her eyes. Brick by brick, she could see him building his walls back up right in front of her.

Clasping the edge of the counter with her hands, Y/N discarded her phone to the side. Then she leaned forward, heels thumping against the side lightly, “I could help. Like you helped me.” She forced herself to stay still, trying to stop fidgeting and steeling herself for whatever he threw her way.

“It’s not the same.” Bucky responded instantly. The sheer stubbornness in his tone made her hackles raise.

Scoffing, Y/N hopped off the counter, giving up on sitting, “And how not? Nightmares are nightmares. We both have them. If anyone could understand, it’d be me.” She pressed a hand to her chest, fingers curling around the necklace.

Firm, Bucky straightened his spine, hands tucking into his back pockets, “Maybe, but it is different because… I could hurt you. Sometimes when I wake up from them, I don’t know where I am. The nightmare follows me.” He grimaced and bit his bottom lip. For a second, he stared off to the side, debating something. When he finally addressed her again, his tone was softer, less edge to it, “You… remember when Dot stayed the night?”

It took every bit of steel inside her not to flinch at Dot being brought up. Funny thing, though, after the initial surprise wore off, she waited for the jealousy to hang like a cloud over her. Waited to feel hurt at him bringing up his ex, or irritation. But it never came. Y/N felt secure with him. Secure in their relationship and it was a relief to finally find herself on solid ground. Dot wasn’t a threat anymore.

“Of course.” Y/N replied softly, curious about what he was getting at.

Nodding, his dark bangs fell in his eyes, but he didn’t brush them away, “Most of the time, I just didn’t sleep. I’d let her fall asleep with me and then get up and go watch tv or something.” He took a deep breath and let it out in one harsh sigh, “But there was one night where I accidentally nodded off. I was just so tired, and I figured I might be exhausted enough to not dream. Hoped I wouldn’t.”

“You had a nightmare?” She asked, stepping closer. When he winced at her movement, she stilled and let him have his space. Only an arm’s length away but it felt too far. Awkward, she tucked her free hand in her back pockets and shuffled from foot to foot. Other hand still clasped around her necklace, she twisted it between her fingers.

Bucky met her eyes then, expression carefully blank, “I woke up with my hand around her throat.” There was no inflection in his tone. No emotion. Like he’d just dropped a stone into a pond and the ripples washed over her. The stone settled hard in her stomach.

Cold dread dripped like ice down her spine and her hand around her necklace drifted up to her throat. Her mouth opened, then closed as she tried to find words to say. Tried to find something to make him feel better, but nothing came. Just static in her ears and sand on her tongue.

“It was a miracle I didn’t hurt her.” He finished. His jaw tightened and he turned away, heading around the counter and towards the open space between the couch and door. Didn’t make a sound as he paced over to the table and picked up the remote, turning her TV off. The title screen music of Tangled abruptly cut off, and silence roared between them. Once he dropped the remote back down, where it clattered against the wood, he stood still.

Shoulders rigid and arms crossed, Bucky kept his back to her. He stared straight ahead towards her wall of windows; the setting sun warm as it stretched across her carpeted floor. It kissed his silhouette in a golden halo. Soft, but there was nothing else soft about him. Frustration made his words sharp as a razor, “It was getting better. I thought I was getting better and that I could—” He cleared his throat, trying to fight the tremors in it, “Thought we could, but now I don’t know.” Even with the thought unfinished, she got the gist of what he was getting at.

Thought he could take that step in the relationship. Thought they could fulfill the promise of helping each other with their nightmares.

Silent, Y/N turned and watched his back. Studied the way his hands kept tightening into fists and listened to the hum of the plates shifting in his arm. Still quiet, she closed the space between them. With each step she took, she could tell he felt her coming. Could see it in the way he was almost bracing himself for her. Despite feeling her there, he flinched when her hand pressed flat against his spine. Soothingly, she traced up his back and then down before she wrapped her arms around him from behind. Cuddled close and nuzzled her cheek between his shoulder blades, “Ok.”

“Ok…?” Bucky parroted her and she nodded her head against his back.

“I still want to sleep with you.” Y/N flushed painfully at the wording and hastily added, “Share a bed. Sleep.” The vibration of Bucky’s soft chuckle made her smile, and she sighed, “But if you’re not ready, I get it. I’m not scared of you.” The warmth of Bucky’s callused palm cupping over her own made her relax further against him, eyes falling closed, “And I can wait.”

“You should be.” He whispered and she defiantly shook her head. The plush material of his sweater was velvety against her skin. Snorting, Bucky’s metal fingers gently traced across her arm, from her elbow to her wrist. Goosebumps followed behind the cool touch and he wrapped his prosthetic hand around her wrist, his right still cupped over her own. He squeezed just barely. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to make his point when he supplied, “I could break your bone without trying.”

“And I could knee you so hard in the dick that you wouldn’t walk straight for a month.” Y/N replied flatly, and Bucky barked out a loud, surprised laugh. It echoed across the walls and ceiling, then ricocheted straight to her heart. He bent over just a bit, releasing his hold on her wrist and tried to muffle his laughter as she finished, “But I won’t, and I know you won’t.”

Turning in her embrace, Bucky’s eyes danced vibrantly with laughter as he cupped her face with both his hands. It surprised her so much that her mouth opened in a soft gasp. It was the most he’d touched her with his left hand in a long while. Their eyes locked, and he searched her expression. Still like a statue in front of her. Without a word, she stood up on her tiptoes, wanting to feel his mouth. Right in that second, Y/N wanted to wash away whatever bitter feelings their conversation had swirled up between them. Just forget about it and let this dreadfully long day end with something sweet like the kiss beckoning to her on his lips.

“You’re exquisite.” Bucky whispered, the word forming against her lips like a revelation just for her. Then he kissed her, and the world seemed to begin and end at the touch of his mouth. An embarrassing keening noise left her as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer.

Endearing promises flitted through her mind. Hundreds of things she wanted to tell him. Needed to say to him with after his compliment. Reluctantly, Y/N sat back on her heels, breaking the kiss, and whispered, “You’re…” She trailed off, tongue growing weak and forgetting what language to speak to explain what exactly he was to her. Especially when he seemed to be staring into her, seeing her. Not the body she resided in, but the soul deep inside her.

At her silence, Bucky brushed her hair back behind her ear and the light in his eyes dimmed just a fraction, “You deserve better than me.” He confessed and she frowned, but he ignored the expression and went on, “I want to do everything to make you happy, but I can’t. I meant it when I told you that I’m not ready for a relationship. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready and you deserve someone who can give you everything you want.” Every breath they took made their chests brush together and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, bunching his shirt under her hands to keep him from drifting away.

Every time she thought they were ok, he’d say something like this to drive a wedge between them. It was like he wanted to make her let him go. Bucky kept giving her a million different reasons to let him go.

“Don’t do that.” Y/N stated firmly, voice sharp enough to make him grimace. Harsh enough to make his eyes dart away in guilt. His hands came to rest on her hips and she cut him off before he could utter another word, “Don’t do that to me or you.” There was more heat behind her declaration than she intended, but the fire his words stoked inside her made her blood boil.

Eyebrows drawn low and a frown playing on his mouth, Bucky asked, “Do what?” His thumb brushed across the bare skin of her hip, just under her shirt. There was nothing sexual about it, just soothing. Grounding.

“Put me on a pedestal that I can’t live up to and make decisions for me. Just because you think I deserve better doesn’t mean it’s true.” She explained, tripping over some of her sentence because her mind raced far ahead of her tongue, “What I deserve doesn’t matter because what I want is you.” Her statement rang clear as a bell between them and seemed to shake him to the core. Visibly Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink, and he ducked his head till they were nearly nose to nose.

Eyes falling closed, Bucky took a measured breath and let it out slowly. Then he leaned the rest of the way down and let his forehead rest against hers. His hands drifted behind her and he stroked up her spine. Guided her closer and Y/N let her fingers brush through the silken hair at the base of his neck.

Every beat of her heart hurt at his extended silence. What if he didn’t listen? The train of thought inside her was spiraling down to a dark, irrational place. Emotions roared so viciously in her chest that Y/N felt her eyes burn and her voice grew thick with the tears she squeezed her eyes shut to hide, “Don’t talk yourself out of this relationship. Please. Don’t leave… just cause you think you can’t make me happy.” Her sentence broke harshly off, but she managed to confess, “B-Because you do.”

It was ridiculous that she wanted to cry. Completely insane because she’d thought she cried all her tears that morning. There shouldn’t be any left inside her. But she felt like a raw nerve and this argument with him scraped out the last emotional strength she had left. Like a finger scooping out the last bits of honey at the bottom of a jar. Leaving her vulnerable.

In the dark behind her eyelids, she heard him take in a sharp breath. Then he cursed and she felt a thumb brush across her cheek, smearing a tear away, “Really? Because I seem to just keep messing this up.”

Unable to open her eyes, fearing her self-control would snap, she shook her head, “Y-You don’t. I’m just a mess. I'm an artist, what else do you expect?” She forced a self-deprecating laugh, “Trust me, I was a wreck long before you.” His lips ghosted her cheek, kissing softly and he nuzzled his nose against hers affectionately.

Weakly, Bucky chuckled, and his fingers grazed her jaw, “Open you eyes sweetheart.” She shook her head again, and he sighed, “Please?” When Y/N just stubbornly squeezed them shut tighter, Bucky snorted and fell quiet for a second. Then she was surprised to feel something soft and wet brush her cheek. He licked away one of the tears that had slipped out and she squeaked in astonishment.

Eyes snapping open, she gaped at him, eyebrows up to her hairline. A few more tears escaped when she blinked up at him in bewilderment. and he smiled, tilting his head to the side, “That’s better.” Bucky snickered at the look on her face. Tear filled eyes wide and jaw dropped as she just studied him. At his heartbreakingly sweet smile, she wrinkled her nose into a pout. Then wiped at her damp cheek, waiting for him to explain what was so important that he had to resort to licking her.

Contemplative, Bucky bit his bottom lip and searched her face. Looking for something. After a long minute, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes and mouth and sighed, “I guess I’ve been trying to find reasons for you to leave. Because the longer you stay, the more I could hurt you.”

“Or I could hurt you.” Y/N interjected, managing nothing more than a whisper. She kept her arms at her sides, forcing herself not to move. If she did, she wasn’t sure if she’d reach out to him for comfort or run and hide so he couldn’t see her cry anymore.

Reluctant, he nodded, ocean blues flickering from her own, and then down to their feet, “You could.” A bittersweet, crooked smile greeted her when he added, “But I’d feel worse if I hurt you. I’d rather you hurt me.” If that was supposed to comfort her, it failed miserably.

Shaking her head, she felt frustration budding like droplets of blood from the cuts her exhaustion scrapped across her insides. It made her grow impatient with him because Bucky wasn’t getting it. Being a martyr hurt her. Acting like she’d be better off leaving than facing their combined issues together, hurt her. So, she shook her head, hair falling haphazardly in her face and bit out, “Instead of pointing out all these issues and saying it would be better if I left because I deserve better, why don’t you try to fix it? Make yourself that better person so we can both end up happy?”

Instantly, Bucky winced and squeezed his hands into fists at his sides. Eyes locked on her own, he swallowed, “It’s not that easy.” It looked like he might say something else, but she jumped in before he got the chance to argue.

Eyes narrowed, Y/N snorted humorlessly, “No. It’s not. I know it’s not but it’s the only way this will work.” She took in a breath, forcing her annoyance to drain out of her as she uncurled her fists, “And I’d like to think what we have is worth the work.” Hesitantly, she reached forward and took his hand. Their fingers interlaced effortlessly, and she watched as his thumb stroked her own.

“It is.” Bucky whispered, stepping closer still, until they were nearly nose to nose again.

Hopeful, she stared up at him, making herself stand up straighter. Just exhausted honesty flowed from her heart, “I want to help, but I can’t if you don’t help yourself. If you don’t want this, tell me, but don’t make me leave and call it for my own good.” She squeezed his hand.

At her questioning look, Bucky weakly nodded. Once. Then he let out a breath, a watery smirk making his eyes soften, “At this point, even if it was for your own good, I don’t think I could walk away now.” He chuckled, and the sound made her smile, “In too deep.”

“Good.” Y/N shot in with a playful scowl. She sniffed, wiping under her eyes with her free hand. Fatigue swept over her like a wave. She was so tired, “Bucky…” She started, ready to just tell him to let it go. Whatever they needed to talk about could wait till later. Maybe tomorrow.

“Just let me finish.” He released her hand and caught her shoulders before she could step away. At her attention back on him, he rubbed her arms. Down to her elbows, then back up. The metal cold on her skin, “You’re right. Instead of just pointing out my flaws, I should try to fix them. For you and me. I promise I’m going to try. Try to be better. Just… don’t cry anymore.” Bucky bit his lip, eyeing her warily, like she might just suddenly start sobbing again. Which was likely. Still, the comment made her snort.

“I’ll do my best.” Y/N drawled dryly, hands coming up to touch his chest. She felt up the front of his shirt and let her hands rest on his shoulders. She let Bucky draw her into a loose embrace and relaxed her weight against him. Drawing comfort from the touch.

“Thank you.” He let his shoulders dramatically droop, like she’d offered something to give him great relief. He gave her a weary look, only made more impressive by the bruise still staining the skin of his jaw, “You’ve got no idea how much it hurts when you cry.”

Before she could reply, there was a knock at her door, and she frowned. Letting her reply drop, Y/N stepped away and walked the few short steps to her door. When she opened it, she found that she wasn’t surprised to see Peter standing there.

A sheepish, lopsided smile made his brown eyes light up when he looked at her. Then he frowned at the expression on her face. He held his gloves in his hands, twisting them nervously before giving a small wave, “Hey.” Peter managed.

“Couldn’t wait?” Y/N asked sarcastically, warmth behind the question even as she gave him a weak glare. She held the door open for him, letting him come inside.

Wary, Peter’s eyes landed on Bucky as he stepped inside. She locked the door quietly behind him, shivering at the cool draft it had let in. Obviously not surprised, he started untying his shoes, mud clinging to them, “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He supplied, and she snorted a laugh.

Tension filled the air, and she noticed the unreadable frown on Bucky’s face. His sharp blues tracked Peter’s movement, and she inwardly winced, nervous. Before she could run interference, Bucky took two short steps towards Peter. To her friend’s credit, he didn’t flinch when he stood up straight and saw Bucky hovering over him.

Nervous, Peter’s gaze flickered to Bucky’s bare metal arm, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he held his palms up and said, “Hey man, look I’m sorry—”

Before he could finish, Bucky shook his head and cut in, “I’m sorry.” Surprise and delight bloomed in Y/N’s chest as she watched the uncomfortable, nervous emotions making Bucky’s nose wrinkle, “I was an ass and you didn’t deserve that.” He stood a health distance away and rubbed the back of his neck.

Shocked silent, it took Peter a second to nod and clear his throat awkwardly, “It’s alright.” He smirked, the expression making his brown eyes warm, “I didn’t help. Let’s just forget about it. Ok? Start over?” He offered, and Bucky nodded, a half-smile making his features soften.

“I’d like that.” The taller man stuck out his right hand to Peter’s chest. For a handshake. Peter hesitated only a second before taking it.

Grinning, Peter shook his hand with enthusiasm, “I brought over the new Spiderman movie.” He let go of Bucky’s hand to pull Spiderman Homecoming out of his coat pocket, “Want to stick around and watch it with us?” He waved it temptingly in front of Bucky’s face, unzipping his coat.

Shaking his head, Bucky stepped around Peter to pull on his boots, “Nah, I’ve got to be heading out.” He was relaxed and confident in his actions and tone. As if they hadn’t just been having a serious conversation. Boot in hand, he leaned against the wall and tugged it on, dropping down to tighten up his shoelaces.

Disappointment made Y/N’s chest burn all the way up to the back of her tongue. Worried, Peter met her eyes and she gestured for him to go further into the living room. Give her and Bucky some privacy. Taking the hint, he strolled around the futon towards the TV and started sorting out the movie.

Suddenly nervous again, she approached Bucky as he shrugged into his coat. He smiled at her and patted his pockets for his keys and wallet. Weakly, she smiled back and rubbed her left arm with her hand, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Lightly, Bucky nodded, “I’ll come here straight after work.” He agreed, checking his phone and tucking it into his back pocket. Then he tilted his head, frowning, “C’mon, don’t give me that look. We’ll be off to the mountains in no time.” He teased and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Firmly, he tugged her against him into a tight hug.

Lips against her ear, he whispered, “We’re ok, right?” The feeling of his warm breath against her ear had heat coiling in her belly. She let herself nuzzle against his chest for a second, hands bunching under his jacket against his shirt.

Humming in agreement, Y/N tilted her head up and brushed a kiss against his cheek, “Of course.” And she meant it. They were ok. There were still some obvious issues, but she wasn’t upset with him anymore. More than anything, she just didn’t want him to go.

“And—” Bucky hesitated for a second before he leaned back just far enough to meet her eyes, “You’re ok?” He cupped her cheek, searching her for any clues that might be written in her expression.

If she told him the truth, she wasn’t sure what he’d do. And if she was being honest, her answer was more complicated than he could ever guess. So, she gave him a sweet smile and replied, “Ya, I’ll be alright. Just tired from the flight and my trip. Ya know?”

Had she just been on a plane this morning? It felt like she’d read Jason’s letter weeks, or even months ago.

Unconvinced, he held her gaze for a few long seconds before simply sighing and leaning forward to kiss her forehead, “I’ll text you when I get home.” His lips brushed her cheek and she turned her head, catching him in a tender kiss.

“See you tomorrow.” Y/N took a step back when he opened the door. Bucky gave her one more heart stuttering little grin, and then he was gone. The door shut with a barely audible click and she listened to his footsteps fade away down the hall.

Silence consumed the air of her apartment for a long minute. Her eyes stared, unseeing, at the muddy spot where his boots had been. Where Peter’s shoes now rested. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and nearly shot out of her skin. Whirling around, she found Peter watching her with a grim frown.

“Are you really ok?” He asked quietly, and her heart ached with all the implications that question held.

The letter. Jason. His words. The history. The relationship. All the hurt. It swept back up out of the depths of her mind in a whirlwind.

How was she even supposed to deal with all of this?

“No.” Y/N whispered and crossed her arms around herself. She squeezed her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms. It felt like she was nothing but a ghost of a person. An empty jar that once held honey, but someone had scrapped her insides clean. Then knocked her off the counter, leaving her to fall and smash apart.

As if expecting that, Peter nodded, and his eyes flickered over her defensive posture. He squeezed her shoulder once and then stepped away, giving her space, “Want to talk about it?” If she just didn’t think about it. Just held it together till it passed and didn’t matter… she could be ok. It wasn’t that bad.

Instantly, she shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut, “No but—” She grimaced and forced herself to stop running from it. To try and lean on someone else. Lean on her best friend. Who she’d known for nearly 6 years. If she couldn’t open up to Peter, then what hope did she have?

Reluctantly, Y/N met his eyes as her own started to burn, “But I need to.”

Tags: @boy-leave  @wtfholland  @snjms02. @diariesofthebeautyobsessed @metalarmlover  @gamorazenn

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #marvel #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #artist au #slow burn #Fluff and angst #fluff and feels #Angst with a happy ending #tashariiwriting

[sabraeal]

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find

“Name.”

The word itches in her ear as she stares at she box, stymied. She’s used to the ones at the apartments, where you press a button and talk, but this one is smooth, sleek, barely more than a speaker. It’s meant to not ruin the line of the gate.

Shirayuki shifts, staring up at the spear-points of the finials, the toe of one sneaker scratching at her ankle. She hadn’t known -- Zen hadn’t told her there’d be some sort of gate keeper. She’s known he was well-off -- hard to miss that, with the sort of gossip that went around him at the school -- but she’d thought -- Mcmansion. Three car garage. The usual sort of extravagance.

She was not expecting Wayne Manor, complete with wrought iron gate and stylized W, driveway stretching endlessly behind.

“Name.” Also complete with disembodied voice. “Just say it. We can hear you.”

That...does not make her feel any better. “S-Shirayuki.”

A sigh huffs out of the speaker. “Full name.”

“Shirayuki Nowakowski?”

“Are you expected?” the box demands, with about as much emotion as a toaster.

“Uh.” She stares at the brick wall, at the little spearheads on top of the gate. “I’m here for D&D?”

There’s no answer from the box this time, just a buzz as the gates swing open. It’s so slow she’d be waiting whole minutes if she was trying to drive up. As it is, she slips through the gap as soon as it’s big enough to fit her.

She turns back when she’s halfway up the drive, just in time to see it open fully, standing there like there’s an actual car to let through. She giggles at that, stumbling over some curbing, and –

“PLEASE DO NOT STEP ON THE GRASS!”

“Oh gosh!” she yelps, dodging the aggressive spray of a sprinkler. “It was a mistake!”

The sprinkler, for its part, is unmoved. Her left sock is partially soaked. A great impression to make the first time she does – whatever this is going to be.

Fun, she hopes.

Shirayuki’s seen a bunch of fancy entrances in her time. She grew up in a Victorian townhouse with full veranda, wrapping front to back, and most of the neighborhood was the same, save for where houses had been pulled down in the 50s to make room for pre-fabs.

Still, this isn’t -- this isn’t a porch, the wood musty and probably rotting in places, just waiting to give an unsuspecting kid a splinter they’ll never forget -- it’s a portico, all columns and statuary, like she just strolled up the lawn to Pemberley. There’s even a round-about that goes through it, so that cars can drive right up, and -- it’s a lot. Just a whole lot.

She gets to the front door -- real wood, she can tell, inset with tasteful stained glass that does not look like it came from Home Depot -- and fully expects a butler in full dress at the door, Jeevesian accent in full force as he asks, your coat, madame?

So she’s not expecting Izana. Not at all.

The number of things she knows about Zen’s brother could fit on the palm of her hand in nine-point-font, double spaced.

Bullet One: He’s older, not even in college anymore, though she’s not quite clear on what he’s doing now. Something important, from the way Zen always talks about him.

Bullet Two: He’s actually serious about this whole Dungeons and Dragons thing, or as he gently corrected after he first anxious text, Pathfinder. She never quite worked up the nerve to ask how long he’s been playing, but it’s long enough that he’s as comfortable modifying its rules as she is with a bread recipe -- he spent most of their first conversation trying to explain gestalt, but she really didn’t understand much beyond being able to start with two classes instead of one.

Bullet Three: He’s even more serious about Arthurian Myth, to the point where she’s sure he must have minored in it or something. He sent her the full text of Le Morte D’Arthur -- in English, thankfully -- as prep for the game.

Meeting him, she can now add bullet point four: he’s extremely, extremely tall.

“Shirayuki,” he says warmly, looming over her with almost a full foot of height. She’s seen him before, met him before, even aside from their late night texts about her character, but – not this close. Mitsuhide’s even taller, but somehow it never seems like this, like something she should be aware of.

“Oh!” she yelps, clutching at her hood. “I didn’t – you – I thought someone –“

“Security told me you were walking up the drive.” He says it so simply, like everyone has 24/7 surveillance at hand. “Can I take your…jacket?”

She shrugs her hoodie closer around her. “N-no! It’s fine. I get cold easy.”

He shrugs. “If you want.” He turns, clearly expecting her to follow. “Do you need me to validate your parking? Next time you can come right in. We have plenty of room, but I can send someone out to put a pass on your windshield. They’re a little strict about street parking here.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” she assures him, wishing her voice didn’t tremble. “I took the bus.”

His steps stutter on the stairs. “The bus?”

She stops herself just short of saying, do you know what one of those is?

He recovers. “I didn’t know there was a bus stop near here.”

There isn’t, but she doesn’t want to explain how she walked almost a half hour from the nearest one to here. “I don’t have a car. Or a license! So…”

“Hm.” She’s not sure what to make of that sound. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Shirayuki!” A chair clatters against the wall as Zen stands, slipping around the side of the table to…stand an awkward distance from her, as if he’s not quite sure he should hug her or shake her hand or – just let her exist in space. Mitsuhide, for his part, is half out of his seat too, while Kiki hasn’t moved an inch, only giving the barest nods as a hello. “I’m glad you could make it.”

She opens her mouth to say – well, something, she hasn’t really planned that far ahead, -- but –

“She took the bus,” Izana says offhandedly, sitting at the head of the table. It sets off a chain reaction across the room.

“The bus?” Zen’s face is a mask of horror. “Shirayuki, you should have said something. I could have sent a car around.”

She doesn’t miss how he says a car; it comes out so easily she’s not even sure if he knows that it isn’t normal for people to have drivers that can just…go pick people up. Without them there. It certainly doesn’t seem to faze Kiki, and though Mitsuhide makes a face, it’s a resigned one.

“Not to worry,” Izana drawls easily, spreading out his screen. “We have another player coming from that side of town. I’m sure he wouldn’t mine carpooling.” He glances up, gaze fixed over her shoulder. “Right, Obi?”

“There’s worse things than driving around cute girls.”

Shirayuki spins, staring up -- and up -- into a pair of gold eyes looming above her. He takes a step down, right beside her, and then he’s nearly normal height, only a head or so taller than her, mouth quirked into a grin.

Zen scowls. “Who is this?”

“Our other player,” Izana says easily. “You inviting Shirayuki reminded me you were very much missing another important role in your party, and I asked Obi if he’d be willing to fill it.”

Zen frowns. “Do you know how to play?”

His shoulders twitch, barely a shrug. “I played Skyrim at a friend’s house, once.”

Zen looks like he’d like to argue his credentials, but Shirayuki offers, shyly, “You’re already doing better that me.”

Obi stares at her, eyes round, as if he’s not used to -- to anyone taking his side. It last only a second, and then he’s back to his grin, back to his gaze sliding off of her like she’s furniture. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

You have heard of the great castle of Tintagel, but even the tales pale to the halls you are walked through. Everywhere, blue and silver hangs, a dragon and a lily sewn over every one, and when you reach the great doors to the throne room, over them is carved in bold script: Toujours Beau.

Always Beautiful. Always Good. The Pendragon way, it is said. You only hope that it is so.

You are instructed on how to approach the throne: head bowed, stop three steps from the dais, and perform an obeisance. You are glad to be reminded – you have long resisted your lessons, and now, when you need them, you wish you had paid attention.

You have barely dropped into your curtsy, when you hear a soft gasp, when you hear soft footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly you are being lifted upright.

“There is no need for that,” says the man that holds you. He is swathed in blue and silver, a coronet on his pale hair, and you know – this is Arturius, Prince of the Angles. “No women must humble herself before this throne.”

“My lord,” you manage, confused. His hands leave you, and already you breathe easier.

“Come, tell us what must be done,” he says, stepping back, taking his place on the dais once more. And empty throne, larger than the one he takes, sits beside his.

“My name is Lynet,” you say, “and my sister --”

“Lynet?” Zen frowns, craning his neck to see her sheet. “I thought you were going to be Gwenhwyfar.”

“I was,” Shirayuki says, gritting her teeth. “But I read around, and Lynette seemed a lot more –“

Interesting. Not that Guinevere wouldn’t have been, but – Lynette had possibilities. Possibilities that didn’t say healer girlfriend.

“We talked it over,” Izana interjects smoothly. “And Gwenhwyfar was more of a cleric/druid build, which Shirayuki wasn’t interested in.”

Mitsuhide’s brow furrows. “So what exactly are you?”

Force bursts from your hands, magic trailing like crystal flowers from your hands as the missiles shoot straight through the quintain. Sir Bedwyr stands next to you, solid as a wall, stymied.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had arcanists in Tintagel,” he says finally, smile wide.

“I’m not so bad with potions, either,” you offer, blood rushing to your cheeks. “And a bomb or too might be in my purview as well.”

Zen may not be pleased with her choice of character, but Arturius Pendragon, Prince of the Angles, is enchanted with Lynet, and hardly a half hour passes before he is pledged whole-heartedly to her quest to free her sister from dread enchantment.

Obi’s character has still not made his debut.

“Just what are you supposed to be?” Zen asks crankily, after they’ve had their break. “Do you have some quest or what?”

Obi looks up from his phone. “Oh yeah,” he drawls, mouth quirking up in a grin.

Izana glances down at his own phone before setting it aside.

“Shirayuki.” She startles, glancing up at him. “I’m going to need you to roll Reflex.”

“An arrow?” Arturius paces his study, incensed. “Someone dared to harm you in Tintagel, my own home?”

“I dodged,” you offer weakly. Morgaine, from where she stands, slowly shakes her head. His sister would know as well as anyone how intractable the prince could be in this temper.

“There was a message as well, brother,” she says, holding out the scroll. “’To our red haired guest…’”

There are more incidents like that over the next hour. Lynet locked out of her rooms in the tower, flower pots from high windows, all manner of accidents.

Obi keeps looking at his phone. So does Izana.

“You missed,” he says suddenly, while she’s preparing her bombs. “Shirayuki, I need you to roll me initiative.”

The knife hits your desk, rattling your alembic on its burner, and finally you cannot ignore it anymore. You whirl to face the shadows, unnatural in their corner, and spread the salve of true-seeing over your eyes.

It is a man, or something like, twisted ram’s horns curling back along his head and around his ears, eyes darker than night, only a slit of gold to mark them in his face.

“You!” you call out, no longer afraid, but – annoyed. “You are the one who keeps trying to kill me!”

He tries to run for it, but you’re ready, bag of tanglefoot bursting as it lands on the stone. He trips, wines wrapped around his ankles, struggling. You storm closer, immune to the touch of your own magic.

“Kill!” he coughs, smiling wildly as you lean over him. “Kill is such a strong word!”

“Apparently,” you deadpan, hands on hips. “Since you keep botching the job.”

“Botching?” His smile takes a wicked edge. “Is that what you think?”

You tumble, his hands around your wrists, hot and strong like bands of iron fresh from the fire. It tickles, really, you realize as you lay under him.

He stares. “Are you…?”

“I’m an alchemist,” you sigh, wriggling restlessly under him. “Do you really think I’d make bombs without some kind of protection?”

His grin breaks wide, into a smile. “You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” he admits, the heat in his hands dying until it’s…almost pleasant. “Do you happen to have a sister?”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Gods --”

“Unhand her, scoundrel!” Arturius shouts from the door. “Never fear, Lynet, I heard your calls for help --”

You stares. “I didn’t call for help.”

Arturius stares.

“You didn’t?” Zen says, brow furrowed. “Are you --?”

“Yes,” Shirayuki sighs. “I thought I could handle it myself.”

“Mm,” Obi hums, pleased. “Beaumains certainly feels handled.”

“You’re certain you renounce your ways?” Arturius sighs, annoyed. “You won’t try to harm Lady Lynet?”

“Quite sure,” Beaumains the tiefling assures them, with little conviction. “No point after being caught. And if you pay me more coin than my last master –“

“We will.”

The room startles as Uther, King of the Angles strides in, resplendent even without his royal vestments. “I think it only makes sense that since you tried to take the life of Lady Lynet, that you should now be charged with protecting it.”

“Brother --” Arturius objects, but it’s cut short by a wave of the hand.

“There is no one better,” Uther tells him. “After all, even if he will not speak the name, he knows who plots against her, does he not?”

Shirayuki knows she should feel uneasy getting into a car with a man she doesn’t know, even if he’s apparently a friend of a...friend? But even though Obi’s spent the last three hours trying to kill her character, she sees his beat up Honda rusting on the side of the street and doesn’t even feel a twinge of doubt when she slips in.

“Sorry it’s not the town car,” he intones, not sounding anything like Izana, but still, she knows exactly who he’s imitating. “If i knew I was going to have a passenger, I would have at least stocked the minibar.”

“It’s all right,” she assures him, trying to smother her smile. “I think I would be afraid to leave fingerprints on the leather if you did.”

“God, right?” He shakes his head, pulling off the curb. “Our Overlord there tried to offer to have someone pick me up, and all I could picture was some butler rubbing his glove over the seat and pulling up dirt. No thanks.”

She laughs at that, tucking herself into the corner of the seat. It’s not a long drive to her part of town -- their part of town -- but it feels even shorter with Obi, who keeps her giggling almost the whole time.

“Beamains,” she says, eyeing him warily. “That’s not his real name, is it? You didn’t decide to call him Beautiful Hands.”

“He does have beautiful hands.”

She gives him a flat look.

Obi grins. “Beaumains has many names, and many secrets.”

They pull up in front of the apartments, and she tells him, “Sounds like an answer from someone who would name their character Beaumains.”

His grin widens, and there’s just -- something. Something more in the way he looks at her, like he -- he sees her. It’s almost soft, but not -- not the same softness Zen has when he looks at her, half-hopeless and half-determined, like she’s a puzzle to be solved.

He’s handsome like this. It’s a devastating realization, and she tries to -- to un-have it. If only to keep her heart from doing what it’s doing in her chest, to keep her hands from breaking out in this clammy sweat.

“Hey,” he starts, almost awkward, “you wouldn’t...”

He hesitates, eyebrows drawing down, like he’s -- he’s thinking.

There’s a part of her that just wants to bolt, wants to run up the walk and disappear inside to have an existential crisis in peace. But there’s another that wants to stay, that can’t help but wonder what all this -- this tension is. “I wouldn’t...?”

“You go to school with Zen, right?” he says, suddenly very...removed.

Her breath tangles in her chest. For no reason at all, we’re just friends sits uselessly on her tongue. “Yeah, I’m a senior.”

“Great.” Both of his hands grip the wheel, knuckles nearly white. “That’s -- great. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

She wants to ask what he was going to say, but there’s something about the way he’s turned, not quite looking at her, almost -- disappointed? angry? -- that makes her say. “Right, next week! Text me when you’re on your way.”

“Great,” he says as she slips out, closing the door behind her. She’s halfway up the walk when he calls out, “Hey, your birthday though...?”

“May!”

“Right,” he sighs, his whole body slumping into his seat, one hand lifting to his temples. “Right. Next week. Text before I come over. Perfect.”

He drives away, and Shirayuki can only wonder at the disappointment in her chest, at the way things feel unfinished.

“Oh well,” she murmurs to herself, hands trembling as she tries to fit the keys in the lock. “There’s always next week.”

#obiyukibingo2018 #Dungeons & Dragons AU #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #my fic #ans #the struggle with this fic was not getting ENTIRELY TOO LONG #or entirely too technical #because listen i know everyone's character #they're all level 7 #because the campaign has gone on long enough that they're finally competent #Atri used to be their fighter/rogue but STUFF HAPPENED #and there's only been the three of them since #if you've never heard of gestalt it's a subset of rules #where you get all the class skills and feats of having two classes #but the stat bonuses of one #so you just get the higher number for saves per level #and you only get your single regular feat every other level #unless you play classes that give you bonus feats #NOT LIKE THIS MAKES SENSE TO ANYONE but it's a cool rule subset #it allows for a more broad character build #ANYWAY enjoy obi being a tiefling thief/sorcerer #also enjoy his existential crisis #because he has realized Shirayuki is 17 #and he is 20

[timmyrx2000]

Dipper Steps Up: Chapter 4

Chapter Index: (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13)

Chapter 4

From the Journals of Dipper Pines: January 3, 2014: Well, here we are, back in Piedmont. It was nice to spend the week after Christmas in Gravity Falls with Grunkle Stan, Grunkle Ford, Soos, and Melody.

OK, OK, and Wendy. ESPECIALLY Wendy. She's been teasing me in her texts ever since she saw that awful picture of me on Peoplebook, but a couple days ago she said she wanted to have a serious talk with me: Was I sure I wanted to play baseball? Could I handle it if we didn't do so well? If I didn't get to play much would I be upset? Was I going to focus too much on the game and not enough on school?

I told her she was talking like an adult, and she said, "Well, ya know, I'm getting' there, dude!" But we exchanged gifts (sorry, Mabel, but what we gave each other is still our secret. Yes, I know you sneak in and read this journal sometimes!), and I asked, "Are you still looking forward to us coming back next summer?" And she gave me a little shove and said, "Don't be a dork! You know I am!"

So. . . . I guess we're still just friends, but I realized again, being there with her—and I finally got the courage to tell her this—I can't turn off the way I feel about her. She thinks that's sweet. But she brushed back my hair, smiled at me, and said, "I love your birthmark." Then she leaned close and whispered, "I'm still kinda old for you, dude."

My heart beat a little faster, just because this time she said "kinda." Not "I'm too old for you. You know that," but KINDA! I know, I know, I'll hang my hope on anything. It's probably not realistic.

But maybe not totally unrealistic, because from what Wendy told us, Robbie's still tight with Tambry, and Wendy herself has no boyfriend, no serious one, anyway, and she hinted she might sort of be willing to wait for me to catch up. "Never dated a sports star," she teased me. "Might be fun to try if I got a chance. So—you guys win the pennant or you get to be like the most valuable player or whatever, and we just might go together to a dance or some junk when I see you again."

So . . . now I have to learn to dance?

I'll do it! Man, if I need to win a game single-handed, somehow I'll do that, too, and in the meantime I'll even get Mabel to teach me some dance moves—because NOW I'm motivated!

It was easy to be motivated, coming right off a week with his friends (especially the red-headed one), but the next day when school started again, Dipper didn't feel so sure of himself.

In Piedmont, January is the rainiest month of the year, and that Monday was a dismal, wet one with low, ragged gray skies and cold rain drifting down either in showers or in wind-rippled sheets. The team couldn't practice on the swamped baseball field, so they went to a gym classroom and on a big flat screen they watched video of last season's Pico Padres in action.

Just seeing the footage intimidated Dipper. The Padres all looked taller, longer of leg and arm, and more muscular than almost anyone on the Piedmont team—Chuck Taylor and Wiley Casen were the only two Panthers that looked like they'd be even close to an even footing. Coach Waylund kept identifying Padres players from last year who were still on this year's team.

Dipper could see how good they were—a couple of power hitters, some fast runners, some agile and accurate fielders. "Oh, man," someone groaned when they saw a video of one of Piedmont's games against the Padres. It ended in the fifth inning—the Padres were ahead twelve to one, and if a team led by more than ten, the game was over at the end of the fifth, rather than going to the standard-for-JV seven innings.

"We are so dead," someone else moaned, thunking his head down on the desk.

"With that attitude, you may be," Coach said as he flicked on the lights. "Start noticing their weaknesses, not their strengths! Look at their guy Manello—power hitter, but a sucker for a low inside pitch! And Grobbert—yell at him as you run the bases, and he gets confused! In the game against Pemberton, a player got caught between second and third, so he rushed Pemberton and screamed "Look out!" and Pemberton flinched and missed catching the throw and the runner hit third standing up. Watch for things like that!"

It would have helped if they'd had more practice time, but gallons of rain fell that month, and they got in only one day on the field per week. They got back to two or three days in February, but when Saturday, the fifteenth, rolled around, Dipper didn't feel ready—and he was afraid the team wasn't, either. In fact, he secretly hoped for rain that day, but—just their luck—the day after Valentine's dawned bright and clear.

As they suited up in the locker room, the guys talked about girlfriends and Valentines. Taylor said, "I'm out of luck there. The girl I really liked moved to freakin' Florida! How about you, Dipper? Have a date yesterday?"

Dipper was putting on his cleats. "Uh, not exactly," he said. "I video-chatted with this girl I like a lot, but—not the same."

"She from around here?" Chuck asked.

"No. Remember Mabel told you we spend summers in Gravity Falls, up in Oregon? I met her there."

"Bummer. Gravity Falls. Weird name. Yeah, Mabel talks about it a lot, and, something funny, I happened to mention the place at dinner one night. Guess what? My great-great-something-granddad on my mother's side lived in that crazy town, like, more than a hundred and fifty years ago! In fact, Mom says he founded it."

Oh, no. No, it can't be.

"He had a weird name, too," Chuck went on, not noticing that Dipper had frozen in position with only one shoe on. "Nicholas Northwest? Something like that."

"Nathaniel?" Dipper asked.

"Yeah, that's it! One of his daughters moved to California and became my mom's great-great grandmother, I think. I mean, Mom doesn't even know for sure, but something like that. Anyhow, the Northwests supposedly got rich, but I guess they didn't want to have anything to do with us poor relations. The Gravity Falls Northwests still around?"

"I think so. That's a wild coincidence," Dipper said numbly, wondering why his mystery sense was tingling.

For a while he didn't have time to worry about it. When they went out to warm up, he saw Mabel. In a short blue skirt, a white top with the Panthers logo on it in gold and blue, knee-high white-and-blue socks, white sneakers, and—not one, but two pony tails, one on each side of her head, tied with blue-and-white ribbons. And pompons. There had to be pompons. One big, fluffy, and gold, and the other one big, fluffy, and blue. And Mabel was doing high kicks, somersaults, even splits.

The bleachers looked about half full of laughing spectators. Chuck whistled. "Man! I know this is the home field and all, but we never drew a crowd this big last year!" He slapped Dipper's shoulder. "Your sis is OK, dude! I think she'll bring us good luck!"

As the game started, Dipper warmed the bench and hoped that if they really were in for some luck, it would start soon.

But it didn't, not right away. Piedmont won the coin toss, and Chuck decided they'd take the field in the top of the first, so the guys who were playing trotted out to their positions. Dipper hunkered down on the bench, his glove in his lap, and tried not to hear Mabel shrieking, "Padres, Padres, gonna flop! Panthers, Panthers, we're the top! Gimme a Panther roar, people!" What she got was mostly a sustained laugh and some scattered cheers, but that didn't even slow her down.

Dipper glanced sideways and saw that Coach was grinning down at him. Dipper knew he must look sheepish.

But Coach just shrugged and said, "Don't worry, Pines. Mabel's brought in a crowd. Nice to have some spectators!"

Chuck's arm was in good shape. He struck out the first batter with four pitches—two strikes, a ball, and then a strike—and the next man in the batter's box popped out on his first pitch, the shortstop taking two quick steps to field the little looper. Then, seeming to gain confidence, Chuck fanned the next man, the big hitter Ricky Manello—though Manello protested the last low inside pitch, which he claimed missed the strike zone by an inch. The umpire politely disagreed, suggesting if Manello thought a pitch was too low, he probably shouldn't swing at it, and the Padres took the field.

At first it looked as if the bottom half would fly by just like the top: Mike Monohan took a good cut at a fast pitch and launched a pretty fair line drive, but the Padres shortstop, already tall, made a leap and snagged it. One out. Then Petey DeFoy, who had started out nearly as bad as Dipper at the plate but who had been hard at work on his batting all fall, took two strikes and two balls, but to the crowd's excitement, on the next pitch he made a solid connection. The left fielder misjudged it, it flew over the tip of his glove by a couple of inches, and by the time he'd scrambled around to grab the ball and fire it in, Petey was sliding into second, and Mabel was going nuts, like an AAA-cell battery-operated toy that had accidentally been plugged directly into a wall socket.

Chuck stepped up. The pitcher shook off a couple of suggestions from the catcher and pitched an outside ball. Then another. It looked as if he meant to walk Chuck, but then the pitcher threw one that would have just clipped the outside edge of the strike zone if Chuck hadn't swung on it and sent it past the first baseman and skipping along the first-base line. He made it to first while the right fielder fielded it and threw to second for the relay to home, holding Petey at third.

Now the bench guys all leaned forward, chanting, "Go! Go! Go!"

Jayden Dufresne, like Dipper a freshman, was a muscular, above-average cleanup man, and Mabel chanted, "One, two, one-two-three! Hit a homer now, JD!"

He grinned at her and gave her a salute before stepping into the box. The pitcher looked grumpy as he went into a windup. He drilled in an excellent fastball—and JD, the heavy hitter, bunted!

That was all Petey needed. He slid into home plate, though the catcher, a fraction of a second too late to tag him, turned and fired the ball to first, just barely putting J.D. out. And then, unfortunately David Barbour—"Barb"—struck out after two strikes, two balls, and two fouls.

The second inning was fast and scoreless for both teams. Dipper kept looking back at the scoreboard, as if the Panthers' 1 would suddenly evaporate. He began to hope that he might have a chance on the field this game. It was early in the season, they were ahead—well, just barely ahead—and maybe things would fall right for him.

And they did in the next inning. Coach looked thoughtful as the Padres' seventh and eighth batters both reached base on singles. He signaled Chuck to call for a change and said, "Pines, take second. Renaldo, you're in at first. Don't get shook up just because this is your first game, guys. Remember your practice!"

Dipper took over second from X-Man, who in passing said, "Luck, Dip!" and Tom-Tom Renaldo replaced Monohan at first. Dipper got into position and tried to concentrate over Mabel's glass-shattering "Dipper! Dipper! There's no doubt! He's the man to put them out!"

He tried to gulp back some butterflies that seemed to be trying hard to flutter out of his stomach and pass up his gullet and escape from his mouth. It wasn't a hot day, but suddenly the sun seemed glaring and he felt a little dizzy. Get a grip, get a grip, be in the game.

The next batter whiffed the first pitch, took the second for a called strike, and then swung on the third, getting a piece of it—it was going to come down a few feet behind second! Dipper backpedaled, jumped, caught the ball—and it stayed in the pocket of his glove!—and was running in mid-air before his feet hit ground again. The runner on second had bolted for third, realized what happened, reversed, and made a dash back to the base—but Dipper's monster-running practice got him there a heartbeat faster, and he tagged the Padres player out—an unassisted double play!

And the crowd went crazy! Well, be fair, Mabel, mainly, went crazy. But Dipper felt a couple of feet taller. Unfortunately, the next man up blasted a double, and the runner on base scored. But Chuck bore down hard and struck the next batter out, retiring the side with the score tied 1-1.

From there, for Dipper, it was downhill. He got to bat in the bottom of the inning, but though ahead of him Bobby Adamski had reached first and Dub Wilson had made a clean hit through the gap, the base coach unwisely motioned Dub to stretch his hit to a double—and Dub wasn't as fast as Dipper. He was put out, the throw to third was in time, and suddenly the Panthers had two outs, no one on base, and it was up to Dipper.

Who clenched up. A good pitch went right past him. He swung uselessly at one outside the strike zone. And he broke too soon and went down swinging on the third pitch, which, to be fair, he should have hit.

He took the field again, feeling, as Grunkle Stan might say, like ten cents worth of nothing.

The fourth inning brought a personal improvement, but unfortunately, it looked like the Padres had caught fire. They led off with a double; then the next man struck out; and then the biggest guy on the team with the unfortunate name Frank Farder hit a sweet home run, and suddenly the Padres were ahead, three to one. The next Padre got to first, and the next one after him smashed a blazing line drive to far left field. Dipper saw JD dive, catch it a foot off the ground, roll and leap to his feet, and fire it to him. He caught it—it stung like a hard-hit ball—and Dipper spun, realizing that the runner on first had overrun on his way to second but at the last moment had reversed direction. Putting on his best speed, Dipper caught him almost at first base and tagged him out.

The coach met him as he came in. "Good double play back there earlier," he said. "But Pines, throw to first when a man's running back. You're lucky you got the speed."

Dipper hung his head and admitted, "I know that was a dumb move. I got too anxious and lost track."

"You're coming along. Just remember next time."

Dipper rested in the dugout, but not for long—the next three Panthers struck out, one after the other. The Padres pitcher, Norm Chernky, was even better than Chuck, and he seemed to have hit the top of his game.

In the fifth, as if in revenge, Chuck in turn struck out three Padres in a row. And as if inspired, the other guys stood up to Chernky when they came up to bat: Stevie Prenelli, not a great hitter, got a single on a fielder's error. Kenneth Keeler, who had a good eye, then sacrificed to put Stevie on second. Mike managed a double, Petey went down swinging, and then Chuck, facing a Padres pitcher who now was getting a little tired and wild, also smacked a double, tying the score. That was great. Even better was JD's heroic homer, which pushed Piedmont to a 5-3 lead. Mabel didn't calm down even after the next batter, David Barbour, made a ground out.

Following league rules, which limited a pitcher to under 95 pitches per game, Coach retired Chuck at the top of the sixth and sent in Jon J as pitcher. After his warm-up, Jon J first pitched into a line drive, but the shortstop nabbed it for the out. The next Padres batter hit a fast grounder, and Dipper hustled to pick it up—but he glanced to first base at the wrong moment and overran it, letting it shoot through the gap, and the opposing player got a single.

Coach called for substitutions, and—not to Dipper's surprise—he was called in to the bench, while X-man took his place. "Sorry, Coach," Dipper mumbled. "That was a bad error."

"Not so bad if you learn from it," Waylund insisted. He also sent Big W in as catcher, and from that point to the end of the game, Dipper was a spectator. The Padres went down without managing to score another run, leaving it 5-3, Piedmont's favor, before they were retired. In the bottom of the sixth, the Panthers just couldn't get anything going. Two men got to base, but the others were caught out or struck out.

"If we can hold 'em," Coach muttered, "we've won a big one."

And—

Well, no need for false suspense. They did win it in the seventh. True, thanks to a double and a grounder single, the Padres got another man home and brought the score to 5-4, but between some good pitching and some better fielding, the Pico Padres were retired without managing to tie or beat Piedmont. The game ended with the score still five to four, Piedmont, and they'd squeaked out a win for their first game of the season.

And—funny thing—only when his mom and dad came down from the bleachers did Dipper even realize they'd come to the game. "We are so proud!" Mom said, beaming with joy. "You were absolutely wonderful! Everyone loved it! That was so great—Mabel!"

But Dad at least glanced at him and said in a mild voice, "Nice double-play, Dipper."

Mabel was jumping up and down in her lone-cheerleader get-up and excitedly suggesting that they should treat Chuck to an early dinner at a fancy restaurant when, behind them, a commotion broke out. Dipper turned.

One of the Piedmont men lay on his face in the grass just to the right of the third-base line, as if he'd fallen.

The number on his back was 3.

Chuck Taylor's number.

And Coach, who had hunkered over him, stood up with an expression of urgent concern and yelled as loud as he could, "Is there a doctor here?"

To be continued

Note from the Authors: This was just an idea I had but the one who really worked his magic and wrote almost all of this is none other than BillEase. He’s an amazing author who usually hangs out at fanfiction.net. Don’t pass up on a chance to check out his stuff. This guy is AMAZING. He wrote the story, I just gave the plot.

#gravity falls #au #baseball #gf #dipper pines #mabel pines #mabel and dipper #dipper and mabel #sports #fanfic #pines twins #dipper steps up #Chapter 4

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Mountain Drive: Lamborghini Huracán EVO Spyder Embodies Exotic Car Fundamentals

New Post has been published on https://perfectirishgifts.com/mountain-drive-lamborghini-huracan-evo-spyder-embodies-exotic-car-fundamentals-2/

Mountain Drive: Lamborghini Huracán EVO Spyder Embodies Exotic Car Fundamentals

Lamborghini Huracán has stood the test of time, proving just as entertaining and surprisingly easy … [] to live with as it did nearly seven years ago.

After seven years, Lamborghini Huracán, especially in Spyder bodywork, still delivers on all the fantasies first-time exotic car buyers often express. The elevator story begins with the dual-clutch 7-speed that shifts so quickly and smoothly it turns the 610-horsepower 10-cylinder engine into a musical instrument, revs shrieking on the way up to 8000 rpm, then burbling and crackling off-throttle. Any car that hits 60 mph in 3.5 seconds or less will leave the uninitiated gasping for breath, and Huracán Spyder in rear-wheel drive configuration can perform that trick over and over—anytime, anywhere.

Brilliant orange (Arancio Borealis) is a pricy option, but worth it if one intends to keep the car … [] long-term. Psychedelic.From A-pillar to the rear deck, the doortop has a sweep just like the signature breast pocket of a Cesare Attolini sport coat from Naples.

Filippo Perini’s chiseled little bull has stood the test of time, the original design benefiting from Lamborghini design director Mitja Borkert’s EVO updates. Huracán is about a foot longer than a stubby VW GTI, stands considerably lower and seems diminutive in the flesh. A very tidy little package.

Lamborghini has added a touchscreen to the center console with the EVO model. Layers of menus. But … [] Design chief Mitja Borkert integrated it so well you’d assume it’s been there since 2014.

Just like big brother Aventador, Huracán’s interior could serve as cockpit of a short-range fighter in the soon to be established Italian Space Force: deep dashtop under a radically swept windshield, simple aerospace-inspired switchgear, splashes of brightly colored and downright kinky leather, and that starter button under the bright red flip-up cover. In EVO form, the slim shell bucket seats allow just enough room for taller people, though people over six foot two will be viewing the world through the upper third of the windscreen. Huracán best suits people of median height.

Slender shell seats help taller people fit. Huracán is not the roomiest supercar around, not the … [] most accommodating of tall folks. When spec’ing interior, explore seating options carefully if you’re much over six foot.

Passengers ride in the carbon-fiber central tub. Alloy spars front and rear extend to carry suspension and powertrain. Toss in monstrous disc brakes, psychedelic paint colors, and of course that magical name with all those vowels and Huracán scratches the exotic car itch just as well as it did in 2014. Missing are Lamborghini scissor doors, but those would take away from Huracán’s practicality, and diminish the aspirational nature of the V12 Aventador. If you want the scissor doors, you pay for the V12.

Huracán performs like a 4-wheeled superbike, able to exploit moments in time, blitzing away from … [] stoplights, leaving lines of cars in its wake, or transforming an onramp into a drag strip for four or five seconds.

Just as I noted years ago after driving a Huracán for the first time, assembly quality is impeccable. Inspect how body panels are joined, the clinically clean installation of door and hood hinges, tight, accurate stitching and panel gaps throughout the interior and the total lack of any squeaks or rattles even on press cars that have been hammered by people with a wide range of driving skill and sometimes dubious measures of respect for beautiful artifacts loaned to them. Huracán is a tough little beast.

Low profile view shows the extremely fast windshield, steeply raked. The buttresses at the rear make … [] wonderful “streamers” off the backs of the headrests. Minimal rear overhang. The retractable top is as good as any. It’s a simple, short stretch of canvas. Up it makes the car feel like your childhood pup tent, a cozy secret hiding place.

Knock-on effect of proper German-grade assembly is Huracán’s long-proven reliability, the car completely sussed, completely sorted out. Huracán demands little sacrifice and generates virtually no angst in return for so much pleasure. Powertrain and related stability control fundamentals are so robust that aftermarket tuners bolt on pressure-charging systems and dial up significant jumps in absolute horsepower, yet engine and gearbox hold together. As engineers love to say, it’s robust.

Strada is relatively plush, perfect around town. Sport livens up performance, sharpens shift points … [] and engine sounds much livelier. Control is at bottom spoke of steering wheel.

No matter the 610 horsepower and 8000 rpm redline, Huracán can be docile and easy to manage, and downright comfortable in the “Strada” calibration setting when covering unavoidably dull highway miles in mixed traffic.

Front-end lift can be pressed without taking eyes from the road, index finger on the second … [] rectangular box switch from the left. The same can be done to cancel start-stop (second from right) and to engage all the parking sensors and cameras (third from right).

To prove the point, Huracán served two mornings with runs to the dry cleaner, bank, post office with loads of Christmas cards, a milk-and-croissant expedition to our nearby luxe bodega, all achieved without the least hassle in parking structures, on narrow streets, or reversing onto a heavily traveled boulevard. My God, it’s a real car, a fact that never fails to impress an old timer like me, who remembers just how finicky supercars of the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s could be. As a young editor I dreamed of everyday supercars, and now they truly exist. Pick up dry cleaning in a Lamborghini and one becomes a highly prized return customer. Yet in the middle of all that I found opportunity to press calibration into “Sport” and blow out the cobwebs.

Thanks to a full array of cameras and sensors, Huracán should never bump into solid objects in a … [] parking garage.

Sensors and cameras from the VW Group’s luxury brand parts bin help when negotiating tight spots. These are systems with millions of real-world miles to their credit. Huracán’s front-end lift is both generous with height and remains deployed till speeds climb beyond those of quirky narrow two-lanes or when given the command to drop. Its control switch at the top of the center stack can be pressed without taking eyes from the road, index finger on the second rectangular box switch from the left, making short work of a too-deep rain gutter where highway offramp meets boulevard.

Test car did not have the aero deflector winglets installed that can be added near the rear … [] buttresses. They prevent back-spill of cold air onto the shoulders and neck. On the other hand, I found the back-spill refreshing on a top-down run down the mountain after sunset.

The same can be done to cancel start-stop (second from right) and to engage all the parking sensors and cameras (third from right). Huracán’s turning circle is surprisingly tight, though the rear-drive models do not have or need the rear-steer system. Huracán thrives in urban settings and quirky beach neighborhoods with oddball parking arrangements, something that more radical exotics, like track specials, cannot do. From Santa Barbara to Malibu and Naples Island, to Mission Bay, Huracán will do the job.

Wheel design echoes the signature Y shape that repeats throughout the car, from the headlights back. … [] They are 19 inches tall, so not too huge, and the suspension can ably and easily keep the big wheel/tire package under control, so ride quality is very high. 8-piston calipers up front. 14,37-in. discs up front. And 14.0-in at the rear with a 4-piston caliper.

Most important for an exotic car, Huracán performs on demand with jolts of acceleration from standstill or highway roll-on. Huracán performs like a 4-wheeled superbike, able to exploit moments in time, blitzing away from stoplights, leaving lines of cars in its wake, or transforming an onramp into a drag strip for four or five seconds. Isn’t that always satisfying? And Huracán makes it simple, bringing this type of performance to a much wider audience than such car had in past decades.

Huracán has 610 horsepower at a heady 8000 rpm, and 413 lb. ft. of torque at 6500. The engine is … [] totally alive in the middle Sport setting, revs freely and rapidly, and truly shrieks from about 5000 rpm up. If you’re on the hunt, keep the revs above 5000 and enjoy the opera.

The big V10 may be a mix of German and Italian engineering, but as calibrated, as the exhaust note is tuned, Huracán’s V10 is fluently Italian. The shriek from 6000 to 8000 is straight out of a video game, yet the experience is real, adding excitement in what might otherwise be a less interesting day. I confess my preference is for the 4-wheel drive Huracán because it is a few tenths quicker in stoplight drag racing, and I hope to drive the new track special STO next spring, but the rear-drive Spyder I drove adds dimension, lighting up the tires for a moment, slipping and sliding. Sure, you give up a few tenths of a second, but you gain that thrilling old sensation we forget as mature adults, of the heart seeming to rise in our chests. How much is that worth? It’s addictive.

Lamborghini can pluck systems from the VW Group’s luxury divisions. They use the best NVIDIA chip … [] for graphics, adding to the sense of excitement and special nature of the car. And the steering column has an incredible range of adjustment, which helps significantly.

Huracán’s life cycle has reached that perfect stage for the buyer who intends to keep a reward car long-term, not the guy who wants the latest to show off. Huracán Spyder will bring years of pleasure with about as little headache as one can expect with an exotic car. After seven years, it still looks stunning and will look just as good in another 10 or 20 years. When I meet folks who want a first exotic, a first supercar, I always put Huracán on the shopping list.

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